The Beaver Show by Jacqueline Frances

Author:Jacqueline Frances [Frances, Jacqueline]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781515313120
Google: VA1ajgEACAAJ
Amazon: 1515313123
Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
Published: 2015-09-25T04:00:00+00:00

* * *

1

Lifer: A stripper who will never stop working in strip clubs. She dances for 20 years, becomes a manager for the next 30, and then either takes over the world or dies of lung cancer.

Paris

Sliding a meaty, calloused palm up my skirt. I press my hips into the thickness of his fingers. Breathless, I beg: “Fuck me, Gerard.”

“Excuse me, mademoiselle, would you care for some water?”

I lift the scratchy, complimentary sleep mask onto my forehead. Flashing her best fake smile, an immaculate flight attendant hands me a plastic cup filled halfway with Evian.

I’m having a sex dream about a client I’m on my way to see. My chest is heaving. Parched, I sip the water, lifting the window screen. Blinded by the morning sunlight, I squeeze my eyes shut, seeing only red. I try to shake the memory of Gerard’s hands I was so hungrily forcing between my thighs, but I only see red.

“Good morning, passengers, we are beginning our descent into Charles de Gaulle. It is 7:30 in the morning in Paris, slightly cloudy and 7 degrees Celsius. Thank you for flying with us.”

One month ago:

I press my bare shoulder into the broad, silvery chest of a well-dressed man. His custom-tailored navy suit jacket is flung perfectly across the back of his barstool. Gold monogrammed initials (‘PFG’) stitched into an inside pocket are just as telling as the Limited Edition Omega Speedmaster1 heavy on his wrist.

“Hello,” I say, drawing my index finger from his collar, down toward his belt. I’ve had a drink or two this afternoon. The only way I make money during this day shift is by drinking through it. Alcohol makes me sluttier, more open-minded, and less likely to look down at my watch.2

A cocktail, a smile, a lap dance, and discussion of oysters prompts Gerard to ask me, “So, if I take you to ze Champagne Room, will you ... give me ... a hand job?”

My eyes lock with his icy-blue expectant eyes. Lips pouty and pursed around my straw, I sip leisurely on my fourth vodka soda. Swallowing with a smirk, I mouth the word: “No.”

I should probably say, “maybe,” since “no” stops the world from spinning in places like this. But today, booze has me feeling boldly honest.

Gerard squints, and pulls me closer. “I respect dat.” Pause. “I like you, Chloe. You are special.”

I’m not special. At this point, I’m a bad businesswoman. I should have said “maybe,” taken the money, and run. But dare I say I am enjoying sitting on this Frenchman’s lap? A few more drinks, a few more lap dances, and I am drunk and Gerard asks me, “When do you get out of here?”

“Eight.”

“Will you join me for dinner? And oysters?”

The one bonus of working the day shift is that I’ve been making a career of joining men for dinner after my shift ends. In a few months, I’ve ploughed through the most decadent wine lists, oyster selections, and porterhouse steaks—so much that I’m on a lirst name basis with the maitre d’ at Per Se3.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.