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“Uh…”
“I heard,” another girl, with blonde ringlets steps into the conversation, “that he’s got tattoos all over his face like a Red Indian. Is it true?”
I inch backward, trying to put a little space between me and the other women, who seem to be approaching as a pack now. A hungry one. “No, why the hell would he have—”
“And what about his dick? You came here with him, right? You’re his girl; you must have seen it. How big is he? I heard he fucked a girl so hard that he put her in the hospital, split her right open or something.”
“No, dude. That was Rebel.” The brunette with the rollers joins in the debate, correcting the other girl’s wild statements. “Zeth’s the one who let that homeless girl move in with him, remember? Benji told us.”
The bouncy blonde widens her eyes at me. “Ooooh, you were homeless? What was that like?”
“Uh, I wasn’t ho—”
“But you do live with him, right?”
Alaska casually puts her wine glass down and clears her throat. All talking in the room ceases. With a dismissive clap of her hands, Alaska takes control of matters. “Naomi wasn’t homeless. She does not live with Zeth. Zeth is massive. His dick is pretty fucking big, but not the biggest dick in the world. And now it’s time for you all to shut the hell up.” She looks sideways at me through partially narrowed eyes, and I can plainly see the displeasure within the cool blue recesses. “Regardless of what you have heard about Zee, he’s brought Naomi here as his partner, not as his blind.”
A chorus of unhappy gasps go around the room. They all seem horrified by this information, and I’m standing here gaping like an idiot because I don’t even know what it means. “His…his blind?”
Alaska rolls her eyes. “Like in poker. To be able to play, you have to bring something to the table. You have to buy your way into the game with a bet. A blind. We’re all blinds here, sweetheart. We get passed around like delicious little canapés in order for our masters to screw around with whoever else is brought in by the other men.”
That is…that’s awful! “But I’m Zeth’s partner so I won’t be passed around?” The girls hear the anxious note in my voice, and they don’t take it well.
“Trust me, honey. You’re the one who’s losing out,” Rollers says. “We make ten grand a pop for a night like tomorrow. What do you get? I bet Zeth Mayfair’s not bankrolling that kind of money for just one skinny bitch.”
“What? He’s not…he’s not paying me anything!”
That stuns them all into silence. They look at each other as though some wordless conversation is taking place and I’m the only one who can’t hear it. Alaska shoots me a smug smile, collecting her glass again and tipping it in my direction.
“And didn’t I tell you not to be an asshole to them?” She laughs at this, and then turns and leaves, singing under her breath.
******
It takes forever for the girls to get over the idea that I’m not a hooker. It takes even longer for them to forgive me for the disgusted tone in my voice when I’d exclaimed that Zeth didn’t pay me for my services. It’s only after the tequila starts flowing again that I manage to get any of them to talk to me, and that’s only by participating in three generously poured shots and whooping like a moron in the appropriate places. I skipped this part of college for a reason; I’m no good at being a girlie girl, and it really shows. It makes other girls nervous. Especially ones who paint each other’s toe nails and squeeze each other’s boobs to check out their ‘work’ without it being completely awkward. Rollers, who turns out to be called Dani, has a good handful of mine before I even realize what the hell is going on.
“Hmmm. Real, huh? They’re nice. Good size. Not too small, although your silhouette would look much better if you went up a couple sizes.”
“Yeah, I didn’t look right in my clothes before I got these,” Sara, the blonde who asked about Zeth first says, cupping her giant double Fs. They’re the biggest boobs I’ve ever seen. I’m half temped to tell her that the problem likely wasn’t her breast size and probably had more to do with the fact that she was wearing stripper clothes, but I manage to refrain. Won’t go down well, I can tell. Besides, I’m not here to talk about plastic surgery. I’m here to talk about Alexis. To find out where the hell she is.
The grooming part of the night begins soon after the fourth shot of tequila. Giant cosmetic kits come out, as big as workmen’s tool kits and just as heavy, and the girls begin to fuss over each other, giving advice on skin care and practicing the makeup they’re planning on wearing tomorrow night. The whole event thing has been a secondary consideration, always at the back of my mind, but now it’s come roaring to the forefront. An event, like the one Zeth held. But this time I know there won’t be any dark rooms to hide in. No corner in which to retreat and pretend to be outside of it all. I’m going to have to participate, and I’m going to have to make it look convincing for both mine and Zeth’s sakes.
That’s something to worry about tomorrow, though. I have to focus on the task at hand while I’m here. I start in with general questions, waiting for an in to discuss other matters.
“So is it just you girls that live here? The place seems really big for just seven of you.”
“Oh no, there’s usually nine of us altogether,” Sara says. “Kady’s gone into the city to get a nose job. Julio paid for that, can you believe it? He said it was putting people off and no one was gonna fuck her if she had a hooked old-man nose. He shelled out for the whole thing—the surgeon, the hotel, expenses, everything.” She sounds jealous; I’m getting the feeling Sara had to fund her fun bags personally. “Anyway, one of the other girls Chloe went with her to keep her company. And Sophia’s the other girl. She’s gone to meet with one of the groups of guys who are coming here tomorrow. She’ll be back tomorrow afternoon, I guess. Chloe and Kady, too, although Kady won’t be working. She’s gonna have two black eyes, I bet. Can you imagine how bad she’s—”
