Chapter 57

Author’s Note: I have a devoted, very kind reader who has been waiting patiently for this chapter. For you, good sir.

Vegas left us with a massive hangover. The night of Foxy, while fun, had abused our bodies. Rita decided she needed some time off of drugs, so she made a pledge to Kat that she would also stick to alcohol-only for at least a couple weeks. Coke consumption in our house plummeted. Jess focused on ensuring the success of the Vegas Hooker House, but it quickly became apparent that such a result would be inevitable. Kelly had put in monumental efforts to build a steller client list. Jess had put together junkets of Houston clients to visit the girls in Sin City. And Nicole and Melissa, in particular, drew on their personal connections to attract business. By all accounts, the Vegas Hooker House was a nonstop fuckfest, seven days a week.

I spent the week after Vegas working on two high-priority projects. First, Jason and I had a couple initial discussions about JP regarding how to finance his two movie projects. Second, I became fairly obsessed with plotting out as many details of Rita’s engagement weekend as I could.

The movie business was looking up. Peter and Stephen were another four weeks away from completing principle photography on their movie, but the financial plan had worked out beautifully. They hadn’t ended up risking any of their own assets, which wasn’t so much a fear as less-than-ideal. JP was eager to start pre-production on both his movies, and Jason and I had promised to get him an initial proposal within two weeks. We had a few creative plans kicking around and wanted to impress him.

The bulk of my time, however, I focused on our brief trip to Paris. Given our time constraints with Kat and Rita’s work schedule, who had only negotiated one day off, I wanted to maximize our time in the city and minimize our time in the airport. After researching our options, it became clear that flying private from Houston to Paris would save us, in total, about ten hours over the weekend. Was six figures worth it to have ten hours in Paris? For my girls it was, so I bit the bullet.

The week flew by. Katie had asked me to the Hooker House on Tuesday morning under the guise of going over her finances to see if she could get away with quitting her job as a nurse. She was a smart girl and knew it was financially feasible, but she just wanted to lure me in for a morning fuckfest, and I was more than happy to oblige.

As I licked her nipples lightly after filling her pussy with cum, Katie said with reticence, “Were you jealous of what I was doing at the Vegas party?”

“I don’t know, what were you doing?” I asked teasingly.

“I’m not sure I remember all of it because I was so coked out,” Katie said, “but Crystal and I did a number on those investment bankers for a couple hours.” She absently let a couple fingers play with her clit, teasing out the cum I had just shot inside her. “And then that boxer guy? His dick was so gorgeous, I just let him fuck me in the ass on the balcony. I swear I must have woken up the whole city.”

“Nobody sleeps in Vegas,” I said, stroking her tits.

“You must think I’m such a slut,” she said, and it came out deeply sincere.

I laughed and said, “Katie, you’re a whore.”

“You know what I mean,” she said.

“I do,” I said, “and don’t worry about it. The crazier you are? The more I like you.”

“Really?” she asked.

“Really,” I said. “I love girls who aren’t ashamed to embrace life and live it the way they want.”

“I’m definitely doing that,” Katie said and stuck the cum-covered fingers in her mouth.

“Don’t stop,” I said, “or you’ll become boring.”

By Thursday afternoon, the girls were pestering me with questions about the trip. I had even kept Kat and Jess in the dark about the particulars. I gave the girls a simple checklist of what to pack: a passport, casual clothes, and two dress-up outfits. Our flight would depart at 2 p.m. on Thursday, which would get us to our hotel in Paris by breakfast time Friday. If we had taken the daily Air France flight to DeGaulle Airport, we wouldn’t have been able to hit the city until closer to lunch time Friday, and we would have been rushing after Kat and Rita got off work. On the trip home on Sunday, we would also gain half a day because of eliminating airport time. It was the perfect scenario.

As we took the limo to the airport, I was giddy like a kid on Christmas. I had pulled this off being as much of a surprise as possible.

“Passports, but we’re flying private,” Kat said as we approached the general aviation area at Hobby Airport. I could hear in her voice the surprise that we weren’t taking a commercial flight.

“Mexico,” Jess said, knowing our real destination but playing along.

“Cabo?” Rita asked hopefully.

I only grinned in response. The driver took care of our luggage, and the girls, rather scantily clad in their finest athleisure wear, climbed the steps to the cabin. I followed, leering at the parade of ass in front of me. Inside, we were greeted by our frequent flight attendant, Christy, who we hadn’t seen often after my hookup with her on a trip to Vegas.

“Welcome back, everyone!” Christy exclaimed. I thought her skirt was shorter than usual, and she didn’t wear the customary stockings.

“It’s so good to see you,” Rita said, greeting Christy first with a hug.

The girls were surprised by the arrangement of the cabin. There were only four seats set up, and the back portion of the plane had been set up as beds. The G650 could sleep up to ten, and I had instructed them to prepare it for six, so we would have plenty of room.

“So, not Cabo?” Kat said.

“Oh my god!” Rita screeched. She had glanced at the television monitor at the front of the cabin, which showed our planned route. “Paris? Are you kidding me?”

“We’re not kidding, sweetie,” Jess said.

“You knew?” Rita said to Kat and Jess in surprise.

“Sworn to secrecy, sister,” Kat said with a cute smile.

“Paris!” Rita exclaimed again. “It’s my favorite place in the whole world!”

“I know,” I said knowingly, and Rita kissed me. She made the rounds and kissed all of us.

When the initial moment passed, Christy was waiting for us with a magnum of a special, late-disgorged Dom Perignon from Rita’s birth year.

“John!” Rita cried, her voice spiking to a higher octave again. “This is too much!”

I pulled her to me and kissed her, before holding her shoulders and looking at her seriously.

“Nothing is too much for you,” I said.

Christy came out with our customary cheese plate, and I think she was surprised that there wasn’t already a pile of cocaine for her to navigate around, but it was a clean trip for all four of us. As we dug into the cheese and charcuterie and drank Champagne, Christy prepared dinner. We talked excitedly about the weekend, but I wouldn’t divulge any particular plans. My only comment was that we wanted to be sure to get a good night’s sleep while we flew.

Surprisingly, sleep came easily for all of us. Christy was also a little surprised that there weren’t any sexual antics, and I could tell that disappointed her some. But this trip had a specific focus, and playing around wasn’t on the agenda. Besides, I knew playing a little hard-to-get with a girl like Christy would make any future encounter better.

Our hotel, Le Bristol, had sent a car for us, which was waiting when we breezed through a cursory customs check. By 9 a.m. Paris time, we were comfortably settled into our suite on the sixth floor and eating breakfast on the large outdoor terrace. Amidst piles of warm croissants, piping hot coffee, and assorted pastries, we drank Champagne and took in the gorgeous garden below.

“This is like living out a dream,” Rita said. “I used to walk into the lobby here and use the restrooms just to imagine what it would be like to stay here.”

“What’s the plan, daddy?” Kat asked.

“Let’s be tourists,” I said. “Do you want to walk or drive?”

“It’s a little overcast,” Jess said. “I’d hate to get caught in the rain.”

“Well it’s a good thing the hotel is giving us a limo,” I said.

“Are you serious?” Rita said, and we all laughed.

“It’ll be downstairs for us at eleven,” I said. “So we have a little time to finish eating and freshen up.”

“I’m seriously so excited,” Rita said. “When I studied abroad here in college, it was nothing like this. But I have so many great memories of it.”

“I might have something right here to help bring back those memories,” I said.

I tossed a blue packet of Gauloises cigarettes on the table.

“Oh my god, John,” Rita said, her eyes wide. “How did you find out that?”

“I have my ways,” I said. My eyes lingered on hers. “Want one?”

“Yes,” she said, surprising me with how quickly the word rolled off her tongue. She picked up the pack and bashed it against her hand a few times before reaching for the ashtray and matches that sat on the long table.

“I mean, you kind of have to smoke in Paris,” Jess said. “It’s just part of being here.”

Jess took the pack when Rita offered it and pulled out two smokes, handing one to Kat.

“I would sit in cafes and just smoke and drink coffee all day,” Rita said. “It was amazing just to feel the life of the city around me.”

She held the cigarette between her middle and fore fingers, then struck a match and, with surprising comfort, sat back and took a healthy drag.

“Holy hell, there are few things that feel as good as this,” she said as she exhaled. “A Gauloise in Paris.”

Kat and Jess followed suit, each happily taking a long drag.

“That is so smooth,” Kat said with satisfaction.

“I don’t care, I love a good smoke,” Jess said.

“Are you going to join us, daddy?” Kat asked.

“Why not?” I said and fired up a cigarette of my own.

It had been a long time since I’d had one, and I had to admit, there was something relaxing about it. The nicotine buzz hit quickly, and I focused on how perfectly erotic it was to watch my girlfriends smoke.

“My French fling while I was here,” Rita said, taking deep, aggressive puffs, “used to make me smoke after every orgasm he gave me.”

“Foreign guys are so sexy,” Jess said.

“God, yes!” Kat agreed. “I hooked up with this Australian guy in LA for a little while. He was so sexy.”

“There was this Italian soccer player in college,” Jess said. “He was super arrogant, but he just knew how to use his dick.”

We all laughed. Rita lit a second cigarette.

“I was smoking a pack or pack-and-a-half a day when I lived here,” Rita said.

“How’d you kick it?” Kat asked.

“I went back to school for my senior year,” Rita said. “My sorority was a huge party house. There were always drugs around, but particularly cocaine. I don’t even know where it came from, but you could just find lines or an eight ball anywhere.”

“Kind of like the Hooker House!” Jess joked.

“For real,” Rita said. “So I got back and was doing coke, so cigarettes just kind of fell by the wayside.”

“I like how our college experiences were so similar,” Jess said.

“How’s that?” Kat asked.

“Coke and dick,” she said, and we laughed again.

We finished our cigarettes, had a final few sips of coffee, and got ready for a day of sightseeing. The hotel’s car made it a breeze. We started at the Arc de Triomphe, where our driver indulged us by taking pictures, then I took a detour over to a wine shop and nearby fromagerie and boulangerie for picnic supplies. It was unseasonably warm for Paris in October, with temperatures reaching the upper 60s, and the sky was sunny and impeccably blue. So I decided to spontaneously change plans.

The driving tour lasted a few more stops – the Louvre and its pyramid, the Pantheon, Place de la Concorde, Notre Dame, and the Vendome – before coming to a pause at the Eiffel Tower. It was after two o’clock, and the sun shone beautifully.

“This is incredible,” Kat gushed as we got out of the car.

“What a perfect day!” Jess exclaimed.

Rita took a moment, taking in the sight. It was breathtaking.

“It’s so much prettier in the sun than at night,” Rita said. The look on her face made me fall in love with her all over again. It showed perfect contentment.

We found an open, grassy area off the Quai Branly. The driver, ever-attentive, had given me a blanket. We sat down, and I spread out the goodies I had picked up for an impromptu picnic – camembert, chevre, port salut, a crusty baguette, and two cold bottles of rosé. It was simple, rustic food that felt like the most perfect meal ever conceived because of our location. The sun felt good and warm against our skin. We sat and talked, and I poured the wine into glasses the shop owner had given me when I told him about the occasion. For a half hour, we just drank in the scene. Locals and tourists mingled, and the throngs of people never stopped coming. The line to go up to the Eiffel Tower’s decks wound like a never-ending snake.

After we finished the first bottle of wine, I pulled the cork on the second, using a corkscrew the shop owner also had insisted on giving me. A pleasant silence fell over us. We stared at the marvel of engineering that sat before us. I looked at each of my girlfriends in turn. Kat, her skin more tan than usual from Houston’s prolonged summer, looked relaxed and happy. She had a ceaseless grin on her face – a real one, not her TV smile. Jess looked in command, and content. She radiated confidence, although her features always betrayed the delicacy that lay underneath her exterior. And Rita, the bombshell, a grinning, laughing, delightful girl who always seemed to be having fun. Although today she appeared to be having the time of her life even more so than I had ever witnessed.

“This is one of the best days of my life,” Rita said, breaking the silence. “I can’t imagine anything more perfect. It’s so special to be sitting here, in this place, with the people I love the most.”

“I bet we can make it more perfect,” I said.

When Kat and Jess gasped in unison, I knew my audible on our plans had worked. Rita, staring at the Eiffel Tower, turned back to me.

“How could we...” her words trailed away. She pulled her sunglasses off, needing to reassure her eyes.

I had gotten on one knee next to her and held out the open Tiffany ring box.

“The only thing I could ever think of to make life more perfect is to have you forever, Rita,” I said. “Will you marry me?” I had to fight back the emotion of the moment.