Friday, 9:02 a.m., Ms. Rebecca
“Rebecca, this is the middle of nowhere,” Sabrina said. “What are we doing out here?”
“Of course it is, honey, that’s why I picked it out,” Rebecca said. “We need some time together. I thought we’d be too.. distracted… in a city.”
“There’s nothing to do out here!”
“Of course there is,” Rebecca said, defensively. “There’s a pool, and hiking, and I believe there are some bike trails. And it’s very pretty.”
Sabrina glared at her.
“You know you promised your Dad,” she said, and cursed herself for doing so. The entire point of this trip was to build some kind of relationship with her new step-daughter without resorting to Dad’s authority.
And what did she do? The first chance she got, Rebecca threw that right in her face.
“Whatever,” Sabrina said. “I’m going outside.”
“To do what?”
“To smoke!”
“To—you know you promised your—“
“Yeah, I promised my DAD,” she said, pointedly. “I can smoke, I’m eighteen. I looked it up.” And she paced out back through the revolving door.
Rebecca watched her go. She was only thirty-four, herself. And yes, perhaps she was simply too different from her new step-daughter. The blonde wore an immaculate pair of chinos and a collared brown shirt. She had met Sabrina’s Dad at the Club, over an impromptu doubles game of tennis. And yes, the wedding had been a little June-December. Sabrina’s Dad was just about to hit his mid-40s.
But that still seemed like little reason to turn goth on them both.
Sabrina wore black jeans with a studded belt, and at least two layers of flannel. Her boots left a scuff mark on the tile floor. She was just as blonde as Rebecca was, but had given it all up for awful black dyed hair.
Rebecca had covertly read her diary not too long ago. The constant references to the “trophy wife” had really hurt.
“Yeah, I know Darren, but it—ow—it really hurts to talk right now. I got stung by something right on the lips and—ooh—I need to try to not be on the phone all the time, until they heal. Yeah, I know about the party, I know, I’ll—ahh!—try and make it happen, okay! I have to go.”
Rebecca turned to the receptionist just as she hung up the phone.
“Welcome to the Hotel Orang,” she said, sourly.
The girl sat behind a glass desk, and her knees fidgeted underneath the table. She wore a dark black skirt, down to the ankles, made of some heavy fabric that looked like a blanket. The top was more cheerful, a crinkling yellow blouse that fit nicely around her slender body. But what Rebecca noticed was her lips.
They were very, very… plump. They were a pale brown, thick, and looked downright heavy. They were coated with something clear and glossy, and gave the rest of her dusky face a sensual pout.
“A bee stung them,” the girl said.
She slipped a pen into her mouth. There was something vaguely obscene about the white cylinder in between those heart-shaped lips.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I know, they look terrible,” she said. “I’ve got them coated with this anesthetic stuff, but it doesn’t seem to help at all. It hurts whenever I talk, it’s terrible.”
“Oh. I see,” Rebecca said. Generations of good breeding took over. “We’d like to check into our room, please. My name is—“
“It’s cool, I’ve got it right here,” the girl said. She pulled out a key from underneath the desk. “I’d tell you about our stupid hotel, but it hurts like hell. Your room will be ready in a half-hour, go have a drink, blah blah blah.”
“I see,” Rebecca said. Standards of service did not appear to be high.
Friday, 9:26 a.m., Mr. Justin
Meredith had yet to arrive. Justin gave himself even odds that she had given up on the hotel industry, and was now hitchhiking out into the wilderness. He had picked up a nice stiff white shirt and a bowtie for himself. Justin had always wanted to try a bowtie. His Dad had worn them, but had never gotten around to teaching Justin the tricks of the trade. It was an enthusiastic mess.
He was so busy with his pen and paper that he failed to notice the woman standing at the bar until she discreetly coughed.
“Oh! Very sorry,” Justin said. He tossed the pad into his secret compartment before she could see anything. The woman looked just a little older then Meredith. She had a high forehead with aristocratic cheek bones, and her blue eyes had the polite look of someone used to decent service. Behind her stood a scowling young girl dressed all in black, including dark eyeliner and the stereotypical alabaster complexion.
“Something to drink, please. A cosmopolitan.”
“One martini, coming up,” Justin said. “Trust me on this.”
She hesitated. “Uh, yes, very well.”
“And one for me,” announced the younger girl.
“And one for your daughter,” Justin echoed. The older woman thought for a moment. The younger girl elbowed her.
“…Yes, very well. Why not. One for my daughter,” the emphasis on the last word was impossible to miss.
They took over a table. From the excruciatingly slow sips it was fairly clear that they would be awhile.
He looked out the window. Caitlyn was there. The petite young brunette was still dressed in her jeans and a t-shirt. When she noticed Justin looking at the pool she bounced over to the window and tapped.
“I’ll be right back,” he announced, to the two guests. They were locked in an angry, low conversation.
Caitlyn dragged him back behind the pool shed. He took a longer look at her. She had a cherubic face, with pink cheeks, although it was all obscured beneath a thick pair of glasses.
“What’s up?” Justin said. They weren’t particularly close. She had come in for some free cokes, and talked incessantly about college while Justin listened politely.
“I need your help,” she said. “It’s about this whole swimsuit thing.”
“You didn’t get one?”
“No! I did! It’s just that I haven’t worn a swimsuit since I was a little girl, and.. I’m kind of nervous that I did something wrong.”
“I’ll go get one of the girls,” Justin said.
Caitlyn looked panicked. “No!” she said. “I mean, they’re sort of mean about… everything… it’ll just take a second, okay?”
Justin felt distinctly uncomfortable with the situation. To make matters worse, he had a growing erection within his brand new dress pants.
“I suppose,” he said. Caitlyn brightened.
“Okay, great!”
She unbuttoned her jeans, undid the zipper, and started to pull them down a pair of long, coltish legs. Justin swallowed as a vast area of creamy, exposed thigh appeared. She had gone in for a modest bikini cut, and it covered everything vital, but it couldn’t hide a smooth set of thighs.
The swimsuit was basic black.
“I had to shave last night, and my legs are still pretty red and broken out,” Caitlyn admitted. She was blushing. Justin shifted his stance. If there was anything wrong with her legs, a microscope and a detective couldn’t find it.
Then she pulled her shirt off.
The one-piece, fully exposed, was strictly-speaking fairly modest from a modern perspective. It was just a sheath of something synthetic, and wrapped all the way up to her neck. Still, a perky pair of boobs were highly visible underneath the fabric. Her nipples jutted out into the fabric.
“Looks fine to me,” he said, as calmly as he could.
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” she said. “I can see the front. I need you to, um, check the back.”
“Oh,” Justin said. Now the erection was hammering against his pants. “Okay, I guess,”
“It’s just that I have no one else to ask, and you’re such a nice guy, and I can see you working really, really hard,” she babbled. Her cheeks were bright red.
Caitlyn turned around. Her ass showed the effects of too much studying, but it was still firm.
“No problems back here,” he said. Caitlyn giggled. “Thanks, Justin! You’re so sweet to do this.”
“Not a problem,”
“And, uh, what about if I do… this?” Caitlyn said.
She bent at the waist. Now a half-moon of bulging butt poked out at him, Just a few feet from his insistent cock.
“What do you want me to do down here?” he said, very carefully.
“I need you to check my shaving job,” she said. Her voice quavered. “I don’t know if I got everything.”
Justin got down on one knee. From this angle he could even see the lewd outline of her lips against the taut fabric. As well as a few errant hairs, peeking out from underneath the synthetic.
“There’s a few,” he announced. Caitlyn moaned.
“Oh, this is terrible!” she said. “I’m going to have to shave the whole—“
She stopped. Justin was abruptly aware that he was breathing very heavily right onto her exposed ass. Caitlyn stood up, quickly, and he backed away.
“I’m so sorry!” she blurted. “I… I don’t know what I was thinking… I just wanted you to..”
“Forget about it,” Justin assured her. He shook his head. What had just happened?
“Okay, thank you for your help,” she said, trembling. The blush had, if anything, grown deeper. “You’re a really nice guy to help me, Justin.”
“Not at all,” he assured her. Then he walked back inside, not looking back, to give serious thought to making a run for the bathroom.
Friday, 10:10 a.m., Mr. Justin
The two new guests had gone. Phil was just now arriving for their bags. He had exchanged the hand-me-down bellboy outfit for a basic pair of black pants and a nice collared shirt with a bowtie.
“Looking good, Phil,” Justin called over. The gawky boy gave him a thumbs up. Then his eyes caught Caitlyn pacing in her tight black swimsuit. He put both feet in front of the others, tripped over himself, and thudded to the ground.
Nicole, one half of the maid pair, didn’t even notice. She pounded over the tile with long, unhappy steps, and plunked herself right at the bar. “Something stiff and hard,” she announced. “And it’s on the house.”
“It’s also ten in the morning,” Justin reminded her. He gave her a shot of chilled vodka. The girl pounded it, then coughed for a good thirty seconds.
“I just spent the worst half-hour of my entire life,” Nicole said. She slammed the shot glass to the bar. “Entire. Life.”
Justin had really hoped to spend the next five minutes or so relieving the pressure in his genital area. But apparently the bartender’s work was never done.
“Go on,” he said.
“It’s that Wren guy!” Nicole exploded.
“What about him?”
“First thing, when I arrive this morning, Jessica pulls Tara and me outside. She’s got that Wren guy right behind her. She explains very sternly what a POOR job we both did getting his room ready, and that she’s going to PERSONALLY explain how to do it correctly.”
“Sounds a little stupid.”
“It was ridiculous! So we go into his room, right? Of course it looks just fine. And he says, Jessica, please demonstrate to these two ridiculous ladies how to correctly dust a mantle.”
“What?” Justin said. Nicole seemed too distracted to pick up on the oddity.
“So there’s our boss, giving us an evil look while she dusts with a featherduster. So we think, fine, that’s it. Nope!”
“Nope?”
“He has Jessica remake the bed! Paying special attention to how to properly tuck in the bedsheet! And I have to sit there right next to Tara,” every time she said the word it sounded like a curse, “and watch my boss get ordered around by this big, sweaty guy.”
“That does sound terrible,” Justin said. She didn’t notice any sarcasm.
Nicole paused. Her interpretation of a modern housekeeping outfit was a simple white blouse and black pants. It was as attractive as a hamper full of socks. She had her hair pulled back in a ponytail.
“That’s not the terrible part!” she said.
“What? What is?”
“So, once Jessica is gone, he gives me and Tara the once over. Long looks, you know what I mean? And he has the nerve to say to me, “Ms. Nicole. Look at Ms. Tara there and tell me what she did correctly and you did incorrectly in your choice of work attire.””
“What did you say?” Justin said.
“Nothing! Tara’s giving me this smug look. And she looks almost exactly the same as me, except she’s got a skirt on. With heels! She’s wearing heels!”
“Uh-huh,” Justin said.
“And Mr. Jackass says, “It should be clear that pants are not appropriate for your employment. You have to be on hands and knees to scrub, and your pants will become dirty and stained. Skirt only, Ms. Nicole.””
“He ordered you to wear a skirt?”
“And that’s not all! Then he turns to Tara and says “My dear, I’m glad to see you appreciate the height advantage in a well-turned out pair of heels.” I swear, I wanted to punch her in the face. Heels! For maid work!”
“What’s wrong with heels?” Justin asked.
Nicole huffed. “You men wouldn’t know. You just like the effect, and you have no idea why. Here, I’ll show you, just so Tara doesn’t get the chance.”
She stood, ramrod straight, with her back to him. Then she looked back over her shoulder.
“Okay, look at my ass. What do you notice?”
Justin stared at it. There wasn’t much to see, in the pants, but she clearly had something to be proud of. “…Nothing?”
“Exactly! Okay, this is what I’d look like in heels.” And the asian girl balanced upwards on her toes. The simple movement sent her ass up and out, and suddenly her legs were just that much longer.
“And then when I walk..” she stepped carefully forwards. This time her butt wriggled back and forth in a spiral with every step. “You see?”
Justin wiped the sweat off his forehead.
“Wren’s just a dirty old man,” Nicole said. “Give me one more shot. Then I’ve got to get out of here.”
“To do what?” Justin asked, pouring one out.
“To go shopping, of course!”
Friday, 11:46 a.m., Mr. Justin
Meredith made it in just before noon. She had her arms crossed over her blouse, and walked with her head down. In fact, she nearly missed the door, and had to readjust in order to make it through the revolving door. Danni didn’t bother saying hello.
“Good, ah, Noon,” Justin said, from back behind the bar. The pad and paper he kept out. Meredith had never shown any interest.
“There’s something good about it?” Meredith snapped. She rushed past him to the storage closet, where she kept the Hotel’s single white apron. The redhead tossed it on, slammed her butt onto the piano chair, and viciously attacked the keys.
Meredith had not gone shopping, as far as he could tell. She wore a long red turtleneck, inappropriate for the warm weather, along with faded jeans that might’ve seen the closing days of the Reagan administration. If there was any concession to fashion it was in a short white pair of heels.
Justin endured fifteen minutes of caterwauling before she came to a stop. Then she stopped, looked down at her chest, and bolted into the bathroom. No one else was around. Danni was quiet, for once, and dully stared at something on the Internet. Justin heard the women’s bathroom door slam shut.
He followed and stared at the forbidding door with the skirt-wearing figure on it. Then Justin poked the door open with one finger.
Meredith stood in front of the long mirror. She looked at herself in the mirror, pursing her lips and piling her shoulder-length red hair onto the top of her head.
“Oh no,” she said, when Justin came in. “Not you. Go away. You aren’t a girl, anyway.”
“I just wanted to see what it was like to pee sitting down,”
Meredith giggled. It was surprisingly girlish. She blew her nose.
“What’s wrong? Tell me,” Justin folded his arms.
“Girl stuff,” Meredith looked at the floor. “Okay. Fine. I bought a bra this morning for the first time in like ten years. It was awful.”
Justin shook his head. “What could be so awful about it? It’s a bra.”
“It was..” Meredith hesitated. “…the way those shopgirls looked at me. Like I was a twelve-year old! I kept expecting one of them to ask me if I needed the training section instead. And they all had these big cow tits, even the seventeen year olds. It was terrible. I kept expecting them to start lactating just to show off.”
She pushed underneath her sweater. “I look like a brick wall,” she complained. Her hands searched for her own curves. “There isn’t even a speed bump here. Why am I even bothering with a bra?”
“Because Jessica told you so.”
“Since when do I take orders from blondes? Watch, you can’t even tell when I have it off!” The redhead pulled off her turtleneck in one smooth motion. “See?” she said.
Justin blinked. His much-discouraged cock made another valiant effort to rip through his zipper. Part of it was that Meredith had a nice body. She was lightly brushed with freckles, and had smooth unblemished skin. Her boobs weren’t large, but they were perky and friendly, plenty to cup if you didn’t have the largest hands.
“Don’t try to tell me they’re huge,” Meredith said. “All men are liars when it comes to boobs.”
“They’re fine!”
“Fine is even worse!” Meredith wailed. “That means they’re tiny!”
“Look in the mirror,” Justin commanded. “Tell me you look like a bookstand.”
Meredith turned. She caught sight of her redheaded torso in the mirror. After a frown, she slowly turned back and forth, checking the swell of her boobs in the reflection.
“I guess they aren’t too bad,” she said, grudgingly. “It’s all in the bra, though. Without the bra they look like I swallowed two nickels.”
“Bullshit,” Justin said. The bra was a black full-cup, voluminous, but not the tightly-strung push-ups he had seen on his Ex.
“No, seriously! Look!”
And Meredith pulled up the cups. Justin got a long eyeful of two small handfuls of smooth white tits, with brown nipples. There were freckles there, too.
Meredith suddenly realized what she was doing. She yanked the bra back down and blushed furiously.
“And now I just showed my co-worker my tits,” she said, and bonked her head against the wall. “Good job, Meredith. Way to be spacey. That’s it. It’s coming off.” She quickly pulled the turtleneck back on.
Then Meredith reached behind her back and unhooked the bra. She pulled it out from underneath the turtleneck and tossed it onto the bathroom floor.
“Maybe you should put it back on,” Justin said. He kept his eyes discretely on the floor.
Meredith looked down. Two pointy nipples distended the red fabric. She blushed again.
“It’s that stupid satin bra, is what it is,” she muttered. “It’s all smooth and tingly. This never happens to me.
“You put it on. I’m going to go back to work,” Justin said.
“Okay,” Meredith said. She pursed her lips. “Oh, and Justin? Thanks for all your help.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Justin said. “I’m getting good at this kind of thing.”
Meredith reappeared a minute later. “It’s back on,” she whispered, as she passed by, and gave him her sunniest smile.
“Maybe it is a nice day,” she said, and stretched. That gave Justin a good view of her boobs, behind the red turtleneck. Once you knew where to look, the contours were there for anyone to admire. “Maybe it’s time to get some work done.”
She picked up a cleaning cloth, a half-empty bottle of Windex, and started to clean the windows. Justin, trying to write, couldn’t help but notice the way the effort showed off the slender curves all along her backside. She might be bothered by an underdeveloped chest, but Meredith also had a well-toned ass, one of those not-even-trying curved bubbles that stuck out even in faded jeans.
Next she did the other side. This kept her boobs pressed against the side of the window, in full view, and pushed them into tight red circles of tit.
Of course, when she walked away, it was also very easy to see Caitlyn through the now-clean windows. The brunette had walked out from underneath the big umbrella she habitually waited underneath. Now she sat in the full sun, on her stomach, with that black-clad butt waving in the breeze.
She was trying to read through a massive hardcover book, and clearly struggling to scan pages in the overwhelming sunlight.
Meredith coughed, discretely. “When was the last time we cleaned this floor?” she said. Justin turned.
She was on her hands and knees on the tile floor, picking at something between the white and black. It sent her ass high in the air, straining against the old seams of her jeans, and threatening to pop out. Then she picked up a scrub brush, wetted it down, and rubbed viciously at something only she could see.
Justin admired the view.
A large man in a suit suddenly stepped between Justin and Meredith’s ass.
Mr. Wren had chosen a well-tailored suit for the afternoon. He paused for a moment, watching Meredith.
She looked back with a lazy smile, noticed Mr. Wren scratching his head, and shrieked. Meredith scrambled to her feet, her scrub brush held like a weapon, and looked about ready to toss it at him.
“Mr. Justin, my boy,” Wren said, turning to the bar. He lumbered into a barstool. “One of your world-famous martinis, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“You!” Meredith sputtered.
“Yes? Can I help you?” He turned those piercing eyes in her direction. Meredith held them for a moment, then turned away, her arms crossed. “Or were you about to thank me for saving your job last night?”
“You were staring at my butt!” she accused.
Wren scoffed. “My dear, I was simply admiring your industry. Because, you see, I had been wondering this morning what it is exactly that you do.”
“I’m…” Meredith looked like she suddenly saw the chasm at the end of that conversation. Her tone became cautious. “I’m our waitress and piano player.”
“You can’t do one and I haven’t seen you do the other. Plus, you’re far too skinny to be a waitress,” Wren said.
“Skinny!” Meredith said. She resumed sputtering. “You were staring at my butt!”
“Obviously Ms. Jessica is not paying her staff sufficiently for them to afford three meals a day. I must speak to her about that.” Wren sipped at the martini Justin offered to him. “Amazing. I will get the secret ingredient from you before I leave, I swear it.”
The redhead stopped. Justin watched her mouth open and close. He sympathized. It wasn’t clear if Wren was promising her a pay raise, or simply making fun of her lackluster chest.
“Here, I know an easy solution,” Wren said. He pushed off the bar and circled around back behind the counter. “I’ll need two eggs, some cream, and for you to close your eyes for a good twenty seconds.”
“What?” Justin said.
“I learned a secret recipe for undersized women during my time in Zambia. Oh, the women they had there! Like gold, such ripe, lush things,” the large man worked nimbly behind his bar, shaking ingredients and mixing others together. He swirled everything into a glass, added a final shot of rum, and sipped at the result. Then he poured the rest into a glass. It looked like milk.
“Down the hatch, dear. I insist. We will drink it together,” he affixed Meredith with this burnished eyes once more.
“Uh-huh. Alright,” Meredith said. “But then you’ll have that chat with Jessica about my pay raise, won’t you?”
Wren just lifted his own martini glass. Meredith tentatively picked up the white, creamy glass, and sipped at it.
“It’s really good,” she said, startled. Then she chugged the entire glass. When she was done, her face was flushed, and she had a thick ring of white around her lips. Justin watched her dainty tongue clean herself off.
“Excellent,” Wren boomed. “Now, if only I had a drink for your piano playing, we would be well on our way.” He finished his own martini. “And Ms. Meredith? I remember Ms. Jessica insisting on a proper outfit. I do appreciate the bra, but remember your position.” Then he swirled out of the room, nearly as quickly as he had come in.
“What an ass,” Meredith said, watching his bulk slip around a corner.
“Yeah, but he did just promise you a raise. And he saved your job,” Justin said. He had a soft spot for the man. Even if he was an obvious lech. He had style.
Meredith licked at her lips. “Good drink maker, though, I’ll give him that. That was really good.”
“Hey,”
“Not as good as you, though.”
Friday, 1:05 p.m., Ms. Jessica
Jessica walked carefully down the plush carpet hallway of her hotel. Broad swathes of the faded pattern were very clearly not vacuumed. She was far too distracted to notice.
But not too distracted to carefully walk in her unfamiliar heels. She had had the spike heels in her office for some time. The tall blonde had purchased them after a particularly rough day of management, but had never gotten around to putting them on. Today the extra height was comforting.
“He’s just an old man,” she told herself.
An old man who was her only remaining hope.
Jessica had cut costs until they were using toilet paper made out of recycled toilet paper. In a weak moment, she had stolen a handful of mints from a restaurant, and scattered those on pillows instead.
Still, the hotel ran at a loss. A growing loss.
She chewed on her bubblegum. Mr. Wren had offered her a stick of the pink stuff during their first meeting. She had been too nervous to refuse. He had also demanded that she work on her “posture and presentation,” whatever that meant. And then had her dust a mantle, in front of her own staff!
Frustration popped through her.
She deserved better then this. It wasn’t her fault that Daddy’s hotel was in the middle of nowhere, staffed by incompetents who could barely count to three. She had been set up to fail.
And who was this Mr. Wren guy, to lumber into her hotel, order her around, and contradict her in front of the staff?
Come to think of it, had he even shown any evidence he had any actual money? A cashier’s check, a bank account number, a—
Her bubblegum popped. It spewed all over her lips. Jessica licked it off.
She frowned. What had she been thinking about?
Instead, she set course for the housekeeping closet. Counting the soaps always calmed her down.
“You’re ridiculous,” someone said. Jessica recognized that voice. It was Tara, her waspish maid.
“Oh, excuse me?” Nicole said. She sounded smug.
“You’re just—you’re copying me. You look stupid,”
“If I’m copying you, and I look stupid, what does that make you?”
Jessica peeked around the corner. The closet was stocked with vacuums, cleaning supplies, and row after row of linens. She liked to go there to calm down.
Tara was wearing a long white skirt. It constrasted very well with her dusky skin, and was set off by a black sleeveless shirt with two boyish pockets. She had her back to the Formula 409, and was wearing a low pair of heels.
Nicole’s outfit was a little more… sensual. The heels were a whole inch higher, and the effect was dramatic, pushing her higher then her seething coworker. Her skirt was the same color, but filmier and thinner, made out of some light cotton. It was also noticeably higher, and landed just at the knee.
She also wore a pure-black pair of knee-highs. There was an enticing line of skin between skirt and stocking.
“Knee-highs,” Tara said. “Is Prom tomorrow? Did I miss that?”
“Yeah, you probably did,” Nicole said. “It was fun. Next time you should get a boy to ask you.”
Jessica put her hand over her mouth. She knew she should intervene, but… enforcing on her staff always left her shaking in a state of nervous prostration. If it wasn’t for Meredith’s cold blue eyes she would’ve been fired long ago.
“You’re just playing dress-up for Mr. Wren, aren’t you?”
“I’m just interested in job security,” Nicole said. She nodded at Tara’s own outfit. “And what about you? I came to work wearing something nice. You wore a skirt and heels. If you didn’t want to dance, don’t start the tune.”
There was a moment of silence. “Fine,” Tara spit out. “It’s your turn to scrub Room 3. There’s a guest in it.”
“Oh no. I was the one who—“
Jessica’s bubblegum snapped. It startled her. She hadn’t even noticed she was blowing it. The two fell silent. The blonde, red-faced, walked around the corner and tried not to look like she was eaves-dropping.
The two girls looked nervously at their boss.
“Uh—h-hello ladies,” Jessica said. Her stomach rebelled. She quickly blew another bubble.
“Jessica, it’s Nicole’s turn to clean up Room 3, isn’t it? It’s Friday on an odd-numbered month, and it’s past-noon. You remember our agreement.”
Jessica couldn’t stop staring at the knee-highs. They were pretty cute. She shook her head.
“Knee-highs?” she managed. Tara looked triumphant.
“Well, yeah,” Nicole said. “Mr. Wren wouldn’t want us to get dirty knees, would he? When we’re working? You’ve got to wear something dark.”
Jessica frowned. Something about that kind of logic—
Her bubble popped again.
“Uh, very well, if Mr. Wren liked them,” she said, tentatively. She nodded, quickly. The trick was to make any decision seem authoritative, even if your stomach was doing flip-flops on the inside. “Tara, please take care of room 3.”
She turned, quickly, so that she couldn’t see Tara’s inevitable grimace. On her way out the door she tossed the gum in a wastebasket. It was too, too distracting.
Friday, 4:10 p.m., Mr. Justin
After her first drink, Meredith had insisted on a second. Soon she sipped delicately at the top of an iced gin and tonic.
“This is terrible,” she said.
“I told you, you’re my guinea pig,” Justin said. “I don’t know how to make any of these things.”
“Yeah, but it’s a G and T. It’s got, like, three ingredients. How could you possibly get it wrong?”
“I’m following the directions.”
“Maybe you’re reading it upside down,” Meredith said. She itched absentmindedly at her sweater. Her boobs had shown themselves again, once she hunched over the bar. The redhead glanced over the top of the counter.
“What’s that?” she said, pointing at a pad of paper. Justin snatched it out off the top of the table, stuffed it into a back pocket.
“Nothing,”
Meredith made a face, then drank more of her cocktail. “C’mon. I showed you my boobs today—sorry about that again by the way. I earned something from it.”
“It’s…” Justin thought fast. “An order pad. You’ve heard of those, right? For customers.”
“Bullshit.”
“Why bullshit?”
“Because it’s got stuff written on it. We haven’t had a customer in weeks,” she pouted. “Justin! You never say anything about yourself. C’mon!”
“You’re drunk,” Justin told her.
“No, I’m prying,” she leaned over the table. “Would it help if I showed you my tits again?”
Justin blinked. His ears burned.
Even Meredith looked shocked. “Guess I am a little drunk,” she admitted. The thin girl scratched at her chest again. “And this bra is driving me crazy. Do they all feel like this?”
“Like what?”
“Like—kinda good,” Meredith admitted. She picked up the empty glass Mr. Wren had handed her. “How much booze was in this, anyways?”
“Probably a lot,” Justin said. He readjusted the pad, behind his back. Meredith finished off her cocktail, examined it with blurry eyes.
“Where were we at on the boob-showing, again?”
Danni walked in the door. She still wore the tight yellow blouse. The translucent fabric showed off a hint of dusky skin underneath. At some point during the day she had put on a short pair of strappy heels, and clattered on the tile.
“Hi Danni!” Meredith chirped.
Now Justin knew she was drunk. Meredith never said hello to anybody, much less the chatty receptionist. The brunette strode over to her glass-fronted table without replying.
“I don’t know whether I like that she’s quiet, or whether I’m pissed that she ignored us,” Meredith said. She rose, unsteadily, to her feet. “I’m going to see a woman about a cat,” she explained, and walked to the bathroom. Justin wondered if the wobble in her ass was natural, or for his benefit.
Once she was gone, Danni hissed at him, across the room. She waved him over. Justin obediently abandoned his bar post.
Up close, her plump lips were shockingly thick. She looked like a poster girl for collagen, her angel-bow pillows both rich and inviting. When she talked, there was a trace of a slur, as if she struggled to get the words out between her lush lips.
“Justin?” she said. “Can I get your advice on something?”
“Uh, yeah?”
“Why not?” he thought. Everyone else was, today.
She rummaged through a shopping bag, and drew out something small and plastic. She stuck it in her mouth and looked, defiantly, at Justin.
It was a pacifier.
“Going to a rave?” he said.
“It’s not funny!” Danni snapped, around the yellow nub. “My lips really, really hurt unless I’ve got something up against them. This is the best I could do.”
“Lips are no better, huh?”
“No! If anything, they’re worse. I can’t even talk right. It comes out all husky… and deeper,” Danni said.
She sighed. Then, as Justin watched, she started to gently suck on the plastic nub.
“You’re, ah, sucking on it,” he pointed out, as delicately as he could.
“What? Oh!” Danni said. She pulled the pacifier out. “That’s so embarrassing. I guess it’s just a reflex action.”
It had also been surprisingly hot. Justin cast a yearning look at the men’s room.
“Thanks, Justin,” she said. “You’re a really sweet guy, you know that?” She smiled.
“Hey, I’ve never seen that before,” Justin said, gesturing at her cheerful expression. “When your lips do that non-frowning motion.”
“Hurts less to smile,” Danni explained, and winked. Then she replaced the sucker in her mouth. “Okay, let me know if I start sucking on it, will you? And let me know if you hear Ms. BitchyBoss coming, okay?”
Justin shrugged. “You can always hear her coming, in those shoes she wears.”
“Ahem!” someone said.
Both Danni and Justin turned. Jessica was up against the side of the wall, just beyond the centerpiece. She wore, instead of her usual clodhopper heels, a narrow pair of stilettos. Justin gaped at her. The blonde tucked a lock of hair behind her ears, and gave them both a weak smile.
She looked deeply frazzled. Her usual professional suit top was scuffed, and her nylons had run a tear along the bottom. Her blouse, underneath, appeared to be a bright pink.
“Justin, I need you to—Danni, what is that?” she said, shocked.
“It’s a work pacifier,” Danni said. She gripped it tenaciously between her lips.
Jessica’s own carefully made-up lips tried the phrase “work pacifier.”
“For… work?” she said, uncertain.
“Her lips have been really hurting,” Justin said, helpfully.
Meredith squeaked, in the bathroom. It was abruptly cut off, and all three of those outside turned to stare at the closed door.
“It’s true,” Danni said. “My lips are all swollen. I think a bug bit me or something,”
“Oh… okay,” Jessica said. Her eyes dipped up and down Danni’s black and yellow outfit. “That’s not what I had in mind when I said receptionist-attire,” she said, back on firmer ground.
“What?” Justin was confused. Black skirt and a yellow blouse? It was the epitome of business casual.
“Are you serious? What could you possibly want me to wear?” Danni said.
“Just… try again, will you?” Jessica said. “Think professional.”
Danni shrugged. “Fine, if you’re paying for it,”
Jessica nodded. She turned back to Justin. “I need you in Room Ten in five minutes,” she said. “Bring your.. whatever you need to make drinks, I guess.”
“No problem,” Justin said.
Jessica nodded, sharply. Then she turned on her heels and stepped back towards the back office. Justin watched her go. That solved the mystery of the quiet approach. Jessica walked with exaggerated patience, each step carefully placed in front of the other. The heel-to-toe was silent even with the high, sharp heel.
She turned, abruptly. “Oh! I nearly forgot. Please. Justin, please show up at Room Ten.”
Please? That word hadn’t come up in Jessica’s management techniques before. He nodded. Then the tall blonde retreated back to her office.
Meredith stuck her head out the door a moment later. Her face was red and flushed with wet heat, and she was panting.
“I… there was splashback,” she said, to Justin and Danni. Then she wobbled out the door and sat heavily at her piano. Justin didn’t know how to point out that her sweater was now on backwards.
Friday, 4:21 p.m., Mr. Justin
“Ah, the man with the magical martinis,” Mr. Wren said, once Justin walked through the door. “Glad you came. Please set up on the minibar.”
Justin shouldered through the heavy door. Room Ten was by far their nicest suite, really more of a luxury apartment then a hotel room. Besides the spacious King bed it had a large living room with a mahogany bar. A scattering of old, but well-maintained, armchairs clustered around a low coffee table. The floor was genuine hardwood.
Mr. Wren sat in the armchair nearest the sliding glass door. It looked out over the nearby path to the lake, and was pleasantly shrouded by trees.
A single cigar smoldered in the ashtray. The Hotel had a no-smoking policy, but very few rules seemed to apply to Mr. Wren.
The ruddy man was ensconced in his chair, and wore the same suit. The armpits had sweat stains.
Justin placed his cooler behind the minibar and drew out martini materials. The room was sweltering hot.
“Have you taken my advice to heart, boy?” Mr. Wren said. “Polite and agreeable?”
“No, sir,” Justin said. He put two glasses on the minibar.
Mr. Wren chuckled. “Well said. Poetic, even. Is there the soul of a poet inside the bartender?”
Justin froze. Did he know? How could he? He forced himself to relax. Wren was just rambling, as usual.
“Two martinis. And… please make the second one extra-strong.”
Jessica walked in. She had the clipboard stuck to her chest once more, and stepped quickly towards where Mr. Wren was sitting. She put out her hand as she approached, smiling timidly.
“No, no,” Mr. Wren said. He refused to rise. “That won’t do. Try again. Try and impress me.”
“What?” Jessica said. The blonde looked baffled.
“Walk slowly and carefully,” Mr. Wren enunciated. He sighed and slumped into his chair. “You are attempting to pursue a business deal. Your stride needs to show me that you are a person I should respect. Now, try again, like I showed you before.”
Justin carefully examined the floor. Jessica stood silently for a moment, then walked back to the door. This time she took small, mincing steps, one heel carefully in front of the other. Justin couldn’t help but admire her ass as she ambled by.
“An improvement,” Mr. Wren judged. He indicated the armchair, and Jessica sank gratefully into it.
“To possible ventures,” he said, raising his glass. Jessica rose her own—the one with a heavy dollop of booze—and nearly choked on her first sip. Mr. Wren watched her carefully. She flushed, sipped again, and managed to down half the glass.
“So, um, Mr. Wren,” Jessica said. She smoothed out her skirt. “What’ve your… initial impressions of the Hotel been?”
Mr. Wren swirled his glass. “I will try to be entirely honest with you, my dear. The finances are abysmal. The location is inconvenient. And the staff has, so far, been either apathetic or outright defiant. I have seen more enthusiasm in the line for dinner at San Quentin.”
“They’ve been trying,” Jessica squeaked. She nervously downed the rest of her martini. “I had them get new clothes… and I’ve been watching them work…”
“Yes, and the results have been inconsistent when not actively self-defeating,” Mr. Wren said. He put down his glass. “In younger days I would’ve given you a firm handshake, a look of sincere regret, and walked out that door.”
Jessica’s hand froze halfway to her glass.
“But… I have come a very long ways,” Mr. Wren allowed. “And perhaps there is some promise in this… raggedy-ann setup of a staff you have. Once properly trained, of course.”
“Oh, of course!” Jessica said, eagerly. Justin put a second glass in front of her. She picked it up without even noticing him. “I was thinking of installing cameras to, you know, watch what they were doing, and…”
“Please,” Mr. Wren said. His tone cut through anything soft. It sounded like a stiff belt of acid. “The problem here inevitably starts with management. Ms. Jessica. Please stand up and turn around.”
“What?” Jessica said. The second martini was as strong as the first, but this time the blonde hardly seemed to notice.
“Stand up! Stand up now!” Mr. Wren insisted. She stood bolt upright.
“Now turn around.” She did so, casting nervous glances over at Justin. He determinedly cleaned a glass.
“Bend over,” Mr. Wren commanded.
“Mr. Wren!” she said, shocked.
“You wish to command your staff to update their attire, when you yourself are wearing cheap cotton garbage? Bend over, dear. Now.”
Jessica, trembling, complied. Justin looked up directly at a firm, black-clad ass. In her heels it jutted invitingly into the air. Mr. Wren examined the display.
“Yes. Pinches at the waist, rides up over the derriere. You look cheap, my dear. You look like an assistant at a middle-tier real estate agent,” he clucked his tongue. “Let me see the front.”
This time Jessica quickly complied, bending forward stiffly from the waist. Mr. Wren’s eyes lingered on the swell at the top of her breasts.
“Yes. Both boring and unattractive. Perhaps suitable for a flight attendant due for retirement. Ms. Jessica. I am going to give you a name. The name belongs to a boutique I have utilized for my female staff before. I urge you to make haste over there before closing tonight.”
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a card. It was bright pink.
“I expect you and I to continue to work on the attitude and presentation of your staff. Then, perhaps, we can talk acquisition.”
Justin nearly broke a glass.
So, that was it. Mr. Wren was hardly a guest. This was no surprise; they didn’t have any guests. Nor was he a silent investor or one of her Daddy’s flunkies, here to check in, which had been his first thought.
Mr. Wren was a possible buyer.
“Very well, we will speak again tomorrow,” Mr. Wren said. Jessica quickly shook hands, and sped out the door as quickly as was decent. Mr. Wren didn’t even bother to watch her quivering rear as it carefully stepped into the hallway.
“And for heaven’s sake, put your hair down!” Mr. Wren called after her.
Friday, 5:49 p.m., Ms. Jessica
Jessica checked the card. The name of the store was “Professional Boutique,” which she had figured for a description. But there it was, written on the storefront in lacy pink curled handwriting.
There was nothing in the windows except a pair of red curtains. In fact, the entire store was nearly hidden, lost down an unprepossessing street of appliance repair stores and a Radioshack. Only by driving like a maniac down the freeway had she managed to arrive before closing.
The perfume hit her as soon as she walked in. It was lilacs showered with roses, and strong, like a bath of femininity. The interior was poorly lit with just a few overhead lights.
What it did showcase was a drizzling shower of pink and lace. Jessica nearly walked out, right away. This was hardly a professional boutique. The name had to be a joke. She felt gently at a nearby skirt. It was made out of vinyl, and so short she had to check to make sure it wasn’t a mis-placed pair of underwear.
She checked the price tag and sucked in her breath. At least the price tag was in line with Mr. Wren’s promises. It was a substantial chunk of change.
“Can I help you?” someone said. Jessica looked up.
The girl behind the counter was flawless. She had coiled black hair and darkly-lidded eyes, coupled with thick pink lips. Then she stood up. Somehow she had poured an overstacked body into a dark red dress. It was plastic-y, and tight.
“I’m sorry, I must’ve made a mistake. I thought this was—“
“Oh, did Mr. Wren send you?” the girl chirped.
“You.. know Mr. Wren?”
“He owns me, of course! I’m Christy, I’m the store manager. Pleasure to meet you.”
“Jessica,” she said. She watched Christy carefully maneuver towards her. Her stride was short, mincing, and slow. Just like Mr. Wren had taught her. It made Christy’s boobs jiggle.
“Mr. Wren… owns you?”
“The store. He owns the store,” Christy translated. She twirled a lock of hair.
That made sense, at least. A businessman would send her to one of his own stores, to get her outfitted. But this place was hardly professional. Christy looked like she was one camera flash away from a nudie mag pinup.
“Stick of gum?” She offered.
Jessica took it gratefully. It was the same pink as before. She popped it into her mouth. It was embarrassing to admit, but she had missed the relaxing pop of the stuff.
Christy took in her outfit. “I can see we have a ways to go,” she said, with a cheerful lack of tact. “How about something in our Princess series?” She pointed to a shimmery white dress. Jessica touched at it. It was made out of something synthetic, cut low enough that she would be showcasing a huge swathe of cleavage, and the skirt barely reached over the skim of her hips.
Her bubble popped.
It WAS attractive, she had to admit. And it would certainly open doors for her. Possibly with her boobs. And she did have the legs for it.
“Do you have something… a little more modest?” she said, meekly.
Christy sighed. “I’ll have to look in the back,” she announced, darkly. She disappeared into the backroom. Jessica stood in the very middle of a pleasure palace of fantasy outfits, all outrageously expensive and mostly slutty.
Her bubble popped.
She realized that she was growing wet between her quivering thighs.
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