I stood, my back stiff, and began to make my way out of the club. As a businessman, I knew my logic was flawed. Cleo was a professional actress in many ways, she smiled and blew kisses to make money. But my heart was thundering, feeling betrayed and lost, torn apart by her shocking departure. I wanted my little girl to be mine only, and it killed me that she was giving it away to other men, selling herself, baring it all for others to see.
Shaking my head resolutely, I got back into the car.
"Home," I barked. I would forget the brat no matter what it took.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Cleo
Four years later …
I miss my stepdad. I think about my old life sometimes, and it makes me sad. It's like when you're all grown up, and you realize that your childhood is gone now, the sweetness, the purity, the innocence. Okay maybe I'd been none of those things, but definitely the two weeks I'd had with Drake had been amazing. Not just the sex, but his reassuring presence in me, surrounding me all the time.
Because things have really changed. I'm a working girl now, on stage every night, serving customers right and left. I don't know how I got here exactly.
When I first came to New York, Lorena helped me find a really nice apartment.
"Don't worry, Daddy's going to pay for it," she reassured me. We'd signed a lease for five thousand a month. But after two months in the rental, Lorena canceled my lease and put me into a shared apartment with five other dancers. It was awful -- some of the girls were crackheads, smoking whenever they were off duty, stoned and dazed all the time. Not to mention that the place was a fucking sty, cockroaches and mice scrabbling at night.
But Lorena was adamant.
"You can't live off Daddy's money forever," she admonished. "You're eighteen now and Drake won't support you forever. The rent here's only $900, you can afford it by working hard at the Donkey Club."
And it was true. I made about $500 a night dancing, all cash, so covering my rent wasn't an issue. It was more the knowledge that Drake didn't care anymore. I felt like a ghost now. He never called, he never visited, was too busy with his new girl … and the baby on the way. I was bitter, and the tang in my mouth sour and hurtful. It was so painful to think that our connection was completely forgotten, that I was a piece of trash, used and discarded already. The agony made me throw myself into work, trying to forget.
And so I danced with a frenzy. The customers at the Donkey Club had never seen a girl hustle so hard, baring everything, breaking down all walls. I held nothing back, pushing all the boundaries, working every night, showing everything, holding nothing back. I can't say I'm proud of it, but I wanted to be the best, even if it was just being the best in a seedy strip club.
And my efforts paid off. Since I first set foot in the Donkey Club four years ago, I've seen my star rise. Okay, maybe I'm not a world famous model, but I am a world famous erotic actress and dancer. The Club uses my face in its advertisements so you can see my visage whiz by on the tops of taxi cabs, the sides of buses, and even a small billboard in Times Square, pointing the way to the Donkey Club.
Plus, I've been able to build an on-line empire. Men log-on to watch me do all sorts of things, and wow, the subscription service turns a pretty penny. Guys pay fifty bucks a month to chat on the computer, to watch me dance on camera, to live out their fantasies with a girl they'll never meet in person. There are t-shirts, dolls, branded sex toys, and even a rubber mold of my pussy, can you believe it? The business is called "CleoWorld," and other strippers are asking to join now, to be profiled on my site. Why not? I might as well keep the smut bucks rolling in.
And so I've become phenomenally wealthy from my business ventures, my empire sprawling and diverse, a stable of girls under the CleoWorld umbrella. It's surreal. At age twenty-two, I've become a CEO. Sure, I started out as an exotic dancer and entertainer, but the peon climbed her way up the ladder to be the lady in charge, built on the back of a lot of hard work with a dash of luck. I've hired an assistant and a web guy to maintain my various websites, an accountant, a lawyer, a banker, a real team of professionals.
By the way, speaking about lawyers and bankers. The other day word on the street was that the girlie mag Hustler was filing for bankruptcy. My attorney called me, pitching the deal.
"Cleo," said Stuart, "CleoWorld might be the right entity to pick up this asset. If it's in Chapter Eleven, why not? It's going to go at a fire-sale value, and you're savvy enough, smart enough, with the deep pockets to turn it around."
I sighed.
"Stuart, you know I can't make decisions without any data or back-up. Get me some analyses and we'll take a look at the deal. Hustler might be too far gone for any possibility of resuscitation. If their customer base has already scattered, we'd have to win them back and that would discount the purchase price."
I could tell Stewie was impressed by my analysis. Who says you have to go to college to have real smarts? I'd been scrappy and worked my ass off and it had made me into a millionaire many times over.
"Alright, I'll get Ben started on the valuation," replied my attorney, referring to my investment banker. "But get ready for the auction to go hard and fast soon. This property isn't going to stay on the block long."
I paused for a moment. I wished Drake was here to help me do this analysis. As the CEO of News Enterprises, he'd know exactly how to guide me, how to evaluate a potential acquisition. But those days were gone now, and I scolded myself mentally. I hadn't seen Daddy in four years! It was no use, and I clamped down internally, willing myself to shoulder on.
So it hasn't all been rainbows and unicorns. I miss my Daddy … but I've become my own woman, with my own life.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Drake
As the chairman of News Enterprises, it's my business to be aware of all the goings-on in the publishing industry. The news of Hustler's demise was surprising, but not altogether unexpected. A traditional glossy just can't get the same advertising dollars as before, not when they're competing with a range of on-line sites, advertising live feeds, and worst of all, ever more start-up publications, all hoping to get a slice of the adult content industry.
And News Enterprises is a conglomerate overseeing a number of diverse publications ranging from business newspapers like World One, World Global and World Catch to smutty pubs like Yawker and Cumming. So we know what's happening in all facets of the industry and had some space in our adult content line-up. Oh yeah, Yawker and Cumming outsell our other pubs three-to-one, porn and sex are real attention grabbers, the mark-up huge coupled with low production costs.
And we've got our finger on the pulse of the trade. Take for example, my number two. Lewis was in my office last week discussing Hustler's impending bankruptcy auction. That's right, they were selling off the magazine like an animal at market, finding a bidder through good old fashioned cattle calling.
"Drake, this could be a great opportunity to pick up a distressed asset," he said. "Our finance guys have combed through the numbers and there's hidden value there."
"How so?" I remarked.
"Evidently, the magazine's got a strong subscriber base of men in the 30-55 demographic, exactly who we want to hit. There's some fat in staffing but that's easy to cut after a potential acquisition."
It was true, the 30-55 male demographic was highly sought after by advertisers and perhaps we could do some cross-marketing, grabbing eyeballs for our other male-oriented publications. Even if we kept Hustler going for only a year or two, that might be enough to steer customers to other trade glossies, acting as tastemaker and big brother in one.
I grunted.
"Alright, get me some numbers and we'll attend the auction," I said. It was a strategic decision more than anything. Even if we had no intention of seriously bidding for Hustler, it was good to press the flesh, scope out the competition, show your face when all the other players in town were at the races.
But admittedly, I had an ulterior motive. Would Cleo be there? It sounds crazy, but it was a real possibility. I've followed my little step all these years, watching her from afar, tracking her every move while reminding myself again and again that she was no longer interested, that she'd run off without any notice for a career on stage, leaving me with nothing.
And somehow my little step has morphed from run-of-the-mill stripper into adult entertainment magnate. I'd been stunned watching the transformation. First up had been the branded sex toys. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised, after all she was an erotic dancer and guys would buy that shit up. So when she made her first million selling CleoWorld latex pussies, I'd had a good chuckle, throwing the catalogue onto my desk with a snort. Okay, I admit, I ordered one as well, using it in my shower in the mornings, dreaming of my luscious girl.