“She’s a kid, Aaliyah,” Scarlett tried to remind her. “Only eighteen. Everything here is all new to her, so foreign to anything she’s ever known, and I doubt Kayleigh realizes she’s giving that impression. None of us enjoy being passed over in lineups, you included. Give her time. Pamela said she was going to talk to her about handling her emotions better and the way she presents herself.”
“Kayleigh is exhibit A of why I fucking hate turnouts! Clueless bitches; they come here with the idea that all they gotta do is lie on their backs and count the money as it keeps pouring in. They think all the tricks they’ll fuck are polite, older versions of the guys they fucked back home, they smell of breath mints and cologne, and everything is wonderful, it’s all peachy. But soon enough, reality sets in and these fucking turnouts get put to the ultimate test.
“Look at the way Kayleigh stutters and blushes and stares at the carpet during lineups. And she runs off and cries when she isn’t chosen. Y’all know what I’m talkin’ about! Kayleigh won’t make it here. She needs to go back to wherever the hell it is she came from – Palm Springs, I guess – ask her mommy and daddy for a diaper change and be put back into her crib. Permanently!”
“Wow. That’s a little rough, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not!” she fired back at Scarlett.
“I don’t think Kayleigh is going anywhere,” Sahara said. “Pamela is sweet on her. You know she controls Colt and his thoughts. He’d never send her packing unless Pamela agreed to it first.”
Nicolette nodded. “Pamela is in love with Kayleigh.”
“Then fuck Pamela too! You think I give a damn what she thinks? That I’m scared of her because she’s the boss’s wife? If you do, you straight trippin’.” Aaliyah possessed a hair-trigger temper and often thundered into expletive-laden tirades over the simplest things.
She led a difficult life in recent years, double dipping as a street hooker in New York City and had a history of cocaine, rehab, chlamydia and trichomoniasis infections, prison sentences, and failed relationships. Those hardships had taken a massive toll and she wasn’t always the most pleasant person to deal with.
Still, Aaliyah treated her customers like gold. Despite the volatile pot of wrath always brewing within, Aaliyah’s job was secure because she made the brothel top dollar.
“I refuse to work at a house where some little eighteen-year-old newbie thinks she’s better and more deserving than everyone else. Fucking Kayleigh. That little cunt couldn’t walk a mile in my shoes.” Aaliyah’s brown eyes flashed, and her chest rose under her next inhale. “I’ve been doing this for close to a decade and never once have I thought I was entitled to anything. Shiiiiit!” She made wild, sweeping gestures with her arms. “I’ve worked for everything in life and always treated all the other working girls, especially the older ones when I was young myself, with respect. That’s how I’ve survived this long.”
With Aaliyah’s rant in mind, Kenzie said to Lindsay in the current time, “I’d leave Aaliyah alone for a couple of days. Don’t talk to her, don’t look at her. She cycles through various moods and you gotta let them pass. Who knows? Aaliyah might’ve had a bad party herself last night. My suggestion is to be kind, be respectful, and things will work themselves out in the end. Trust me, okay? Remember, we’re all in this together. Us working girls need to support one another as best we can.”
Lindsay glowered. “Because no one else will.”
<> <> <> <> <>
“Oh, you are such a rebel.” Colt inclined his head and shot Pamela a glare. “What are you doing? Don’t open that! You’re gonna get yourself caught and we’ll both wind up in trouble.”
“Haven’t been caught yet, have I?” In the health and beauty care section of Naturetyme Market, an upscale, high-end grocery megastore in Oakfall, Nevada, Pamela made sure the coast was clear one final time and popped the cap from a bottle of body mist perfume. “Gotta see if I like it or not.” She spritzed a dose on her wrist and took a hearty, drawn-out sniff. “Hmm, sweet. What do you think?” After extending her hand to Colt’s nose for a few seconds, Pamela put the cap back on and dropped the bottle into their shopping cart.
“You know you’re not supposed to open products and put them back on the shelf if you don’t like them.” Colt was displeased but couldn’t suppress his smile either. “I’m sure a grocery store this large has cameras everywhere. One of these days, you’re going to wind up on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted List. I can see it now – Wanted: Pamela McCarron, The Queen Heaux of Flagstone.” He shivered. “You’ll be on your own after that. Count. Me. Out.”
“You’re so silly.” Pamela’s face was bright, rosy. “Not going to stand by your wife in her time of need, huh?” Her grin became wider. “Besides, I didn’t put it back on the shelf. It’s in the cart. I’m buying it.”
Colt huffed. “You’ve put many things you’ve sampled back on the shelf over the years. You’re a bad, bad girl, Pammy. A rebel. A criminal.” He made a motorcycle-like noise with his mouth. “So hot.”
“Stop being silly!”
Several items were scattered throughout their cart already, though they entered the store a short time ago. Since the selection at this grocer was much larger and more diverse than anything Flagstone Foods offered, Pamela thought it was time to stock up.
“You’re right, though. Others may think of me as a dumb hoe, but I’m not. I’m Queen Heaux.”
He shot her another sidelong glare. “I don’t think anyone has ever questioned your intelligence. At least, not anyone who matters.”
Pamela hardened her brow. “You’d be surprised.”
“Buy whatever you want, babe. I don’t mind.” Colt browsed the aisles as he allowed her to guide him. “Although, I still think we should stop at Taco Bell before we go back to the house.” He gave her a flirty once-over. Looking fit and fabulous, Pamela showed off her amazing physique in a black crop top and leggings and wore her long blonde hair in a ponytail with a baseball cap over top of it. Colt’s eyes drifted south and settled on her pelvis. “I don’t know about you, but I have a hardcore craving for a spicy, red-hot chalupa right about now.”
“You’re crazy. Crazy and silly.” Pamela laughed again as Colt waggled his eyebrows. “Absolutely not! No Taco Bell.” She pursed her lips, hopeful. “How about we get takeout from Viva la Vegan instead?”
His eyes darted back up to hers. “Sure, we can do that. It won’t be much of a wait if we call and order ahead of time once we’re out in the Pamelamobile.” He moved closer, his breath soft and hot on her neck. “I’ve enjoyed being out and about with you these past twenty-four hours. Thank you, sweetheart. We both needed this.”
She flashed her teeth. “I’ve enjoyed it, too, baby. It’s been fun.”
Their time away from the brothel started yesterday morning with Colt’s offer to take Pamela and Scarlett to the hotel in Ambridge so they could sleep following their overnight party with Charlie. After getting a bite to eat in the afternoon, Colt talked Pamela into going back to the hotel and lying down while he returned Scarlett to Flagstone. He drove right back to Ambridge but made a stop at the local market first.
Colt bought Pamela some leafy greens, a whole pineapple, fresh strawberries, three bottled waters of her favorite brand, and a Glambox (a twelve-compartment tray) for her many tubes of lipstick at the ranch. She needed one because the last holder she had recently broke. At the moment, all her lipsticks were spread in a drawer.
He bought her an ice cream too. He’d gone overboard, yes, but no expense was too high for his Pamela.
Once they return to work later today, she would find four dozen long-stem roses waiting in a vase on top of the bar. Colt ordered them last evening from Flagstone Florist Direct and they were delivered this morning.
But last night? Last night was all about Pamela. She was delighted at the items her husband purchased and melted into the bed when he gave her a deep, full-body massage and finger-fed her strawberries at the same time. The heat pad on her back worked wonders. They cuddled for hours like newlyweds and spoke about several topics.
Colt ran off to a Basque-style restaurant and brought her back a delicious mushroom soup and a tray of vegan chips for dinner. As the night progressed, they transitioned to the spacious, old-world bathtub, and he gave her another rubdown.
But here’s the kicker: nothing that happened was sexual. Colt didn’t lay a finger on her in an erotic, forward manner all night. He didn’t even want his wife to think about sex.
Being able to hold and cherish Pamela and remind her of how precious she was with constant angel kisses across her face and forehead was far better than sex. It was superior in every way because Colt was gravely concerned for her.
I wish Charlie picked someone other than you for his coming out party. You’re still exhausted. How much longer can you go at this pace before something horrible happens?
Colt’s issue wasn’t that Charlie was a rotten guy. He’d been a model client and spent tons of money. Though he got carried away at times, Charlie respected Pamela’s limits. She said so herself and Colt believed her.
Plus, the nine e-mails he’d sent since yesterday made him endearing. Pamela loved considerate clients and those messages brought a smile to her face. Charlie had a huge heart and wanted to share his life with someone. That someone would never be Pamela, but she still felt sympathy and wished he’d meet someone special.
Colt was no doctor, but realized Pamela was speeding down a road she shouldn’t be. She was playing with fire and one day might get scorched. Several former employees of Happy Ending Ranch suffered from PTSD and a disassociation from their bodies. Unfortunately, he was already witnessing glimpses of the latter from Pamela.
You need to retire before you suffer a catastrophic burnout that you may never recover from.
Sex work was arduous. It was degrading and had robbed a handful of those ex-employees of the most basic and fragile parts of their humanity. This profession destroyed lives. Critics argued that establishments like Happy Ending Ranch programmed men to believe they were entitled to sexual gratification and women were commodities to be bought and sold. They also claimed that for the vast majority, prostitution was an endless loop of being hunted, dominated, harassed, assaulted, and battered.
Leave a Reply