Dancing With Venus by Roscoe James

Author:Roscoe James [James, Roscoe]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Tags: lesbian erotica
ISBN: 9781607377368
Amazon: 1607377365
Publisher: Loose Id, LLC
Published: 2010-08-05T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Jessie stretched and didn't notice the ceiling. She decided a girl-love hangover was ten times worse than anything Jack Daniel's could serve up.

She was in the shower trying to ignore the big pink elephant that was living in her life these days when Bernie called. She accepted lunch only if he took her someplace where they served real meat, where she could smoke a cigarette after lunch without getting up from the table, and if he could do her a favor.

They ended up sitting on a retaining wall at Venice Beach watching a continuous rolling advertisement for California beauty as skaters whizzed by wearing biker's shorts, Speedos, and bikinis.

“You're a real piece of work. You know that, Jessie?”

“That's why you love me, Bernie.”

Two hotdogs and a beer later, Jessie had an appointment with the mysterious Mr. Blake, the record producer who had been footing her bills. She balked at signing a new contract with Bernie. She wanted to look Mr. Record Producer over first and see what he was offering.

“You're gonna screw me, aren't you, Jessie?”

“Look, Bernie. You got your cut of this studio work. I signed a limited contract for that. And I never go back on my word. I just want to make sure we're all talking the same language. If I'm ready to sign with him, you'll be the first person who knows.”

“I don't want to know about it, Jessie. I want my—”

“I'll call you as soon as we meet. If I'm interested, we can sign tomorrow tonight.”

Bernie told her there were no more retakes for her studio work. Her part was finally finished. She was a little excited about the idea of her name getting out there, even if it was only liner credits as a guitarist and backup vocalist.

But ya gotta start somewhere. Just like being in love.

* * *

Jessie stood outside the old church and pulled on the side of her short black dress. Even with the setting sun on her bare back, the breeze that teased the big rubber tree in front of the old building was chilly. Buying a wrap hadn't occurred to her. Not in August in California.

Her only instructions to the clerk had been black and sexy. She was dying to reach up under the hem of her dress and run her finger around the tops of her thigh highs. The rubberized elastic was driving her nuts. The white thong was banished. So was any other undergarment that might get in the way.

She played the words over again in her mind. I want to love you, Marci. I feel more in love with you than I have with anyone else in my entire life. I love who I am when you're near me. I love how I feel when you touch me. I can't stop my hands from touching you. I just can't… And that's as far as she could get. She looked at the red rose she hoped would conjure the words she couldn't find.

She watched limousine after limousine pull up and eject stately dressed patrons of the arts.

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