The Rich Girls' Club (13 page)

E
very woman’s pussy had platinum potential. Hope’s was double platinum.

A text message registered on her phone from Johnathon. “Available for dinner tomorrow night? At your place? Best for us to keep our interest low profile.”

After chuckling to herself, Hope thought, “Men are clueless.”

First, Hope was not responding to his text. Next, he was not coming to her house or cumming inside of her. Johnathon wanted more of what he would’ve never gotten if she didn’t have to blackmail him.

To have the best pussy, a woman had to treat her punany like royalty. Hope’s daily pampering and monthly Brazilian investment commanded a return not many men could refuse, if they were fortunate enough to get close to her with her clothes off in the first place. Laying on the spa table at Angel’s, she placed the bottom of her feet together, then spread her knees wide apart.

“I’m going to apply the wax. Let me know if it’s too hot,” her esthetician said.

“Oh, you know I’ll tell you and if you leave any marks I’ll file a claim with Lloyd’s of London. My pussy is fully insured.”

The esthetician laughed. “Hope, stop exaggerating.”

Hope shifted her eyes, tightened her lips, then said, “Honey, I’m serious. I don’t play when it comes to taking care of her. So, what have you been up to lately?” Hope had a few questions about the upcoming election but didn’t want to start the conversation talking about politics.

Another text registered:
Did you get my text?

Less than five minutes had passed. A desperate man was a dangerous man. Good pussy made men irrational. He’d probably planned the trip to Los Angeles assuming he’d fuck her again. That wasn’t happening.

“I’m focusing on finishing up the semester at USC. Working here part-time to help pay my bills. But I’m almost done with college. I get my degree next summer,” she said, ripping away the first strip of wax.

Hope was accustomed to the pain. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as when she’d gotten her very first Brazilian. Over the years her hair had grown back more slowly with each treatment but if she waited more than six weeks, a full bush would cover her pubic area like a Chia Pet. Whenever her hairs were too long, the esthetician trimmed them before waxing.

“Congratulations. I’m proud of you. Just think, when you first became my esthetician you were starting your first semester. Now you’re almost done. That’s…Aw, hell no! Now’s he’s calling me.”

Hope ignored the call, sending it directly to voicemail. Was he in his right mind? “I’m sorry. Men. Some of them just don’t get it. I was saying that’s commendable.”

“All men aren’t bad. I’ve got a good one that’s proud of me,” she said, ripping another strip of wax, this time from Hope’s inner vaginal lip. Then she applied wax to the inside of the other lip.

The hot sensation calmed Hope. The young girl had an innocence that was definitely worth holding on to. “Would you vote for a politician if you knew he cheated on his wife? I’m asking because young college students view relationships differently.”

“No, we do not. I expect my boyfriend to stay faithful to me like I am to him. I’d never knowingly vote for a cheating man to make decisions that affect me. I mean, every politician deserves an objective analysis of what they’ve done and what they have the potential to do. Goodman could do better but he’s not so bad. Unless one of the other candidates changes my mind, right now he’s got my vote,” she said, snatching off another strip. “Okay, assume the position. On your side, spread ’em. Lift your cheek in the air so I can remove the hairs between your butt.”

Hope’s phone rang again. She exhaled, ignoring his call again, then snapped her pink jewel phone case shut. Johnathon had best be glad his check had cleared or she would’ve stopped payment on it by now.

“You know, a lot of women would love to have your problem. I get tired of hearing clients complain about how they can’t find a good man. Maybe if they didn’t complain about everything, they’d have a man. I don’t argue with my boo.”

But this session was not about her love life.

The esthetician asked, “What did you do to that man to make him keep calling you? Is he possessive or mad at you?”

That was a question not worth answering and none of her business. “Stay focused.”

Hope was confident her esthetician and lots of other voters would change their mind about Goodman once Brooks made her announcement. The wax ripped from her cheek. “Oh, yeah. Make sure you get every single strand,” Hope said. Nothing was worse after a fresh wax than discovering a missed hair.

Her phone rang again. This time Hope pressed the button on her Bluetooth. “No, I can’t have dinner with you tomorrow. No, I don’t want to fuck you again. And if you call me again, I want my money back,” Hope yelled, resting on her elbows. Her ass was still in the air.

Opening her phone she checked the caller I.D. It was Stanley. “Hey, what’s up?”

“You tell me what’s up. So you’re fucking another man. That’s why you couldn’t go with me to Paris? Well, he can have you!”

“It’s not what you think. This guy somehow got my number and he’s been playing on my phone. I think it’s one of those ballers. Look, I’m in the middle of getting your pussy waxed. Meet me at my house in an hour. Bye, babe.”

Stanley’s timing was the worst but the hot wax had increased her libido. There wasn’t a situation she couldn’t talk herself into or out of.

“I want to be like you one day,” her esthetician said. “I mean, you have men eating out of your hands. You can go shower. We’re done.”

A woman that didn’t know how to breast-feed a man would starve. It wasn’t difficult. “Men like smart women but nine times out of ten they’ll choose beauty over brains because men are always in fifth gear, fuck mode. So no matter how many degrees you earn, lady, stay sexy and never be afraid to speak your mind.”

Overall, Hope was what men considered the total package. She realized that the next man was always waiting to be her man.

Hope slipped on her robe. Her esthetician opened the door.

“Never forget this,” Hope said. “Beautiful women always, always get a bitch pass.”

Praying the young girl didn’t misunderstand the importance of never letting herself go, another text popped up on her phone. She read it then laughed. How stupid can he be? There was no denying that she was looking at a nude photo of Johnathon’s genitals. Hadn’t he learned anything from that Weiner guy? “Wow.”

She secured her purse in a locker, turned on the showerheads. At thirty-three, Hope looked better than some girls half her age. She stepped under the dome, shampooed then conditioned her hair.

Irrespective of size, not every woman was beautiful. Some had ugly ways, others from their head to their feet wore the wrong shades of makeup or clothing that didn’t compliment their skin tone or figure. Being attractive required effort and awareness. Being intelligent required education. Being a bitch—well, that came natural for Hope.

Good girls seldom got the man they desired.

V
alet parking her platinum Bentley Continental GT, Storm placed the keys in the attendant’s hand. “Leave it here. I won’t be long.”

She retrieved her phone from her purse and checked for missed messages. There were no missed calls from Chancelor. No texts or e-mails from him, either. Never imagining a twenty-one year old would give her the silent treatment, Storm dropped the phone back into her purse.

Several days had passed since she’d last seen or heard from him, but it felt like months. She’d called him three times, and that was her maximum. To reach out to him again would make her appear desperate.

Having an explosive conversation with Chancelor about the videos would still be better than him ending all communication with her. Was he unable to sleep at night? Had he met a female closer to his age? Older than she was? Was he planning on talking to the press about the videos?
Damn, why didn’t I listen to Morgan? If I’d left the footage at her house he wouldn’t have seen it.

Now she not only had to pray her man forgave her, but also the Rich Girls. Storm didn’t weigh much but had lost a few pounds stressing over all that had happened.

She didn’t buy them matching cars because she had to; she wanted to. His platinum Bentley Continental GT was being delivered to his place in a few minutes. At the end of her life she couldn’t take a single material possession with her but what she could afford to do was purchase items that would make and keep her man quiet and happy. There was faith that he was still hers. He deserved to have time to sort things out for himself.

Men, like women, enjoyed being taken care of. Every person had their price and anyone that claimed they couldn’t be bought was a liar. That or they didn’t think big enough.

Storm strutted into the Four Seasons hotel on Wilshire Boulevard near Rodeo Drive. She’d reserved a luxury suite, hoping Chancelor would meet her later. Hopefully he’d test drive his new ride and not disappoint her as she’d done him.

But for now, it wasn’t about Chancelor. It was time for her to handle business.

The lobby was absolutely breathtaking. The most amazing crystal chandelier welcomed all guests into the foyer. If she could give the five-star hotel endless stars, she wouldn’t hesitate. There was an unforgettable ambiance even when she only visited the bar. Today she wouldn’t be there long.

Balancing her ass on the edge of a plush emerald sofa in the Blvd Lounge, she thrust her breasts forward, adjusted her hemline upward to expose her perfectly waxed legs. She crossed her feet at the ankles and waited for him.

“What can I get for you?” the tall and sexy bartender asked, placing a napkin on the end table closest to her.

You. Naked. Right here, right now, on your back
, she thought, staring at his abs. Her peripheral vision honed in on his dick. He could relieve her sexual tension but that would complicate her already strained relationship with Chancelor.

“I’ll have a slow screw and a bottle of your finest champagne. Two glasses, please. And charge everything to Storm Dangerfield’s room,” she said, removing her iPad from her purse.

“I’ll get that for you right away,” he said, offering her a menu.

“I won’t be needing that. I’m not staying here long,” she said, retrieving her phone from her purse. No messages registered.

Storm should’ve had Hope deliver the car to Chancelor but she didn’t want to risk appearing foolish in front of the girls. Powering on her computer, she opened the video she’d saved of the soon-to-be ex-candidate, Randall Wallace. At lease he had more dignity and sense than Johnathon Waters.

He had no idea that what he was about to see would change his life forever. Make his wife, kids, and the political world, rallying for him, view him differently.

Meeting in an upscale public place was best when a woman faced the threat of a potentially volatile confrontation. Witnesses made affluent men behave rationally even when they wanted to be barbaric.

Storm’s initial thought had been to hire a driver but she wanted to showcase her new Bentley. Being behind the wheel of an automobile that commanded others’ attention made her feel more powerful than the men who stared with envy.

Jovially, Randy entered the restaurant with his shirt opened two buttons down. He sat beside her on the sofa, touched her knee.

“Hey, how are you?” he asked quickly, moving his hand. “Oh, I see you have the latest iPad. I’ve been thinking about getting one of those. I should buy one after I’m elected. No, that wouldn’t be a good idea. The taxpayers will hold it against me and swear I spent their dollars on a computer when I should’ve funded health care or education.”

He laughed. She didn’t.

“That’s the way politics go. Better wait until I win this thing and let it be someone else’s idea.”

Or he could stop being so damn cheap and just buy the computer himself.
Storm remained silent, letting Randy continue his monologue.

“Things are going great, but I’m not ahead of Goodman yet so I have to stay focused, you know what I mean? A few more dollars wouldn’t hurt. Especially since you made me miss my golfing session.”

Again, he laughed. She didn’t.

The bartender placed her orange juice and vodka cocktail on the napkin, set the champagne on the table, filled both flutes, then asked, “What can I get you, Randy?”

Randy’s naturally ruby lips parted like the Red Sea. His tongue ejected from his mouth like a kid who’d just scored the winning goal for his soccer team. “Ah, you know me by my nickname, man. I sure hope I’ve got your vote.”

“You can count on it.” The bartender probably quoted the same to all the candidates he’d met.

“In that case, I’ll have an Arnold Palmer with lots of ice man. I’m going to skip the bubbly.” Randy stared at her. “Cancel the Arnold Palmer. I’m good. Don’t want to pass out in public.” He returned his attention to the bartender. “It’s an inside joke. Never know who’s watching me.” Pointing his finger at the bartender in a playful manner, he stuck his tongue out again, then added a wink.

When the bartender left, he told her, “As much as I appreciate your money, I still can’t believe I passed out at your house.”

No need to delay the inevitable. Storm awakened the sleeping screen. The only file on her computer was his video. She sipped her slow screw. “Here’s another check,” she said.

She couldn’t believe it was possible but Randy’s smile widened as he snatched the check. “Wow, you sure are generous. I should have you working on my campaign. You have friends with money, too.” His tongue darted from his mouth again. He gawked at the million dollars not realizing he’d been bought and paid-in-full.

“You can’t afford me. It’s a reality check. Come closer. I have something to show you,” Storm said as the bartender set a glass of iced water in front of Randy. Storm arched her back, angled the computer in front of them, continued sitting on the edge of the green sofa.

“Technology is great! I’m building my following on Facebook, Twitter, all that. I’ve got to follow in the President’s footsteps if I’m going to beat an old head like Goodman. Borrow shamelessly.” He laughed, rubbed his hands together, shoved the check in his jacket pocket. “Let it roll!”

Randall Wallace’s mannerisms matched that of a gambler on a winning streak at the craps table. Little did he know when his video rolled he’d discover that his luck had run out.

Storm tapped the play button. Randy’s jaw dropped immediately but there was no ejection of his tongue or laughter. There he was, naked on her lounge chair with a black dildo stuck up his ass. Now that was funny to her.

“What the hell is this shit?” he yelled. His head snapped in every direction as if the few people in the lounge could see what he saw.

“Your resignation,” Storm said, standing, straightening her dress.

“I’ll sue you for this, b—” He swallowed the
itch
.

“Just for almost calling me a bitch, the check I gave you won’t clear.” Storm whispered in Randy’s ear, “Pussy is best served ice cold. Remember that when you go home and fuck your wife.”

Storm walked away, leaving the computer in his hands. If he had any doubts, by the time he watched the entire tape, he’d realize he was already defeated.