When she got downstairs to the office, the first one she saw was BaRa who remarked, “Someone’s been ridden hard and put down wet.”
So much for all of Simone’s efforts to appear normal.
Her mother, who was wearing a one-piece, black spandex body suit patterned with red chevrons, which made her back end look like a Chevrolet (Where is she shopping these days?), took one look at Simone, then did a double-take. “I knew it. Cajun Crazy again!”
Tante Lulu, who had just “stopped by” on her way to the bank, must shop at the same place as her mother because she was all dolled up in a black-and-red herringbone shorts set. The old lady cackled and said, “God bless thunderbolts!” But then she wagged her finger at Simone, cautioning, “But God doan like no hanky panky outside marriage. Best ya be callin’ the banns real soon.”
Ed, the painter, who was finishing up some last-minute detailing, muttered when he saw her enter the kitchenette, “Some guy’s walkin’ bow-legged today.”
And Helene, when she came in for a ten a.m. meeting, just grinned.
“Kimly Bien called me late last night. Mike Pham went berserk when he was served and made all kinds of threats against his wife.”
“Oh, no! Was she hurt?”
“No. If she had been, we could have hauled his ass to jail today. But she was afraid, and called her sister. The question is how to protect her now.”
“She wouldn’t be safe with her sister?”
Helene shook her head. “That would be Pham’s first place to look for her. And Kimly’s biggest concern is Thanh herself. Her husband, once his rage is tamped down, will try to cajole his wife into dropping all the ‘nonsense.’ He told her, ‘You know that what is mine is yours, too. We don’t need any papers to prove that.’ And already Thanh is weakening.”
“And the solution?”
“I was thinking she could stay with your mother.”
“At The Gates? I hate involving my mother in this kind of thing.”
“She’d love it. And it would get her out of your hair here for a few days. Besides, you’ll want her to babysit your cat again while you go out of town, just in case you need to stay an extra day.”
“Oh, please let this be a one-night deal. I feel dirty just thinking about what those people do.”
“I would think you’d been in a bit of dirt already,” Helene remarked, looking pointedly at Simone’s puffy lips.
“Good dirt,” Simone told her.
“Anyhow, be safe tonight. All we need from you and Gabe is some audio with Pitot making perverted suggestions, and some photographs of the stuff these people do at these parties, or the accessories. His wife already has the goods on his affairs. She needs stuff he would never want made public.”
“Accessories?”
“Hey, if Pham has his condo equipped with a special room, you can be sure Pitot has accommodations to suit his guests’ specialized requests.”
“I’m gonna have to bathe with lye soap after this.”
“Call me,” Helene said before she left.
Which reminded Simone of Adam’s last words to her.
“I meant to tell you, that Ferguson creep got a plea bargain.”
“What? Don’t tell me they released him.”
“No, he’s going to serve ten years minimum, lose his teaching license, have to pay fifty thousand dollars in various fines, and be a registered pedophile. Which was a gift to him, actually. Girls were creeping out of the woodwork, willing to testify against him. At trial, he could have gotten lots worse.”
“At least Darlene won’t have to testify in open court, and she and her mother can, hopefully, start getting their lives back on track.”
“Right,” Helene agreed.
After that, they spoke to Simone’s mother about having Thanh as a guest for a few days.
Adelaide surprised both Simone and Helene by being not only willing but enthusiastic about the idea. “My feet have been killin’ me, and the doctor says I need to rest my knees more,” she revealed.
Simone could have said, “I told you so,” but didn’t.
“Maybe she kin teach me how to make Vietnamese food,” Adelaide mused as they walked toward her car. She was going to follow Helene to the Pham house where Kimly’s sister was helping Thanh to pack.
“Or maybe you can teach her how to make gumbo,” Simone said.
Things settled down after that until Gabe came to pick her up midafternoon. She’d gone next door to buy a few items from the boutique, items suitable for a lakeshore dinner. White slacks, a blue-and-white-striped blouse, white sandals, and a pretty red, soft-as-kitten-fur pashmina in case it got chilly.
It was only later when they arrived at the lodge that Simone realized things were not going to go according to their plans.
First of all, their car was blocked in the driveway so they couldn’t make a fast getaway if it was required.
Second, the evening’s agenda included a quick swim before dinner. And she hadn’t brought a bathing suit. But neither had anyone else.
Third, one of the guests—a short, bald guy, Sam Salter, who owned a chain of gyms in Biloxi and had the steroid muscles to show for it—had taken an instant liking to her, and he had the hands of an octopus. Besides, he liked to brag, explicitly, about what he could do with that bald head.
Fourth, she and Gabe had gotten separated right from the start, with Caroline latching on to him like he was the new best thing. Gabe—bless his actor’s heart—was playing right into Caroline’s flirtation by pretending to be horndog happy at her attention. At one point, Simone heard him say to Pitot’s mistress, “I drank two bottles of pineapple juice today. Makes my happy juice taste like piña coladas.”
Eew! Where does Gabe come up with this stuff? Maybe it’s just a man thing . . . the male genetic inclination to crudeness.
And, finally, sharknado alert! Marcus Pitot had the mean, steely-gray eyes of an ocean predator, and he was watching her every move. Whatever he was into, it was going to be painful. The music from Jaws played in her head.
For the first time, Simone began to question her new profession.
It was raining rage . . .
Mike Pham came storming into LeDeux & Lanier that afternoon in a rage. “My wife has lost her friggin’ mind. I oughta have her committed. Can I have her committed? Otherwise, I just might have to kill the bitch.”
Mildred backed up, frightened by the red-faced man, even though he was yelling toward Adam and Luc who’d come out of their offices, and not at her. Any minute now she’d be reaching for her Mace.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Enough of that kind of talk!” Luc warned, motioning Mike, as well as Adam, into his office, shutting the door behind them. “Now what’s going on?”
“I got back from Vegas last night, and some kid slapped these papers in my hands in the middle of the airport.”
“A process server?” Adam asked.
“Yeah, some pimple-faced asshole of a college kid. Shoved the papers in my hands and ran.”
Wish I’d been there!
Adam and Luc looked over the documents, which appeared to be various subpoenas and court filings related to the Pham shrimp business, a home, and other property. In addition, meek little Thanh Pham was preempting her husband by filing for divorce first. Would an air fist pump be out of order? Adam wondered. The divorce petition mentioned grounds of adultery and “living separately and apart.”
“You haven’t been living at home?” Adam inquired.
“Sometimes I do. I have a place on Grand Isle that I prefer.” He shrugged with defiance, as if he had every right to do so.
“It says that your business is in your name and your father’s. Any reason why your wives’ names aren’t on it?” Luc asked.
“My mother is dead, but her name was never listed as an owner, either. It’s a Vietnamese thing. The man is the head of the family and the business.”
That didn’t seem so bad. Sexist, and old-fashioned, but not anything to raise legal alarm bells.
“And the house?” Luc asked.
“Same thing.” Mike’s flushed face said there was more to the story.
“Have you talked to your wife about these?” Luc pointed to the documents.
Mike nodded. “Thanh wants a million dollars, the house, a car, and a bunch of other stuff. Which she is going to get over my dead body. Kimly put my wife up to this, I know she did.”
Something more was going on here. “Excuse me a moment,” Adam said and went into his own office where he called Kimly Bien. And, boy, did he get an earful!
Fifteen minutes later, when he returned to Luc’s office, he said, “There are pictures.”
“Of what? Me screwing some woman? Big deal!”
“More than that.” Adam looked at Luc. “It would seem there’s a room in Mike’s condo on Grand Isle called ‘The Dungeon.’ And photographs to prove some unusual activities.”
Mike’s face went beet red. “It’s not illegal.”
“Probably not, but what could be illegal is your business setup,” Adam said. “When you married Thanh, did she bring a number of shrimping boats into the business in exchange for which it was intended that she become part owner of the company?”
“Like I said, it’s a Vietnamese thing.”
Luc exchanged a quick glance with Adam. “Look, Mike, you were our client for the Pham versus Cypress case. And that’s all. This other crap, including a divorce, will have to be handled by Jessie John Daltry. I want nothing to do with it.”
“That’s bullshit. You lawyers are all alike. In for the easy kill, out when it requires some work.”
“Um, I think enough’s been said here today,” Adam said, going over to open the door. “It’s been nice working with you.” Not!
Mike said a few foul words before gathering up his paperwork and storming out. “I’ll see you two shysters in court. And not on my behalf. I’m gonna sue your asses off for malpractice.”
“Go for it!” Adam said, following him out, just in case he punched in a wall or scared Mildred even more than she already was.
Afterward, he and Luc agreed that it was good riddance. They did not need clients like Mike, despite any money they might bring in.
Adam was driving home later that day, and was stuck in the downtown rush-hour traffic when he noticed Adelaide Daigle, Simone’s mother, standing outside the Legal Belles office waving him down. He frowned with confusion. It was five-thirty, Simone was out of town, and the office should have been closed for the day.
He pulled over into an illegal parking spot and opened his window, “Hey, Addie, what’s up?”
“I jist stopped by the office ta get some pain pills I left here earlier today.”
“And . . . ?”
“I need ta take a bag of kitty litter back ta the trailer park with me, but it’s upstairs and my knees are killin’ me t’day.”
“You want me to help?”
“I’d be much obliged.”
He followed her inside the office, and asked, “Where’s the bag?”
“In the pantry closet of Simone’s kitchen upstairs.”
He used the interior stairway to access Simone’s apartment and had no trouble locating the fifty-pound bag. How Addie was going to get it from her car to the inside of her trailer, he had no idea. Maybe a neighbor would help.
About to heft the bag onto his shoulder, he noticed the open laptop on Simone’s kitchen table. He shouldn’t look, but his attention was caught by the picture on the screen. It was a cedar-log lodge-type dwelling on a lake. Very attractive. Was Simone looking for vacation possibilities? Maybe a dirty weekend for the two of them?
But wait!
The fine hairs stood out on the back of Adam’s neck. He recognized that place. It was Marcus Pitot’s place on Lake Pontchartrain. The site of many of the sex club orgies that Hannah had frequented.
What did it mean?
Was Simone, the woman he was almost certainly in love with, into those types of perversions? He didn’t think so. Yeah, she’d blown his brains out with the sex last night, but it had been normal stuff. On the other hand, in the early days, when he’d first fallen for Hannah, he never would have suspected her of such perversions.
A rage began to build in him.
Duped again? Was that possible?
He knew it was unethical, but Adam sat down and began to play with Simone’s laptop. He soon realized that this was a job, not some personal perversion of Simone’s. She, and her agency, were investigating Marcus Pitot on behalf of his wife, Saffron Pitot, who was as flaky as a Southern biscuit but who seemed to have some good reasons to suspect her husband was up to no good. And there was a MapQuest page with driving directions.
His rage should have abated, but it didn’t.
Had she any idea what she was fooling with? Nabbing cheaters was one thing. Messing with a sadistic bastard like Marcus Pitot was another. To say he was dangerous was a vast understatement. Adam recalled rumors that Pitot had ordered one of his partners “eliminated” when he crossed him one time. And Adam knew for a fact that a woman who dropped out of the sex club, and talked about it, somehow ended up with a mugging that cut her face so badly she needed numerous plastic surgeries.
I thought you were smarter than that, Simone, he fumed, as he stood and picked up the cat litter and carried it down the steps and outside. After he tossed the bag into Addie’s trunk, she thanked him profusely. It was only as the car began to move away that he noticed the woman slumped down in the front seat with a head scarf pulled forward to cover her face.
No, it couldn’t be. He blinked and looked again. Oh, my God! It was Pham’s wife, Thanh.
Adam’s rage amped another few notches. Now, it wasn’t just Simone who was in danger, but her mother, too.
Was this the kind of woman he wanted around his daughter? One who had no care for her own safety, let alone those around her?
He practically saw red as he drove off, and not just because there was a parking ticket on his windshield.
What should he do?
How about nothing?
How could he go home, eat dinner, and play with Maisie when he knew where Simone was? Impossible!
But then, no one would expect him to be some Prince Charming coming to her rescue. In fact, Simone would reject that idea, vehemently. He knew how she valued her independence and police skills.
Pff! Marcus Pitot didn’t play by any rules the police academy taught.
She’d get what she deserved for being so stupid.
What if he scarred Simone? Hell, what if he killed her? A drowning at the lake . . . nothing unusual in that.
Who was he kidding? He was going after her, and he’d cart her home over his shoulder if he had to, like that bag of cat litter. But how did he barge into a private party, without an invitation, without giving up Simone’s game?
He thought of something suddenly, an excuse he could give Pitot for showing up unannounced. Driving home, he waved to his dad and Maisie, who were in the pool, and went upstairs to the file cabinet he kept in his office closet. It was a sealed manila envelope marked “Hannah,” which he placed in a slim leather briefcase.
“I’m going out for a while,” he yelled to his father from the open sliding door in the kitchen.
“How about that rage?” his father remarked before Adam had a chance to turn and leave. The old man was sitting on the edge of the pool in swimming trunks, his legs in the water.
“Rage? What rage? I’m not in a rage,” he lied.
“Huh? I didn’t say rage, I said stage. How about the stage that René LeDeux delivered today for the party?”
Adam noted then that beyond the pool, a miniature stage had been erected. And a wooden dance floor on the grass! So much for the expensive lawn care service he’d contracted! And holy crap! Their neighbors would have a bird over the noise, unless they invited them all, which they would probably have to. What was another twelve or so people?
“Dad-dy,” Maisie complained as she climbed out of the pool, dripping water from her sagging suit, and came toward him, “you promised we would go shopping.”
“I’ll go shopping with you tomorrow. Cross my heart, sweetie,” he said, marking an X on his chest before letting her give him a wet hug.
The big pool party would be held soon, and he’d been promising that he would help with a trip to Party Circus. Tomorrow he would pay up with a chore he hated . . . shopping.
For now, he had another chore to complete. And he couldn’t help but wonder if Simone would be around to come to their party.
Home, home on the range . . .
After skinny dipping in the lake, all the women wore long silk scarves, working them into sarongs, some more transparent than others, while the men wrapped shorter lengths of fabric around their hips. Claiming modesty, Simone had worn her underwear into the water, which proved amusing and somewhat of a challenge to all the others. Gabe had no problem going full monty, whether in his personal life or for a job, apparently.
She sensed that everyone was cautiously studying her and Gabe, gauging their reactions to the setting and any innuendo of sexual activity. Nothing overt was revealed yet, except for Sam the Hands, who’d toned down his groping after a while, probably after a few words of warning from Marcus. She had noticed when they’d entered the lake that Sam was unusually well-endowed (Like porno-star huge!), which could only be an asset for a club like this. Otherwise, he was a little crude compared to the others.
Though Simone was sticking to white wine, lots of alcohol was being consumed, mostly hard liquor, and Caroline had a preference for dirty martinis. Twice, Simone had surreptitiously dumped her drink in a potted magnolia tree. She’d seen Gabe do the same with some fifty-year-old Scotch. Yeah, not very original, but effective so far. But poor tree! She vowed to herself that she would give a donation to the Save The Trees Foundation as a penance.
So far, she and Gabe had gotten lots of pictures and audio thanks to the high tech devices they used, but so far nothing extreme enough to satisfy Saffron Pitot’s wishes had happened.
They sat down to dinner in their scant attire out on the wide porch overlooking the lake. A first clue that things were starting to get steamier was that the servers, two young women, wore only skimpy aprons and high heels. No bras and the flimsiest of thongs. The busboy—or busman, since he was in his early twenties—wore nothing at all, not even shoes. No one paid any attention to their nudity, so she didn’t comment, either. She could tell that the others were watching her and Gabe for their reactions, but other than a blush from her, and a wink from Gabe, they pretended nonchalance.
The meal was, of course, excellent. Native red snapper with baby potatoes and snap peas, followed by a decadent chocolate soufflé. And potent lemon liquors to cleanse the palate . . . or freeze their brains. Despite her rationing of alcohol, Simone was feeling a little woozy. She hoped they hadn’t drugged the drinks, as well. That could be a disaster.
Besides Marcus and Caroline and Sam Salter, there was Sam’s wife, Heidi, a young, muscle-defined example of his female fitness program, who was several inches shorter than his bald head, but buff. Really buff! In fact, she’d won a number of weightlifting competitions, her claim to fame being that she could bench press two hundred pounds.
And there was James Allard, a New Orleans real estate developer, and his wife, Chantung (Really!), a former model whose blond hair and pale skin were a sharp contrast to James’s coal-black skin. They were an attractive couple, both tall and very thin, and surprisingly intelligent, as evidenced by the dinner conversation that evolved around several topics—the economy, crime in the Big Easy, and recent movies. They supported the New Orleans Opera Association in a big way.
Gabe could hold his own on the subject of movies and the theater, and Simone knew plenty about crime, big city and otherwise, although she managed to appear not too knowledgeable. Thus far, there had been no big gaffes.
It was no surprise that, as the meal progressed, the talk became sexual.
“I was invited to be in a porn movie,” Sam informed them. “A guy who came into the gym checked me out in the showers and made an offer right on the spot.”
“Are you going to do it?” Marcus asked.
“Nah! I’m saving Big Betsy,” he said, palming himself, “for my wife and a few of my friends.” He waggled his eyebrows at said friends.
Simone sipped more lemon madness to hide her revulsion.
“I was in a porn flick one time,” Gabe said.
Whaaat?
“Seriously, dude?” inquired Sam, not at all pleased to have his thunder stolen.
“When I was in college,” Gabe explained. “Needed to earn some extra cash for tuition.”
“That’s amazing, Larry,” Caroline said, placing a well-manicured hand on Gabe’s arm and squeezing.
“Was it fun?” Simone asked, not sure if Gabe was serious or not.
Gabe shrugged. “Actually, it got kind of boring, as I’ve told you before.” At the hoots of laughter from the other males at the table, he elaborated, “Most of the folks were drugged out, especially the women, and, frankly, I don’t take it in the ass for any amount of money.”
Whoa! Simone had to bite her lip to keep from gasping out her shock, but the others at the table loved his candor.
“I do,” Heidi revealed, “for the right person.” She glanced pointedly at James.
Everyone laughed at what must have been a private joke.
I am so out of my comfort zone here.
Which got even more uncomfortable when Chantung announced, “I got my nipples pierced. Wanna see?”
Everyone, including herself, truth to tell, said yes.
And so the former model, whose perfect breasts were surely silicone enhanced, tugged the top of her sarong down—Right in the middle of the dinner table!—exposing two engorged nipples through which two small gold rings flashed in the candle light. She left the silk fabric lying in her lap while she arched her back and preened.
Compliments abounded. Chantung even let Sam tug on one of the rings to see the effect, which was a gasp from her lips. Pleasure or pain, it was hard to tell. “If she was mine, I’d put a chain through those suckers and lead her around like a pet dog,” Sam said.
To which James should have reacted negatively, but he just smiled.
“Maybe her husband will let you do that, later,” Marcus suggested as he stood and asked, “Refills, everyone, before we move to the Play Room?”
“Play Room?” she mouthed at Gabe, who got her message, and said, “Listen, Marcus. I’m game for just about anything, but Diane here is a little timid. No offense intended, but you’re gonna have to give us a chance to make up our minds if this kind of activity is for us.” He paused and added, “If you want us to leave now, no hard feelings.”
Marcus was not a happy camper, but he exchanged looks with the other members of his club, then told Gabe. “You can stay and watch tonight, if you want, or join in at any time, if the mood hits you. But if you don’t participate, I better not hear about this around town. Anywhere, for that matter. Am I making myself clear?” The steely warning in his eyes was more than clear.
She and Gabe both nodded.
Marcus smiled then and said, “We’re gonna do some role playing tonight, but first we have a little live entertainment that I’m sure you’ll enjoy. Caro, why don’t you show Diane the costume gallery?”
“Sure. Come on, girls.” Caroline stood and motioned for not just Diane, but Heidi and Chantung, to accompany her. “Bring your drinks with you.”
The costume gallery? Oh, boy!
Whatever she’d been expecting it wasn’t this! Practically a department store of nothing but costumes. It was like Dragon Con, Comic-Con, and Porno Con combined in a large room with numerous open closets and clothes racks and shelving units. At a quick glance, she could see Star Wars costumes, as in Stormtrooper does Alien Women, she supposed; pirates, both male and female; superheroes; Roman soldiers and raggedy female attire (Rape of the Sabine Women, Caroline explained.); cops and hookers; dom and dominatrix; doctors and nurses. Amazing what money could buy! And the foolishness it could be spent on.
“We’re doing the Old West tonight,” Caroline told Simone. “The men already took their costumes to the downstairs dressing room.”
“Oh, goody! My favorite,” Chantung said. “I take dibs on being the horse tonight.”
Whaaat?
“You always get to be the horse,” Heidi grumbled. “Okay, I’ll be the Indian captive.”
“Diane and I will be plain old cowgirls, then,” Caroline said.
We will?
When Caroline handed her a buckskin skirt and a shirt, Simone said, “These will never fit.”
“Sure they will. The fabric is stretchy. One size fits all.”
“My underwear is probably still wet. It’s still in the downstairs bathroom.”
“No underwear.” The message in Caroline’s tone was that this was one concession that would not be made. “You might want to take your jewelry off.”
Simone shook her head. “I’d rather not.” She was recording everything she could with her earrings scanning the room, although Caroline was probably referring to the three-carat, synthetic diamond ring on her finger.
A short time later, Simone stood before a full-length mirror wearing a cowgirl hat and boots, a pair of toy pistols holstered in a belt around her waist, a leatherette skirt that hung low on her hips and was so short the lower curve of her buttocks would be exposed if she leaned over even a little, and a snap-button blouse that only started buttoning about mid-abdomen and which was fitted so that it was skintight from waist up to the ruching that acted as an uplifting device under the breasts. The result was that her bare breasts were practically bursting out. And, frankly, the calico material was way too thin.
She felt silly.
But it was nothing compared to her companions. Caroline’s cowgirl outfit consisted of thigh-high, leather fringed hooker boots, a tiny leather thong, also with fringes, and a leather vest that exposed rather than covered her breasts and was held together by a thin leather cord. Her cowgirl hat hung down her back from a loop around her neck. She carried a whip in one hand and a lasso in the other.
“Yippee ki yay yay,” Simone joked.
And Caroline retorted, “Ride ’em, cowgirl.”
Then there was Heidi, the Indian maid, whose only resemblance to any Native American Simone had ever seen was a feather in her braided hair. Suffice it to say, there were lots of beads and a pair of moccasins.
The biggest shock came with Chantung’s costume. She wore a leather harness fitted between her bare pierced breasts and around her back where reins dangled down. On her head and hanging down her back was a horse’s mane and strapped to her backside was a lush horse’s tail. She wore high heels with taps on them that sounded like horseshoes clippety-clopping when she pranced around the room. When she bent over she wiggled her butt and neighed.
Welcome to bizarro land!
But that was nothing compared to what she saw when she entered the Play Room. First of all, the room was a vast homage to male fantasy. Dim lighting. Low armless chaises and circular couches. Several ottomans similar to ones she’d seen advertised in the back of Cosmo magazine, ones designed to align the body in the so-called perfect sexual position. A very large flat-screen TV. There were probably all kinds of toys and whips and chains in the closed shelving units around the room. In fact, there were a number of brackets in the walls that might be used for restraints, and there was a weird metal contraption hanging high up on the ceiling, but overall it was upscale sexy compared to Pham’s Dungeon Room, which was more lower-class sleaze.
Not that this room didn’t give her the creeps. It did. Big time.
And then the men walked in.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or run for her life.
Gabe was playing the naked cowboy, or almost naked cowboy, wearing a white cowboy hat, a white Speedo or thong, hard to tell from this angle, and cowboy boots. But Gabe was the most conventional of the bunch.
James was the Mexican bandito, all in black with ammunition belts criss-crossed over his chest. He carried a rifle (fake, she hoped) in one hand and a whip in the other. Oh, and did she mention he wore assless black denims and red-embossed leather boots?
Sam had taken on the role of Indian chief, to complement his wife, Simone supposed. He wore a full feather headdress, a bow in hand, and a quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder. War paint formed designs on his face and shaved chest. Beaded wrist and ankle bracelets rattled as he walked. His “Big Betsy” was bare and . . . well, big.
And then there was Marcus. If they got a picture of him, she and Gabe could leave for the night. His costume was so ludicrous and insanely perverted. He was a bull with a headpiece that was furry and sporting horns. There was also a cloak of fur pelts hanging from his shoulders. Devices resembling hoofs circled his ankles and wrists. And between his legs was strapped a dildo so big it would do any bull in stud proud; it swung from side to side as he walked into the room.
She had to blink several times to keep from going bug-eyed. Gabe came over to her and gave her a kiss on the lips and a pat on her butt. “You okay, sweetheart?”
“I’m fine, sweetheart,” she said back at him, in case anyone heard them. They would certainly be watching for their reactions. She tried to smile. But under her breath, she whispered to Gabe, “How soon can we get out of here?”
“As soon as I can slip out and get our car free,” he whispered back, pretending to be nuzzling her neck.
“Sit down, everyone,” Marcus ordered. “We’ll have a little entertainment before our own games begin.”
There was a tittering of laughter around the room, and James remarked, “Yee-haw!”
She and Gabe sat down on a low couch thingee that was curved upward slightly at both ends. They immediately found out that the darn thing rocked, like a see-saw.
The others laughed when they noticed the two of them almost falling off the ends. But they then sat close together in the middle, for balance, and the fun began.
In walked their two servers and the busboy/man, all naked, pushing one of those mechanical bulls on rollers. When they got to the middle of the room, they put locks on the legs. And Simone could see that this mechanical bull was different in that there was a wide hole in the center of the saddle.
To the tune of Aerosmith singing “Back in the Saddle Again,” the three of them did the most incredible things with that bull. On it, under it, to themselves, to each other. Dancing, gyrating, masturbating, copulating as the music got louder and louder, then ended with a crash of silence, as they bowed to the clapping crowd and Marcus walked them to the door, dildo swinging, presumably to pay for their services. Meanwhile Sam and James were moving the bull off to the side. Not out of the room, though, she noticed.
What would she do if they asked her to ride that thing? Bare-assed, as she was?
“Well, that was disgusting,” she said to Gabe.
“Um,” he replied.
She gave him a look, and saw that he was turned on.
Men!
“Hopefully, their car is the one blocking us in,” Gabe said. “I’ll check as soon as I can.”
Marcus was back, and he walked over to them, “Are you having fun so far?”
“Terrific!” Gabe said.
“How about you, Diane? Still feeling timid?”
It was hard for her to answer at first because with them sitting and Marcus standing, it put the dildo at eye level. “I’m still not sure,” she said and had no trouble pretending to blush.
They were saved by the bell then, literally, as the doorbell rang.
Everyone in the room went still, glancing worriedly at Marcus.
Marcus put a fingertip to his lips, cautioning silence. “It’s probably those three who just left. Probably forgot something and locked themselves out.” Even so, he removed his bull head piece and put a toweling robe over the rest of his costume, leaving the room.
The door was shut, but still they could hear voices.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I found one of Hannah’s folders—the one you keep pestering me about. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop it off.”
“This is not a good time. Hey, you can’t just barge in here and—”
“Not barging. This will only take a second. Oh, I see that you just finished dinner. Oops. Is this one of your club nights?”
“Just leave the damn folder on the table.”
“Uh-uh. You are signing off on these things. I don’t want you to be bothering me about any missing photos anytime in the future.”
“Why now?”
“I have a daughter who’s nosey. I don’t want her finding these.”
“Okay, let me see them. Whoa, where you going?”
“Just checking to see what you have going on tonight.”
“Why? You were never interested before.”
“I’m lots older now . . . and wiser.”
Everyone was standing now, looking toward the door. She and Gabe were closest, but she’d recognized the voice before the door even opened. It was, of course, Adam Lanier in a rumpled business suit with a five o’clock shadow, looking sexier than anyone in the club, and angry as a bear if that tic in his jaw was any indication.
She groaned. “He’s going to ruin everything.”
Gabe looked at her. “Who is he?”
“My boyfriend, sort of. Former, as of this minute.”
“Folks, you remember Adam Lanier, Hannah’s husband,” Marcus said, trying to take charge of the situation, knowing how uncomfortable everyone was feeling, especially in their costumes. “Don’t worry. Everything’s fine.”
Adam glanced around the room, nodding at each of the couples before he got to her and Gabe. He arched his brows and said, “And these new folks are . . . ?”
“Dr. Larry Storm and his wife, Diane. They just moved here from Chicago. Why don’t I get you a drink, Adam? Scotch and water as I recall?” Marcus was clearly trying to save the night and soothe his club members’ rattled nerves.
“Sure,” Adam said, even as he shook Gabe’s hand, then just gave Simone a head-to-shoulders lookover. “What’s this, Simone?” he asked. “Annie Oakley Does Dallas?”
“No. It’s about to be called Ex-Cop Kills Dumb-Ass Lawyer.”
“Will you be wearing a cop suit that shows half your ass, like you are now?”
She bared her teeth at him, and at the same time tugged down the hem of her cowgirl skirt.
“I think Diane is losing her timidity,” Gabe joked loud enough for others to hear, then walked over a few feet to chat with Caroline, who’d already indicated an interest in Simone’s doctor husband. She heard Gabe remark to Caroline, “Who’s this new guy? I sense a spark between him and Diane.” Clearly, Caroline, as well as the others, must be wondering why Adam was suddenly interested in sticking around. An interest in Diane/Simone would be one explanation.
“And you don’t mind?”
“Not as long as she shares the honey and goes home with me. Ha, ha, ha.”
Caroline looked at her and Adam, studying them, then concluded, “Instant sexual attraction.”
Not at the moment!
“Go . . . away!” she ordered Adam, at the same time smiling as she tried to hide her upset from the others.
“Not a chance!” Adam said, just before accepting the glass from Marcus and taking a huge slug.
To Marcus he said, “Do you mind if I stick around? I promise I won’t interfere with any of your fun and games.”
Marcus was not happy to have Adam there, but he also wouldn’t mind his joining the club, Adam had told her that when he’d mentioned his wife and her involvement with this group.
Conflicted, Marcus glanced around the room. “Anyone uncomfortable with Adam staying?”
They all raised their hands.
“Wanna give him a trial? Half hour or so and he’s out of here?”
Tentatively, the hands went up, one at a time, except for Sam who probably didn’t want any competition.
Marcus nodded and said, “I’ll be right back.”
As he walked away, Marcus dropped his toweling robe.
At which view, Adam muttered, “You’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.” Simone wasn’t sure if he was talking to himself or to her.
Marcus went over to a panel on the wall that controlled some kind of sound system. Instantly, the room flooded with music . . . theme music to match the night’s role playing. Loud and raucous beats caused everyone to relax and laugh. “Bum dee dee bum, bum dee dee bum, bum dee dee bum . . .” This time it was “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy!” that broke the silence.
“This ought to be fun,” Adam remarked to her with a roll of the eyes. “By the way, what’s your exit plan?”
She blushed.
“You and Dr. Cowboy have no exit plan!” he guessed.
“We do so, but you’re screwing it up.”
“Screw being the keyword in this motley crew of deviants.”
“Go . . . away!” she repeated.
“I sense a little hostility here.”
Just then, faintly and then getting louder, could be heard, even over the loud music, the sound of sirens in the distance. Marcus lowered the volume so they could be heard, coming closer and closer. Police, then ambulances.
“What’s that?” she asked Adam.
“My exit plan,” he said, then shouted to everyone in the room. “Hurry up and get out, folks. I think there might be an accident out on the lake. I thought I saw some activity down on the docks when I drove in. Hurry! You don’t want any cops knocking on your door.”
While the club members rushed for the door, Adam gave Simone a shove, hard, in the other direction and motioned with his head at Gabe for him to follow. When she didn’t move fast enough, he pinched her butt, hard. “Hurry up. I’m parked out back.”
“Our rental car’s out front,” Simone pointed out, rubbing her behind. “Pinch me again and I’ll shoot you.”
“With those toy guns?”
“With the pistol I left in the car, which we need to get—”
“Forget the damn car. If Pitot finds out what you’re up to, you’re dead meat.” He was frog-marching her now, as Gabe rushed to catch up with them.
“Marcus wouldn’t find out if you hadn’t shown up like a lackwit knight in pinstripe armor.”
“I don’t wear pinstripes.”
“Aaarrgh!”
“I’ll get the rental car and our clothes,” Gabe suggested. “Better that we don’t leave anything traceable behind.” As Adam was about to protest, he quickly added, “Don’t worry, I can handle it.” He removed the chain and medallion recording device from his neck and handed it to Simone. “We got some good stuff, boss.”
“Yeah, thanks for your help, Gabe.”
“Gabe? Not Dr. Larry Storm? Surprise, surprise! One of your Legal Belles looney birds, I suppose,” Adam commented snidely as he shoved her into the passenger seat of his Lexus, causing her skirt to ride up and his eyes to about bulge out.
“Bite me!”
“Definitely,” he said. “Later. After I’ve paddled your ass.”
“Another pervert!”
“You have no idea.”