Chapter 12: Rachel

Rachel Moyer tapped her beautifully manicured nails against the steering wheel of her Chevy Suburban as she impatiently sat in the well-lit and nearly full lot parking lot of the Prime Club. She checked the time on the dashboard clock. If Jason Parton showed up right now ... well, he’d actually be two minutes early for their ten-thirty rendezvous. She hoped no one saw her waiting. She was a prime, and primes didn’t wait for seconds. Not even, she supposed, pretend ones.

She hadn’t been this anxious about meeting a male of the species since she was a high school junior on her tenth date with Bill Lemeur. She had decided that it was time to take a boyfriend. There was plenty of pressure from her peer group and even her mother to do so. She wasn’t pretty or popular enough to grab one of the rich guys or hunky athletes, but Bill was a decent catch. His family was well off. He was quiet, smart, always friendly, and he was good looking, as long as you discounted his bad case of acne.

On their tenth date she had given him her virginity. She hadn’t been in love with the guy, and she doubted he would fulfill her sexual fantasies. After all, she had been giving herself orgasms on a daily basis for years. Rachel had taken him to her bed because her parents were out for the night. Bill had ruined one condom because he repeatedly let it slip from is nervous fingers. When he had finally succeeded in wrapping up his penis, he lasted all of thirty seconds inside her pussy. Rachel hadn’t cared; she had sealed the deal between them. He was hers until they parted to different colleges almost two years later.

At college, she dated around, but she wasn’t looking for Mr. Right and she certainly didn’t want some frat boy who thought she was available for booty calls. She was looking for the next Bill Lemeur, when Livy Lovinggood became her dorm room mate. Livy had been a closeted lesbian. Outside their room, Livy was just a good friend. Inside their room at night, Livy was nearly insatiable in bed. Rachel had been only mildly surprised to find that she, Rachel, was bi-sexual. But then, over a Christmas break, Livy had disappeared. Years later, Rachel learned that Livy had married a dentist and was raising five kids.

Rachel checked the dashboard clock. Jason was a minute late. She squirmed in her seat. She hoped she could pull off this favor he wanted. He would owe her, and she would demand that he repay her with that magnificent piece of meat between his legs. She planned to ride that thing until it wilted, and then she’d suck it back to life and do it all over again.

Headlights flashed across her vision as a vehicle pulled into the lot. It was a large, black SUV. As it stopped, Jason emerged from the passenger side. He said something to the driver and closed the door. The SUV pulled through the lot and onto the street on the other side of the club. Rachel emerged from her Suburban and waited for him to come to her.

“Hi, you look nice,” Jason said as he approached. Rachel had gone for a western look. She was wearing a calf length, fawn colored, pleated skirt above some very expensive hand-tooled boots. Her white, loose fitting linen shirt had three quarter-sleeves. Over her shirt was a vest in the same color and pattern as her boots, as was the clutch she carried.

“You do too,” she said.

“I look like a dork,” Jason said. He was wearing pressed black chinos, a crisp white dress shirt and black leather shoes.

“No,” Rachel said, “you’re dressed like a second and you should be acting like one even as we speak. Understand?”

“Ma’am, yes ma’am,” Jason said with a grin. “I’ll salute if you want.”

Suppressing a smile, she said, “You shouldn’t salute, but you should stand up straight and listen to orders.” Jason threw back his shoulders, lifted his chin and looked attentive.

“Good,” she said. “Remember, when we walk, you stay one step behind. Don’t speak to anyone unless I give you leave. If you have to get my attention, speak softly or tap me once ... and only once on the shoulder or arm. Don’t forget the usual courtesies such as opening doors or pulling out my chair.”

Jason clicked his heels and nodded.

“You’re incorrigible,” she said with a shake of her head.

They walked to the door of the club. At the last second, Jason leapt ahead and opened the door for her. They entered an antechamber where an elderly man sat at a high desk. “Good evening Ms. Moyer,” he said as they entered.

“Good evening, Harold,” she said. “I have a visitor with me tonight.”

“I see,” Harold said as if noticing Jason for the first time even though they were practically face to face in the small room. “Does the young gentleman understand the rules of the club?”

“Answer the man,” Rachel said after Jason stayed correctly silent for two full seconds.

“I understand that the first rule of Club Prime is that no one talks about Club Prime,” Jason said somberly.

The old man’s lips may have flirted with lifting a corner of his mouth for a smile ... but perhaps not. “Remember, your behavior reflects directly on your prime,” he said. “Please go in.”

Jason pulled open the inner door and followed Rachel into the club. The interior of the club couldn’t have been in more of a contrast to the neighborhood in which it lay. The neighborhood was a mixture of drab light commercial and manufacturing businesses. The interior of Club Prime was inspired by the nightclubs of the pre and post-World War Two decades. Pastel drapes covered the walls and there was a carpet under foot. Round tables set in arcs faced a dance floor and stage. In the rear was a bar. Most of the illumination came from lamps at the center of each table. Shades kept the patron’s faces in shadow. Until one’s eyes grew use to the light, the club could seem to be full of headless torsos. Red glows from lit cigarettes of the tobacco and non-tobacco variety made for a hazy atmosphere.

Rachel made her way to the bar. Seconds dressed in black and white like Jason stepped nimbly to the side as she passed. Most of them were carrying drinks or food to their primes. The club could have seated twice as many patrons, but plenty of room had been left between the tables for the seconds to serve their primes, or to stand and await orders.

Rachel slid onto a stool at the bar. She was relieved to see Jason take his place behind her. No doubt he’d taken his cue from a couple of primes and seconds at the other end of the bar. The bartender, a short man with a black bowtie on his white shirt came over.

“Evening, Ms. Rachel,” he said, “the usual?”

“Yes, Paul, thank you,” she said. A minute later, the man put a glass of blended scotch poured over two ice cubes in front of her on top of a coaster. “If Mr. Norman’s in, ask if he can give me a few minutes,” she said as she picked up the glass.

The bartender nodded and went to a phone. When he put it down, he returned and said to Rachel, “Mr. Roger said to come to his office at your convenience.”

Rachel thanked him and turned to Jason. “I have to speak with Roger Norman. He runs Club Prime and one of his seconds is the person we need to install your USB drive. You can take my seat while I’m gone. Order a drink if you want one. Be sure to keep your elbows off the bar and don’t strike up any conversations. Understand?”

“Permission to breathe, Ma’am?” Jason said in a low voice.

Rachel rolled her eyes and carried her drink to the far end of the bar. A hallway lined with framed, tasteful prints led to the other end of the building. As she neared the door at the end, it was opened by an Asian looking young man. “Ms. Rachel, sir,” he said with a distinct Texas twang as she neared.

Rachel entered into an office that was larger than her three bedroom apartment. There was a huge desk for its owner, a conference table that could seat twelve and a sitting area complete with a freestanding fireplace. Roger Norman walked across the room to meet her. He was always well dressed. Tonight he was wearing a gray three piece suit with a forest-green tie over a crisp, white shirt. He was a tall, thin man with a high forehead, and he was the only modern man Rachel had ever seen who could sport a pencil thin mustache without looking silly.

“Rachel, good to see you,” he said as they touched hands. “Can I freshen that?” He motioned to the drink in her hand.

“No, thank you,” Rachel said.

“Let’s have a seat then,” Roger said, waving her to the sitting area. “Bobby, I’ll have two fingers of the Jack,” he said to the young man. Bobby handed him the drink from a built in bar almost before Roger could get comfortable in his chair. “I heard that you brought a visitor to the club. A young man with many fine qualities I’m sure,” he said in a tone that meant he wanted to hear more about Jason.

Rachel wasn’t surprised that Roger knew about Jason. Harold, the gatekeeper, had probably informed him the second she and Jason had left his sight. She shrugged and said, “He may work out. He’s pliable, intelligent, funny and he has one really outstanding quality.” She held up her hands, palms facing and spread them about a foot apart. She looked at her hands for a second and then moved them even farther apart.

“Good for you. I hope it does work out,” he said with a laugh. Perhaps I could then talk you into a trade for a day or two. So how’s the store coming along?”

Rachel knew he was asking about the store she was planning to open, not the little hole she ran now. After all, Roger was a silent partner in her new business. He was a successful entrepreneur and real estate tycoon. Word was, he had come from a wealthy New England family and had become embroiled in a steamy sex scandal while in college. His family had shooed him out west where he had done very well for himself. He was a millionaire many times over. Club Prime was mostly a hobby and a means to facilitate his sexual lifestyle. Most of the building that housed Club Prime was actually his business office. Rachel had taken it as a very good sign that he wanted to be in business with her. He didn’t back very many losers.

“Pretty well,” Rachel said. “I have merchandise ordered and several good salespeople are lined up. But Sam Cowan is beginning to drag his feet about some of the refurbishing. If it gets much worse, I’ll have to push back the opening.” Sam Cowan was her general contractor.

Roger nodded. “Sam is bad about putting someone off because he’s behind somewhere else. I recommended Sam to you; let me have a word with him. Did you get with Donna? Ready to go there?” Donna was his CPA.

“I wanted to ask you about some of the procedures,” Rachel said. So they talked accounting and finance for a solid thirty minutes. At that point the whiskey was gone and there was an air of finality between them. That was when Rachel said, “Oh, I was hoping to ask a favor of you.”

“Anything I can do,” Roger said.

“A friend of mine came into town the other day,” Rachel said. “He’s looking for his sister and thinks she may be in the Table Top under an assumed name. He obtained the services of a private investigator. Apparently, the PI thinks the best way to see if she’s there is to simply look for her on Table Top’s closed security monitors. To that end, I was given this.” She pulled the diminutive USB drive from a slit pocket in her skirt. “If someone can plug this into a computer on the resort’s security cam network, then the PI can tap into it.”

“It sounds as if your friend knows all about Leia Stewart’s position at Table Top,” Roger said as he stroked his mustache and gave her a suspicious look.

Rachel nodded in agreement. It didn’t take a genius to figure that Leia was the logical choice to plant the drive. “You’re right, of course, but Leia’s not going to be in a position to do it for the next few days.” Mainly because I’m not going to ask her, but I can’t admit that to you, she thought. “And they need it done as soon as possible; that’s why I’ve come to you. I overheard one of your seconds say that he worked in the same department as Leia.”

She read Roger’s face and saw that he was about to refuse her. She added hastily, “For what it’s worth, I believe my friend. He says this thing will do its work and then fry itself into an untraceable lump. And...” she lowered her voice to add emphasis, “this would be a nice little poke in the eye for Dusty Ingram.”

Roger snorted. Years before, Dusty Ingram had been a state senator for Nevada when the developers of Table Top were buying land for the resort. Roger had speculated on a central strip of that land and he wasn’t willing to sell it cheaply. Dusty Ingram had rammed a bill through the Nevada state government condemning the property for the public good. As a result, Roger had merely broken even on his sale of the property; far from the hundred fold profit he had planned on. Soon thereafter, Ingram had retired from public life only to take a job with the resort at a ridiculously high salary.

“Very well then,” Roger said. “If you’d hand the drive to Bobby.” Bobby sprang from a corner of the room where he’d been standing and let Rachel drop the drive in his hand. “Bobby, get Brett on the phone for me. He can swing by on his way to work.” He turned to Rachel and said, “Your drive should be installed early tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you so much,” she said. “My friend will thrilled.”

“I’m afraid the business man in me won’t let me do this without a favor in return,” Roger said.

“Oh, certainly,” Rachel said. “What did you have in mind?”

She smiled and nodded as he spoke.

Rachel returned to the bar. As she had requested, Jason was sitting quietly with his hands in his lap. His eyes didn’t look as sharp as they had been, though. There was a tall, empty glass in front of him on the bar. She caught a strong whiff of alcohol as she stopped next to him. “Hi,” she said. “Did you have a drink?”

He looked at her as if she’d suddenly popped into the air next to him. “I asked for some ice tea,” he said.

“I think he gave you the special blend they grow on Long Island; it’s potent stuff,” she said. “Listen, I arranged for the USB to be installed tomorrow morning, but I had to agree that you would do Mr. Norman a favor.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed. He said, “Me? What kind of favor?”

“Come with me,” Rachel said.

They walked the length of the club and stepped through an unmarked door. Here was what passed for the backstage area of Club Prime. There was a dressing table, a couple of chairs, a full length mirror and hanging from hooks in the wall were a variety of abandoned clothes hangers. Ten feet away, steps led up to the stage that was about four feet above the main floor.

“Take off your clothes,” Rachel said.

“Do what?” Jason said in confusion.

Lights brightened as Roger Norman walked from the opposite side of the stage to stand at its center. There was a smattering of applause as he lifted a wireless microphone to his lips. “Good evening primes,” he said in his clear, cultured voice. “It’s so nice to see so many of you here in the middle of the week. We didn’t have any entertainment planned for tonight, but never let it be said that I don’t know how to seize an opportunity. Would any of you be interested in an impromptu cock-walk competition?” Enthusiastic applause, whistles and shouts of consent erupted from mostly feminine voices. “I thought you’d like that,” Roger said. “Primes, you may send your seconds for a drink on the house. That’s one drink, John,” he said pointing to someone in the audience. There was general laughter. “We’re keeping count.”

Someone shouted a question from the crowd. “Take your time,” Roger said. “We’re not quite ready.” He peered to the side at Rachel and Janson, frowned and then walked to the other side of the stage. After conferring with someone there, he walked back to center stage.