Authors: Meghan Quinn
I looked over at the clock that was on my nightstand and realized it was already eight in the morning. If I wanted to make any sales at all in Jackson Square, then I needed to get my ass moving. I got up as I eyed an envelope on the corner of my nightstand. I quickly grabbed it, ripped it open and saw three hundred dollars nestled along with a note. Relief flashed through my body as I thought about how rent was paid for this month.
The note was folded in two and I quickly took it out and read it to myself.
Thank you for an amazing night. I know I don’t say this enough, but I can’t tell you how much I enjoy your company. I plan on making some changes in the near future and plan on talking to you about them soon. Until next time, think of me constantly.
A sigh escaped me as I read the note again. I was acting like a teenager in lust, but how could I not? The man was amazing. I thought about what he meant in his note and tried to decipher his cryptic wording. Was he trying allude to the fact that he might be leaving his wife? What did that mean for us? If there was even an “us.”
A part of me wondered if he would stick around or if he would go find someone else to give him what he wanted. Fear prickled at the back of my neck at the thought of not only losing a really good fuck, but also losing a part of my income. I couldn’t let that happen.
I grabbed my phone and sent Rex a text message.
Goldie: Thanks for last night. I have never come so hard in my life. I’m surprised your dick didn’t break off in my pussy.
My phone buzzed back quickly.
Rex: Do you still wish it was in your pussy?
God, I loved dirty talk. As I got ready for the day, I’d have to take a shower later, I texted him back.
Goldie: Yes, your fingers, your tongue, any part of you. You are the master of my body.
Rex: You really know how to please me. I have a couple of things I have to do in the next couple of days, but I need to see you again. Make time for me.
Rex: Good girl. I’ll talk to you later, think of me.
I grabbed my easel, charcoal, paper, and finished art and headed out the door, while placing a sun hat on my head. The heat was going to be killer today and I needed something to protect my eyes from the glare.
Jackson Square, in the French Quarter, was already packed with palm readers, artists, musicians and street entertainers. It was a staple for all tourists hoping to gain a genuine experience of New Orleans. It was where the crazies came to sell their souls for any kind of attention or income. Which meant I was there as well. Any chance to make a dime and I was there.
I sidled up next to the wrought iron fence that surrounded Jackson square and started laying out my charcoal drawings of various tourist attractions around New Orleans. Most of my drawings were of Lafayette Cemetery, in the Garden District, because that was where I spent most of my free time, but I also had some other drawings from around the French Quarter that tourists would enjoy…like the ever present and extremely loud Steamboat Natchez as well as the infamous French Market Arch.
Tourists adored the black and white depictions of the city I was born and raised in. When I sat back and looked at the drawings, really took the time to appreciate them, a sense of overwhelming love flowed through my body for my hometown. But when I was shoved to the side by the greasy-ass hobo two people down, I was rudely thrown back into reality and remembered exactly what my life was, a constant climb out of a never-ending hole of human crap.
“Bourbon Street Parade”
Puffs of white dust blew through the air as I watched locals and mostly tourists take their first bites into Café Du Monde’s infamous beignets. Smiles stretched across everyone’s faces as they realized the fried dough concoction had forever changed their life. You had two choices when you came to Café du Monde and that was how many beignets you wanted and what your drink of choice was. Every first Saturday of the month I came down to the French Quarter to enjoy the local atmosphere, eat beignets at my favorite table that lined the street so I could people watch and sip my café au lait while enjoying some zydeco music from a local musician yearning for attention.
Except, this time, my motivation had changed for making it down to the French Quarter. It had been a week and Goldie had yet to contact Kace. I was not one to not get my way so when I checked in with Kace yesterday to see if she contacted him and he said no, I knew I was going to have to try again.
There was no reason as to why she wouldn’t contact Kace. The only thing I could think of was maybe she didn’t get the card we left at her table. I would make sure she got it this time. I wasn’t taking a “no” where Goldie was concerned, she would be a Jett Girl.
I finished my café au lait, paid the barely speaking Vietnamese waitress and went on my way. The street was already lined with people trying to get into Café du Monde. Tourists had no clue that the best time to get a beignet from the popular location was early in the morning while the drunks still slept off their hangovers.
The city was fairly quiet, besides the faint blare of a trumpet in the background and the occasional click of a camera of visitors taking pictures of the classic city.
I crossed the street, making sure not to be run over by the mules that lined Decatur Street, waiting to be put to work by sight-seeing tourists.
Jackson square, which was right across the street from Café du Monde was just starting to come alive with musicians, artists, palm readers, acrobats and frozen people who were my favorite of all the Jackson Square “entrepreneurs.” Locals took the time to come up with an over the top way to show how they could hold still in a “moving” position for an extended period of time. They took donations for their ability not to move or break scene. It was all a little strange, but then again, it was New Orleans.
I walked along the wrought iron fence that outlined Jackson square, making sure to look out for that caramel colored hair that captivated me for the first time a month ago. She wasn’t in her normal spot, which concerned me because I didn’t want to go back to Kitten’s Castle to make contact again; I was pretty sure I picked up some sort of incurable disease last time I was there.
I continued around the square until I saw the Italian from the bar hovering over Goldie, making her laugh and smile that gorgeous smile of hers. Jealous rage ran through my body at the thought of Goldie having a relationship with the Italian. I had been so consumed with making sure Goldie’s room was laid out properly and getting her contract ready that I forgot to check into the Italian.
Pulling out my phone and making a quick note to myself, I set a reminder to look into the brawny man and make any arrangements to split the two up if they were together, because Goldie being with someone else would not be tolerated.
I walked closer and stood with my back to them, as I observed a frozen street performer act like he was climbing a ladder which, I couldn’t lie, was rather impressive…that he was able to balance for so long. As I observed the balancing act, I listened in to what Goldie and the Italian were talking about.
“Come on, Goldie. You have to come out with us before we work tonight. You can’t tell me that you don’t want to have a drink before you go to the almighty castle and get man-handled by every man in the joint.”
“I could use a drink before work, but I don’t want to go to where we went last time. I’m not in the mood to deal with drunken frat boys before work, since that’s who I have to deal with on a constant basis when I get to work.”
“Fair enough. Come to The Dungeon; we can shoot some pool before work and I can show that fine ass of yours how to stuff the pockets.”
I inwardly groaned at the terrible attempt at a sexual innuendo. I could just imagine the look on the man’s face, wiggling his eyebrows and smiling like a moron. Goldie was better than that.
“Alright, I’ll go. Pick me up?”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way, baby girl. See you later.”
Carlos. I ingrained the name in my head so I could talk to my private investigator about him later. I turned slightly so I could see the man walk away, just to make sure he was completely gone.
I faced Goldie, whose back was toward me. She was wearing torn shorts, a black tank top and black Converse. Her bra strap was making an appearance and I cringed at the poor material that so intimately caressed her beautiful skin. That would be one of the first things I’d fix once she moved in.
Her drawings were scattered along the fence, showing off her incredible talent. The first time I ever laid eyes on her, she was drawing with her ear buds in her ears, tapping her foot to the beat that flowed through her body and using her fingers to make art in ways I never knew were possible. At that moment I knew, I needed those fingers on me, making art with my body.
I slowly approached her, trying not to make a sound. I didn’t want her to spot me, I just wanted to make it a point that I was interested. I needed to stay aloof, like I always did with every new Jett Girl. My identity was not something to be played around with.
I pulled a Jett card out of my pocket and put it on her side table that held her charcoal and said, “You’re a beautiful artist.”
Before she could turn around to see who was talking to her, I pulled away and got lost in the crowd. It was time to go back to the Lafayette Club and get ready for a very important business meeting. The girls were on tonight and I needed to make sure Kace had them ready to go.
“A Little Party Never Killed Nobody”
A cold chill ran through my body once I recognized the voice that told me I was a beautiful artist. I turned around to catch a glimpse of the mysterious man from the blackout booth, but I was too late; he was lost amongst a sea of tourists watching a frozen man on a ladder.
I looked down at my watch and realized if I wanted to be ready to go before Carlos arrived, I better get packed up and moving. I got off my chair and started packing up all my supplies when I saw a black business card on my side table. At that instant, the night from a week ago when I received a visit from the mysterious man at Kitten’s Castle flashed through my mind. I received the same kind of card that night, but forgot to look at it since it was dark and I was consumed by getting home and getting ready for Rex.
I grabbed the card and took a closer look at it. It was thick paper with a matte finish, but the font was lifted and shiny. “Jett Girl” was spelled out under purple lettering and right under it was my name. I turned the card over and saw a phone number lining the bottom of the card…that was it. I scrunched my nose, trying to figure out what the hell a Jett Girl was, but was at a loss. So instead, I grabbed my phone and did a Google search, but came up short. I tried Googling Jett Girl, New Orleans, but nothing, only stupid pictures of jets came up.
Not wanting to waste any more time trying to figure out what the damn card meant, I headed back to my apartment with all my shit in tow. Thankfully, Jackson Square was in the heart of the French Quarter, along with my apartment, so I didn’t have to walk too far.
As I walked up the rickety stairs of my apartment that hovered over a souvenir shop, I heard moaning coming through the walls. Thinking it was our neighbor getting it on with another one of his girls, I walked into the apartment and was welcomed by Lyla pole dancing a giant black man’s dick.
“Shit,” I muttered as I covered my eyes, sent my apologies with a slight wave, and ran back to my bedroom. Mortification covered my cheeks as visuals of Lyla bouncing up and down on a massive cock ran through my head. I did have to give the girl credit, she was taking his pounding like a champ, or at least it looked like it.
Ignoring the horrendous cries of sex in the other room, I dug around for my apron and pulled out the card that I stuffed in there a week ago without giving it a second thought. I examined it and it was the exact same card as the one I received today. What was really confusing was that it said my name on it and it wasn’t written on…it was printed! Who the fuck does that?
I tossed the cards on my dresser and started getting ready for the night. I took a quick shower to wash off the sweat I accumulated while sitting out in the sun and made sure to wash my skin with a potent coconut scent, since I preferred to smell myself over the sweaty men in the club.
As I walked back to my room, I nearly lost my towel when I saw Lyla sitting on my bed, waiting for me.
“Sweet Jesus. You scared the crap out of me.”
“Sorry about that,” Lyla said as she put lotion on her long brown legs. “You came home early today.”