Anonymous Encounters(58)

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.