Little Black Book(2)

When I was nineteen, I came face to face with the end of Clive’s shotgun. What could I say? I was into some crazy shit. He could have turned me in. Hell, he could have killed me, but instead he gave me a job at his hole-in-the-wall bar and taught me everything he knew about the business. He became like a father to me. The only father I knew, since mine had dropped me off on a set of church steps with a shitty diaper wrapped around my ass.

Sadly, Clive died when I was twenty-two, leaving me the bar and some old stock and bond certificates. I sat on those certificates as I worked the bar and lived in the tiny apartment above it. It wasn’t until years later, I found out those certificates were worth millions.

I took that money, opened my own place, naming it after the man who gave me everything, and became the twenty-nine-year-old success I was today. I rubbed elbows with celebrities, and some of the wealthiest men I knew became rich due to my advice.

Women threw themselves at my cock, like it was made of pure gold. I didn’t turn anyone away. Until eventually, I got bored with the same tedious women and their dull positions. Taking matters into my own hands, I started a little black book.

Inside my book was a buffet of women who were willing and ready for my call. Each one specialized in something different, and each one was named after a cartoon character of my choosing.

“Okay. Good work, Vick. Go home and get some sleep. It’s almost three in the morning. If we’re doing this well on a Thursday, you’ll need tons of rest for the weekend.” I set the papers on my desk and turned toward the door. “Also, hire a new waitress. When I was coming through earlier, I saw a few tables waiting for service.”

“I’m on it,” she said, turning the desk lamp off and heading my way.

Locking the office door behind us, I walked her to the black Chevy Camaro I bought for her birthday two years before. It wasn’t the most expensive car, but it was what she chose.

“See you tomorrow,” I said, shutting her car door.

Going back into the club, two bartenders were still inside closing up. The lush crimson and black décor made the place look dark and sexy. Once the lights went out, you could barely see your hand in front of your face. The walls were wrapped in blood-red swag and black chandeliers hung from the ceiling like sinister diamonds of light. The twenties-style pieces placed throughout the room, topped it off. It was designed exactly as I requested.

“Goodnight, Mr. Black.” The petite blonde bartender said when I walked by the bar.

“Lock it up tight,” I instructed.

Taking two stairs at a time, I moved quickly toward my apartment above the club. Not many people knew I lived and worked in the same building, but the paranoia that came with teenage years full of drug slinging, kept me from leaving the club unattended.

Once inside, I stripped down and went for a hot shower. Eight, strategically placed, shower heads beat my body with steaming water. It felt good to wash away my earlier encounter with Wilma and Betty. Sighing out loud, I knew this would be the most relaxing part of my night, as the ability to have a good night’s sleep had eluded me for years. My history took away all the peaceful moments in my life. Sleeping through the night like a normal person wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. A couple hours here and there was all I needed.

Before going to bed, I flipped through my book and examined the names—ranging anywhere from Disney and Looney Tunes, all the way to Hanna-Barbera. My eyes landed on the B’s and then bounced around until the name Bambi caught my attention. Losing myself in a wet and ready woman always kept the past from rushing up on me… and it had been weeks since I’d lost myself between Bambi’s thighs. Maybe a change of pace was what I needed. It was time to give her a call tomorrow.





I stood and zipped up my slacks. Shoving my arms into my shirt, I pulled the collar close and buttoned each button quickly.

“What’s the rush?” The seductive voice came from behind me.

Turning around, my eyes devoured a pair of long, shapely legs. The perfectly shaved V between her thighs glistened and reminded me that not five minutes before, it had milked me dry. She sat up and put on the purple, silk panties I’d bought her a few months before.

“This will be our final visit,” I muttered dismissively, tying my tie.

She was developing feelings and I wasn’t down for that shit, at all. Touchy feely non-sense was something I wanted nothing to do with. Also, I was bored with her, which I remembered was the main reason I hadn’t contacted her for weeks.

She was a bad investment, who had taken an obscene amount of time getting me off. That was all the proof I needed. Because of her I was going to have to get a quick lunch, verses my usual at Red’s Lounge.