Chapter 38

The groups intermingled at the party and enjoyed the evening. Brock saw one of Melanie's guests dancing with one of the sheriff's deputies. He saw Loralei chatting with one of the party crashers. Susan and her date seemed to be making the rounds from group to group. Al and Esmi hadn't come off the dance floor in 35 minutes and Mandy was dancing with several different guys as Josh laughed at her antics. She even dragged Brock out for dance. Hailey had smiled the whole evening but it grew wider when Brock took her on the dance floor. Her friend gave him a smile when he escorted her back.

Brock had just walked away from talking to Jen when another of the club security members found him.

"We have a slight problem, sir," the man said. "We have someone else who isn't on the guest list but insists upon being allowed in. She is someone we'd normally permit in but Miss Raver gave strict instructions. I'm afraid she has become belligerent."

Brock looked around to see who might have been omitted from the guest list. He couldn't think of anyone, certainly not someone the bouncer might recognize.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"Jana Jones, sir," the man replied.

"Crap," Brock muttered. "Well, she's not invited. So you'll just have to turn her away. Be nice about it. I don't want to see or hear about it in the tabloids. Just tell her politely that it is a private party and her name isn't on the guest list."

"We've tried that, sir," the man said, looking at the floor. "That is when she got belligerent. I fear the only two alternatives are to permit her in the club or to call the police."

"I'll get my sister to deal with it," Brock said. "She is the police."

Brock spotted Zoe and Emmy talking with Cynthia at the bar. Cynthia was sipping a white wine and Zoe and Emmy were both working on mixed drinks. He didn't want to put Zoe in a rough spot but he wasn't sure what other choice he had.

"I've got a slight problem," Brock told his sister. "And I need your help."

"OK," Zoe answered immediately.

"Don't be too eager," Brock said. "There is an A-list celebrity outside demanding to be admitted. The club staff has done what they can to get her to leave but she is adamant. He said he thinks we can either admit her or have her arrested. I don't want to do either. I was hoping you might be able to talk some sense into her."

"Honestly?" Zoe asked.

Brock nodded.

"Brock, these people think they are the most important thing in the world," she said. "I can go out there and talk to her but it will wind up with her in handcuffs and everyone in a brawl with her entourage. Why not let her in? I mean, heck, you let in everyone else who showed up."

She smiled and winked.

"It's that woman whose been bothering everyone," Brock admitted.

"Then turn Randi loose on her," Emmy said. "We can take bets. Hell, bring out the Jell-O pit and let them at it. That would be cool."

"Sounds interesting, but I don't think so," Brock said. "By the way, I think you've had enough to drink."

"I just started," Emmy said. "That was a comment from the heart, not from alcohol."

"I'll deal with it if you want me to," Zoe said.

"No, I guess I'm going to have to deal with it," Brock said. "Do me a favor, keep Randi and Meredith occupied."

"If you get the Jell-O pit out, I can keep them occupied," Emmy offered with a laugh.

"Next time," Brock promised.

Cynthia Lu fell in step beside him as he walked toward the entryway. As they got closer, the music faded enough they could hear the woman yelling.

"Perhaps I might be of assistance," Cynthia offered. "I am used to dealing with people whose ego is three sizes larger than their intellects."

"If you're willing to try, I'm willing to let you," Brock said. He stopped short of the door and let Cynthia exit alone.

"Young lady, that is quite enough," she said loudly.

"Do you know who I am?" he heard Jana Jones yell.

"I do," Cynthia said. "Do you know who I am?"

"Some security flunky," Jana said dismissively.

"I am a Special Agent in Charge for the United States Secret Service," Cynthia stated, conveniently leaving out the retired portion of her title. She pulled out her credentials and displayed them. It said in very small print that she was no longer active – small enough that it was almost invisible unless someone looked closely. "Do you understand what that means?"

"The president is inside?" someone else asked.

"No," Cynthia replied. "However, several people with close ties to our government are inside."

Brock found himself chuckling. He figured Zoe and the other police officers were tied to the government as was Melanie and her guests. Hell, he thought, Randi had done a concert for the First Daughters. She should fall into that category. Everyone paid taxes. It was a good line.

"The guest list for this private party includes those they wished to attend," Cynthia continued. "As you have been told, repeatedly, you are not among those people. I will now ask you to vacate the premises quickly and quietly. Should you choose to disobey a direct order from law enforcement, I will have no choice but to see you arrested and charged. Am I clear?"

"Come on, Jana, let's roll somewhere else," a new voice said. "You don't want tied up with the feds. That could get messy in a hurry."

"But he's in there!" Jana said. "The Tweet said they saw Randi Raver going into this club. If she is here then he is here."

"Are you sure?" the calm voice said. "Think about it. Why would a baseball player be invited to hobnob with government types? It's probably just a bunch of Senators' underage kids who want to drink and screw without getting caught. Randi Raver is probably letting them do lines of coke off her nipples or something."

"Miss, I suggest you keep a civil tongue," Cynthia said in a tight voice. "Regardless of what is transpiring behind those doors it should be evident that this group is unwelcome. Now I'm going to give you 10 seconds to vacate this area and leave the vicinity. After that, I will forcibly remove you."

"She's not kidding," a male voice said. "Look, if you want to stay, it's fine by me. But do not expect me to intervene when she removes you. That is far outside of my contractual duties."

"Fine," Jana said. "But you tell Brock Miller to call me."

"I'm certain if Mr. Miller is inside, he knows of your presence," Cynthia stated.

Jana was almost to the door when she spun around.

"He is in there!" she yelled. "Why are you hiding from me? All I want is a date, for God's sake."

"Miss Jones," Cynthia said. Brock could hear from the way her voice descended that she was moving away from the door and toward the retreated group. "Your 10 seconds are up."

"I'm leaving," Jana replied tersely. "But only because I want to. Not because you made me."

"Believe whatever you wish to believe," Cynthia replied.

She gave Brock another small smile when she returned to the main part of the club.

"Are you really Secret Service?" a bouncer asked in awe. It was the most impressive performance of verbal de-escalation he'd ever seen. Most confrontations like this one ended with either bloodshed or arrests – usually both.

"I am retired," Cynthia replied. "You might not have noticed but I added that word very quietly. I wouldn't want anyone to think I had misrepresented myself."

"You rock," the guy said as he resumed his post.

"Yes, I do," Cynthia said, taking Brock by the arm and leading him back into the club.

It was in the wee hours of Monday morning when Brock, Meredith and Randi arrived back at the house. Neither of the young women had consumed alcohol and Brock had nursed two beers over the duration of the party.

Both Meredith and Randi had told him he was free to cut loose – just as he had told them the same thing (so long as Randi was inconspicuous as she imbibed). The trio had decided they would play host and hostesses for the event. So they made their rounds and made sure the groups interacted – not that their intervention was required. The different groups seemed to mix and mingle seamlessly.

"I'm too tired to fuck," Meredith said as she came in the door and plopped down on the couch. "Never thought I'd say that."

"Maybe we should just fuck you then," Randi joked. "Or you can just lay there while Brock and I have a go."

"Slut," Meredith giggled.

"Prude," Randi retorted. She sat down beside Meredith and tilted her head back on the couch. "That was more energy than I thought it would be. Jesus, I've spent eight hours dancing at a club and not felt this wrung out."

Brock locked up the house and joined the women in the room, taking a seat opposite Randi, with Meredith in between.

Meredith gave him a look then shifted to his opposite side. Then she and Randi lifted his arms and snuggled in on his shoulders.

"Better," Meredith said. "You're the meat in this sandwich, not me."

"I planned to get you both drunk and take advantage of you tonight," Brock said as he slipped his hand off two shoulders and onto the women's breasts. "I thought I might talk you into a threesome or something."

"You didn't even pinch my butt when I was crawling in the car," Randi objected. "I left it out there for you and everything."

"I didn't want to molest you in public," Brock replied.

"And what stopped you while we were in the car?" Meredith asked with a laugh. "I tried to get you interested in my hooters and you wouldn't even look."

"I looked," Brock pointed out. "You are wearing your purple bra."

"It's lavender," Meredith corrected. "And you saw that before we even left. Nope, you just completely ignored them the whole night."

"At least they didn't feel lonely," Randi quipped. "I saw every other guy in the room checking them out."

"When they could pull their eyes away from trying to look up your skirt," Meredith replied.

Brock wondered if they women were seriously sniping at each other. Meredith had worn a white form-fitting tube dress that showed her cleavage wonderfully. Randi had worn a red silk top with a short (faux) leather miniskirt that stopped only an inch or two below her butt cheeks. All the women had gone out of the way to dress to impress but Brock thought the two he was sitting beside looked the best of all.

"I thought you both looked really sexy," Brock said. "But I always think that."

"Flatterer," Randi said with a laugh that Meredith shared. "You're already going to get us into your bed. You can save the smooth talk for Jana Jones."

"Did you hear about that?" Brock asked.

"About what?" Meredith wondered, sitting up and slipping her dress off her shoulders. She unhooked her bra and let it drop, too. Brock didn't answer the question. He just sat and looked at her breasts.

"I needed out of that thing," Meredith remarked, gesturing to her bra. "I can pull the top back up if you're distracted."

She shifted again and lifted the fabric back over her shoulders.

"No help," Randi cracked. Brock was still staring down at the hard nipples poking through the fabric. If anything, Meredith looked even sexier than she had a moment before. Or at least she did until she reached up and pinched Brock's nose.

"What were you talking about?" she asked.

"Jana Jones," Brock said. "She showed up at the club demanding to be let in."

"When was this?" Randi asked. She sat up, too. Rather than remove a bra she wasn't wearing, she unzipped her tight skirt and slid it down her thighs to the floor.

Brock hadn't been certain Randi was wearing panties beneath her skirt. She had threatened to go "full Lohan" on him several times during the week. After seeing what she wore beneath it, Brock wasn't sure why she wasted her time in pulling the undies up her legs. The small panties she wore were almost transparent – and clung so tightly to her that he could have counted her pubic hairs if he tried.

She responded exactly as Meredith did. She gave Brock a few moments to enjoy the view and then pinched his nose to get his attention.

"I asked when she showed up," Randi said with a smile. In the preceding weeks, the trio had tried just about every possible sexual position and combination they could think of. Yet Brock still gave his full attention to them whenever they were around. It made her feel warm inside.

"Early," Brock said. "Emmy wasn't wasted yet."

"She kept trying to get me to show her 'The Ladies'," Meredith giggled. "I told her that she had to show you hers before I could show her mine."

Randi cleared her throat.

"You were saying?" she asked.

"She showed up, made a scene and Cynthia showed her the door," Brock replied.

"Why didn't the bouncers turn her away?" Randi asked.

"Come on, think about it," Meredith said. "If you show up at a club and get turned away by the staff, you're never going to go back there. That club makes money by people like you and Jana Jones showing up. They foisted the problem off on someone else. It's typical Hollywood."

Randi frowned and Meredith shifted her attention to Brock.

"I've pretty well been content to let you ignore this problem," she said. "But I think it's time you spoke to her and explained the situation. I know you thought she'd just go away. I think tonight shows she won't."

Brock sighed and nodded his agreement.

"I'll call her in the morning," he said.

"Afternoon," Meredith corrected. "I might be too tired for loving tonight but I'll be raring to go after some sleep."

It was after two p.m. when Randi and Meredith finally released Brock from his sexual bondage. They hadn't bothered to tie him up. They hadn't needed to. Instead, the two of them had licked and sucked and nibbled on anything they could get their mouths on since the group awoke.

After a shower and some food, Brock sat down to call Jana Jones and get the situation straightened out. Randi took his phone out of his hand and passed hers along.

"She already has my number," she explained. "She doesn't have yours. Plus it will make her wonder if we weren't doing the slap and tickle a little while ago."

"I planned to mention explicitly that you and I were doing the slap and tickle a little while ago," Brock pointed out. Randi glared at him until he smiled to show he was kidding.

Brock had expected – and probably hoped – to simply leave a message. Instead the phone was answered before Brock heard it ring on his end.

"Jana Jones," the voice said.

"Uh, hello, this is Brock Miller," he said.

"Hold one moment, please," he was told. He heard the voice who answered the phone yell to someone else, despite that fact it appeared she had tried to cover the mouthpiece.

"Hey, Jana, it's Brock Miller calling," he heard.

"Go to hell," another voice shouted. "That's not even fucking funny."

"I'm not kidding," the first voice replied. "At least that is who he said he is. The number said he's calling from Randi Raver's phone number."

In a moment, a new voice came on the line.

"Hi, Brock," Jana said in a voice that was completely different from the one she had used to curse out her assistant. This one was silky and light – and completely fake, Brock realized.

"Miss Jones," Brock began.

"Please, call me Jana," she said.

"Miss Jones," Brock repeated, "I was hoping this call could be avoided. I've heard from my agent and from several friends that you wished to contact me and to possibly go out. I'm sorry, but I'm not interested."

"Not interested?" Jana asked.

"I think you're very attractive but to be blunt, I don't enjoy the whole Hollywood thing," Brock said.

"You go out with Randi Raver," Jana said. The first trace of anger had seeped into her voice. "That slut is total Hollywood."

"I'll thank you not to call my friends names," Brock said. "I had no idea who Randi was when I met her. I got to know her before I became aware of her profession. You couldn't be more wrong. Randi is not a slut and she is not a fame-hound."