Naked Montreal: Excerpt 5
11 Monday Feb 2013
Written by Laura Roberts in Naked Montreal excerpts
This is an excerpt from my novel-in-progress, Naked Montreal. New 500-word excerpts are posted every Monday, so be sure to subscribe to avoid missing a thing!
Bienvenue / Welcome (cont.)
The Insulting Consultant goes off on a tangent about how hard he’s going to fuck me, once he gets me back to his place. I’m pretty sure I’ve already explained that I don’t do that sort of thing, that I’m merely the Fixer, and that his escort for the evening will decide whether they will be renting a room or parting ways after the entertainment’s over, but it’s always in one ear and out the other with these types. Hard to believe they’re the ones who run the world when they’ve got the attention spans of gnats – at least wherever folks with tits are concerned.
I finally receive a text from Lady Evelyn announcing her arrival, and swiftly draw our meal to a close as the Consultant inhales the last bits of mungfish left on the plate. I casually gesture for the check, and he signs off on our decadent feast with a look of pure evil in his eyes. I stand up, as if headed for the ladies’ room.
“Meet me in back in 5 minutes,” I whisper in his ear.
His eyes widen, and a smirk creeps across his face. Showtime.
I slip into the back room, where the Golden Eel becomes the Golden Palace of Porno Pleasures, and spot Lady Evelyn at the far end of the dimly-lit room. Clothed in a tight-laced corset of red silk, panties of black rubber and a pair of thigh-high vinyl boots with pointy toes and absurdly high heels, she is tapping a favorite whip against the side of an enormous throne. To suit the faux Chinese character of the place, there are two Ming-replica vases on either side of her absurdly gothic throne.
“Who have we got tonight?” she asks. “Another CEO?”
“I think he’s a political consultant, so feel free to leave a mark. Just not on the face; he may be on television in the next few days.”
“Oh please, I’ve never purposely hit anyone in the face,” she sniffs. Lady Evelyn hates it when I tell her how to run her shows.
“What about that court reporter last week?” I remind her.
“That was completely accidental. How could I have known he was standing right behind me with that camera? I don’t have eyes in the back of my head.”
“It’s just funny how your hand happened to be curled into a fist when it connected with his jaw,” I muse.
“Stranger things have happened,” Evelyn returns icily.
“Anyway, I think this guy may have been responsible for Dubya’s campaign, if that makes a difference,” I say, planting the seeds.
Evelyn’s eyes narrow, and I know she’s got what she needs to get through her scene. She raps her whip on the leather seat she’s perched on when the Consultant appears in the doorway.
“On your knees, you vomitous mass!” she shouts as he enters the dungeon.
Looking horrified, he drops to his knees, already a quivering wreck. I can’t help but smile. They’re all the same.
“Strip, you shit!” she shrieks.