Chapter 49

Thursday, July 22, 2021

Las Vegas, Nevada

As John Reinwald emerged from the airbridge at Harry Reid International Airport, the incessant tinkles and clanks of casino machines greeted him, a chorus so oddly out of place yet quintessentially Vegas. His weary eyes sparked to life, just like that, taking in the panorama before him. Will you look at that? Slot machines in the airport, of course.

John watched a middle-aged man, tie loosened and sport coat slung over one shoulder, pump his fist and whoop triumphantly as the machine before him erupted in bells and whistles.

Just a stone’s throw away, an elderly woman sat hunched over another machine, her silver hair pulled back in a neat bun, her eyes locked on the spinning reels. Her wrinkled fingers hovered above the buttons, trembling as she waited for the perfect moment to strike. She seemed oblivious to the world around her, lost in the thrill of a potential jackpot.

John’s eyes drifted to the airport lounge, where a group of travelers, their luggage piled haphazardly at their feet, clinked glasses and toasted to their impending adventures, the neon signs of the slot machines casting a spectrum of colors across their faces.

Travelers were embracing the Vegas spirit, diving headfirst into the city’s unapologetic love affair with gambling even before they stepped foot outside the airport. It was a surreal sight, one that left John shaking his head in disbelief, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he marveled at the audacity of it all.

They don’t call this place Lost Wages for nothing.

As John navigated through the busy terminal, his carry-on trailing behind him, he found the energy of Sin City palpable. Everywhere he looked, people were chatting and laughing, their faces alight with the prospects of the adventures that awaited them.

For a brief moment, John felt a spark of that same excitement, a flicker of the promise of what could be. But as he watched a group of friends, their arms slung around each other’s shoulders and heads thrown back in laughter, the spark faded, replaced by a growing sense of isolation.

Loneliness rained on John’s parade, compounded by the fatigue from his cross-country flight. As he watched families gathered together, parents holding the hands of their children, and couples walking arm in arm, he felt increasingly disconnected, a lone figure adrift in a sea of solidarity.

In a city that celebrated connection and thrived on the promise of people coming together, John felt like an outsider looking in, a stranger in a foreign land. He pulled his carry-on a little closer, as if it were his only companion, and made his way through the terminal, the endless chatter around him only serving to amplify his dissociation.

Redirecting his thoughts to the purpose of his visit, John tried to shake off the melancholy. He was here for something different, something that lay beyond the glittering façades and loud casino floors. He focused on the anticipation of meeting Lindsay Sucks, the young lady who had captured his attention from afar. He had read so much about her, whispers of her warmth and understanding, of the way she could connect with people as if she possessed a rare gift for unraveling the intricacies of the human heart.

His mind began to wander, conjuring visions of the woman whose online photographs and videos had captivated him. He pictured Lindsay in the muted ambiance of the brothel, her figure silhouetted against the soft glow of bedside lamps, her eyes dazzling with compassion. He recalled all the dozens of online testimonials where various clients spoke of her exploits with disarming honesty.

“Meeting Lindsay eased my nerves instantly. Her confidence is striking, and her beauty is just a bonus. She wore a dress that intrigued me, accelerating my eagerness for our session.

“In the room, it wasn’t just her looks that captivated me; it was her empathetic nature that made me feel valued and understood, enhancing our connection. Our encounter went beyond the physical; it was a shared journey of discovery.

“Afterwards, our easy conversation and her insightful thoughts confirmed the depth of her character. As a woman myself, the level of connection with Lindsay was exhilarating. I left feeling seen and am keenly awaiting our next meeting, knowing the unique understanding we share.”

John imagined the sound of Lindsay’s voice, sultry and inviting, pulling him into a narrative where he was more than a client – where he was her soulmate. Her laughter, bright and uninhibited, echoed in his ears, stoking a warmth in his chest. With each step, the lines between transactional reality and the genuine companionship he yearned for blurred.

John’s suitcase appeared on the conveyor belt in baggage claim, snapping him out of his reverie. He grabbed the handle and hoisted it off the carousel, feeling a sense of purpose firm up his backbone. Time to find the shuttle bus and get to the rental car center. With his luggage in tow, he made his way towards the exit, his mind fixated on the imminent pleasures waiting at Happy Ending Ranch.

At four o’clock, Lindsay sat at her desk with her smartphone on speaker mode and took yet another glance at the avalanche of fabric samples and catalogues spread before her. The brothel was in desperate need of a visual refresh, and by enlisting the well-regarded Daddario Architecture and Design company based in Vegas, she believed she could finally make it a reality.

“Good afternoon, Trish, this is Lindsay Anastacio from Happy Ending Ranch up in Flagstone, Nevada,” she said once the call was acknowledged, her tone professional. “Yes, we’ve spoken a few times over the past week. Yes, yes, the brothel. I’m glad you remember me. Yesterday I received the packet you sent me in the mail, and I’m calling to discuss potential upgrades to our facilities’ décor and furnishings. Yes, I’m interested in hiring your company to handle all the work.”

As the representative on the other end expressed excitement over the project, Lindsay gazed heavenward and steepled her fingers together. “We want to create an atmosphere that’s both inviting and intimate for our clients. Our goal is to blend modern style with the warmth and personal touch our business is known for.

“For example, the ranch has always had a bit of a dark, almost spooky vibe to it, which, while intriguing, isn’t always welcoming. While we need to maintain low lighting for several obvious reasons, I’m really looking to brighten things up a bit and make it feel more inviting.

“I’m thinking of subtle upgrades, like the wall sconces with dimmable options in your company brochure, or hidden LED strips that provide a soft illumination without being overpowering.”

She reiterated her desire to transform the ranch into a place that, while still retaining its mystique and allure, would feel more like a luxurious retreat and less like a shadowy hideaway. “It’s about refining our ambiance, making sure that when clients step in, they feel embraced by warmth and sophistication, not just enveloped in shadows. Yes, exactly. The old regime favored the eeriness, but I’m in charge now, and I want to spruce things up.”

She paused, listening to the suggestions from the representative, occasionally nodding or jotting down notes. “Yes, I like the idea of using rich, warm colors and soft lighting to enhance the cozy feel of the rooms. And for the parlor, perhaps something livelier to encourage social interaction amongst guests and employees.”

Lindsay and Trish discussed more specifics, such as materials that combined elegance and longevity, artwork that could add unique character to each room, and functional furniture pieces. “It’s important that everything is not just beautiful but also practical and durable. Our guests should feel pampered in a setting that withstands the demands of our high-traffic establishment.”

As the call neared its end, Lindsay confirmed the next steps: “Could we schedule a visit for your company to see the house and discuss ideas in person? I believe having a feel for the ranch’s vibe and layout will inspire the perfect design concept.” Lindsay’s smile broadened, reflecting her pleasure in the fruitful exchange as she visualized the future elegance of the brothel, further cementing itself as Nevada’s leading adult leisure venue. “Excellent. I appreciate your help, Trish. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

A hesitant tap on the open door jolted Lindsay back to reality. She glanced up, her gaze falling upon Tina at the entryway, her brow furrowed and her lips folded shut. Tina’s body language spoke of a silent, invisible pressure pulling her down.

“Tina, please, come in.” Lindsay gestured towards the empty chair across the way. “What’s wrong, honey? I can see it in your eyes. Talk to me.”

Tina stepped inside, latching the door behind her. A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she sank into the offered seat, her fingers plucking at the hem of her negligee. “I’ve been debating whether to say anything at all, but...” She hesitated, her eyes blinking up to meet Lindsay’s. “Nicolette crossed a line yesterday. She made some cruel comments about my recent weight gain in front of the other girls. Said it looked like ... I’d been hitting the buffet table too hard and needed to go on a diet.”

“Woah, woah, woah. Nicolette said what?”

Tina’s hands drifted to her stomach, tugging at the fabric of her negligee as if trying to hide any perceived imperfections. “It was humiliating! I felt like I was back in high school, being mocked by the mean girls.” Tina’s hand sliced through the air with dramatic effect. “I’m forty-seven years old; I’m too old for childish shit like that.”

For a moment, Lindsay’s jaw tightened, rage flashing across her face. But as she leaned forward, her eyes found Tina’s, their intensity giving way to a gentle, empathetic connection. “Oh, Tina. I’m so sorry you had to go through that. It’s never easy to be on the receiving end of such hurtful comments, especially from someone you work and essentially live with.”

Lindsay reached across the desk, offering Tina a tissue from the nearby box. “This ranch is meant to be a sanctuary for everyone who works here, a place where we uplift and respect one another unconditionally. What Nicolette said was unacceptable, and I promise you, I will address this matter with her personally once she’s finished with her current client. Bullying and harassment have no place within these walls, and I will make that abundantly clear.”

Lindsay straightened, her posture leaving no doubt about her authority. “And Tina, I want you to remember something. You are a freakin’ smoke-show. A few extra pounds doesn’t change that. The three mongers who booked you last night are all the proof you need. Embrace every inch of yourself, showcase your personality, and never let anyone dull your sparkle or make you doubt the magnificent, sensual powerhouse that you are.”

“Thank you, Lindsay.” Tina blinked with unshed tears. “Knowing that I have a boss who supports me, that you’re in my corner – it means everything.” She rose to her feet, squared her shoulders, and a faint smile touched her lips. “Thank you for the kind words, too, and I really appreciate you dealing with this. It’s just, after all the years in this business, hopping from one house to another, it’s a relief to finally be heard and valued, you know?” Tina paused, her gaze holding Lindsay’s as she spoke from the heart. “This ranch, the way you run things since Colt and Pamela left? It’s special. I feel lucky to be part of your team.” With a grateful nod, Tina turned and exited the office, her steps a bit lighter than when she entered.

Making a mental note to deal with Nicolette when the time was right, Lindsay’s eyes transitioned to the glowing computer screen, where the weekly sales report offered a snapshot of the ranch’s performance. She scrolled through the numbers, her expression becoming a portrait of deep thought. Happy Ending Ranch was thriving, consistently attracting clients, yet a subtle crease formed between Lindsay’s brows – a harbinger of her untold aspirations.

Leaning in, she tapped the edge of the desk, her gaze piercing the monitor as if to coax more from its digital columns. We can do better. The office was filled with the soft hum of the computer and distant laughter from the parlor, yet Lindsay was ensconced in her private world of figures and potential. We will do better.

With a new document open, her fingers hovered over the keyboard, poised to transform vision into reality. Like a painter wielding a brush, Lindsay’s pioneering concepts took form with each keystroke. Her laser-sharp focus stood in marked opposition to the distant, jovial banter, accentuating the isolation that accompanied her role. As she typed, she breathed life into a mosaic of trailblazing ideas – themed evenings, premium service offerings, and customer loyalty initiatives – her determination to elevate the ranch’s bottom line visible in the unyielding set of her jaw and the inferno of ambition crackling in her eyes.

The sudden burst of static from the small, cordless earpiece nestled beside her keyboard yanked Lindsay from her intense concentration. She reached for the device, a crucial implement in her role as overseer and general manager and inserted it into her ear. This miniature marvel served as Lindsay’s auditory gateway to the ranch’s concealed activities, granting her the power to monitor any room and safeguard the welfare and integrity of her employees and guests.

Lindsay’s eyes tightened at the corners as the sounds from Nicolette’s bedroom filtered through the earpiece. Her jaw shifted from side to side, her features rearranging themselves, and her spine stiffened as if steeling herself against a formidable adversary. She’s been here for almost eleven years.

Despite the unmistakable, decadent chorus of cock claiming pussy in the doggy style position, Lindsay’s experienced ear listened for undercurrents of tension or impropriety. I can’t have any more girls guzzling cum or having unprotected sex. Ensuring the ranch’s atmosphere remained safe, respectful, and within the parameters of the law was paramount, and Lindsay, ever vigilant, was ready to intervene at the slightest hint of discord.

Her fingers coiled around the earpiece, her initial intention to monitor for safety morphing into a decisive evaluation of Nicolette’s conduct. Her stomach curdling, Lindsay’s fingers tapped against the desk, signaling the inner storm. It wasn’t just the incident Tina reported but a litany of past grievances too. Nicolette’s habitual disrespect for clients, her frequent negative remarks, and her overall abrasive demeanor had long been points of contention. The only reason Colt kept her around was because she and Pamela were such good friends.

Sitting back, Lindsay removed the earpiece, her decision crystallizing in the solitude of her office. Nicolette’s actions had become a toxic liability, affecting staff morale and potentially the ranch’s hard-earned reputation.

Lindsay’s fingers flew across the keyboard, crafting the termination notice with a heavy heart but unyielding conviction. Each stroke echoed her commitment to a healthy, supportive work environment. Elisabeth will quit on the spot, too, you know, if you fire Nicolette. The future of Happy Ending Ranch hinged on making tough, sometimes unpopular decisions. Lindsay chuffed out a sigh, her shoulders sagging momentarily before realigning. Fuck it. I’ve never liked Elisabeth’s attitude, either.

As the printer hummed to life, Lindsay watched the termination notice manifest in physical form. She snatched the paper, a reminder of the multifaceted responsibilities of leadership – the fine line between offering proactive support and making ruthless, decisive choices when the situation warranted it.

Picking up her phone, she swiped through her contacts and hit the number for her house manager. “Hey, Jenn. It’s me.” Lindsay’s voice was calm but firm. “I need you to bring in five new prospects for interviews starting Monday. Whether they’re turnouts or experienced, it doesn’t matter. We’re gonna need some replacements ASAP. It’s time to weed out the bad apples here once and for all.”

John’s knuckles whitened as he clenched the steering wheel, propelling the rental car through the barren Nevada wasteland at a breakneck speed. The engine’s roar and the rushing wind through the open windows formed a cacophonous soundtrack for his 175-mile drive to Happy Ending Ranch. The dry landscape seemed to stretch into infinity, a sea of sand and scrub that underscored the profound isolation in this unique area of the nation.

As the sun dipped toward the horizon, it painted the desert in a breathtaking display of deep crimsons and fiery oranges. John watched, transfixed, the ethereal beauty a stark contrast to his swirling thoughts. The long journey had provided ample time for introspection, each passing mile reinforcing his resolve, fueled by a yearning for an encounter that promised more than transient satisfaction.

At long, long last, John caught sight of Flagstone in the distance. The small town emerged from the oppressive heat like a mirage, its weathered buildings and dusty streets bathed in the fading light of the day. As he drew closer, the town’s details came into sharper focus, revealing a collection of rustic structures that seemed to have been plucked from a bygone era.

Entering Flagstone, John felt as though he had crossed a portal into another dimension. Five Aces Gambling Hall. Established 1867. The main street was lined with architectural relics, their facades adorned with peeling paint and faded signs. The golden light of the setting sun cast elongated shadows across the sidewalks, imbuing the scene with a wistful, almost haunting quality. It’s like I’ve stepped back in time. The air hung heavy with the scent of piñon pine, a fragrance that seemed to permeate every corner of the town, hinting at its untamed, frontier spirit.

As John navigated the quiet streets, he couldn’t help but notice the curious glances from Flagstone’s residents. The occasional passerby paused to regard his unfamiliar BMW with a mix of interest and wariness, their faces etched with the hardships of life. This brush with Flagstone’s populace, living echoes of a wild west past, deepened John’s sense of detachment, making the community’s close-knit resilience appear as a distant, albeit fascinating tableau before him.

The approach to Happy Ending Ranch marked the culmination of his travels, both physical and emotional. The final stretch of road felt like a bridge between his past and an uncertain, thrilling future. As he navigated the last few turns, the ranch’s entrance loomed, a gateway to a forbidden world he had long fantasized about but never believed he would enter.

The vehicle slowed to a crawl as he absorbed the sight. Its weathered exterior seemed to whisper tales of age and history. Yet, even as the house’s worn-down appearance gave him pause, it wasn’t enough to deter him from his purpose. John’s heart pounded, his everyday life momentarily fading into the background as he prepared to cross into Happy Ending Ranch, where fantasy and reality promised to intertwine.

I’m here. He was done questioning his motivations, dissecting his expectations, and daydreaming about the impending reality of fulfilling a desire that dated back three years to when Lindsay/Kayleigh first surfaced on the website. I’m actually here.

John’s hand released the steering wheel, its imprint lingering on his skin as his lungs filled to capacity, readying himself. He opened the car door, the metallic click breaking the evening’s silence, and stepped out onto the gravel driveway. He closed it with a thud, the sound final in the vast desert quiet. The stones crunched under his weight, each footfall a deliberate stride toward the moral boundary he was about to breach.

He stood still for a moment, blinking as the shadows deepened around him. A gentle breeze stirred, carrying with it the faint scent of desert wildflowers.

Reaching the front door, John paused, his hand hovering over the ornate knocker. With a rapid pull of oxygen into his lungs, he lifted the knocker and let it fall, the sound resonating, marking his arrival and the irrevocable step into the unknown yet alluring world of paying for human companionship.

Before John could knock again, the door swung open, revealing a young man, his baby-faced demeanor contrasting with the mature theme of the establishment.

“Hello, welcome to Happy Ending Ranch. I’m Donald,” he greeted with a bright, professional smile.

“John Reinwald.” He ducked his chin, a reflexive gesture, and offered his hand reluctantly. Who the hell gave you a job here? Shouldn’t you be home, studying for the big high school exam? “I have an appointment with Lindsay.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Reinwald, and yes, Lindsay has been expecting you,” Donald said, shaking his hand. “But before we go any further, I need to see your ID for an age check. It’s a policy here for all our guests.”

John cut him a glare as he retrieved his Maryland state driver’s license. “Really, kid? At my age, you still need to check my ID? I’m fifty-five, for Christ’s sake.”

Donald accepted the license with a polite nod. “I understand it might seem unusual, but we adhere strictly to our policies to ensure that everything is on the up and up. Thank you for understanding.”

After a quick courtesy glance, Donald handed it back. “Everything’s in order, Mr. Reinwald. Thank you for your cooperation. Please, now, if you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to the lounge where you can wait for Lindsay. She’ll be with you shortly.”

John surveyed the parlor with a critical eye, the bar itself a tribute to bygone styles, its atmosphere unaltered by the passage of years outside this enclave. The wallpaper, with its faded charm and edges cracking like aged skin, told stories of yesteryears. The furniture, enduring and robust, showed signs of a life well-lived, its fabric worn thin and wood surfaces softened by countless interactions. The drapes, bleached by the relentless desert sun, hung like weary guardsmen beside windows that framed a world seemingly untouched by time. In the subdued light of the old chandeliers, every element evoked ghostly whispers, placing John in a scene that seemed a world apart from the modern era he knew.

Yet, his eyes were immediately drawn to the large, ornate fireplace that dominated the far wall. The mantelpiece was adorned with an array of framed photographs, each featuring a different woman in various poses, some more provocative than others. John found himself wondering about the stories behind each image, the lives of the women captured within them.

One photograph in particular caught John’s attention. It was significantly larger than the others and displayed in the center of the mantelpiece. The image depicted a stunning blonde woman with soft brown eyes and a smile that seemed to hold a thousand secrets. John stepped closer, his curiosity piqued by the woman’s magnetic presence.

“Who’s this?” he asked, pointing to the photograph. Good God. Can I have a party with her and Lindsay? Together?

Donald followed John’s gaze and a knowing smile played on his lips. “Ahh, that’s Pamela. She was one of our most renowned courtesans back in the day. Men and women alike would come from far and wide just for a chance to spend an hour or two in her company.”

John studied the photograph, taking in the woman’s pinup beauty and the air of confidence that seemed to radiate from her. “She must have been quite something,” he murmured, more to himself than to Donald.

“Oh, she was. Pamela had a way of making every client feel like he or she was the only one in the world. She was a true master of her craft, a legend in the industry.”

“What happened to her?”

The corners of Donald’s mouth evened out, the brightness leaving his expression. “She retired before the house reopened from COVID. Decided it was time to start a new chapter in her life, I suppose. Last I heard, she was living somewhere on the East Coast, married to some big shot businessman.”

John’s head inclined sideways, a strange sense of connection to this prostitute he had never met taking shape. He could almost picture her, holding court in this very bar, her laughter ringing out like a bell.

“She left quite a legacy,” Donald added, his voice taking on a note of pride. “Many of the girls who work here today were inspired by her, including Lindsay.”

At the mention of Lindsay’s name, John felt a flutter of excitement in his chest. “Is that so?”

“Oh, yes. Lindsay has always looked up to Pamela. She sees her as a role model, someone who embodied the very essence of what it means to be a world-class courtesan.”

John’s mind wandered again, imagining Lindsay as she must have been when she first arrived at the ranch. He envisioned her studying Pamela’s photograph, too, memorizing every detail, determined to live up to the legacy of the matriarch who had come before her.

“I can see why. There’s something about Pamela that hooks you; that just draws you in.”

Donald chuckled. “That’s the magic of this place. Every woman who walks through these doors has a story to tell, a unique charm that sets her apart from the rest.”

John tore his eyes away from the photograph, feeling another rush of adrenaline for the evening ahead. He knew that he was about to embark on a journey unlike any he had ever experienced before, a journey that would take him to places he had never dared to go.

Donald gestured towards the bar on the opposite side of the parlor. “Can I offer you a drink? We have a selection of fine spirits and local craft beers that might help you relax before your appointment with Lindsay.”

Breath shuttled out through John’s mouth. “A drink sounds great, actually. It’s been a long day, and I could use something to take the edge off.”

The two men made their way to the bar, their footsteps echoing off the floorboard. Donald took his rightful spot behind the counter. “What’s your poison, Mr. Reinwald? We’ve got a killer eighteen-year-old Macallan single malt, or if you prefer something lighter, there’s a refreshing local IPA that’s been getting rave reviews.”

John considered his options for a moment. “I think I’ll go with the IPA. When in Rome, right?”

Donald chuckled, reaching for a chilled glass. “Excellent choice, sir. The Jackrabbit Junction Brewing Company is just a hop, skip, and a jump away from here, and they make some of the best craft beers in the state.”

As Donald poured the amber liquid, the rich aroma of hops and malt seized control of the air. He slid the glass across the bar, where it was accepted with a grateful nod.

“Cheers,” John said, raising the glass in a toast before taking a sip. Crisp and refreshing, the beer offered a subtle undertone of citrus that danced on his tongue. “That’s damn good.” He set the glass back on the bar.

“Glad you like it,” Donald said, wiping his hands on a towel. “So, tell me, what brings you to the best little whorehouse in Nevada? Is this your first time at a place like this?”

John hesitated for a moment, not sure how much he wanted to reveal. But something about Donald’s friendly personality made him feel at ease. “It is, yeah.” He may be young, but he’s a likable kid. “I’ve been curious about places like this for a while, but never had the nerve or financial means to actually take the plunge. Until now.”

Understanding dawned across Donald’s face. “It’s a big step, coming to a place like this for the first time. But let me assure you, Mr. Reinwald, you’re in good hands here. We pride ourselves on providing a safe, discreet, and enjoyable experience for all of our guests.”

John took another sip, letting Donald’s words sink in. “I appreciate that. To be honest, I’m not entirely sure what I’m looking for. I just know that I needed a change of pace, something to break me out of my routine.”

“Well, you’ve certainly come to the right place, my friend. And with Lindsay as your companion for the evening, I have no doubt that you’ll find what you’re looking for ... and more.”

John paused, a salacious grin stretching from cheek to cheek. “She’s really something special, too, isn’t she?”

Donald leaned in closer, his eyes twinkling. “You have no idea. Lindsay is a true gem, a woman who embodies everything that makes this place so unique. She has a way of connecting with people, of making them feel seen and understood in a way they’ve never experienced before. Trust me, that girl will take care of you.”

As John and Donald continued their conversation, a woman emerged from behind one of the heavy velvet curtains. She was tall, standing at around five-foot-ten in John’s estimation, with a slender, athletic build that was evident even beneath her conservative clothing. She wore a simple, yet elegant black blazer over a white blouse, paired with tailored black slacks and sensible heels.

Her chestnut brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, revealing a face that was both striking and understated. She had high cheekbones, a straight nose, and full lips that were curved into a polite, professional smile. Despite her modest appearance, there was no denying her natural beauty, with clear, olive skin and bright, intelligent eyes that seemed to take in everything around her.