Call Me! Page 6

When he tells me how wealthy and clever he is, he punctuates each point by patting my arm or, when he can get to it, my thigh. He’s staring at me in such a creepy and lustful way I loathe myself for putting up with it.

  He’s had a couple of drinks.

  I can tell he’s in complete control of his faculties, but he’s pretending to slur his words slightly, using the liquor as an excuse to speak more suggestively. As dinner drags on, he’s becoming more aggressive, as well.

  The low point comes when he insists we check out the dessert menu. He scoots his chair toward me till his right arm brushes my left. As he holds the menu in front of us with his left hand, he reaches up and grabs my boob with his right. I expect him to remove it as fast as he put it there, but he doesn’t. He’s rubbing and cupping my breast, and rubbing his thumb where he thinks my nipple is.

  He’s doing all this while studying my face and pretending to tell me what’s on the menu in the cheesiest possible way. I show him the best smile I can force, and allow him to continue feeling me up. He’s getting ninety percent padded bra, but the ten percent that’s me wants to slit his throat. Finally, mercifully, the waiter approaches, and Joe Asshole removes his hand and announces, “We’ve decided to skip dessert.”

  He hands the waiter a credit card and says, “Can you prepare the check?”

  The waiter thanks Joe and leaves to fetch the bill. I wonder if he’ll bring it back and say something like, “It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Fagin!”

  If he does, I wonder how Joe (Jim Davenport) Fagin will respond. I can’t believe the guy is dumb enough to use a fake name and pay with a credit card! One part of me thinks he can’t be this green. But the part of me that’s been fondled and probed the past two hours disagrees vehemently.

  This guy’s a first-class puke.

  Joe says, “How was dinner?”

  Though I’ve complimented the dinner several times tonight, he wants to remind me he’s shelled out some cash. Once again I reply, “Incredible!” But this time I add, “Did you enjoy your steak?”

  “Frankly, I’ve had better. But not better company.”

  We remain silent a full minute while he stares at me with lust in his heart. Then he says, “Do you even have a clue how hot you are?”

  “Tell me.”

  “If I poured a pitcher of ice water on your crotch, the steam coming off it would form a rain cloud.”

  “You think?”

  “I do. In fact, I’m gonna call you Princess Rain Cloud.”

  I want to retch, but say, “You’re so sweet!”

  He’s not sweet, he’s a cartoon. But I force myself to remember every word so Sophie and I can have a big laugh about it on Monday.

  While we wait for the check, Joe looks around the room before saying, “I’ll pay the bill and you’ll come to my room for champagne. Maybe we’ll order some chocolate-covered strawberries. Unless you’d rather have ice cream?”

  “I’ve had the best time,” I say, “but I’m getting a little tired, and I’ve got a long drive ahead of me tomorrow. Maybe we should call it a night.”

  He looks at me as if I’d slapped his face.

  I wish I had.

  But I hear myself say, “On the other hand, you’ve been so sweet, I hate to say goodnight. Would you like to come to my room and raid the mini bar?”

  “I’d love to!”

  The check comes, and we head for the elevator.

  THE PARLOR AREA is busy, and there are two elderly couples waiting by the elevator. When the doors open, we follow them on. According to the lit buttons, we’ll be the first ones off. With a guy as “handsy” as Joe, I definitely want to sprint to my room, but I can’t very well push him backwards to get a head start, since I might injure one of the old people. As the elevator doors close, I remove my stilettos and place them in my bag. Then I remove my room key and hold it in my right hand.

  As we exit, I shout, “Sixteen-twenty-two!” and start running full speed toward my room, while giggling. Joe’s not the type to run down the hall giggling, but he does follow me at a respectable rate of speed. Thankfully the door opens on the first swipe, and I turn the deadbolt so the door won’t lock when I close it behind me. Knowing I have ten seconds at most, I race to the back of the room, unlock the door to the adjoining room and crack it a quarter inch. I start walking back toward the front door as Joe enters.

  “How do you want to do this?” he says, in a low voice.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, how do you like it? Gentle or rough?”

  I’m glad my phone’s recording all this. He’ll have a hard time explaining himself to Carter later on, assuming she can’t hear him.

  “I’d prefer we turn the lights off,” I say.

  “I’d prefer we leave them on.”

  “Let’s compromise. We’ll leave one light on.”

  “Two.”

  “Okay, but I get to choose.”

  “Whatever.”

  I choose the desk lamp behind me and the entry way light, and turn off all the others.

  “I can barely see you!” he complains, then turns on one of the nightstand lamps. He clicks it two more times, to the highest setting, then walks to the end of the bed and sits. Now I’m standing a mere four feet in front of him. I take two steps back. The lamplight is completely illuminating me, and it’s obviously his intention to take full advantage of the view.

  I sigh, and tell myself to just deal with it, now that we’re in the home stretch.

  “Take off your top,” he says.

  “You first.”

  He takes off his shirt, then says, “Now you.”

  I lift my blouse over my head and carefully lay it over the back of the desk chair.

  “You’re so precise,” he says. “Now the jeans.”

  “You’re still wearing shoes. I’m not.”

  He takes off his shoes and socks. Then says, “Lose the pants.”

  “You first,” I say, but he says, “It’s your turn to go first.”

  I shrug, lower my jeans to my ankles, and step out of them. Then drape the jeans over the blouse.

  “Your turn,” I say.

  “I’m down to jeans,” he says. “You’re still wearing bra and panties.”

  “So?”

  “It’s two to one. I’m not wearing any underwear.”

  “Prove it.”

  “I’ll prove it after you take off the bra.”

  I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. I remove my bra and place it over the rest of my clothes on the chair.

  “Nice tits,” he says, his voice suddenly husky. “Those are real nice.”

  “Your turn,” I say.

  He stands and steps out of his pants.

  “You lied,” I say, pointing at his underwear.

  “Sue me,” he says.

  He points at my panties and says, “Show me what’s doing under there.”

  “You first.”

  He takes a menacing step toward me, then thinks better of it. I hope he doesn’t notice how close I am to being terrified. While I know Carter’s about to burst into the room, this guy is so creepy I can’t help but wonder what if?

  What if she fell asleep? What if she left the room and locked herself out? What if…

  He steps out of his underwear. I won’t go into details.

  “Now you,” he says.

  I take a couple more steps back and wriggle out of my panties.

  “You’re not shaved,” he says.

  I turn to look for Carter.

  Joe says, “I’d have taken you for shaved.”

  I take another step back, toward the door that leads to Carter’s room.

  Joe says, “I’ve gotta say, I’m surprised to see you’re a natural blonde. I’d have bet money you weren’t. But your bush is darker than your hair, so I’m not completely wrong. What do you think, Carter?”

  I spin around to see Carter Teague standing in the doorway in her bra and panties, taking my picture with her cell ph
one. I jump behind the chair.

  “I’d say she’s a honey blonde,” Carter says. Then adds, “Happy birthday, darling.”

  I turn to Joe. He’s grinning.

  “Thank you, darling,” he says. “She’s everything you promised. And more!”

  I look at Carter. “You set me up!”

  She smiles.

  I say, “You’re okay with this?

  She shrugs and says, “Joe likes the pretty girls. I like Joe. It’s his birthday.”

  I grab my panties and start putting them on.

  “I’ll give you an extra two grand to fuck him,” she says.

  Normally I’d jump to my feet and slap her, but I don’t want to deal with Joe. This is a scene that could turn ugly in a hurry. I fumble around with my bra. My hands are shaking, and it’s not happening.

  “Three grand,” Joe says, “if you’ll do both of us.”

  “I’m not a whore!” I shout.

  “Maybe, maybe not,” he says. “But you’re certainly a stripper.”

  I’m shaking with fury, trembling with fear. And can’t get the freaking bra to work. It dawns on me to give up on the bra. I scramble into my jeans, toss my blouse on, and stuff the bra in my handbag. I pause, because there’s something else in the room I don’t want to leave behind.

  But Joe’s standing between me and the thing I need.

  The three of us are at angles to each other, and something happened while I was getting dressed. Something I feel, but can’t explain. Something about the vibe in the room.

  It’s suddenly taken a dangerous shift.

  Joe’s staring at me and stroking himself, and I don’t like the look in his eyes. I decide to make a run for the door.

  Before I take the first step, Carter says, “You know what we can do?”

  “What’s that?” Joe says.

  “We can rape her.”

  “WE CAN RAPE her,” Carter repeats, “and there’s nothing she can do about it.”

  “Because you paid her five grand for sex,” Joe says.

  “Plus expenses.”

  Carter locks the connecting door. Joe dashes to the main door, locks it, and sets the metal latch. While he’s busy doing that, I run to the bed and grab the thing I didn’t want to leave behind.

  My Glock 26.

  I pull it from under the mattress and point it at Carter.

  “Jesus!” she says. “I was just kidding!”

  “I don’t think so,” I say.

  “You wouldn’t dare shoot me,” she says.

  I pull the slide back and release it, and now all three of us know the angry blonde with the shaky hands is holding a gun with a live round in the chamber. Since I’m pointing it at Carter’s face, I’m not surprised to see her assume a defensive posture, with her head turned away, hands in front of her face. I’m a little surprised to see the torrent of pee leaking through her panties, dribbling down her legs, though I’d probably pee my pants too, if I were in her situation.

  “Drop your phone on the floor and kick it to me,” I say.

  She does.

  “Now sit down.”

  She looks around. “Where?”

  “On the floor.”

  She sits in her pee.

  I turn the gun on Joe and notice his erection has collapsed.

  “Nothing says shrinkage like a loaded Glock,” I say. “Go sit on the floor by your girlfriend.”

  “She’s my wife, actually,” Joe says. “And we really were kidding about raping you.”

  When he’s on the floor beside her I rush to the door, unlock it, and remove the latch. As I do that, I hear Carter say, “I am so fucking turned on!”

  I open the door, step into the hall, and hear Joe say, “This is the best birthday present I ever had!”

  I put the gun in my handbag, close the door, and head for the elevator.

  MONDAY EVENING

  “WERE THEY SERIOUS, do you think?”

  “About raping me?”

  Sophie nods.

  “At the time, yes, absolutely.”

  “But now that you’ve had a few days to think about it?”

  “Now I’m not so sure.”

  “Because of what they said when you were leaving the room?”

  I nod. “I think they might have been acting out a part. Like some sort of twisted foreplay.”

  “Did you keep her cell phone?”

  “I put it under my tire and ran over it a couple of times. Then picked up the pieces and tossed them out the window along I-71.”

  Sophie laughs, and pours some Sauterne in her wine glass. Then tops off mine.

  “This has been the most wonderful birthday dinner ever!” she says.

  We touch glasses.

  She adds, “I can only think of two things that would make it better.”

  “Here it comes,” I say.

  She smiles. “Dare I ask how it went with Ben?”

  I sigh. “Vicky was a bust.”

  “Vicky being?”

  “Vicky Stringfellow. The schoolteacher.”

  “Ah. You met her.”

  “I did.”

  We take another sip of our dessert wine.

  Sophie says, “Let me guess. You told her he’s married.”

  “Yes.”

  “To you.”

  “Yes.”

  She shakes her head. “I can think of at least ten ways to get a woman interested in Ben. Surprisingly, none of them involve disclosing your marital status.”

  “Go figure,” I say.

  “Have you in fact spoken to Ben yet?”

  “No. But here’s the thing—”

  She waves my words away with her hand. “If any part of your explanation involves the analogy about the lemon in the vodka bottle, I might emit a loud scream.”

  “Orange.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s an orange, not a lemon. In the vodka bottle.”

  “Whatever.”

  “If you think about it, it’s a beautiful sentiment. He’s the bottle, I’m the orange. The only way I can get out is by crushing me or shattering him.”

  “There’s another way to look at it,” she says.

  I wait.

  “You’re the orange, right? And he’s the bottle?”

  I nod.

  “He’s holding you prisoner.”

  I raise my eyebrows. Sophie might be onto something. I think about it while she pours the last bit of Sauterne in my glass. Then I say, “I’m meeting a woman from my yoga class.”

  “About Ben?”

  “Yup.”

  “When?”

  “Thursday morning after class.”

  “Are you going to screw it up?”

  “Probably.”

  She shakes her head. “Can I make an observation?”

  “No.”

  She laughs. “It’s my birthday, I get to make an observation.”

  “Go ahead. Pretend you’re my mom.”

  “The deal with the women? It’s not working.”

  “That’s your observation?”

  “No. My observation is it’s not going to work.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “You need to tell him, Dani.”

  I nod.

  “You won’t be happy till you do.”

  “I know.”

  “Say you’ll do it.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “Do you mean it this time?”

  I nod. Because it’s easier to nod than to ask your loving husband for a divorce.

  Sophie starts to say something, changes her mind.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. I’m the slightest bit tipsy.”

  “No secrets, Sofe. That’s the cornerstone of our friendship.”

  She winces. “I was just going to say, if you ever find yourself in that type of situation where someone might be after you…”