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But now, looking back, I wonder if my mom had an ulterior motive in encouraging me to do so much. Did Sandra know something that I didn’t? Did she sense that my stepdad was attracted to me, and tried to head things off?
It seems like it, in retrospect. I was hardly ever home before nine, and on weekends, I was out at countless rehearsals, practices, and performances. I even tried to quit cheerleading my junior year by saying that I needed to work on my grades, but my mom was adamant. Sandra said that the twice-a-day practices were part of life, and that I’d benefit from the rigor and discipline that comes with any athletic endeavor. I was surprised, but accepted her decision. Yet now, I wonder. Was Sandra just trying to keep me out of the house? Were the twice a days her way of keeping me away from Steve, and out from under his nose? Was she trying to help me evade a dirty old man, who was also my stepfather?
A shiver wracks my frame, and another sob rises to my throat. OMG, the truth is so horrifying, and yet it’s there, staring me in the face. I can’t believe my mom married a predator. Sure, Steve’s never done anything until now, but a wife knows her husband better than anyone else. While I was blissfully going about my business, Sandra was working every day to keep her husband away from me, a nubile teen girl.
Another wrenching cry bursts from my throat. What do I do now? Where do I go? Is this the end of their marriage, if Sandra finds out? I grip the steering wheel, my knuckles white, while staring straight ahead. Where do I go from here? I’m in a parking lot of sorts, and with a jolt, I realize that I’ve driven back to Club Z. I suppose I could drive all the way to Coleman University, except that it would be a three hour trip, and it’s getting dark. Plus, I’m in no shape for such a journey. I’m a mess with snot dripping out of my nose, and my eyes puffy and red.
With a miserable hiccup, I get out of my car, slamming the door. The Club Z edifice looms over me. It’s a big, granite building on a side street, with random passersby going about their business. There’s a veterinarian down the street, and a specialty coffee shop hawking Robusta beans from Vietnam on the corner. The neighborhood looks innocuous enough and maybe, just maybe, I could take refuge at the club. Looking at the four story building, god knows that they have the space.
With a deep breath, I straighten my skirt and top. I blot at my eyes, hoping they don’t look too red and puffy, and then sling my bag over one shoulder. I realize how crazy it sounds to crash at a sex club where I was just denied a job, but then again, desperate times call for desperate measures … and I’m not above getting on my knees to beg.
4
Edward
I look around the darkened space with approval. Low lights glimmer in the lounge, as beautiful women serve elegantly clad gentlemen seated on low-slung sofas. The waitresses are dressed in pasties and thongs, if even that, and acres of generous female flesh jiggle and wiggle as they glide about with drink trays in their hands.
After all, this is Club Z. Granted, we’re not in New York, London, or the newest hot spot, Miami. We’re in Wyoming. But hey, Wyoming’s also a land of vast natural resources, and there are enough rich men here to make an outpost worthwhile. Hell, given the exorbitant membership fees we pay, I’d be happy to open a branch in Mongolia with only a handful of members.
But that’s by the by, because money is no issue for me, and hasn’t been for a long time. As a private equity titan in the natural resources sector, I specialize in renewable resources, and bringing heretofore “impossible” breakthroughs to the masses. My firm, Encore Partners, has a knack for identifying and investing in unexpected unicorns, and just earlier today, one of our investments went public. As a result, I’ve just added another hundred mil to my personal net worth, and it feels good. Better than good, in fact. I’m on top of the world, and it’s time to party and blow off steam.
Of course, I went out with the guys earlier. I had dinner with some dudes from the C-suite, as well as a couple drinks afterwards at a strip club. But that shit is boring. The real stuff happens at Club Z, and I sit here now in the darkness, my dick already tingling with anticipation of the night ahead.
Sure enough, a woman materializes at my side. It’s a middle-aged manager, Amanda, clad in a dark dress with high heels.
