Melissa looked away. “When we arrived at the beach, there were eight guys waiting for us. They were gym-rats, recruited from a gymnasium in Lauderdale. My girlfriend took one look and started backing away. When the director shouted at her, she turned and ran. She didn’t make five yards before two of the guys hauled her down. They ripped down her swimsuit and a third guy jumped on top. She was screaming and kicking but the guy was strong and he got it into her. She sort of gave up after that and let them.”
“What about you, Melissa? What happened to you?”
“Yeah. They got me too. I was grabbed from behind and knocked down. He held my face into my girlfriend’s crotch. It was revolting. We were used every way there is to use a girl, I guess. And they got it on camera; us being raped on the beach.”
“And Scirocco was behind it?”
“Yeah. The next day he came to see me. He made it seem like a chance encounter, but it wasn’t. We talked and ended up having dinner together. And later, like an idiot, I slept with him. He was charming, nice to look at, had money, a powerful job, and he seemed to like me. I thought I had salvaged a shitty weekend. Especially after he convinced me not to fly home.”
“You stayed behind?”
Melissa glanced away, eyes moist. “Yeah. I was hoping to be the new Mrs. Scirocco, you know? And it was good for a few weeks. He treated me nice and I had free run of the Casino. But then he was having a few associates over for a drink and he wanted me to provide the evening’s entertainment.” Melissa buried her face behind splayed fingers. “Can you believe it? He actually wanted me to fuck for his friends.” She turned away and took a breath; grabbed for composure. “I balked and he hit me.” Her shoulders sagged. “Said if I could do it with strangers on the beach I should have no trouble with his friends. That’s when he showed me the compact disc and I figured-out he owned the production studio. The movie was called ‘When Good Girls Say No’ and featured a photo of me on the jacket, with my face being forced between my girlfriend’s legs.”
“And you started working as a flight-attendant on the Bikini-Bus.”
“He eventually threw me out of his apartment when I refused to do another movie.”
“Another one?”
“Yeah. He’s got this big dog and he wanted me to give Brutus a special treat.”
Irene felt sickened. “A dog…”
“Hey, he’s in the porno business. I refused and he kicked me out. But a pit boss took a liking to me and started me on the floor. Working for the Casino, I got free accommodation and a good salary. I couldn’t face going back to California. So yup, here I am.”
“Oh Melissa, I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, thanks. Guess I grew up fast. Nothing like doing eight guys to age a girl.” A smile slowly spread across her lips and she pointed with her chin. “Hey, you forgot the oysters.”
“Oh Lord.” Irene flipped back the lid of the grill and started piling her tray. “You coming back in with me?”
“Naw. Not just yet. I need a smoke.”
Irene nodded and turned toward the door. “Don’t be long. I’ll watch for you.”
Back inside the party had gained momentum. Irene set the tray on the counter and helped herself to another beer while looking around at the girls swapping stories and sharing jokes. It was a good group, she decided, and she was happy the party had been so well received. It broke the ice and provided an opportunity for her to meet everyone.
She looked around for Ditz but she had disappeared and Irene supposed she must be freshening up. Irene tried a little of the chowder and found it was scrumptious with a sliver of garlic toast. She was almost halfway into her third beer when Irene realized that Melissa hadn’t followed her back in.
Feeling a little concerned, she poured a rum cocktail and decided to take it out to the girl. But when Irene walked back into the garden, she found it was empty. No sign of Melissa or her cigarettes. Fighting back a sense of anxiety, Irene took a sip of the rum cocktail and headed back toward the door, assuming that Melissa had decided to call it an early night.
“No. I can’t!”
Irene stalled.
The voice had come from around the end of the Hobbit House. Irene leaned forward, straining to hear.”
“No. Please.” The sound came again. Irene couldn’t be sure but it sounded like Alex and curious now, she went to investigate but peering around the end of the cabana, she saw nothing unusual.
“Don’t you dare say no to me.”
That’s Ditz, Irene thought. The sound had drifted from the bedroom window. Irene took a step closer and hazard a look into the darkened room. Ditz was sitting on the edge of the bed and it took a moment for Irene to realize that she was naked from the waist down.
Alex stood by the opposite wall, an arm up for support. Her face was veiled in shadows. “You can’t ask me to do this.”
Ditz’s laugh was cold and unforgiving. “Come on. Lick out the Ditz’s honey pot. You did that damned dog and you won’t do me?”
“That was different,” Alex pleaded. “They made me.”
Ditz leaned back on her elbows. “So how is this different?”
Alex stepped forward into the moonlight where Irene could see the tears streaking her cheeks. “You’ve got the photographs?”
“Copies. Sure. So get on your knees or I send your husband an email. Tonight.”
“You wouldn’t”
“You know? I’ve always wanted to ask you what that was like. Did he actually cum in your mouth?”
“Oh God.”
“I’m losing patience, Alex. Get busy. All these pretty girls? You know I need to cum so bad. I could ask Tracy to stay late. Hold her down and sit on her face. You like her, don’t you?”
Alex took a hesitant step closer. “Leave Tracy alone.” She blew out a breath and Irene watched Alex get down between Ditz’s outstretched legs.
“That’s better,” Ditz sighed and guided Alex’s open mouth into her crotch. She laced her fingers behind Alex’s head and suddenly came up on the woman. Irene heard a muffled cry of surprise followed by staggered gulping. “Take all of it, bitch.”
Oh sweet Jesus! Irene fell back from the widow-sill. She felt something give inside and placed a hand on the wall but couldn’t pull her eyes away from the two women at the side of the bed. She spied intently for a moment before something inside her chest slipped. She was aware of spiraling down into an emotional septic tank and finally forced herself to step away. It was none of her business.
As she scrambled back through the garden, she heard Alex coughing and sucking air. There was a dirty laugh. “You’re not finished yet.” And one of them moaned. Irene didn’t know which but it was like the sound of a child, lost in the woods.
Back inside, the party was still going strong but the luster was lost on Irene. She went straight to the bar and found the rum bottle and poured herself a double shot. She needed a real drink. Irene picked up the glass and retreated to the far corner of the room. She parked herself against the wall where she was sufficiently distanced from the gaiety and gulped the raw liquor while wondering what was taking place behind the closed door.
Moments later Alex stepped from the bedroom. Irene watched her hesitate, pausing to see if anyone had missed her. Alex looked disheveled and sweaty. Her hair was wet and she folded her arms to hide her soaked blouse. The tall confident woman who took charge of Irene’s passenger compartment appeared to have shrunk in stature.
Confident no one was watching, Alex skirted the room and paused again by the side door. She looked fervently right, then left, before stepping into the darkness and quietly pulling the knob behind her.
Irene pushed off the wall and took the drink into her room. She sat in the darkness, sipping and listening to the sounds of her girls. Ditz had rejoined the foray, taking center stage it seemed. Irene overheard Ditz making innuendos as to Carlos Sandro’s sexual prowess, the diatribe sending the girls into fits of laughter.
Who is she, Irene thought, the woman I live with? The free and easy Ditz, who shunned her clothes in favor of a hedonistic lifestyle, had a dark side. The woman Irene could never emulate but often admired, had a sexual bent that was deeply disturbing. And what did she hold over Alex? Photographs?
Irene shivered. She sensed a dark undercurrent to life on Cracker-Jax Key and had to wonder what part she was destined to play.
The next morning, Irene found Ditz, wearing only underpants, with her head stuck in the stock pot. “Your girls ate all my chowder. I was counting on a bowl for breakfast. How about an oyster?”
Irene watched Ditz slurp down a morsel of meat off the half-shell and her stomach lurched. “No thanks. I’ll put the coffee on.”
“Suit yourself.” Ditz jolted her throat with a Rolling Rock and went back to fishing oysters from the ice water. “You hear anything last night?”
Irene froze, the carafe in her hand. “Last night?”
“Mmm.” Ditz didn’t look up. “Thought I heard someone out in the garden.”
“Must have been Melissa.” Irene thought fast. “She didn’t want to smoke in the house.”
“Melissa?” Ditz found an oyster among the ice cubes. “Odd. Sounded like she was right outside my window.” She forced its shell with a savage twist of a shucking knife. “Well, probably nothing, but I suppose I should have a word with her. Just to be sure.”
Irene was startled by the sharp knock at the door.
“Who is it?” Ditz called out. “I’m standing in my friggin’ underpants here.”
“Peitro,” came the muffled reply.
Ditz straightened. “What the hell does he want this early in the morning? Let him in will you.”
Irene looked down at herself. She wore the over-sized man’s shirt. She did up the top two buttons and, satisfied she was decent, she opened the door to a lovely dark boy with an envelope in his hand.
Peitro ran his eyes along Irene’s thighs but it was clearly Ditz who held his interest and he stepped across the room to place the envelop in her open hand.
“It’s for you, Irene,” Ditz said, scanning the outside of the letter. “From Scirocco. Boy, he’s turned into your number one fan. Congratulations.”
Irene moved to stand next to Ditz and eyed the envelop with a certain amount of skepticism. “What does he want now?”
Ditz tore the flap and handed the folded note across. “Probably wants to give you a raise.”
Irene scanned the sheet. “It’s an invitation to a dinner party; Scirocco’s penthouse. Tonight. Eight o’clock.”
Ditz took a peek over Irene’s shoulder. “Tonight? Christ, he doesn’t give a girl much warning.”
“No. And I don’t have a thing to wear. My clothes are all back in Atlanta.”
“We’ll figure something out.” Ditz was rummaging in her bag for a bill to give to Peitro, the jostling set her breasts to jiggling; a sight that was not lost on the boy. “You don’t dare not show up.”
“But I got nothing except my navy blue skirt and a swimsuit.”
“Peitro. Stop staring at my tits.” Ditz held the bill out to him. “Go back and tell them MS Ross will be pleased to attend.”
The boy remained rooted to the spot, shamelessly studying Ditz’s chest. “I keep forgetting he doesn’t speak English,” Ditz said and turning the boy by the shoulders, pushed him toward the door. When he hesitated she stepped closer and rubbed her nipples across the front of his shirt, kissed his cheek and pushed him outside with a pat on his butt. “Really going to have to do something for that kid, but you first.”