Sorority Girls With Guns (19 page)

“
And if you keep those good thoughts to yourself, I might not smack you,” I mumble.

Chapter Twenty-Two

  
I don't care what anyone says: Cheap clothing looks cheap, and expensive clothing looks better.  It's not that this Forever 21 dress doesn't look good on me; the black vinyl hugs my curves in all the right places. The skirt stops at mid-thigh on me, which means it was meant to be a panty-flasher on an average-height girl, but I'm pretty limber - I could make it work as a panty-flasher, I assure you.

But the material is cheap. The seams were machine-stitched in China. The up-the-back zipper won't survive saran-wrapping my boobs more than a couple times. The detail on the leopard-print inner lining is poor. I might feel sexy in a dress like this, but I will never feel like a million bucks.

Still, it was the best I could do on a seventy-five dollar clothing budget when shopping for the trip, and it will have to do for tonight.

“
That dress is cute,” Morgan says, as we park a block from the nightclub where Richard rented a private room for the night.

“
So's Justin Bieber, but I wouldn't let
him
touch my ass,” I mutter.

Here's the other thing about cheap clothes: They make other people look at you differently, even people who don't know much about clothing. Something about cheap clothes just jumps out and screams, “This girl has less money than Heidi and Spencer after a night on the town!” At least, that's the look the bouncer is giving me as he triple-checks my ID against the names on the list. “Okay,” he says, handing back my ID and gesturing for Tiffany to hand over hers. “The Diamond Room's in the back. Drink prices are listed on the tabletop menus.”

I wait as he gives the same speech to Tiff and Morgan, then I start to follow them to the Diamond Room, but I do it slowly, so I can watch Muscles carding the next group of girls. I pause, turning back to get a good look at them. Tiff and Morgan don't notice over the pounding music.

Muscles is carding a pair of girls who look like they just stepped out of an Escada boutique. The tall, blonde one is wearing the very latest style  in mini-dresses - like mine, only worth a grand more. Her neck is accented by a choker that, unlike me, actually looks like it belongs in the Diamond Room. The slightly shorter blonde is wearing a white, gauzy mini-dress that I'm pretty sure I recently saw in a “Which Celeb Wore it Better” column on a trashy news site.

The bouncer doesn't look twice at either of their ID's. “Enjoy your evening,” is all he says as he ushers them in.

“
Shade, are you coming?” Tiffany calls from the door to the Diamond Room. “Sure,” I yell. I turn away slowly, catching Muscles' eye for a split second. He's looking at me like I should be serving drinks instead of ordering them. But what can I do about it? If I tell him off, he'll probably kick me out. Still annoyed, I turn and stalk off toward the Diamond Room.

“
So what's the big surprise?” I ask Matt as I slip through the heavy curtains into the Diamond Room. I have to admit, the place is nice. This one room is slightly bigger than the common room at the sorority house where Morgan and Tiff throw most of their parties.  The polished hardwood floor is perfect for dancing, with a strobe light casting swirly patterns on it. The room has its own small but well-stocked bar, so no one has to go out into the hubbub of the club for drinks.

Matt turns away from said bar, a martini in each hand. Judging by the colors, one is an appletini and the other is either watermelon or strawberry. He's wearing jeans and a Faded Glory shirt, for fuck's sake.

“
They'll be here any minute,” he says, noticing me eyeing his shirt. “Hey, do you like it? I borrowed it from Richard!”

Well, that explains it.

“
I see you've invited some of the same guests from last night,” I say, peering around at several groups of people.

“
You remember that?” Matt asks, his forehead furrowing in concentration. “All I remember is a girl named Brandy who wanted me to douse her in champagne and lick it off her.”

“
TMI,” Tiffany says with a groan, sliding up to the bar. “Hey, is that appletini for you, or...?”

Matt smiles. “Actually, these are for our guests. Hey, here they come now!” He points at the doorway.

At this point, I sort of wish I'd waited out in the main room, so I could see Muscles carding these two. One is a tall brunette wearing what I'm pretty sure is a genuine Badgley Mischka little black dress, which is about three sizes too small for her. Since she's about my size, I wonder vaguely if she bought it in a size 0 at that outlet mall. She's also wearing Tory Burch signature sandals and department-store perfume that probably costs around $80 a bottle. So, not cheap, but...something seems a little off here.

Her companion is a tall, buxom redhead – think Joanie on
Mad Men
, but a lot thinner and a lot less subtle. Her boobs are crammed into a lacy bustier, and her leather skirt is short enough to show off the fact that she's actually wearing a garter belt. The strand of pearls drowning itself in her cleavage looks genuine.

So, basically, they both look cheap in an expensive way.

Matt and Charlie rush to the door to greet their strange new guests, and Tiffany starts flirting with the bartender, a tattooed guy who looks like he's experienced her line of bullshit before and isn't interested. I scan the room for Richard, and see him standing off in a corner by himself, looking at something on his phone.

“
Did you see our latest video?” I ask, walking up to him.

He looks up. “Oh, yeah. After Matt and Charlie saw it, they dragged me to some fancy restaurant and forced me to try all these exotic dishes. One of them turned out to be squid.”

“
Calamari?” I ask, playing along with his poor-guy-used-to-eating-fast-food act.

“
Yeah, that's it.” He rolls his eyes. “Tastes like rubbery chicken. I actually like chicken better.”

“
I'm sure you do.”

He slides closer to me, pocketing his cell phone and glancing at my purse to see where mine is situated. “By the way, I wanted to apologize for overreacting when we talked last night,” he says vaguely. “I realized after you left that I had nothing to worry about.” He could be talking about the price of gas, who Tiffany had a crush on or the current state of Kimye's relationship. Well, okay, probably no one would think he was talking about
that
.

“
What changed your mind?” I ask, feeling a little panicked myself. What if he's thought of something to hold over my head? Then I'll lose my leverage.

He leans over and whispers in my ear, far too quietly for any camera mikes to pick up, “I realized that you're not going to out me, because it would spoil the experiment for your vlog and ruin your ambitions of become a social media-reality star.”

“
The rules of the bet only specified you had to
act
rich,” I whisper back. “There's no rule that says you have to actually be poor any more than there is one that the rest of us have to actually be rich.”

Richard smiles and the dimples of doom appear. “No, but if you outed me as rich, it would cheapen the experience for all the viewers you hope to have. They'd see the whole thing as a fraud and tune out before you could get famous.”

Unfortunately, he's right. “So your secret's safe...for now,” I whisper. Then I give him a mischievous look, turn on my heel and walk away.

Just in time, apparently. Matt, Charlie, and the two ladies at the door are arguing, loudly, and Matt turns and yells, “Richard, buddy, get over here! I need your help to settle something.”

I saunter over, rejoining Tiffany and Morgan, who are both holding drinks. There's a hottie standing between the two of them, looking like he can't decide who to flirt with first. I'm guessing that's where the drinks came from. “What do you think is going on there?” I ask them, waving at the scene by the door.

“
I don't know, but since Matt and Charlie are determined to teach Richard a lesson about the hardships of being rich, I'll bet those girls are some sort of golddiggers,” Morgan says.

The tall blonde turns to Richard. “Your
friend
here-” She flaps a french-manicured hand at Matt, as if she doesn't really believe he and Richard are friends. “-assures me that you'll be taking care of the arrangements for tonight?”

Well, talk about vague. What the fuck is that about?

Richard raises his eyebrows and flashes an I-have-no-idea smile her way. “What arrangements would those be?”

“
You know, Richie,” Matt says, placing a hand on Richard's shoulder and giving him a you-better-cooperate look. “Those arrangements you agreed to when you put me in charge of party planning?”

“
Oh, you mean taking care of the bill.” Richard waves his hand like he's trying to swat a vampire bat, which doesn't look exaggerated or contrived
at all
. “Sure, no problem. That's what I'm here for.”

The two girls both instantly relax. “Then let's have a great time!” The redhead says, taking Matt by the hand and leading him onto the dance floor.

I should point out that Matt doesn't dance, at least not in any way that you would recognize as dancing. Basically, he shuffles his feet around, and if he's really drunk he waves his arms over his head like a drunk sorority girl at Mardi Gras. So when the redhead starts grinding up against him, he's pretty much thrown for a curve. Fortunately, he solves this problem by whispering something in her ear, which I hope is, “Let's go somewhere more private”.

And it is. The two of them slip off into one of the private-private rooms (according to the club's website, the Diamond room offers four of these, for “party down time”).

“
Let's go dance,” Morgan says to her drink-proffering hottie.

“
No, he's going to dance with me,” Tiffany says, laying a hand on Hottie's arm and batting her lashes at him.

What the hell, I think he's sexier than the guy who plays the lovesick brain surgeon on
Desperate Doctors
. Might as well take a shot at it. “But you really want to dance with me,” I say,  moving up close to him. Since he's in between Tiffany and Morgan, I have a clear shot at the front of him. “And it's the least you can do for me since you bought
them
drinks.”

“
Would you like a drink?” he asks.

“
I'd like a dance. With you.” I smile at Tiffany and Morgan. “Tiffany here has a boyfriend who gets jealous if she dances with a guy who's hotter than he is. And Morgan is just looking for a guy to star in her next leaked sex tape. That wouldn't be you, would it? I mean, you're not into that sort of a-”

“
Oh no,” Hottie says quickly, as Morgan gapes at me in wide-mouthed astonishment. He runs a hand through his curly, dark hair.“We're not allowed to do anything like that. It's strictly forbidden.”

Wait...”We're not allowed?” “Strictly forbidden?” Who's we? Is he in some sort of strict religion? If so, why is he here at a nightclub handing out drinks like they're after-dinner mints?

“
What do you mean?” I ask.

“
He means he finds your ludicrous accusation as disgusting as I do,” Morgan snaps. She reaches for his arm. “Those are all lies, Phil, I can assure you.”

Ah, so hottie has a name. “Phil,” I say. “Ask around, and you'll hear rumors about the last sex tape Morgan just barely managed to cover up.”

“
You need to
grow
up,” Morgan says, playing along. After all, I am helping her hide a secret.

Phil takes a tentative step back, his eyes landing on my GluedToYou button. “I can't....I'd lose my job.”

“
Oh, don't worry, she's great at covering her sex tapes up, just like Shade said,” Tiffanys jumps in.

I make eye contact with Phil. “I think if you dance with me, you'll be glad you did.”

Phil smiles. “Ladies, we have plenty of time. I can dance with all of you. But right now, I think I should dance with you first.” He takes my hand and we walk out onto the dance floor, leaving Tiffany and Morgan standing alone.

“
So what kind of work do you do?” I ask as we start moving our feet to a mid-tempo r&b song. I see Richard and Blondie slow-dancing, even though it doesn't exactly fit the music.

He gives me a confused look. “Um...what?”

“
You said you'd get fired if anyone leaked a sex tape of you!” I yell over the music, and a few people look our way. Well, how the fuck am I supposed to communicate with a hot dance partner at a nightclub? By text message? “Are you running for office?” I tease.

Phil looks down at the floor. “Um...this is a little awkward.” He stops dancing. “Let's go sit at the bar where we can talk, huh?”

I follow him to the bar, where he orders an expensive German beer, the name of which I can't pronounce. I order a Shirley Temple and insist on paying for it myself. Richard and Blondie walk past, hand in hand, on their way to another private-private room, I assume.

“
So what's the big secret?” I ask Phil, after the bartender has dropped off our drinks and disappeared.

Phil stares at his beer glass as if mesmerized by the bubbles. “I'm sorry, Shade, I thought you knew.”

“
Knew what?” I raise an eyebrow. “Look, I'm from out of town, so if you're some sort of local celebrity or town councilman or something-”

Phil laughs, but there's a hard edge to it. “No, definitely
not
that.”

“
Well...what is it then?” I press. This is the first time I've ever had to spend ten minutes finding out what a guy does for a living. That doesn't bode well for me.

He sighs. “Well....you saw my friends Kimmy and Delilah at the door, right?”

“
Friends?” I ask sharply. “You mean, the blonde and the redhead?”

He nods. “Right, that's them. Well, I...I work with them.” I can barely hear the last part because he basically whispers it to his beer.

“
Okay...” I feel like I'm missing something here, and I don't have a fucking clue what it is. “So where do you all work?”

“
Oh, crap.” Phil scratches the back of his head, looks around the room as if searching for an exit, then looks back at his beer. He picks it up and drains it in one gulp. “I'm really sorry,” he says, giving his head a little shake like a dog who's been out in the rain. “I understood that all the party guests knew. Um...oh, shit. Does that mean Kimmy and Delilah won't get paid by everyone?”

“
Paid...for what? Are they getting paid just to be here? I thought that only worked for big celebs like-” And then it hits me. “Oh my gawd! Are they strippers?” I hiss at Phil.

He rolls his eyes. “Of course not. Strippers aren't subtle when they crash a party.”

“
Oh!” Now I really get it. “They're high-class hookers!”

“
Keep your voice down,” Phil hisses at me, even though the bartender is long gone and no one else is close enough to overhear over the dance music. “And I never said that.”

I look at him again, at the shirt with the top three buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to show his pecs and the Silver jeans that look so new they're probably leaving ink on his well-developed calf muscles and the very, very white teeth. “So you're...” I lower my voice. “A male escort?”

He looks away without answering.

My mind struggles to catch up. “So who hired...your firm? Was it Richard?” I'm having a hard time believing Richard hired a high-priced hooker service, but who else would have- “It was Matt and Charlie!” I exclaim to Phil, who still hasn't said anything.

Phil stares into his empty glass. “Technically, we are an escort service. We provide only companionship, and anything else we do is of our own free will, the act of two consenting adults, and we expect no financial renumeration, nor can we accept any-”

“
Yeah, I've heard the spiel on escort services,” I say. “So...how many of the people here are paid
escorts
?”

Phil shrugs. “About five or six, that's all. Your friends just told them to send a couple guys so no one would feel left out. That was thoughtful of them – most men would have just ordered girls.”

“
Yeah, very thoughtful.” I frown. “So anyone here could be dancing with an escort, or hanging with them, and not know it? Until, what, they get the bill?”

Phil sighs. “Your friends should have been open about what they were doing. We do not provide companionship to people who don't know we're being paid, okay? We're not a friend-for-hire service and we wouldn't want anyone getting hurt if they found out.”

I sigh. “Matt and Charlie aren't bad people, they're just....well, idiots sometimes.” I think about this for a minute. “So....Richard doesn't know?”

Phil shrugs. “Depends what your friends told him. But he did say he was paying the bill, right? That's what Kimmy and Delilah meant when they asked him about it earlier. After he said he was picking up the tab, we assumed that meant for all of us.”

I groan. “This is a disaster. What's going to happen when-” I stop, realizing my phone has been recording this whole conversation. “-when Richard realizes the girl he's....hanging out with is an escort?”

Phil shakes his head. “Usually that doesn't end well. That's why we have a strict policy against it - when we know about it, of course.”

My mind races. We're live-streaming and Phil just told me that he's
not
a hooker, which of course means he really
is
. I now know that Richard is in a private room with another hooker, who he probably thinks just has a thing for his dimples, like regular girls. Don't I have some sort of moral obligation to go tell him the truth?

“
I have to go...have a talk with my friends,” I say, standing up. “By the way...how did you get into this line of work, anyway?”

Phil looks down sheepishly. “Would you believe me if I said I was working my way through law school?”

“
Is that true?”

He nods. “I know it sounds cliché, but it's true. I'm in debt up to my eyeballs from college, and if I took out any more loans for law school, I'd be paying them off until I'm old enough to collect social security, even if I got my dream job the minute I graduated. And in this economy, there are law school grads serving drinks in places like this.”

I nod. “I was just curious. It was nice meeting you, Phil. You should go dance with Tiffany now – but make sure you tell her the truth, okay?”

Phil nods, and I head toward the private-private room where Richard and Blondie headed earlier. As Phil explained to me, Matt knows the score and whatever he and Red are doing is none of my concern. But I'm sure it's the act of two consenting adults, neither of whom is receiving
any
financial stimulus.

I knock on the door, after making sure my phone camera is shut off. There's no need to capture this scene for posterity. “Richard?” I yell. “We need to talk. It's important.”

“
I'm a little busy right now!” Richard yells. “Can we talk tomorrow?”

“
This really can't wait!” I yell. “I'm coming in.” I give both parties five seconds to grab a sheet and try the knob. Fortunately, Richard didn't bother to lock it.

I'm surprised by what I see when I walk in. I was expecting half-naked scrambling for clothes, one or both of them pulling a shirt on, maybe the old pillow-over-the-penis move from Richard. But instead, I see the two of them sitting on the bed, mostly clothed. Richard is calmly doing the buttons on his shirt, and Red is struggling with the zipper on the back of her dress. They couldn't have gotten that far since I knocked on the door, so-

They already had sex. The strange thing is, neither one of them looks happy about it. Okay, I guess Red has sex with a lot of guys and surely she doesn't enjoy it every time, but you'd think Richard would be happy. After all, if he and Morgan really
are
just friends, then I don't think he has a girlfriend. I haven't seen him hanging out with anyone lately.

I mean, I guess it's possible that, hooker or not, Red just didn't satisfy him. But why would Richard look so angry about that? Unless he's having a too-much-to-drink moment like Biff.

“
I guess I should be going,” Red says pointedly, looking at Richard. He stares at her blankly for a moment, then sighs, reaches behind her, and pulls up her dress zipper. “Happy now?”

“
There's still that small matter we discussed earlier,” Red says.

Richard turns to look at me.  “You know, Delilah and I just had sex, and then she demanded that I pay her for it.”

“
Yeah, she's a hooker,” I say. “I just heard and I came to warn you, but I guess I'm too late.”

Richard reaches over to the bedside table and picks up his phone, tucking it in his shirt pocket, camera-side up. I guess he's recording, but probably not live-streaming. “I was shocked,” he says, and I actually believe him. “We had a good time dancing, then we came back here and had some fun together. I asked her if she'd like to go out again tomorrow and she gave me her number. Then, she tells me my payment is due, in cash, now.”

“
You agreed to pay for it earlier, remember?” Delilah's voice sounds like broken glass being raked over a bed of hot coals.

“
I did no such thing!” Richard yells. “I've never paid for sex in my life. And I wasn't just interested in the sex – I really liked you, as a person, Delilah.”

Delilah's face is as impassive as a brick wall. “That's sweet, but it won't get you off the hook for paying your bill. Now, your friends assured me earlier that you were good for it, Mr. Moneybags.”

“
All of you?” Richard's dimples disappear in a mask of shock.

“
The other escorts who came to this party, idiot,” Delilah snaps. “Kimmy, Dawn, Phil-”

“
Phil?” Richard frowns. “I had no idea Matt was gay. Or was Phil for Charlie?”

“
Your friends wanted to make sure all your party guests were taken care of,” Delilah says, heaving an exhausted sigh that makes her boobs rise and fall like a tidal wave of silicon.

Richard's eyebrows shoot up. “And you expect me to pay for all of them?”

“
You said you'd take care of the bill when we first came in, remember?” Delilah yells.

“
I thought you were the caterers!”

Delilah snorts. “That's the worst excuse I've heard for stiffing us on the bill this month.”

Richard stands up. “I have never paid for sex in my life and I'm not about to start now, Delilah. And if you want to sue me for non-payment, go ahead. Feel free to tell a judge what you do for a living.”