The Looters Page 6

  “Miss Dupre?”

  I turned around and stared at a spitting image of Dolly Parton, big breasts and all. Only this one was younger, very much younger. She was perfect for the role I had cast her in for the night.

  “I’m Chastity. The agency said I should speak to you.” She had a slight southern accent.

  I gave her a big smile. “Okay, just give me a few minutes. There’s someone I need to speak to first.” I wanted to be sure the arrangement was still on before I made a commitment to her.

  My reason for being at the party was more than just social. Eric wanted me to take care of a business matter for him. The girl from the agency was the reason Eric wanted to talk to me. I smothered another champagne laugh when I thought about the girl’s name.

  “Hi, Eric,” I said to his back.

  “Maddy, what took you so long?”

  “Traffic,” I lied. It had been champagne, bubble bath, and mellowing out after the stress of the auction the day before. I ordered an apple martini instead of champagne for a change.

  “The Huntzbergers are here. Have you made the arrangements with them?” he asked.

  “No, I just got here, but I’ve met Chastity. She looks perfect for the job.” I nodded in her direction.

  “She does, doesn’t she.” He drooled like a horny college kid when he looked at her. “I certainly wouldn’t mind getting some southern comfort from her.”

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t,” I said. I almost added that his wife might object to it, though.

  “She comes highly recommended,” he added, as if that qualified his reason for desiring her.

  “I’ll bet she does.”

  What was it about a girl with blond hair, big boobs, and a short skirt that made men go all gaga? I didn’t get it.

  “So where are the Huntzbergers?” I asked.

  He pointed to a couple in the opposite corner of the room. They appeared to be fiftyish. Even though they were dressed in designer clothes, they looked a bit stuffy to me, but one could never tell from outward appearances what lurks underneath. This PG-rated Midwest couple wanted X-rated excitement.

  “These people are very wealthy, Maddy. They want to loan a valuable collection to the museum. It’ll turn into a donation if we play our cards right.”

  People who donated pieces to museums and galleries nowadays often wanted something else besides a tax break and a little recognition. The perks were increasing. I wasn’t sure what else Eric had promised, but sex seemed to be high on the list for this couple. And they wanted more bang for their buck than a simple fuck: I was told to get someone they both would enjoy.

  Pimping wasn’t supposed to be part of my job description, but somewhere along the line since the sexual revolution of the sixties depravity had become more and more acceptable in social and business arrangements.

  I had arranged sex for other people before. Eric didn’t want to do the dirty work himself and made me make the arrangements. I hated it. Now that I had arrived career-wise, so to speak, I planned to tell Eric to have his assistant, a woman I detested, do his pimping in the future. The job required a call to an escort service and a coded conversation in which you explained what you wanted… without really revealing what you wanted: “I have friends coming in from out of town… husband and wife… they are lonely and would both enjoy the company of a young woman with stimulating conversation… wholesome looks would be nice….”

  In other words, I needed a prostitute with pigtails who would go down on both of them.

  I smiled at Eric. Asshole. “I know. I’ll take care of it.”

  “I know you will.”

  I took one sip of my drink and set it back on the bar. “Don’t let anyone touch this. I’ll be back to finish it,” I told the bartender.

  “You got it.” He winked.

  Cute guy, I thought. Drinking champagne always makes me horny. I’ve always blamed it on the bubbles but had no scientific proof. As I went by Chastity, I said, “When you see me looking at you, come over.”

  I navigated my way to the lucky couple.

  “Good evening,” I said to the Huntzbergers. “I’m Madison Dupre.”

  They both smiled slightly as their eyes traveled salaciously over my body. “I’m the Piedmont’s curator, not their—” Shit, I almost said, Not their whore. “I’m the curator of the Piedmont Museum,” I repeated.

  “Oh, nice to meet you, Miss Dupre,” Mr. Huntzberger said. His wife nodded in agreement. “I told Eric we’re considering loaning our collection of Mesopotamian vases to your museum.”

  “Yes, that’s what I understand. We’re all very excited. It would make a very impressive display. In fact, there’s someone here tonight, an intern who’s studying in that particular area, that’s very anxious to learn all about your collection.” I caught Chastity’s eye and gave her a nod. “I hope you don’t mind explaining the history of the pieces in your collection. I’m afraid our educational system has left Chastity with virgin ears when it comes to Mesopotamian art.”

  I could have added that her ears were the only orifices she had left that hadn’t been poked and stroked many times.

  The two middle-aged perverts left with the Dolly Parton look-alike, literally cooing all the way out the double doors. I was sure Chastity wouldn’t let them down. She was getting paid very good money.

  I waved to Eric and gave him a thumbs-up, signaling everything was arranged. He was chatting with Hiram and gave me a wide smile. Another job well done. Jesus, what a couple of hypocritical pricks.

  As far as I was concerned, Eric had degraded me once too often. He was dead meat. History. As far as being the museum’s curator, as of now I had a been-there, done-that attitude. Now I wanted weasel Eric’s job. I had to keep dancing.

  When I went back to the bar to get my drink, I didn’t see my glass. “Hey, what happened to my drink?”

  “Oops! Someone must have taken it.” He leaned closer to me. “You know, you just can’t trust these rich people, can you?”

  “How do you know I’m not one of these untrustworthy rich people?”

  “Well, after what I just saw, I figured you for a working girl. Or at the very least, their madam.”

  I started laughing. He was cute and funny. I considered it a compliment that he’d think I was good enough to sell my body. “You are so right. Okay, I’ll take another apple martini, please.”

  “Coming right up.”

  “So tell me, since you’re so smart, what other things do rich people do besides steal drinks?”

  “Let me tell you about the very rich. They’re different from you and me.”

  That was so stupid, it got me laughing again. Those champagne bubbles still had control of my mind. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “I was just kidding about the working girl stuff—and you being rich.”

  “Why don’t you think I’m rich? It’s my clothes, isn’t it? The movie was right.”

  “Huh?”

  “Was it the clothes or me you noticed?’”

  “Oh, I noticed what’s inside the clothes, all right.” He smiled. “It’s your eyes. The windows to the soul. That’s the tip-off.”

  “My eyes?”

  “They’re not greedy.”

  He moved away to fill two glasses of champagne. He came back and said, “Your clothes are great. And unlike everyone else in the room, you’re not in a uniform. You’re different.”

  “What do you mean different?”

  “No Winston, Bvlgari, Gucci, Armani, Piguet, Cartier. They’re all wearing designer labels, designer diamonds and watches, smoking aged Gurkha cigars, driving Jaguars and Bentleys. They look like they all came off the same assembly line. The only thing that distinguishes them from each other is the size of their back accounts.”

  I didn’t want to disappoint him and tell him that I owned a Jaguar and had some of those designer clothes, though not the most expensive ones, and I lived in a penthouse. A small one.

  “You know what thi
s one bottle’s worth?” He brought up a bottle from underneath the bar.

  “Haven’t got a clue.”

  “About six grand. A Scotch whiskey aged in sherry barrels for over fifty years. Designer liquor.”

  “Must be nice.

  “Check out this. Designer ice cubes.”

  “Designer ice cubes?”

  “Hand-cut, so they don’t melt as fast.”

  He wasn’t kidding. I started laughing. “Do you ever envy them, the rich, I mean?”

  “No,” he said, putting away glasses in the holder above the bar. “They’re too goddamn greedy. You know that old saying ‘money is the root of evil.’ Well, it’s true.”

  I didn’t buy his philosophy. If I had a choice, I’d rather be rich than poor. “But money can buy you things.”

  “I’m not saying you don’t need money. I just don’t care for the filthy rich. And there’re a lot of them around here. Money can’t buy you happiness.”

  But it sure helped warding off the blues.

  I liked his honesty, liked him, and especially liked his fine-toned body. I set aside the apple martini and told him to get me a glass of champagne. My sexual appetite was rising and needed to be lubricated. I didn’t get any satisfaction from Neal in the sex department, which was fine with me. I didn’t love Neal and we had no commitments with each other. We both saw other people.

  I stared at the bartender over the rim of my glass. “What time do you finish tonight? Do you want to get together afterward?”

  Okay, so I was a horny thirtysomething sexual predator and he was probably a college kid—who else would quote F. Scott Fitzgerald? But that didn’t put me into the category of female schoolteachers sleeping with their young students. I was more the older sister type, rather than a cradle robber.

  “Sure. I’m only filling in for another bartender. A last-minute emergency. Someone else is taking over in a couple hours.”

  “Well, I guess I’ll go mingle with the filthy rich for a while. My name is Maddy by the way.”

  “Jeffrey.”

  I wrote down my address and apartment number for him. He whistled when he saw the address.

  “I’ll tell my doorman to let you in.”

  I took the glass of champagne and left him staring at my address.

  I spoke to Hiram briefly. He told me again how pleased he was with the auction and informed me he was going to be generous in his bonuses this year, which meant Eric was also going to get an even bigger check.

  Not only do the rich get richer, but also people like Eric get more than their share of the droppings.

  Neal was busy chatting up people around the room, probably trying to strum up more business for Rutgers. At one point I saw him talking to Hiram’s wife. They seemed pretty chummy with each other. Was Neal poking her? A sure bet. But it was none of my business. I had my own plans for tonight.

  Chapter 9

  I took a cab back to my apartment at a few minutes past midnight. The champagne had made me giddy. Even though it juiced up my sexual drive, it also made me sleepy if I drank too much.

  I told my doorman that I was expecting someone named Jeffrey and to send him up when he arrived. One thing about Manhattan doormen—they never showed surprise. The ability to always respond with a blank look and nod was a prerequisite for the job.

  My doorbell buzzed thirty minutes later.

  “Your knight in shining armor has arrived,” he said, “and I bring gifts.” He held up a bottle.

  “Great. More champagne.”

  He came inside, nodding his head in approval as he walked around the living room. “Nice place. Great neighborhood, too.”

  “I don’t have any complaints.”

  “So you are part of the rich and famous people.”

  “Not by a long shot.”

  “What exactly do you do?”

  “I’m the curator for the Piedmont Museum.”

  “Ah, so you’re Madison Dupre. You never gave me your last name at the party. I overheard pieces of conversation about you. Made some big purchase at Rutgers for Piedmont. So you work for the rich and famous.”

  I nodded my head. “Are you going to hold that against me?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, now that we’ve got that settled, you can open the champagne while I start the water.” Another glass wasn’t going to hurt me.

  “Start the water?”

  “I feel like soaking in the tub. Want to join me?”

  I caught the look of surprise on his face.

  “Okay. Sounds good to me.”

  I came back dressed only in my bra and panties. I still had my heels on because there was something sexy about wearing high heels with underwear.

  His eyes went up and down my body. “You know, I like you without your dress on.” His lazy gaze over my body made me tremble with excitement.

  We were practically strangers and here I was almost naked in front of this guy. I didn’t care. My body was horny for some sexual satisfaction. I wanted to play with him a little, but I wasn’t sure how much longer I could wait.

  “You might like this even more.”

  Unashamedly, I slipped out of my panties and bra. I stood there totally naked in front of him, with heels on.

  He stared, still as a statue, at my body.

  “This is getting better and better. You’re giving me a hard-on, you know.”

  A tremor went down my body. “I’ll give you more than that. Bring the champagne and glasses.”

  I turned and walked to the tub. I shook off my heels and stepped into the perfumed bubble bath. The water was soft and warm. I let the bubbles soak up my body.

  Jeff had stripped out of his clothes on the way to the bedroom. I almost laughed when I saw him in the doorway. He had the champagne in one hand and two glasses in the other and his penis was sticking straight up.

  “What are you waiting for?”

  He stood in the doorway for a minute. “Just admiring the view.”

  “You can admire it in here.”

  The bathtub was big enough for three people. He slipped down in the warm water, then poured the champagne. He also poured some in the tub.

  “Ah, almost like the rich and famous,” he said. He leaned back and closed his eyes.

  “You have a thing about rich people, don’t you?”

  “I find them fascinating to watch.”

  I thought the same thing about him right now.

  He was younger than anyone I’d ever dated, much younger. I stared at his smooth toned body as I sipped my drink. He had no body hair. Male movie stars who went through painful body waxing would be damn envious of it.

  An innocence about him was stimulating. Now I understood why the Huntzbergers wanted someone like Chastity—the exotic thrill of making love to a younger person. Unlike teenagers, who lacked the maturity in mind and body to be sexually interesting, young people in their twenties were fully developed yet treated the body as an exploration of passion and sexual mystery.

  I poured the rest of my drink in the tub and did the same with his.

  I spread my legs apart slowly and moved his fingers over my swollen button. My clitoris was already throbbing.

  “Massage it,” I said, as I leaned back and closed my eyes. I was ready to come any second.

  “Feel good?” He started rubbing it slowly.

  “Yes,” I moaned. “Do it harder. It’s coming.”

  I gave in to the orgasm as it coursed through my body, writhing in the warm water with sexual ecstasy.

  Sweat broke out on my face. I opened my eyes. “Wow, that felt so good.” My body felt like gelatin.

  “Yeah, me, too. I jerked off just watching you.” He smiled.

  We both didn’t say anything for a couple of minutes.

  “I’m not finished yet. Just pretend that I’m your older sister,” I said. “I can do things to you that you’ve never had done before.”

  “Go ahead and rock my world, Sister.”

  “Follow m
e.”

  I got out of the tub and dried off lightly before I went to the bed.

  His body reminded me of a marble statue, like Michelangelo’s David. Pubic hair was left off statues because it wasn’t sexy.

  I put his slender penis in my mouth. Still flaccid, it fit nicely in my mouth. I didn’t enjoy giving Neal head. I had to fake everything with him.

  This Adonis I sucked with pleasure. He was starting to grow in my mouth and I sucked his brains out. He whimpered like a puppy. Before the night was over, I had come three times and he had come twice.

  I lay in bed and watched him dress. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had.” I smiled at him.

  “Good. Then it was worth five hundred.”

  “What?”

  “Five hundred. That’s what I get for doing older women.”

  I gaped at him. “You motherfucker.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Sisterfucker?”

  Chapter 10

  The following morning an interview was scheduled for me to talk about the Semiramis on a popular morning TV talky-news show: Mornin’ with Cassie and Dane had a gossipy, latest-Hollywood-celebrity-sex-triangle format. The fact that Hiram was on the board of directors of the network made it a shoo-in for our publicity people to arrange my appearance.

  Cassie Martin was a talking head, a “news” person with collagen lips so puffed a wit had dubbed her the Goodyear Blimp Girl. A natural blonde, she was vulnerable to being the subject of blonde jokes. When I saw her, I started to hum in my mind the country western song sung by Toby Keith where he asks, “Do blondes really have more fun or are they easier to spot in the dark?”

  In a strange way, I realized that Cassie got her job for reasons other than being a pretty face. The world was full of pretty faces, but Cassie had charisma, at least for people who thrive on celebrity gossip. However, Cassie pushed the envelope when she ventured into news commentary about world events. I felt much more confidence about news of the world listening to Paula Zahn and Katie Couric. Frankly, Cassie reminded me of a life-size blow-up doll, a sex object lonely men take to bed for unconditional love.