The Girlfriend Experience Ch. 28

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Wednesday, November 27, 2019

Flagstone, Nevada

"Back in the day, we had paper registers - massive logbooks - and that's how we kept track of revenue and expenses for the house, how many parties each girl had during their stays, their net payout, and so forth. I'm talking financial statements with the mortgage and licensing fees, liquor fees, water, electrical, and cable-Internet invoices ... everything was kept on paper. The whole shebang. And it was a jumbled mess.

"But you see this here, sweetheart?" In the office, Colt pointed toward the laptop as Lindsay hovered above his shoulder, her head inclined. "Over the past year, we've transitioned all our record keeping to online accounting software. I don't know why I resisted making this change for so long because this takes the pain out of manual bookkeeping. Here, let me show you. This is your personal ledger and a running tally of all your parties and income since we returned from break on the fifth."

"It says I've had thirty-nine parties totaling fifty-three hours." Lindsay puckered her lips and gave a halfhearted shrug. "Sounds right; I can't argue with that."

"Oh, it's right. We track everything. And down here," Colt said, scrolling with the mouse, "see? Your gross pay, minus the house's fifty percent, is sixteen thousand five hundred and fifty-three dollars. Nine of the twenty-two days you've been here you haven't met the rent threshold, so, clicking here, you owe two hundred and seventy dollars in rent. The six-sixty on this line is the amount of tips due the staff, and the two-sixty-four is the daily food and snack tax we implemented earlier this year. All these numbers are updated daily." Colt rolled his head as Lindsay tickled the nape of his neck and he surfed to the bottom of the page. "Your net payout for this tour is fifteen thousand three hundred and fifty-nine dollars ... so far." He reeled the back of her hand to his lips and kissed it.

Lindsay made a nonsensical face, and twirled about as if she was a bobblehead. "Not too shabby for a nineteen-year-old high school wannabe flunky, huh? And for only twenty-two days of work?" She twitched her nose. "I have no idea why more girls my age aren't looking to get into hoebusiness."

Colt's head jerked up and his lips curled into a wolfish smile. "Beats dipping and frying corn dogs, doesn't it?"

"I'll say." Lindsay danced on her toes and stifled a silly grin. "Tell me more. I want to learn everything there is so I can help you, Pamela, and Jim run the brothel. I want to pull my weight."

"All right. Let me load up the expense report."

Lindsay shivered and cinched the heavy flannel shirt tighter around her torso while glancing out the window. The back porch resembled a comforting beacon, illuminated by a yellow glow from the old-fashioned lantern. Snow fell like powdered sugar through a sifter and the soothing scent of fireplace cedar laced the office.

This was the second snowfall to hit Flagstone in the past week; the first occurred on November 22.

The storm was expected to continue until midnight and drop upwards of five inches in some parts of the valley and perhaps cause closures of U.S. Route 95. Area residents took advantage of the rare accumulations as they flocked to Bella Park to frolic in the fluff, sled down the hills, and build snowmen.

Sahara and Riley couldn't fight temptation, so the two Southern California transplants went to the backyard earlier and frolicked like children for two hours. When they ventured back inside, Lindsay noted their legs and feet were shivering, and melted snow plastered Sahara's jeans to her legs like denim wallpaper.

I think I'll stay inside.

"Some guy named Jeff Robbins sent me an e-mail on the website and said he represented Chastity's Ranch and The Sinner's Paradise. So different in tone than the routine, horny mongers who message me day and night." Lindsay turned her phone and flashed the e-mail in question before flipping it back and skimming the details. "Claims he's a recruiter for both houses and I could make double at The Sinner's Paradise compared to Happy Ending Ranch, and up to four times at Chastity's when I turn twenty-one and am legal to work there." Her gaze drifted from the touchscreen toward Colt. "Do you think this is legit?"

"Oh, it's legit, all right. I hate Jeff Robbins. No, no, I despise him with a passion." The sudden change in Colt's demeanor dropped hot coals into the pit of Lindsay's belly. "He's your stereotypical smut peddler, slick and suave, and thinks he's cool as ice, yet in reality he's full of shit, and makes his living poaching girls from the smaller brothels like ours." Colt gripped the arm of the chair. "Oh, don't get me started. Promises more money but fails to mention the added pressure, cutthroat environment, and unreasonable demands from management you'll find in the larger houses."

"I don't think you have anything to worry about." Anguish tainted Lindsay's voice at witnessing that surge of emotion. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm here for the long haul. You know that." Lindsay rarely saw Colt's feathers get rankled like this, but as was the case with everyone, he had his moments. "I'll delete the e-mail."

"Here, look at this before we shift over to expenses." Colt stole a moment to grasp his hands in his lap and exhale a long, purifying breath. Mr. Robbins ranked as his least favorite person in the industry. "This is the business mileage report for both me and Jim. We track our business miles individually - like picking girls up and dropping them off at the airport, taking them to the sheriff's station to acquire their permits, day trips, and when it comes time to file taxes, we can write them off. The miles, that is."

"What does that mean?"

As Colt continued to explain the ins and outs of operating the family business, Lindsay glanced out the window once again and blew out a swoosh of air. This would be the most accumulation Flagstone had received in a single weather event since 2016, but it couldn't compare to the snowstorms she experienced while living in Utah last winter. This is pretty, I admit it, but I'd rather be on the beach in Saint Kitts.

Two months ago, Lindsay, Pamela, and Colt celebrated their budding throuple relationship by spending eleven days in Saint Kitts and Nevis, a pair of neighboring islands in the West Indies. Bordering the Caribbean Sea on one side and the Atlantic Ocean on the other, they enjoyed five-star accommodations at The Sunset Reef in a deluxe king studio with sheer volcanic ridges featuring waterfalls rising as high as 3,000 feet as their backdrop.

"Marco!" Colt, a blindfold stretched over his eyes, called out inside the resort's pool.

"Polo!" Lindsay and Pamela shouted back in unison, splashing water in his direction.

Whether it was the guided hiking tour and climb of Mount Liamuiga, exploring the rainforest, flying high on a zipline, cruising the open seas on a catamaran, or a three-hour ride along The Saint Kitts Scenic Railway, this romantic getaway was the perfect stress elixir and solidified the feelings they had as a triad.

I wish we were there now instead of this blizzard.

Saint Kitts and Nevis were blessed by their tropical locale and gentle year-round trade winds which created ideal climate conditions. Mother Nature had carved out verdant valleys through the centuries, hung brilliant rainbows in the sky, and trimmed its borders with smooth, saffron-colored beaches.

I should be sipping mimosas again on the speedboat. The legal drinking age there was eighteen, so Lindsay had free rein to get hammered. And boy, oh boy, there were nights when she abused that right. On second thought, I should be sipping a mimosa right now too.

At one point, Colt relaxed at the water's edge and watched Lindsay either ride the waves or fall off her surfboard as quickly as she got back up each time. A smirk creased his lips as it was equally thrilling and amusing to witness Lindsay's struggles as she wore a two-piece string bikini, its bright neon colors contrasting well with the psychedelic designs all over it.

In her defense, Lindsay was a novice surfer at best, a true beginner who'd taken up the sport a few days prior. Yet as pleasing as it was to gawk at her, Colt couldn't stop his gaze from shifting toward Pamela, ogling her fantastic body and the aura of positivity that surrounded it.

"You go, girl." Colt's smile increased tenfold as Pamela turned her surfboard 180 degrees and dropped into a prone position, paddling out against the waves that thundered in like stampeding horses from the great unknown. Unlike her new breaker buddy and apprentice, Pamela was a seasoned surfer with a skillset and vast knowledge of the sport. She found a high arc and pushed herself to a standing position, checked her balance, crouched, and rode the front to the shoreline.

She shook her head, flinging saltwater from her hair. Her wetsuit a second skin, Pamela helped Lindsay out of the water, too, and the two ladies hugged. Colt had seen his wife in far less countless times, of course, but dammit if the form-fitting neoprene covering Pamela from neck to ankle wasn't the sexiest thing he'd ever seen. And to entice him further, Pamela cupped Lindsay's jaw and claimed her in a possessive kiss.

"Hey. Are you paying attention?" Colt flayed Lindsay with his gaze back in Nevada. Back in the snowstorm. Back in their current reality. "I'm not talking to a brick wall here, am I?"

"Sorry." Lindsay scratched a vague itch on her nose and shrank away. "I'm just daydreaming a bit. Please, I want to learn so I can help."

This would be the first time one of Lindsay's house tours extended beyond three weeks. She was told it would be rare, but as a de facto member of management now, it was necessary. With tomorrow being Thanksgiving and most everyone wanting time off to be with loved ones, the house had a skeleton crew this week - Lindsay, Pamela, Sahara, Riley, and Colt. That's it. Amelia had been scheduled, too, but she had a change of heart at the last moment and decided to stay with her family in Florida instead. A lesser boss would've threatened to fire her, but Colt was cool about it. Then again, did Lindsay expect anything else? It's the holiday season. No harm, no foul, no blood. Even Jim was off for a few days, celebrating with Kenzie, Nicolette, and Elisabeth in Las Vegas.

Hell, the chef is off too.

Lindsay had no qualms about working through Monday night, but truth be told, she would rather be in Citronelle with her own family as well. She knew Colt and Pamela wouldn't have any complaints if she requested a few days off but didn't bother asking. It would be pointless because my family doesn't want me there. I'm the black sheep, the disgrace, the outcast.

Still, the poor girl missed her parents terribly, as well as her three sisters, and everyone else near and dear to her heart. I wonder how Grandma is holding up in the nursing home. Soon, it would be a year since Lindsay had contact with any of them. No one bothered to tell me Uncle Craig passed away. She'd read his obituary online a month after the fact while overseas. I would've gone to his funeral. I can't believe no one told me.

Meh, I have a new family now. Lindsay didn't understand how many personal sacrifices Colt and Pamela had to make in running the brothel until she witnessed them first-hand. They are here every Thanksgiving and Christmas. They never visited their family back in Maryland on the major holidays. Everyone wants off. Someone had to be at the house and oversee its operation, right? It was open 365 days a year.

Earlier, Pamela recounted a story from four years ago when she and Colt were the only two employees present on Christmas Day. That evening, there were three mongers in the bar all waiting for their separate turn with her while she was entertaining a fourth. What is this, a barber shop? A salon? Those three guys refused to go anywhere, either, fearful they'd lose their place in line. Pamela said they were all incredibly lonely and had no family to spend the holiday with.

Like me.

No! Lindsay had Colt and Pamela. And while she wasn't lonely, it did pain her heart to imagine the scene at the Anastacio home tomorrow evening. Her mother would, as usual, set an alfresco table in the dining room large enough to accommodate the entire clan. God, I'd give anything to taste the green bean bundles wrapped in bacon Mom makes every year. Aunt Rose always brought over the most delicious rolls. Cousin Danato the sweet potato casserole. And what could be better than garlic herb maple roast turkey marinaded in apple cider sauce? Mom's specialty. And listening to her dad's rehashed jokes.

Hey, I could be like those mongers that one year and have no one. Instead, Lindsay would count her blessings and be thankful tomorrow Colt and Pamela were in her life. I'm just gonna have to get used to things being this way from now on, aren't I? No Mom, no Dad, no sisters, no Anastacios at all. That's the price I paid. On the flip side, Pamela promised Lindsay the most amazing holiday feast she'd ever experienced, a vegan lentil loaf with cranberry glaze. Shoot, I don't even know what that is.

If only one thing was certain, though, it was Lindsay would enjoy a magical holiday with her new family. Colt and Pamela make every day special. Perhaps a bonus, albeit a minor one, was she would spend it with Sahara and Riley too. They're such trill girls.

"Now let's talk about how we take those credit card payments and transfer them to the bank," Colt said. "Here, I'll make a deposit in QuickBooks. It's easy."

Crunching numbers was never Lindsay's forte and this crash course explaining it was already making her head spin. Still, I must learn. I need to know everything. Perhaps if Pamela retired in 2021 as she kept promising Colt she would, Lindsay could slide right into her role within the house's infrastructure and make it a seamless transition. Who'd have ever imagined one day I might be Colt's right hand ... woman? Fingernails drummed against Lindsay's thigh and her lips carried into a slight downturn. I don't want Pamela to ever retire.

Lindsay got her own personal head start on "life after the brothel", at least professionally, as she'd begun taking a host of science and environmental college classes online in October. I don't know how I got accepted, but I did. Having a degree in Forestry and one day being employed as a park ranger would mean a fraction of the money she made now, but when the time came, Lindsay would make the switch. Being in nature would be ideal for me. However, Lindsay kept flip-flopping on whether she wanted to continue selling her body past the age of twenty-five. Riley says we have a limited shelf life in this industry. Other days, she had the urge to push beyond forty, if not fifty.

The indecisiveness of youth. ...

With that in mind, Lindsay's birthday was coming up next week. I'm gonna be twenty ... the big two-zero. I wonder what gifts Colt and Pamela bought for me. She had an Amazon Wish List she shared with numerous clients consisting of items such as sexy dresses and lingerie, jewelry, expensive shoes, gift cards, school supplies, an Apple watch, a MacBook Pro, a robotic floor vacuum, and so much more. Recently, she had a month-long supply of her favorite coffee pods delivered courtesy of Tony. He's such a generous man. And since Pamela reminded the masses on the bulletin board that Lindsay's birthday was next Wednesday, she was hoping for a rush of presents to arrive. Dave e-mailed me earlier and said to be on the lookout for a portable space heater.

"This software is designed for business owners like me to enter any bills so reports can be generated at any time and view who is owed, how much is owed, and different things like that."

How about I just suck your dick underneath the desk while you do your QuickBooking?

While that was her best idea all day, Lindsay's mind harkened back to their September vacation instead. What I wouldn't give to be in a bikini and snorkeling in the ocean again. She'd come a long way since her days growing up isolated in the California desert. Mom and Dad had us on total lockdown. We barely left the town. She once compared it to being in jail. Since then, Lindsay has explored new places including Nevada, Utah, Montana, Hawaii, Arizona, Virginia, Maryland, and the Caribbean. I'm becoming an expert on Las Vegas too.

The doorbell rang, reverberating throughout the property.

Lindsay's eyes flashed down toward Colt. "A monger? Today? In this weather?"

"I'm kind of surprised myself, but then again, not really." Colt was already up and making his way toward the front entrance. When the house was devoid of any customers and the doorbell rang midday, pandemonium often ensued for twenty to thirty seconds as the ladies would drop whatever they were doing and rush off to their private rooms, barricade themselves inside, and await the lineup buzzer or a knock on their door.

Sahara and Riley made a beeline from the chick cave up the steps. Pamela had been at the bar, studying for school, but was back in her work bedroom by the time Lindsay hurried out front. She was quick to follow, running down the hallway and disappearing one door down.

It was akin to a fire drill, liable to occur at any second, yet honed and practiced many times over in order to greet and tend to the potential guest(s) as quickly as possible.

Five minutes later, Colt issued a coded knock from his knuckles on Lindsay's door and let himself in. "Sweetie, no lineup this time. But there's a john asking for you out front. It's one of your regulars - Javion, the young Black guy from in town. He wants sixty minutes with you, solo."

"Well, well, well," Lindsay said in a deep, husky voice, blue eyes flicking down at the oversized flannel shirt she wore. It was one of Colt's heavy-duty shirts, and despite being mismatched to Hell and back again, it paired well in terms of combating the shivers with pink sweatpants, thermal underwear, and red slippers with the fuzzy rabbit heads she also had on. "I guess I should change, then."

"You have three minutes."

* * *

"Yeah, man, I look for the Bills to beat the Cowboys by double digits tomorrow. I don't think Dallas stands much of ..." Javion Chase ended his discussion with Colt abruptly and his face lit up with an all-encompassing smile as the familiar clank, clank, clank originated from the right side.

That was Javion's favorite sound, a precursor of sorts - Lindsay's outrageous high heels approaching on the wooden floorboard behind the curtain.

The twenty-seven-year-old gulped, drowned his lungs with oxygen, and once the fabric flipped to the side, he took his time, starting at the shoes. A fashion statement by themselves, they were purple, showcasing bright red toenails with clear three-inch vinyl platforms and seven-inch heels. Come-fuck-me pumps to the highest extreme. The straps wrapped around and buckled at her ankles, leading his dark eyes up to sleek, sexy calves.

And the dress - oh dear, the dress - didn't start until three-quarters up Lindsay's thighs and amplified the curve of her hips exponentially. Javion's eyes kept traversing northward and he realized the dress was a little purple number, too, bright and blingy with its sequins, with laces stretched and bound on either side holding it together. The top tapered to her breastbone and between her breasts, leaving a deep swath of cleavage exposed.