His Favorite Girl (2 page)

It probably had something to do with Judy.  The guard whose penis she'd bitten the head off of now had a permanent expression of rage on his face every time I saw him.

I sat in the waiting room where Kate had first seduced me and spent the next half hour reading Patton's note over and over and over.
  I folded it up at least five times and tried to make myself tear it to shreds.  I couldn't.  A love letter is like a signed legal document to a girl.  A little piece of love you can carry in your pocket.  How many middle-aged, married women in the world still had old love notes from high school stashed away in shoeboxes, unbeknownst to their unromantic husbands?

Nine o'clock was quickly approaching, so I decided to familiarize myself with my client by reading through his file.

His name was Trent Sampson, a twenty-five-year-old recent millionaire who made his fortune in the online porn industry.  Divorced, not surprisingly.  Honorably discharged from the Marines at twenty-two.

I closed the file.  What more information did I need?  A sex addict clever enough to turn a profit but enough of a dick to lose his wife in the process.

With five minutes till his expected arrival time, I went to the little wine table and poured myself a glass.  I downed it, refilled, and sat back down, but as soon as my butt hit the cushion, a bell sound chimed from the tiny speaker over the door, indicating that the elevator had opened out in the lobby.  He was here.

I gulped down my second glass of wine and stood uneasily.  My head was already swimming.

Calm down.  Patton said you don't have to do anything.  You can handle this.  He's just as nervous as you were when you came here.

I couldn't believe that.  This guy was a Marine and a millionaire.
  I was a housewife with nothing but a failed marriage.

I paused at the door with my hand on the knob and took in a deep breath, exhaling slowly.  Then I opened it.

My client was at the desk, signing the privacy agreement.  He was unusually tall and slender, almost sickly looking.  He wore slacks and a blue collared shirt, tucked in.  As he perused and signed the agreement, he had to prop himself with his left hand flat on the desk.

He looked up at me with alarm as I approached, then knelt behind the desk and brought up a set of crutches.

I stopped.

"Hi," he said.  "Sorry, I move pretty slow these days."

I watched, dumbfounded, as Trent Sampson guided himself around the desk with his crutches to reveal that he was missing his left leg.  He stopped short of me by six feet.

It took me a moment to realize my staring was making him uncomfortable.  He'd cast his eyes to the floor and his face was flushed.

"Trent Sampson?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Hi," I said, extending a hand awkwardly and speaking while he adjusted his posture to accept it.  "My name is Melissa, and I'll be your Selection Guide this morning."

"Nice to meet you," he said, nodding quickly.  He looked embarrassed.

"If you'll follow me . . ."

I led him into the waiting room and offered him a seat.

"Thanks.  I get winded pretty quickly."

He hobbled over to one of the couches and plopped down.  I sat on the opposite couch, crossed my legs, and tried to remember what the hell I was supposed to say.

Trent had the demeanor of a patient in a doctor's office.  Not the aggressive, sexually charged alpha male I'd expected.  Instead, he displayed naivety and shame.

And yet he'd made his money in porn.  It didn't make sense.

For some reason I recalled sitting in this room with Kate, telling her what led me to discover Your Favorite Girl, Inc.  Ted's affair with Ellen, my discovery of the business card.  Ted told me he'd found the card in his mail slot at work.  He hadn't sought out Your Favorite Girl.  They'd sought
him
.  A millionaire with a sex addiction.  The perfect customer.

"So, Trent," I said, fumbling for words.  "Why don't you tell me why you're here?"

He seemed confused about the question--confused in general, really.

"Um, I got an email invite from a guy named Bob.  He said I would be very interested in your line of products and that access is exclusive
."

"All true," I said.

"So I called the number and made an appointment."

"Do you know what this place is
, Trent?"

"I think so.  Y
ou sell sex dolls, right?"

"Not exactly."

"Oh . . . okay."  He sounded disappointed.  His eyes began to wander around the room nervously.  "So what
do
you sell?" he asked.

"Girls."

That reclaimed his full attention.  "Girls? 
Real
girls?"

I started to go on the same spiel Kate had delivered to me when I came here, all those lies about genetic engineering deliberately fed to clients so they could see Flora and the others as creatures, animals--not human beings.
  Trent was sitting forward now, as much as he could with only one leg to balance himself.  His curiosity was piqued, and despite his misfortune, I couldn't help but imagine the erection growing in his pants.  My sympathy for him was draining fast.

Not that I was any better.  When I came here, I was mesmerized by Flora's honey-colored skin, her youthfulness, her beauty.  I didn't want to save her.  I wanted to coil around her like a snake.

Trent waited patiently for an answer, despite his obvious arousal.  Right now I didn't know whether to kick him out and deny him the satisfaction he craved or lead him to the Showcase Hall and let him give away his entire fortune.

"Tell me something,
Trent," I said.  "What kind of business are you in?"

He coughed and sheepishly said, "Pornography, ma'am."

"You own a production company or something?"

"No, no, nothing lik
e that.  I created an adult social site where people can rate and favorite videos, and then the site suggests new videos based on the user's preferences.  I realized one night how much time you spend searching for the right porn before finally getting to . . . well, you know."

"So you're a porn addict."  This was getting worse by the minute.

"I used to be," Trent said.  "When my wife left me, I was suffering depression and PTSD.  I pretty much gave up on life and just stayed home all the time.  Before I knew it I was spending all day every day watching porn.  I started keeping a list of links to my favorite videos, and that's where I got the idea.  To make an adult social networking site that's also a database.  It's gotten so intricate now that members are actually forming private groups and making videos for each other."

"Don't you feel like a creep?"

"Ma'am?"

"The business you're in . . . it's creepy."

"More so than yours?"

I opened my mouth to respond but nothing came out.  He had a point.  What he did was mild by comparison.  Even still, he had no idea what this place was about.

"Is that why your wife left you?" I asked, regretting it when I saw the wounded expression on his face.

"The porn?"

"Y-yeah," I stuttered.

He shook his head and took a deep breath, speaking as he exhaled.  "No, she was having an affair during my tour, and when I came home missing a leg, she put up with me for about two weeks before she left to move in with the guy."

"Who was he?"

"I've never met him."

"Is this your way of getting back at her?"

He smiled for the first time.  "Ma'am, we've--"

"Stop calling me ma'am."

"I'm sorry," he said.  "Was it Melissa?"

"Yes."

He nodded.  "Melissa,
my wife and I have been divorced coming on three years now.  She tried to get back in touch with me after I made my money--apparently it didn't work out with the other guy.  If you're asking whether or not I'm over my ex-wife, yes, I am.  Though I don't see what any of this has to do with . . . what we're doing here."

"What
are
you doing here?"

"I'm . . . not really sure.  I guess I was curious.  You guys certainly like to be
cryptic."

"We have to be."

"I imagine.  After all, it's illegal, right?"

I shrugged.  The more dissenting my conversation in this waiting room--or anywhere in the building--the more I grew paranoid that someone was listening in.

Trent looked more nervous than me.  He was fidgeting, rubbing his clammy palms on his one pant leg, casting his eyes away anytime they met with mine.

I had to quit stalling and make a decision.

Warn him that if he took one step into the Showcase Hall he would squander his entire fortune and hope he took the hint?

Or lead the way and let him make his own decision?

"Are you sure you want to do this?" I asked.

He ruminated for a moment and
then nodded slowly.  "Yes, I want to see them."

"They're expensive."

"How expensive?"

"A million dollars a day."  I wasn't supposed to reveal this information until after I'd drugged him and shown him the Favorite Girls.

"People pay that?"

"Yes."

"They must be pretty good then.  When can I see them?"

I glanced at the door to the left and debated whether or not to drug him.  My job demanded it, but I didn't want to be in that position.

"If you're ready, Mr. Sampson . . ."

I stood and waited for him to align his crutches and pull himself off the couch.  Then I pressed my thumb to the panel and held the door for him
.  He beat me to the end of the hall despite working with crutches on such shaggy carpet.  The eagerness showed on his face as he waited for me to open the Showcase Hall door.

"
You don't want to do this," I whispered.

"I just want to see," he said.

A jolt of anger passed through me suddenly.  I jerked the door open and said, "Don't say I didn't fucking warn you."

He hesitated for a moment, giving me the strangest look.  Then he smiled and said, "I
appreciate your concern,
ma'am
, but I know what I'm doing."

His change in demeanor left me standing there stunned as he hobbled through the door and started down the Showcase Hall.  I had to jog to catch up with him just as he reached the first display window.

"Not in stock?" he asked.

"This one and the next one.  Keep going."

We passed Frog Girl's empty window and arrived at Diamond Girl.  Trent leaned forward and put his forehead to the glass, staring down at the squirming, breathing ornament before him.

"Wow," he breathed.

Then he moved quickly to the next window.  Doll Girl.  I thought he was going to drool.

"She can't move?"

"Or speak."

"I want this one."

"Are you sure?"

"What's next?"

"I believe Glow Girl is n--"

"No, I want this one," he snapped, glaring at me.  "Do I need to sign something or what?  Let's get the ball rolling."

I took a step back.  "This way."

I stayed ahead of him all the way to Bob's office, nervous to have my back to him but not wanting him between me and the Showcase Hall exit.  His drastic mood changes smacked of danger.  Later I would wonder if all the men lured into this hall had a propensity for violence.

I was happy to hand this asshole off to Bob, who smiled tenderly when he saw the strapping young soldier with his misfortune.

"Good luck,
Trent," I said in the doorway of Bob's office.

"Thanks for all your help," he replied at a volume that called his sincerity into question.

I watched him ease into a leather chair.  Then I fast-walked down the hallway and locked myself in my office, where I spent ten minutes crying and then took Patton's note out of my pocket and unfolded it on the desk.

There I remained for the rest of the work day, reading Patton's note over and over, worrying about the few minutes Liu would have alone with Flora right before I got back to the room, anticipating my early evening bath--at least that's what I planned to tell the girls.  In truth, I wanted some time alone so I could pop open the ventilation cover and do some exploring.

I fell asleep fantasizing about finding an exit and awoke sometime later with my cheek stuck to Patton's note.  I pulled it off and read it one last time.  I must have cried in my sleep, because the word "love" was smudged, the faintest veins of lettering in a foggy blue blur.

When I read the P.S. this time, a lump formed in my throat.  I'd carried this note for
coming on twenty-four hours, endangering Patton and myself more and more with each passing moment.

I should have been focused on the vent.  Escape.  Instead I was acting like a thirteen-year-old, seeking protection, seeking comfort.  I still barely knew this man, despite the fact that I'd had my lips on nearly every part of his bo
dy.  He was the best of a bad situation, yes, but did that justify falling in love with him?  His charming personality, his good nature, his plans to bring this company down--it could all be a stratagem, a cruel ploy to some greater purpose.  How could I possibly know?