H
er pussy wrote
her a letter that afternoon with only four words:
STOP HIM AT ONCE.
She sat there at the restaurant with a smirk on her face, daring to cross her legs as her crotch throbbed and ached from the recent erogenous romping. She twisted ever so slowly in her seat, ass raised just a smidgen in the air as she gangster leaned to the side, falling into the private, hedonistic memories. Her mouth opened to release the lyrics of a song that paired with her mood so well, but all she could muster was a sigh as the kitty between her thighs whimpered and pulsed with a pleasing, dull pain. Nick had fucked her to infinity and beyond just two hours prior to her arrival at the café, but it was no damn toy story. She was a human being for goodness’ sake, not some wind-up machine… Hell, it had been her own damn fault, too.
She was part of the sensual nonsense, a secret society with only two members. They’d made a pact, an agreement that consisted of plentiful meetings at their home during rushed lunch hours. By all accounts, her Love was pushin’ papers by day and pushing her pussy to the brink by night. She couldn’t blame it all on him, however. At times, she initiated things by sending a playful text message or email, inviting the bastard to fuck her fast and deep, go on a tempting tryst and then return to their jobs. Jobs…
I’m unemployed again… shit.
For a moment, she pitied herself, recalling the day when she had so much work, she had been forced to turn down people. The pages of those chapters though were worn with time, the words faded, almost unreadable. The moment of movement had arrived now, to release and relate to reality. It was time to let up, let go, and let herself know the damn truth. Nick had been right all along.
Modeling was no longer her passion any damn more anyway and despite the occasional person sitting a few feet away taking her photo, as occurred right at that instant, she didn’t mourn her face and body plastered on glossy pages alongside perfume samples and expensive car ads. No… she lamented the love and devotion from her past admirers from time to time, but her life now screamed of something bigger and better, if only she could grasp it and keep it from escaping into the night. Time proved a cruel son of a bitch—and it let her know every damn day that hers was running thin.
I’ve got to come up with another plan. Maybe this just wasn’t meant to be… but no, I don’t believe that. I don’t really believe that at all. I can bypass an investor and do the shit myself, but that would take forever. I could go to my parents and ask for a start up loan, but then it’s not really mine, it’s theirs. This isn’t about pride or my damn ego though. This is about being able to do some shit without my dad’s money and mom’s backing. I want to utilize my own connections, make a way. Someone is going to listen to me damn it; they have to…
She refocused on the reason why she was sitting there in the first damn place. Today, her assignment had ended and she was waiting for her accomplice in modeling crime to burst through the door—Vicki Laurel, a woman she loved the hell out of. Vicki didn’t have many friends but didn’t give a fraction of a fuck. Reason: She had a loose mouth, ostentatious ways, but was envied by many despite these ‘brand defects’. Vicki was a ‘you need bail money girlfriend’ and money mentor all in one. A fellow model from London who’d moved to New York after being discovered at the young age of seven, she knew her way around a damn runway, as well as a boardroom. She’d taken a liking to Taryn for some strange reason, albeit initially, they’d shared little in common. Regardless, she liked the woman… Vicki had some magic, some star quality shit that you were either born with, or you simply made do and lived without. Taryn was partial to strange, shiny things that sparkled under the moon, and Vicki shimmered like freshly minted coins illuminated from a dancing candle flame.
Vicki’s pale, porcelain skin glowed on a face framed by long, poker straight dark brown hair with natural auburn highlights. Her tresses were dramatically parted on one side and swooped over her right eye… and damn those eyes… Her almond shaped jade green windows to the soul gave her an exotic look that kept men and some women gasping and panting, wishing to sample her European wares.
Taryn had known the vixen for years, and was rather surprised when she’d reached out to her earlier that week, out of the blue, and invited her for lunch. She’d missed the woman terribly, but the lady had been so busy, they’d barely been able to touch base as of late. Vicki was all about business; even a lunch date with her typically had little to do with dainty, delicate appetizers and robust salads with home-made vinaigrettes… Whatever the cause for breaking French bread and dipping the damn thing in oil, it had to be something that would get her financial juices flowing so they could both toast to the concoctions cooked up in the vixen’s mind.
She took another sip of her unsweetened iced tea, caught a seed from a wedge of lemon between her teeth and cloaked a napkin over her mouth to spit the damned thing out. She huffed as time ticked away, then glanced out the window, watching the Manhattan crowd move up and down the streets like mission-driven work ants marching off to the meet the motherfucking Queens, or maybe they were headed to Brooklyn or Long Island… she simply didn’t care. She sat there in Manhattan, enjoying the scenery nevertheless. It had been a few days since she’d been in the city, and she welcomed the change of pace. Just then, Vicki’s long, lean body meandered her way, her arm swinging wildly with each rapid step and her hair bouncing and gathering across her shoulder with each carefully crafted movement. All eyes turned to the woman, and then the low chatter began…
“That’s Vicki Laurel!” someone screamed out.
Love or hate her, she was the official showstopper. Dressed in a pair of sable brown knitted pants and a long matching vest that barely covered her flat chest, the lady approached, a kitschy smirk on her face, and her long leopard print clutch tucked securely under her arm.
“Taryn Jones!” She grinned as she leaned forward, her lengthy onyx beaded necklace swaying along with her willowy body as she kissed her on her cheek before taking her seat. Camera phones surrounded them from a short distance as people took the woman’s photo, snapping here and there, unashamed of their thirst for gossip and violations of privacy.
“So.” The lady set her purse down upon the table, picked up her menu, then tossed it aside as if realizing it was a mere coloring book. Scratching her nape, she took a quick survey of her surroundings and cocked her head to the side. “You may wonder what this is all about.”
“It’s not about lunch?” Taryn teased, knowing her friend all too well. She leaned back leisurely in her seat, wearing an award-winning smile. “Put me in the know. I’m ready.”
“Well,” she said with a smile. “Here it is. I’m working with Betsey Johnson right now.”
Taryn nodded in understanding.
“Next year, I’m doing Fashion Week with her as well. Well, it just so happens Taryn that she wanted to bring another model along for her upcoming show and not that she’s hurting for any recommendations, but she actually asked me to give her some suggestions… Apparently, she trusts my judgment.” The tips of her fingers swayed against the fabric of her vest. “Imagine my surprise.” Her lips twisted in a garish grin.
“I’m not surprised actually, Vicki. It was quite obvious that she was taken by you several years ago… I’ve never been in any of her shows, but I’ve heard a lot about them and her personally, actually. From what I hear, you two rub shoulders quite a bit.”
“We do, but she’s never asked me anything like that. You know her reputation; she runs her own show and knows what she wants. And… she wants some new blood, wanted to spice things up a bit. She asked, I answered. I immediately thought of
you
…”
“Well, thank you, Vicki. I really appreciate it.” She took a nervous swallow of her tea. “What does this entail?”
“There is a fashion gala at the Metropolitan Museum of art in a couple of months.”
“Serendipity, Satindippity – The Belle of Blue.”
“Exactly…hold on.” She paused, looked down at her phone, then tossed it aside. “I need a drink like right fuckin’ away!” Tossing her classy modes to the side like yesterday’s headline news, she waved her thin, branch like arm frantically in the air, lips puckering up as if she were about to whistle for a cab. A waiter with a long black ponytail flowing down his back immediately drifted to her side with an empty tray in hand and a coy grin on his face… one of definite familiarity.
“Ms. Laurel, I apologize for my delay. There were several people opting to purchase you a drink so it slowed me down a bit. Particularly those men over that way.” He threw a lazy glance over his shoulder at several men sitting in expensive dark suits at the bar, their brows bouncing up and down like Groucho Marx as they waved their glasses in her general direction.
Oh God… here we go…
“Oh, fuck them,” Vicki said leisurely as she waved them off like gnats hovering over a piping hot meal. “Look, I want a simple drink for a simple girl.”
“Of course.”
“I want an Amaretto Sour, and then bring out a Lemon Drop. If I’m still feeling alive and breathing just fine, I’ll request more until my friend here offers to split a cab and get me back home straight away. Do you understand?”
Taryn smirked and shook her head.
“Certainly. Would you like to hear our lunch specials?”
“What’s your name again?” Vicki grinned up at the handsome guy in a sarcastic sort of way. “I’m sorry, I know you see me every damn month but my brain is so fried right now.” She dumped her phone back into her bag.
“Dale.”
“That’s right, Dale. Let me ask you a question, dear. Do I look like I eat?” She grinned a bit wider. “Have you
ever
known me to order any food from here, hmmm?”
“Well no, I can’t say that I have but it’s my job to inquire, Ms. Laurel, and besides, it doesn’t hurt to ask.” He nodded in an agreeable sort of way.
“But it
does
hurt to order and then eat the shit. I am 6’1, Dale. Six fucking one. This morning I weighed myself and it came up to exactly 138 lbs. My agent told me that I needed to lose five for a show in two days. My diet is mainly liquid mush and a basket full of vitamins, minerals, and crap I can’t even pronounce. I work out twice a day until I can barely stand straight, my mood is programmed to a comfortable 72 degrees with a chance of bitchy, and my I.Q. is higher than that of those married dicks over there trying to buy my pussy with the wave of their ‘someone is about to get alimony, you scum-bag’ filled wallets. I
do
want to be catered to. I’m a spoiled fucking brat, but that’s neither here nor there.”
Taryn dropped her head and laughed so hard within, her entire body vibrated. Her eyes moistened with a fresh wave of silliness that only Vicki could cause.
“And one more thing regarding the model worshipers over there in the penis gallery, and yeah, I meant to say penis, Dale.” She waved her finger towards the fuckers still winking and smiling in her direction. “Tell them I only fuck billionaires and each thrust is a thousand dollars so they better cum quick. Now.” She snatched the menu off the table and scanned it. “I’m hungrier than I’ve ever been in my entire, miserable life and you ask me if I want to eat! Does a whore want to fuck? Does a school marm want to beat hands with a ruler?! Of course I do! I’m at death’s damn door… Do you know what that feels like?!”
“Can’t say that I do…” The man’s lips trembled as he did his damnedest to control his laughter.
“It feels like I could turn into a cannibal, Dale… I could sop you up with warm tea and biscuits, just like my mum used to make. I could sink my freshly cleaned and dental grade whitened teeth into your shoulder and delight in the flavor of your tender, young flesh… How barbaric, yes? This beautiful, poised woman sitting here talking about chomping away at her waiter—a man that has treated her horrid self with nothing but kindness while she’s returned his favor with contempt…I’m a fucking asshole. And no—no need for modesty.” She lazily waved her hand in his direction. “I
know
I’m stunning, goddamn it. I can barely keep from making love to myself every morning, it’s no wonder I’ve labeled myself as bisexual.”
At this, Taryn burst out laughing, unable to take another second of Vicki’s antics with a straight face.
“Anyway, this is serious business!” The lady smirked. “If I gain one more goddamn pound, I could be in big fucking trouble, so you go back into that kitchen of yours,” she pointed across the way, “and you ask that chef in there to cut me up one, and I mean just
one
,” she said, holding up a finger, “celery stalk into tiny slices with a dab of fat free Ranch dressing or the equivalent. And don’t you fucking giggle; control yourself or your tip will be no laughing matter. Do you understand me, Dale?”
The man’s lips kinked in a quivering grin as he took her menu from her grip and for a moment, he clamped his eyes shut, no doubt pushing back tears of laughter.
“Yes, I understand,” he finally stated, semi-straight faced.
“Good, because it would be a travesty if I left from here, walked into a bakery, and told the employees it was a stick up…demanding all of their sweet, carb-filled treats! Ugh!” She waved him away as if he disgusted her, but all the man could do was laugh, and Taryn, too.
“Vicki, you are a horrible woman…
horrible
!” Taryn taunted.
The lady chuckled and leaned back in her seat, closed her eyes for a spell or two as if utterly exhausted. “I know… I simply can’t help myself. Now, I know you haven’t been out of rehabilitation long, and I hope you don’t mind me drinking but—”
“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t mind you drinking, Vicki.”
“Okay, great. I thought about that after the fact. That is my way after all; quite inconsiderate I am. It would be devastating if I ever changed.”
“You really are a trip.” Taryn smirked and shook her head.
“I know,” she said, smiling proudly. “Okay, so anyway, back to Betsey. The show is happening soon and I mentioned you. She’s interested. Would you like to come down and meet her? She’s in town right now.”