Politics. Escorts. Blackmail. (19 page)

Tuesday—March 13, 2012

A
few days later, Midori put up the one hundred fifty thousand dollars to get her sister out.

The entire time Money was in jail, Jamie was available only to answer three of her calls. Midori hadn’t heard from him once about the bail. And Money was not happy about that one bit.

Jamie did, however, pick up once she was released from jail that morning.

They rode to her place in his black Lexus ES 350. Money was on edge. It showed on her makeupless face and in her disappointed voice. She looked thinner, tired, and troubled, and said, “Jamie. I want to know. I can see that I’m not going to be able to depend on you. Needless to say, this is important, and I need someone who’s got my back. If the whole world turns on me, you and my sister cannot.”

He said with certainty, “I’ve got you. It’s just that this has been hard on me, too. I know you’re on the front line, and you’ve got a lot to lose. And I know if people get called in to testify, I’ll be on that list. It’s getting heated. You’ve gotta expect me to be a little nervous. I work for Lip Service, too, and I know some things. They know me. People know my face. They could be watching me for all we know. I did bring you to turn yourself in. Now don’t make it sound like I’m a total no-show. I mean, I didn’t get around to calling Midori more than once, but hey, I’m here now.”

She sounded exhausted. “Excuse me, but right now this isn’t about you. And that’s no reason for you to not take my calls.”

He continued explaining, “Every time I got a call from the jail, I kept getting the message that I’d need to wait until the prison released the caller’s authorization, or some shit.”

“Jamie, I set up a prepaid account through the jail, so that call was paid for by me, handled before I placed it. Don’t give me that crock. All you had to do was pick up the damn phone. Shit, mighty funny how my calls to Midori went through just fine. You need to cut this mess out. I have no idea what you’re up to. But I’m telling you now, if you don’t show your true colors, you will be cut off. Your payroll is the only one still going through, but I will have it canceled in a heartbeat. Did you handle that situation with the fifty thousand? I’m sure you got that money.”

“I did. It’s done. It was money well spent. I was able to help my sister out.”

“Money well spent? It’s all gone?”

“I told you that’s the exact amount I needed to get things straight for now. But hell, since then there’s some more mess happening. Everybody looks to me. Years ago, I could always help whenever someone needed something. But that’s not the case now.”

She looked impatient. “Well, guess what? Tell their asses no. Shit. You kill me with your stories about helping people, yet you can’t help yourself. I’m fighting for my life right now. I’ve got to pay Midori back when I get home, and take care of my business. You need to take care of yours.”

“I’m trying.” He drove faster, trying to merge into traffic.

“No you’re not.” She cut her eyes sharp. “And what the hell is up with Leilani’s ass? She’s running her damn mouth about the business, acting like if she doesn’t say anything specifically, she’ll be a do-gooder by educating people on what the word
escort
means.” She folded her arms. “Money-hungry bitch. I can’t believe her. She really surprised me.” She looked out the window. “Clean and easy. Try dirty and hard. She’ll get hers, though. Yes she will. And you haven’t heard from Kemba?”

“No. I’d be surprised if he still has my number. He’s never called me once for a ride or anything else.”

“No telling what his ass is doing. And I’m 100 percent sure Romeo is doing backflips right about now.”

“I’m sure.”

She rubbed her eyes. “Just so you know, I’m going to my mom and dad’s house in Atlanta for a while.”

“Okay. Are you allowed to fly right now?”

She explained, “No, I’m not supposed to leave but I have to go. I’m driving. I won’t be home. I’m just letting you know.”

“Got it.”

“Gotta clear my head. Gotta get away.”

“I got you.”

“No you don’t.
I’ve
got me.”

Friday—March 16, 2012

M
oney’s parents, Beverly and Arthur Watts, lived in a modest area just south of Atlanta in a suburb called Fairburn.

They had a large ranch home that would’ve been twice the price or more in most other states, but because the prices of homes in Georgia were so cheap, they got it at a steal. It was a brick house, three bedrooms and three baths, which worked out because her mom and dad slept in separate bedrooms.

Neither of them was old enough to receive Social Security just yet; neither worked outside of the home. Money’s mother, Beverly, was the only one with income.

Money had been home for a few hours. Her platinum 7 series BMW was in the driveway. Her father stayed in the back bedroom with the door closed and hadn’t come out even once to say hello.

She sat at the kitchen table, looking out of the bay window, taking in the sight of the tree-lined scene along the cul-de-sac street in the tidy subdivision. Her mother, Beverly, whose figure had expanded from model-like to a size sixteen, sat across from her sipping hazelnut coffee from a bright yellow mug. She leaned along the long glass table with her elbows, looking at the same view as Money.

She said, “I believe you’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”

“I hope so, but, I’m not so sure.”

“You have to know. Believe.”

“It’s big, Mom. Big falls hard.”

“It won’t fall. No proof of anything, just keep that in mind.”

“That’s what I keep saying. That’s what my attorney keeps saying.”

“He’s right. You pay your taxes. You report your income. You run your business. Your business is legal. What can they do? The rest is hearsay.”

“Mom, if Midori, or Leilani, with her starstruck behind, or Kemba come forward and say that they received money from Lip Service specifically for having had sex, all bets are off. If Leilani admits to sleeping with the senator for money, that they came on board knowing that or that I asked them to do that, it’s really all over.”

“Like I said, it’s hearsay. No proof.”

Money looked directly at her mother. She took a deep breath before asking, “Mom, where’s the book?”

Her mom replied, “I’ve got it.”

“We’ve got to get rid of it. What do you write in it?”

She avoided the question. “First of all, no one is going to be able to trace any incoming calls to the number I answer. That’s all I know.”

“Mom, you being the booker may not be a secret any longer. They might already know.”

“We’ve kept it a secret all this time. Even from your employees.”

“True. If Midori found that out, oh my God. Who knows what they know? We don’t know how long this investigation’s been going on. My attorney still doesn’t have all the evidence against me. We’re just waiting and wondering. I don’t know who to trust.” Money looked over toward the kitchen door and saw her father walk in. She offered a casual “Hi.”

He offered no reply, no greeting, no
good to see you
. All he said was, “You got your mother into some real shit. I can’t
believe
you came here.” He was tall with salt-and-pepper hair, and heavy-set with a beer belly. A frown was pasted on his face.

Beverly frowned. “Arthur, I’m not a child. And the least you can do is greet your daughter the right way.”

“Why? She never comes here anyway. Never see her until now, with all this mess on every damn channel on the TV—so damn much I can’t even turn it on. My phone’s been ringing every day. People want to know about your childhood and ask questions about what you really do. And all the while, to know my wife could be doing time, and here you are sitting in my kitchen, leading all of the legal mess right to her. Why’d you come here? Do you really think you’re not being watched?”

“Damn, Dad. Okay. I deserve that. But, I guarantee you, Mom is fine.”

“You can’t guarantee shit. I looked up the meaning of
pandering
. She’s been the arranger, so she’s pandering just like you. You two sitting in here talking like you’re trading recipes. Probably trying to figure out ways to beat this shit. This is big-time. You could get a decade in jail and your own mother could get time, too. Wake the hell up.”

“Dad, I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.”

He looked hateful. “You can’t make sure of anything. You might think you have power. Maybe you had power when you were talking half of the money and breaking your mom off 10 percent, but now you have no power.
They
do. Stop fooling yourself.”

Money felt herself heating up. “Dad, that 10 percent has been providing a pretty good lifestyle for both of you.”

“Yeah, well, shit. Maybe that means I could get time too. All three of us. Oh, hell, let’s not forget Midori. You went and found her and pulled her in.” He stabbed her with his eyes. “I give you one week here, and then I want you gone. In the meantime, stop sitting up here trying to figure a way out of it all with my wife. She and I will find a way between the two of us. No more of this talk in my house.”

Money turned away from her father as her head began to ache. “You always were evil. You got arrested for the crap you pulled years ago with those hookers. On tape. Don’t act like you’re the saint in the family now. All of us are the sinners.” She looked back at him.

“You’re right, we’re all sinners. We’ve done our mess. But right now, you’re the ringleader.” He slid his eyes from her. “One week. Period. Beverly, no more escort talk.” He closed the fridge, never taking anything out of it, and headed out slowly, going to the back of the house, shutting his bedroom door with force.

Her mother said, “I’m sorry. You know how he is.”

“Yeah, well, sounds like he’s gotten worse. I don’t know how you’ve dealt with him all these years. His anger has always been sitting on his shoulder.”

Beverly stood up and walked over to the pantry, opening it up. “What do you want for dinner?”

“Whatever is fine.” Money looked back out of the bay window.

Beverly glanced back at her daughter after taking out a box of spaghetti and a jar of Ragú. “I wanted to tell you that just as everything started to come unglued, I got a call from Kalin Graves to do a phone call with the new guy. But I never followed up, and obviously, neither did he.”

“Wow. We could have our first closeted president.”

“That’s what I was thinking, too.”

“Interesting.” Money still stared.

“I love you, Money,” Beverly said as she placed a skillet on the stove, “and I love your sister, too. Always remember that. I reached out to her to tell her that, but she won’t call me back. And I wanted to tell you that just before all of this happened, the guy, the surgeon who asked her back the second time to spend the weekend in Puerto Rico? He called again, but this time asking for her number. He said he wanted to take Brooklyn out.”

“What’d you tell him?”

“I told him I’d check and see if we could ask her to call him.”

“Wow. She’d be glad to know that. But yes, let’s wait.”

Her mother took out some seasonings. “I really pray she forgives me for everything. For keeping something so important from her for so long.”

“Then ask her to. Keep calling. If none of this other mess goes away, at least work on that.”

“I’ll call her again tomorrow.”

“Good, Mom. Good. She really needs that.”

Saturday—March 17, 2012

M
idori was surprised and upset that he called. But with all that was going on in her life with her sister, Lip Service, and Virgil’s family, she still took the call from Romeo—and surprisingly, she didn’t curse him out.

He made her an offer, saying he would match whatever Money was paying her.

Her first question was how he got her number, which he never answered. Her second question was why he hated her sister enough to stab her in the back. He denied that he hated her. Denied he was stabbing her in the back. Said he was only trying to help.

The third question was to herself. Why still agree to work for him or anyone else just to meet men in hotel rooms? And her answer was that she couldn’t think of anything else she’d be qualified to do where she’d make that kind of money.

Despite her gut feeling, she said yes to Romeo setting her up on appointments.

The agreement was that Money would never know.

And so it was set.

The St. Regis at eleven that evening. The payment was already sent to Midori’s new PayPal account. Her income was back on.

Done deal.

Midori called Virgil to check in with him, but he didn’t answer. She knew he was going through a lot with his mother and stepfather. But she didn’t know what to tell him as far as where she’d be. She couldn’t use the real estate excuse anymore. So she just left a message on his cell. “I’ll be out. Talk to you later. Love you.”

She arrived at the boutique hotel Kitano in Murray Hill, paid the taxi driver, and went up to the six-hundred-dollar-a-night junior suite on the fourteenth floor.

She knocked once, and pressed her lips together to smooth out her sheer sienna gloss. She wore a light musk oil and a peach sweater dress.

She knocked again.

In one fell swoop, the door to the swanky hotel room flung open and a strong hand was on her forearm.

She was yanked into hell. And the door shut behind her.

“What the—?” she asked loudly. Her panic-mode indicator hit full tilt, and she realized she’d knocked on evil’s door. She opened her mouth again and a hand was pressed against it.

“Hi. I missed you.”

Her eyes went wide with shock.

Oh the fuck no.

Tall, dark, and odd, Bailey Brenner said with a nervous anger, “Yes. You wouldn’t return my calls. I’ve been cheating on you. Just minding my own business, seeing other whores by using your new employer’s services. None of them compare to you, so when he told me Brooklyn would be coming, my dick got so hard I couldn’t help but to jack off while I was still on the phone. You could have at least changed your name, Brooklyn.” He slowly removed his hand. “You scream and it’ll be the last time you ever scream again in your life.”

She looked like she believed him and swallowed deep, taking a step back, but he still held on to her arm. “Please let me go,” she begged.

His eyes were livid. “No. Not until you step toward the bedroom, away from the door. You won’t be as slick as you were last time. Now send a text and let him know you’re here. Actually. No. Don’t do that.”

“I have to.”

His voice was piercing. “No. You won’t be here long. You’ll be able to leave in half the time you thought you’d be here. Just do as I say.”

“Okay.” Her one word was laced with fear.

He dropped the sharpness of his tone a bit. “Sorry to hear about Lip Service. I guess they’ll be coming around to ask questions soon, huh? Or maybe not.”

“I don’t know.”

As he spoke, he backed up, eased her into the mahogany-and-cherry bedroom area. “Lighten up. You look way too scared. You know me. I just like to have a little fun. And I’ve planned a very special time for you.”

“What?”

“I know what you’re thinking. Don’t worry. I’m not going to play rape games.” He now backed their way into the oversized bathroom. “Come in.”

“What?” she asked, looking around, feeling the sting of his firm grip on her arm.

He backed up more. “Come here.” He looked down and her eyes met where his aimed.

She looked into the square ceramic tub. “What is that?”

“It’s a bathtub, silly.” He sounded sarcastic.

“What’s with the ice?” The tub was filled halfway with ice cubes.

“Take your clothes off.”

“Bailey, no. I can’t get in there.”

“You can and you are.”

“I’m telling you now. This is not cool.”

“Let’s get this over with. Take your shoes off.”

She looked back at the tub and shook her head while stepping out of her high heels.

“Remove your panties.”

Reluctantly, she did, bending over and stepping out of them, leaving them on the white porcelain floor.

“Test it. Step in.”

“Bailey, please.”

“Brooklyn, you know it’s okay. You know I still love you. Just relax. Why are you so uptight?”

He pulled her closer to the tub. “It’s not that cold.”

She took a deep breath and looked up at him. Still wearing her dress, she lifted her right leg and lowered her toes close to the water. She pointed her big toe, the one with the wildflower tattoo, and jerked it back out. “No way.” She shook her head and brought her foot down on the floor again.

He demanded, “Put it back in. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Just get in, as slow as you want to, and sit, just for a few minutes.”

“And then what? Until hypothermia sets in, is that what you want? Then what?”

“You won’t be in long enough for that. I just need you cold. I need your body ice cold.”

“And then you’re going to do what?”

“Get in.”

“No.” Her neck told on her tension.

“I went through a lot of trouble for this. Get in.”

“No.” Her shoulders were tight.

He took her by her upper arm and yanked her toward him. “You know what happened the last time you said no. What is wrong with you? All this time we’ve been together, you were a lot more cooperative than you are now. You know you’re a freak. You know you like it as much as I do.”

“Bailey, stop.” Her nerves were on edge.

“Take your dress off.”

“No. I want to leave.” She gave off a begging stare.

He pointed his finger within a millimeter of her nose and his eyes frowned with impatience. “You will get in. Now!”

She again shook her head and squinted her eyes, bracing for what he might do.

“Don’t play with me. Get in.”

She began to shake, her eyes watering but her voice was firm when she said again, “No.”

He placed his hands along her throat as he spoke. “Now you will get in this tub like I said. I put a lot of planning into this. I had to get eighteen buckets in here. And you’re not going to ruin all the time and work I put into this. You told me you liked being scared. You told me your first lover would play games with you and get you to the point of fear. That’s why you had me fight with you in that hotel room when I told Money you tore the room up. You got off on this for years and now you don’t want to play along?”

“I told you, that was my father. I had sex for the first time in my life with a man I didn’t know was my father. I was too young. I did it to get back at the man I thought was my dad. I had sadistic sex and I thought that’s how sex was supposed to be.” She continued to explain, filled with fear. “I thought you had to be scared to get off. He abused me, and here I am fighting you off because I don’t want to live like this anymore. I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want it. Can’t you see that? I beg you to let me go home. I won’t tell anyone. Just let me go. Please.”

The lines in his face were etched to their depths. The anger in his voice raised to its max. “I really don’t give a fuck! You will do this because I have paid for you to be here. I don’t give a shit about who fucked you up. I tried to love you but you didn’t want it. Now you will do what I say, and you will like it. Just like every other time. You will like it.”

She struggled to free herself, twisting her arms and yanking at him, and then she kicked him, yelling “Fuck you” as if she’d had enough.

His eyes leapt with hate. “What?” He began shaking her like she was a rag doll. “Do it again. Kick me again. I’ve got a gun beside that bed and I will shoot you in your fucking pussy, bitch.”

“You heard me. Fuck you. You are one sick asshole.” She gave it all she had, hoping he’d slip back into his turn-on from the drama of it all, as if maybe it was just a masochistic act.

“Did you say ‘sick’?”

“Yes,” she replied with as deep a stare as his.

“Are you calling me sick? Please say you did because you’re making me rock hard.”

“Yes. I did.”

The more she replied the more he squeezed her throat.

She grabbed his hands, wanting to fight again, but felt her airway tighten. “Stop.” And then she tried the word “When,” just in case. But he kept on.

He used his other hand, too, squeezing her neck as her knees weakened. Her body gave way to the floor. He lowered himself to her level until she lay on her back along the floor tiles, him on top of her, still squeezing.

She took in his psycho stare, her eyes bugged in fear as she said in a muffled voice, “I love you.”

He still didn’t stop. He only said back, “I love you, too,” breathing harder than she’d ever heard him breathe before.

Panic owned her face. She realized he had it in him. Not just for the sadomasochistic part of it, but for the illness in him. He’d gone too far.

All that could be heard coming from her mouth was a gurgling sound. Her mouth was open but no more words would fit. A fading look of shock shown on her face. With each continued grip, her eyes closed more and more. Her fists were tight, digging into his skin.

She took a tiny swallow. Her eyes burst open again and then she gave a faint whimper. He released his hands. Her head fell limp to the left. She lay in the bathroom, on the floor, having taken her last breath.

A moment later there were two sounds.

A knock at the door.

And a gunshot.

No Cinderella story.

No dreams coming true.

She danced with the devil and the devil had won.