SideChicks by Valorie M Taylor

THIS MORNING

"Mr. Blackbone, it's Lore returning your call."

"Sweet Lore," he breathed like he just finished an orgasm. "I don’t have the best news?"

"You sound like you're out breath. Is this a good time?"

There was another voice so very faint that sounded like help me and then silence.

Lore’s eyes closed in remorse. "Maybe we should—“

"I'm done now. Just had to finish up. I'd never not take a call from you, my dear.”

His haste didn't make her feel any better. "Is it about Liset? Did you find her?”

“I did. Took a little work but Donald finally gave in.”

A guttural scream escaped her. “Where is she? I need to—“

“Potter’s Field. Pains me to tell you that.”

Lore cried. “How did she die? What did he do to her?”

“It was brutal, Lore. They gang raped her. Four of them.”

….No, no.”

“I can get her back, Lore.”

“You can? I want that. I’m responsible for her. I want to bury her the right way.

“I will handle it."

"...My precious Liset. I want them all punished. I don’t care what it costs!”

"The cost costs. It’ll change you, Love. Four men are to die?”

“I don’t care! I want them all punished!”

“Punishment. To what degree?“

“The ultimate, Mr. Blackbone.”

"It is done."

“OMG! Rocky, I’ve never been to a movie premier! That was so fucking cool!”

Even at 54, hot Hollywood Producer/Director Rocky Stevens was enjoying his second wind. No longer beholden to the establishment; he was the establishment.

Divorce? Final.

Kids? Grown.

Inhibitions? None.

Pockets? Full of money and sporting ripped jeans, a t-shirt and dark sunglasses. Wrecklessly comfortable, Rocky was redefining mid-life crisis his way; a glass of scotch in one hand and a tight-bodied 19 year-old head-turner named Jules on the other.

“All those actors coming up to you,” babbled Jules practically skipping her big blue eyes bright with adoration. “I can’t fucking believe you know Jayla Connor and Bruce Dane and Rosette Santorini! OMG! She’s so hot. I’d totally fuck her.”

“Well,” said Rocky nodding to Buzz as he opened the limo door and raised a wild eyebrow, “maybe I can arrange a threesome.”

“Wait,” she got real serious and stopped short of stepping in. “I’d have to check with Lore. Conflict of insurance, you know.”

He laughed. “It’s conflict of interest, Jules, and don’t be silly. I was just kidding.”

“Oh. Okay.” Jules took her place in the limo and readily freshened her make-up.

Rocky hopped in behind her and reached for his favorite Scotch. He poured himself a glass, sipped its contents and smiled as it journeyed to his nervous system. Life is good, he thought to himself. Really good. Rocky pressed the limousine intercom and spoke into it. “Buzz, take us to the party.”

“Wait! Let’s go to this little club I know on 5th Street first. Club Rebel.”

“I have to make an appearance, Jules. It’s my movie.”

Jules pouted and crossed her arms over her cleavage. “All your friends are so old, Rocky. They make me feel like a kid.”

He laughed and patted her soft leg. “You are a kid, Jules. That’s what I love about you.”

She slid her pretty little evening dress up and opened her legs. Rocky’s eager eyes followed her fingers. “…Rocky, you love what makes me a woman.”

He pressed the button again. “Buzz, change of plans. Club Rebel on 5th.”

“Yes, sir.”

As the limo slid into traffic, Rocky fell face first between Jules’ legs.

Club Rebel was alive with laser lights and the thump of Rave music electrified the night air.

A line of anxious party-goers—practically a mile long—ran along the building and around the corner. The goal? To see and be seen at Club Rebel.

Rocky’s limo pulled right up to the door and snatched everyone’s attention.

Jules, flipping her hair and enjoying the attention, drug a hesitant Rocky to the front of the line. His feet suddenly stopped. “Wait. Jules, is this club on Lore’s list?”

“Well, not exactly,” she admitted with bouncy giggle as Buzz slid away.

“Then maybe I should call Buzz back..”

“No.” She draped her arms around his shoulders and kissed his mouth. “Isn’t that why I’m here, Rocky? For a little excitement, huh?” She kissed him again. “A change of clothes? A cool hat? A good gritty fuck in your limo?”

“Mmmm-hm.” Rocky grabbed her butt and returned her affections giving maybe a little too much tongue.

“Come on, Rocky,” said Jules, “we’ll dance a little bit and then off to your party so everybody can admire you. Hey, it can’t start until you get there, right?”

“Okay.”

“Whoa, Pops,” said the 300-lb bodyguard at the metal door putting his hand in the middle of Rocky’s chest.

“What the fuck!” Jules pushed his hand away. “Get your fucking hands off him, Tank!”

“Jules? That you, girl? Where you been?”

“Around.”

“Who dis? Yo daddy?”

“It’s Rocky fucking Stevens, you moron!”

“Aw, no shit? I’ve seen all your movies, man!” Tank swung the door open. “Welcome to Club Rebel. Hey, you need a bodyguard, Mr. Stevens? Yo! Mr. Stevens!”

Rocky and Jules walked on entering a pulsating feast of music, laser lights and sweaty bodies.

Immediately, Rocky and Jules were part of the dance frenzy. The flesh of bodies pressed and released against them. Jules’ tuft of black hair whipped around like a tornado. And Rocky employed his fastest two-step finally resorting to just jumping up and down like everybody else.

Everybody there was sweaty and making excellent use of their youth. Rocky looked around and saw two women tongue-kissing and fondling each other under their clothes.

Just then, he surmised that Jules was leaving him to go to the restroom.

Rocky spotted the bar and made his way over to it.

“Hey, sir,” said the bartender. “What can I get ya’?”

“Scotch.”

“We don’t have any scotch, sir.” The bartender pointed to the neon marquee. “We serve juice cocktails made with Moscato. More juice than Moscato. Here are our choices.”

Rocky scanned the board quickly. “When in Rome…let me get one of those Fuckin’ On The Beach.” Rocky reached for his wallet and glimpsed Jules doing a line of coke at the other end of the bar.

He abandoned his order and pressed through the crowd making his way over to her.

Her beautiful black hair hung in strands around her make-up smeared face.

Grabbing her arm he asked, “what are you doing, Jules? C’mon, let’s get—“

At that moment a blonde-haired woman threw a drink in Jules’ face and followed it with, “Bitch!”

So high, Jules took a half-hearted swing at the woman landing her flat on her ass.

The two-person altercation exploded into crazy violence of hair, shoes and screaming. The crowd circled a glow of what seemed a million cell phones recording their antics. Rocky grabbed Jules and raced for the door.

The next morning, Rocky watched the news—just as all of L.A. did. He despised Nina Rodriguez. She treated his embarrassment like last night’s trash.

“And the question on everyone’s lips in Hollywood last night is where is famed Producer Director Rocky Stevens?” asked the overly made-up host of tv’s Good Gossip.

Across town, the same episode blared in Lore’s Hollywood Hills home office.

“Immediately following the premier of Rocky’s latest thriller The Absentee, unpredictable Rocky, seen here with an unnamed babe, ditched his own party thrown by studio brass to end up in a bar fight at Club Rebel,” said Nina. “And yes, with plenty of pictures to prove it!”

With the click of the remote, Lore turned the television off. She walked right past Farrah who sat wide-eyed near the door. Lore walked over and glared at Jules.

“I’m so sorry, Lore,” whimpered Jules with make-up gone, dress ripped and missing one shoe. She curled into a tight ball in Lore’s office chair.

“What the fuck, Jules! What the fuck?” She reached down and grabbed her chin. “What the hell were you thinking?!”

“I’m sorry, Lore.”

She let her face go and paced the floor. “You took Rocky Stevens to Club Rebel? Just answer me why you took him off grid? Huh? Why?”

Jules whimpered. “We were on our way to the party but I didn’t wanna go and be with all those stuffy old people. His friends treat me like I’m stupid! I hate them.”

“So what! They’re not your friends, Jules. You were there to do a job. Your job!”

“I know. I’m sorry, Lore.”

“And the fight?”

Jules sat up a little higher. “…Okay, that bitch Sarah is dating my ex Geo. He saw me at Rebel. Told Sarah I owed him money. I don’t. I swear. She started calling me names and threw a drink in my face!”

“The truth, Jules. You went to Club Rebel to score.”

Her eyes got big. “No. I promise you, Lore.” she shook her head. “I didn’t”

Lore bent down with hands on knees to get a good look. “I can see it your eyes, Jules. You’ve got that coming down look.”

“Allergies. I swear. Lore, I promise you, I didn’t—“

“Rocky called. He all but confirmed that you were doing lines of coke when the fight broke out.”

Jules covered her eyes and cried miserably. “I need this job, Lore. Please.”

“I can’t keep you on like this, Jules. You exposed a Client to negative publicity. You went off grid. You’re doing drugs. You’re a liability to my company! I only work with people I trust and right now, I can’t trust you!”

“Don’t fire me, Lore.” Jules got up, walked over to Lore and grabbed her hands kissing them. “I’ll straighten up. I promise.”

“You will straighten up. In rehab.”

Jules stopped mid kiss and said. “I, I think I can do it on my own.”

Lore shook her hands lose and picked up the phone on her desk. “MacBeth, arrange for Jules at Peace Place.” She hung up. “Come on, Jules. Let’s go.”

“Lore, no. You can’t…don’t make me go.”

“What choice do I have, Jules?”

She wiped her eyes and wrapped one arm around herself. “Can I work again when I’m clean?”

Still pissed-off, Lore said, “get clean first.”

MacBeth opened the office door startling Farrah.

Her whole body shook. “Lore, please!”

Lore walked over to Jules and kissed her on her forehead. “Come back to me clean.”

MacBeth drug the whining Jules out of Lore’s office.

“Well,” said Lore taking a deep breath and making herself comfortable in her chair. “Come closer, Farrah.”

Farrah stood on legs that where short on blood and took timid steps toward her host still wearing her disco outfit from last night.

“Sit down, please,” said Lore all business.

She sat down and took a moment to bask in the glory that was Lore. “…Who are you?”

“The same woman who picked you up last night, Farrah.”

Farrah shook her head. “…No. You’re not. Last night you were some weirdo dyke jonesin’ for young street pussy.”

Lore grimaced. “We’re gonna have to work on your vocabulary.”

“I’m sorry. But you’re someone I never expected. That’s not who you are at all. You’re a pimp! I mean, I’m sorry that’s not what I—”

“Actually, Farrah, you’re right.” Lore leaned forward. “I am a pimp if that means I’m a determined business woman. I have Clients who pay big money, huge money for very specific companions. Not just for a night or a few hours.”

“Like, like days?”

“Weeks. Even months.” Lore allowed the weight of this truth to settle in Farrah’s mind and said. “You remind me of the one I lost.”

“Liset.”

Lore smiled. “Liset. She believed in this dream. We were like sisters. Me, a few years older. And she was able to carry this thing off like she invented it.”

“And you think I could be as good as her?”

Lore looked at Farrah a long time. “I think you could do a great job. With training.”

“Training? Not like how to fu—I mean how to have sex?”

Lore laughed. “Training includes walking, talking, hair, make-up, perfumes, clothing, geography, wines, gourmet foods and yes, fucking.”

Farrah remembered to breathe. “Wow.”

“You will follow my rules to the letter. There is no coming back once they are broken.”

“But you told Jules she…” Farrah stopped realizing nothing she was saying even phased Lore whose eyes registered a coldness that frightened her. Farrah admitted to herself that she’d never been treated better nor had she ever felt safer. There was a life or death element to her choice but she cleared her throat to mask her nervousness. “I’d like to be trained, Ma’am.”

“Ok. First rule; you will call me Lore.”

“Lore.”

She slid a contract in front of Farrah. “Clients pay a monthly amount and you will make 25% of that amount during each engagement minus my investment in your training.”

“Sounds good. When do I start?”

“Don’t be so anxious, Farrah,” said Lore with a smile. “I didn’t even mention any numbers but you, my young darling, are about to be a very rich young woman.”

Farrah smiled brightly.

Francois knocked lightly on Lore’s office door.

She looked up from her paperwork and saw the most handsomely irresistible sight; Dr. Truman Glass.

Fracois’ eyes followed the hunk of testosterone into Lore’s office and then she shut the door.

Dr. Glass flashed that effortless million dollar smile at her and wrapped his arms around her body as she stood. “Good to see you, Lore. You’re looking quite beautiful.”

“You, too, Doc.”

He pointed to a chair. “May I?”

“Please,” she said lowering herself into her desk chair.

He pinched a flash drive between his fingers. "I’ve got a report card for you. Your instincts were right about Farrah, Lore,” said Dr. Glass. "She's experienced. Wild, instinctive and innovative in bed. She can bring in a small fortune."

Lore smiled. “We like money,” she said, slid the flash drive from his fingers and inserted it into her computer.

Dr. Glass was well into his 60's. But he was tanned and built like a 30 year old body builder. Granted, the clinical psychologist and sex therapist was hopped up on his own stem cell cocktail and hung like a fuckin' bull remembered Lore as her computer processed her request.

It hadn’t been that long since she’d made herself his patient believing that his sex-sessions were a way of escaping her personal demons. “Okay,” she said tapping a few buttons and moving her paperwork and coffee cup over so he, too, could view the screen.

The gentlemen he was, Dr. Glass hopped up and leaned over Lore. “Don’t disturb your desk too much. I can show what you need to see from here.” He reached forward, put his hand over hers that rested on her computer mouse. He scrubbed through the video.

Lore lost herself in his warm scent.

“Here.” He pointed to her computer screen. Farrah spread naked on Dr. Glass’ bed as he rubbed her passionately. "See there? Right there I'm trying to help her find her g-spot." Farrah pushed his hand away and inserted her own fingers to a climactic cascade.

"She knew where it was all along."

Lore crossed her legs and told her own lust to cool it.

The next clip showed Dr. Glass feeding Farrah his penis. "Hungry little mouth, huh? I thought this was going pretty well until..." He pointed to the screen again. "Right there." Farrah jumped to her feet, guided him backwards on to the bed and straddled his face. Her hips fluttered and she rubbed all of herself on his eager, curious tongue.

"Who ever said 69 was outta style?” asked Dr. Glass rhetorically. It was obvious Farrah was at ease with oral sex. “She held my dick like an old time elevator operator. She knew what she wanted."

It was sensually difficult for Lore who was trying to focus on business and not let her mind remember the times Dr. Glass trained her. “So Farrah knows her instrument."

"Definitely."

"She's not inhibited."

"Not in the least."

“How about intercourse?"

"Nice of you to use the clinical word, Lore,” said Dr. Glass with a guttural laugh. “But this one..." he fast forwarded to the last part of the video. "Just likes to fuck."

Lore watched as Farrah did her best to participate missionary style under the weight of Dr. Glass’ insistent pounding. Soon bored with that, Farrah turned him over, she spread her legs, mounted him, swallowed him hole leaving glossy strokes on his shaft as he moaned bear-like into the room. He laid her on her side and entered her thrusting himself into her while she cried "deeper! Harder! Harder, mother fucker!"

She jumped to her knees and insisted on sex doggy style. He grabbed her hips and ram-rodded her from behind. Ecstasy escaped her mouth in little screams.

Like the game of Twister, Farrah fed Dr. Glass her breasts, her tongue, her pussy, her ass and back again until he ejaculated all over her stomach and breast.

Lore tilted her head. "You think she knew she was being filmed?"

"Oh I'm sure of it,” he smiled his breath steaming Lore’s neck. “I don't think she cared." He stood upright and turned her around in her chair. “Farrah gets an A. Just like my first student, eh? You remember our lessons?”

She slid an envelope from her desk and handed it to Dr. Glass. “Vividly.”

“It’s been seven years, Lore,” said Dr. Glass rubbing her hips. “You’ve sent me teens and inexperienced wall flowers. When will you come back to class?”

“I’ll be in touch.”