The Blue Room Vol. 5 (2 page)

Chapter 2

           
I
have so many dreams. My mind is on fire. My
body twists and turns, thrashing in the silken sheets all around me. Four
hundred thread count Egyptian cotton might well be something that the Blue
Towers prides itself on, but when you're in the grip of a nightmare, it sure as
hell doesn't do much. Faces appear before me, all around me: faces I recognize.

           
Rita.

           
In
my mind's eye I can see her, the way she was before she disappeared. Impossibly
beautiful, but her beauty came from more than the perfect arrangement of her
features. Rita has something else about her, something special. She always did.
It's an inner light: an inner purity, that nothing could ever sully. Not even
working here.

            I
didn't know what the Blue Room was, of course, back when Rita started working
there. She had told me it was a gig as a cocktail waitress, nothing more. But I
could see in her eyes that something was wrong. Her sparkling personality was
the same as it was before – she was as good and kind and sweet and unfailingly
helpful as ever. But something had gone out of her. Some light in her eyes. She
had seen things working at the Blue Room: things I was only just now beginning
to understand.  She had been privy to to secrets that hurt her. It wasn't just
the prostitution – that much I was coming to understand. Sleeping with men for
money was just a job like any other. It was the secrecy, the lying, the
rituals. The need to make yourself nothing before the most powerful men in the
world on a daily basis, to give up your whole personality in the service of
someone else's fantasy. Playing the part someone else wanted you to be. That
was the hardest part.

            I
see Rita the way she was in those last months. I see those subtle changes. Her
hair is lighter, highlighted for the first time, with that kind of expensive
sheen that only money can buy. She wears more makeup – she never used to wear
makeup – all the most exclusive brands. Dior lipstick. Creme de la Mer face
wash in the bathroom. Signs I should have realized pointed to a job as more
than a cocktail waitress, but I guess I was more naïve than I thought back
then, or just too crazy about Rita to ever think she could be doing anything
less than wholesome. She'd started to change her whole wardrobe, too. Wearing
jewels her mysterious Mr. X. had given her – the man she said she thought she
was starting to love.

            I
still don't know his name. I still don't know if Mr. X. is the man that killed
her, or even if somebody ever did.

            These
are the questions that haunt me. These are the questions that turn my dreams of
Rita into nightmares. I see her before me: dead, shot in the head, bleeding out
on a hotel room floor, and although part of my conscious minds knows that it's
Roz, there, lying dead upon the floor, I can't stop myself from seeing Rita's
face, from seeing Rita's beautiful eyes lying glassy and open, a single tear
running down the cheek I can feel, even in my dreamlike state, is so cold.

           
What
happened to you, Rita?
I open my mouth to cry out the words but nothing
comes out.
Where have you gone? Where can I find you?

            Please,
please,
I whisper, choking on my only silence.
Tell me where to find
you.

           
In
my dream she wakes up. She sits up straight, staring at me, the bullet still in
her brain, the blood still trickling down her temple, but she's alive and
blinking and her gaze is terrible.

            “You
fool,” she says. “Staci – don't you see? The answer's right in front of you.
It's been in front of you this whole time. But you always were stupid, weren't
you, beautiful? You never knew how to recognize something when it was right in
front of your face. And now I'm dead, because of you. And you'll never find out
why.”

            “Rita!”
This time I am able to cry out, but it is too late. Rita dissolves, and then
I'm in a room: like my hotel room at Blue Tower, but bigger, somehow, and
everything's just a little wrong, a little tilted, a little strange. My bed is
rocking back and forth like a ship in a storm and my sheets seem to rise up of
their own accord all around me, caressing my skin. The touch is like the touch
of a lover.

            At
first I think it's Rita.

            I
call her name, but she's gone now. I can feel it, how far away she is from me.
I can feel her absence and it is like the worst and the coldest chill in the
world.

            But
then I feel something else. My sheets are rubbing against my skin. And they are
not cold. Their touch is...almost warm. Compared to the icy storm around me,
they are welcome. I moan involuntarily as the sheet slowly rolls itself along
my thighs, across my stomach, between my breast, wrapping me tight.

            And
then I think I hear it. The heartbeat. The sound of another life next to me:
beating, hard. The sheets have a pulse and I can hear it, and it is beating in
sync with my own, and the feeling is beautiful and terrible all at once, and I
am afraid I will not be able to stand it.

            I
cannot believe what is happening. I am experience a strange, dark feeling. A
flush in my cheeks. A heat in my skin. A familiar throbbing all through me,
running up and down my spine from the nape of my neck to the warm places between
my legs.

           
What
is happening
, I wonder.

            But
now the sheets seem to have bunched together to form a figure: a man.

            And
then I am looking at him, straight at him, a man with a face in shadow but who
is so familiar, the way he touches me is so familiar.

           
Mr
O...
I think. But I'm still dreaming, aren't I –
am I still dreaming?
As
he touches me, I begin to moan again. He strokes me, and my skin shudders and
shivers against his touch. He drives me wild with his lips, teasing my
shoulder, tantalizing their way down my stomach to my pelvis, darting so
slightly and lightly between my legs until I arch my back and beg for more,
more....

            “More!”
I moan.

            The
sound wakes me up.

            And
suddenly I am in my room again, my real hotel room, with the lights still on
and my sheets in tangles all around me and my whole body soaked with sweat and
desire.

           
What
happened?
I wonder. Everything is fuzzy as I emerge, slowly, from my groggy
stupor. I feel as if I've just been ravished.

            And
then I see him.

            His
back is to me: muscular and finely formed, powerful.

            And
I realize that he has touched me in my sleep, in my hidden places. And that it
felt good.

           
Is
this Mr. O?

           
Outrage
and anger rise up in me! Did he grope me while I was asleep? This man – who
doesn't even know me – thinks it's right to touch me without permission! I
don't care what the circumstances are – I'm furious.

            “Hey!”
I shove him. “Hey!” The second push pushes him clean off the bed. “How dare
you! I don't care if you
did
pay – you can't just come in here while I'm
asleep and...”

            “Can't
I?”

            My
mouth falls open.

            Terrence
Blue is standing before me. Shirtless.

            I
take a second to take in  his beautiful, perfect form. In his tailored suits
he's sexy as hell, but somehow, shirtless, he's even more primal.

            “Terrence?”

            “Don't
worry, baby...” Terrence smiles. “Nothing happened. Much as I wanted it to. I
just ran my fingers down your shoulders once – and you started moaning like
there was no tomorrow. Whatever you were fantasizing about, I
wish
I was
there.”

            Relief
floods through me. After Terrence was ousted from Blues Enterprises I'd been
terrified that I'd never see him again, that all that we had left to say to one
another would remain forever unspoken. I'm so happy to see him again that I
forget, for a second, that I'm still expecting my missing client.

            Then
I remember. Panic floods through me. Terrence isn't my boss, now, and he's not
there to get me out of trouble anymore. If Mr. O. arrives to find me in bed
with another man, Mrs. Walters will have me kicked out of Blues Tower in no
time.

            “Terrence
– you have to get out.”

            “Why?”
He leans against the wall, showing off his muscles. He knows exactly what he's
doing to me, I think. And I both love and hate it. “You busy?”

            “Actually,
Terrence, I am,” I say. “I have a client appointment.”

            He
looks at his watch. “It's four a.m.”

            “He's
late.”

            “Very
late, I'd say,” Terrence says, still grinning. “After all, his appointment
started at 8 pm.”

            “He
might still show up,” I say. “And I don't want to get into trouble if he does.
Wait a second...” The thought just hits me. “How did you know the appointment
started at eight?”

            Terrence
shrugs.

            “You
don't mean...”

            His
smile is gleaming.

            “You
can't mean.”

            “I
do, baby.”

            “You're
Mr. O?”

            “Yes,
my darling Staci. I am. Surprised? I'll bet you are, based on that cute little
O your mouth is making right now.”

            “Terrence...”
It's the last words I'm able to get out of my mouth before Terence kisses me,
drowning me in the heat of his desire. And then he's pushing me back on the
bed, into the sheets my desire has already made hot and damp with need, into
the pillows, pushing me so roughly but his touch is gentle, so gentle, and his
tongue is already trailing its way down my neck, and I think that as sexy as
dreams are, they don't come close to the reality.

            At
least, not with Terrence Blue...

Chapter 3

                       
S
ex with Terrence is as good as I remember.
Maybe better. All our pent -up anger and aggression and longing and need comes
out, spilling over, overwhelming us both. Our bodies are against one another,
moving as one, our tongues and fingers and lips and limbs all intertwined. It
feels like we are not two beings but one: a single living creature fueled only
by its hunger for sex, by its insatiable need for that moment of ultimate pleasure
that eclipses everything.

            Terrence
is on fire. His body is hot to touch, so hot, almost, that it hurts, but I
don't care. Pain and pleasure are as one, now, and I cannot think of or focus
on anything beyond the impossible beauty of this moment, this moment I cannot
bear. I am overwhelmed by my need for him, by how piercing it is, how good. I
need him, I think. Every hour, every minute, every second, I need the feeling
of him against me, of him inside of me. I will drown, I think, in him, in this
sea of desire and passion and hunger that is like no other hunger I have ever
known. I will drown and I will welcome the drowning, yes, I think yes, this is
what life is meant to be.

            He
places his head between my legs. He probes, softly, with his tongue, sending me
towards the edge and then careening over it as he licks me, again and again, as
I come screaming his name.

            I
do not realize how much I have missed him until he takes my shaking, shivering
body into his arms – his arms which are so warm and strong and which fill me
with such a sense of security that I almost forget that I have loved Xander,
too – and kisses my shoulder, my neck, my hair.

            “Oh,
my darling,” he says, stretching out contented, purring, like a cat. “How I've
missed that sound. How I've missed making you make that sound.” His grin is
charming but rakish. “It's been too long...”

            “But
I don't understand...” I say. “Why are you Mr. O?”

            “I
have no formal role in Blue Enterprises anymore,” Terrence says, grimacing.
“Sad to say.   ousting was total and complete. I reject it utterly. But,
unfortunately, I do not have the power of access to Blue Tower – or to you –
anymore. Not without paying for it. But it was a price well worth it, I think.”

            “Why
were you ousted?” I ask, leaning up on my elbows. “I mean – what happened?”

            “Family
stuff,” says Terrence. His smile is dark. “Just us Blues on the board. But I
guess our family gatherings are not as...amicable as some. Or maybe all
families are unhappy in their own way. I heard that once. Don't know who said
it. Someone who knew a Blue or two in his day, I guess.”

            “Your
own family?” I gasp. “How could they do that to you? That's just awful.”

            Terrence
shrugs. “It's funny, I guess,” H e says softly. “We can be just awful to each
other but somehow it's okay, it's normal, because we're blood. Blood will have
blood, they say. I guess that's true. There was certainly some bloodshed on the
board meeting.”

            “But
Danny?” I think of Terrence's half-brother. So stoic, so responsible. Wary, to
be sure, of his spendthrift, irresponsible half-brother – and way too keen to
keep distance between me and Terrence – but I got the impression that his
feelings for his brother were protective, not malign. I couldn't imagine Danny
masterminding a scheme to really hurt Terrence. And he doesn't seem to care
about the Blue Room enough to hang his hat on that. From what I remember, Danny
is disgusted by the Blue Room even existing. “How could Danny do that to you?”

            “He
wasn't the only one,” says Terrence. “You have to understand, it's pretty
complicated.”

            “Apparently,”
I say. “So who else was there.”

            “Roni
Taylor,” Terrence rolls his eyes. “Of course. She's the worst. None of us
wanted her there, but legally she's entitled to be. As disturbing and
disgusting as that is. She cares about the Blue Room more than anybody.”

            “But
why?” I ask. “She has money. She has power. Why care about this?”

            “Dare
I say it's ideological?” Terrence sighs. “The Blue Room – she founded it, you
know. It's her baby. She believed in it. The idea that the wealthiest and most
powerful men could be matched with beautiful girls with a special skill set,
girls who knew how to please men like Clarence. CEOs, sheikhs, foreign
politicians, hell,
local
politicians. She believes all sex is about an
exchange of money and power. So why not formalize it? She's ice-cold, that
one.”

            “I
don't understand,” I say. “Why would whether or not some sheikh gets his rocks
off even matter to her?”

            “Because,”
Terrence's voice is very final. “Roni doesn't believe in love. She believes in
sex. And in rich men getting their sexual needs fulfilled, their fantasies
fulfilled. She thinks it's s a moral obligation or something. She believes the
only way for women to get ahead in this world is to use their bodies and her
wiles. The way I see it, she thinks she's doing the Blues Girls a favor,
getting them access to real power. It's not just about money, for her. She
really believes this stuff that the perfect woman will never want a real
commitment from a man, or dare threaten some happy perfect life with a wife, a
family, pristine home. And she believes, too, that it's important for wealthy
men to be able to do the most degrading, the most perverse things, without ever
affecting that same home life. So I guess you could say she sees herself as a
protector. Letting people be crazy in a safe space. It's almost noble, when you
think about it.” He chuckles. “Or would be, if it weren't Roni. Who knows how
many marriages have been saved just because the husbands are able to get
whatever they need out of their system here...”

            “That's
disgusting!” I cry, shocked.

            “Come
on, do you really think everyone from Mr. A. to Mr. Z. is single? Plenty of
these guys are married...”

            I
think at once of Xander. Could he be married? He always said he was single,
even introduced me to his friends at that party as his girlfriend – but if
there's one thing that my time at the Blue Room has taught me, it's that
everybody has a double life. No exceptions

            “I
don't understand,” I say. “Why would Roni care about any of this? She can
hardly stay with one man, let along keep all the men in her husband's circle
from cheating or whatever they do.”

            “Ah,
well,” says Terrence. “It's not totally altruistic. It benefits her as well.
She protects what she and other trophy wives like her in the billionaire circle
have. Their husbands can go fool around all they want to, but only in a way
where it would never so much as threaten their perfect little marriage, their
perfect and pristine image as captains of industry. White picket fence and
all.” Terrence rolls his eye.

            “So
why did she want you out of here?” I ask Terrence.

            Terrence
stretches again. “She never wanted me here,” Terrence says. “I mean, she never
envisioned me as an actual hands-on manager, pardon the pun,” he adds, kissing
me and running his hand over my naked breasts. “She thought I was too stupid
and lazy and incompetent to actually run the place. I mean, she's not wrong. I
hardly have the will to resist something...or someone that tempts me. And the
last thing she wanted was to see me with another girl.”

            “So
she just ousted you out of jealousy?” That seems pretty extreme, even by the
standards of billionaire family soap operas.

            “Well...I
have to admit...I also wasn't exactly managing the place as well as I could have
been. We were losing a lot of money. I'm not so great with numbers...”

            “So,
Danny had to agree, too?” I can't help it; I find Terrence's sheepish smile
charming.

            “He's
a real stickler for competency,” Terrence says. “Clarance Blue put him in
charge of all Blues Enterprises and he feels a real need to do his father proud
and make money, even on industries he finds distasteful. I don't blame him. If
I were an actually good businessperson, I'd have fired me too. So now, you see,
I am not Terrence Blue, manager any longer, but only lowly Mr. O.”

            “I
feel bad,” I murmur. “If you wanted to see me, you could have just called. I'd
have seen you anyway, without you having to pay. You never paid before.”

            Terrence
hesitates slightly, looking away, refusing to meet my eye. Then he looks up at
me. “Can I tell you something?” he says. “Something you can't tell anyone – not
even...
him?
”

            We
both know he means Mr. X: Xander Blue.

            “I
swear,” I say. “On my mother's life.”

            “I
know that means a lot, coming from you,” he puts his hand on my shoulder. “I
knew I could trust you. So here goes. I'm not just Mr. O. to see you. I mean,
it's an added benefit – but there's something else. I came back because I think
Roz's killer is still out there, and that there's a strong possibility that
he's still among the Blue Room circuit. I don't know who he is. He could be
anyone. And I'm worried about you, Staci. I'm worried you're not safe.”

            I
sigh. “I should just quit.”

            He
looks up at me. “I asked you so many times to quit – but you refused. Do you
really think you could quit now?”

            I
think of my dream: of Roz, naked, dead. Of Rita. Can I really quit now: now
that I finally have allies to help me solve Rita's disappearance and Roz's
murder?

            “Could
you, Staci?” Terrence asks me again. “Could you really?”

            “No,”
I admit. “I can't.”

            I
see the disappointment cross his face.

            “I
understand,” he says, softly.

            He
takes me in his arms, but a thought has entered my mind: a dark one. Everyone
has a double life, I think. I can trust Terrence – but can I really? What if he
wants me to quit so that I can stop investigating myself? What if he has
secrets he doesn't want me to find?

            After
all, everybody else does.