Page 11 of Bourbon Sins
“Jesus, Goldie!” She paced the room as she ran her hand through her hair. “Please tell me you called the number.”
I felt busted, as if I was supposed to do a chore that I never completed and was now getting harassed by my mother for it.
“No, I kind of forgot. I got the one the other night and then I just got the second one today. I haven’t had a chance to call.”
“You have to call, Goldie! Holy shit, I can’t believe you’re going to be a Jett Girl.”
“What the hell is a Jett Girl?” I was a little irritated by now, feeling like a complete idiot not in the know. I’ve lived in New Orleans my entire life and never heard of a Jett Girl.
“You are fucking killing me.” Lyla made me sit down on my bed and she sat next to me while she played with the cards between her fingers. “A Jett Girl is one of the most exclusive honors you can earn in the private club circuit. They all work at the Lafayette Club where businessmen go to do business and the girls are their entertainment. Each girl is handpicked by Jett Colby himself. If you become a Jett Girl, you are set for life.”
“What do you mean, set for life?”
“Meaning he takes care of everything . . . everything,” Lyla said, while wiggling her eyebrows.
“Well, it sounds kind of stupid. The guy is probably hideous and gets these girls to fall at his feet, suck his dick, then sends them on their way when he’s done; all for what?”
“You are so not getting this.”
“No, I’m not, so let’s move on. I have to get ready for tonight or I might be late for pool with Carlos and, Lord knows, I need a drink tonight.”
“You are an idiot; you know that? You complain every day about your shitty life and how you wished you could be out of this hell hole and when you’re presented with an amazing opportunity, you don’t capitalize on it. You only have yourself to blame for not getting out of here,” Lyla said, as she tossed the cards on my dresser and walked out of my room.
“I don’t even know what the fucking card means,” I shouted after Lyla’s retreating body.
* * *
“Your shot, babe,”Carlos said, as he handed over the only pool cue in the bar. The one reason I loved The Dungeon was because absolutely no one came to it. The reason why was because it was terrifying from the outside. The barred-up door and dungeon-like atmosphere gave off a nice tourist repellent. The locals knew better, though, and took advantage of the tourist-free bar when they got a chance.
“I suck at pool. I don’t know why I play against you. I lose every single time.”
“That’s why I love playing you. You’re a sure win.”
I stuck my tongue out at Carlos like a child then lined up my shot. I couldn’t even remember what balls I was supposed to be shooting out so I hoped for the best as I pulled back and shot at the white ball. The ball clanged around the table but never actually hit anything. Carlos burst out in laughter, but quickly zipped it up when I shoved the stick into his stomach.
“Shut up, shithead.”
“It’s all in love, babe.”
I smirked, crossed my arms, and sat on one of the stools at the table we occupied. Lyla was watching us and making out with some random guy at the same time, not the tree trunk she swallowed whole earlier. We were the only ones in the joint besides a lonely straggler who was sitting at the bar with his back toward us.
“Did you ever talk to Marv about your tips?” Carlos asked, as he finished sinking the rest of the balls in the pockets.
“Yeah, he said the other girls just don’t make as much money in tips as me. I think he is bullshitting his way out of a tuna can. He is either pocketing some of the tips himself or his crab-infested girlfriend is stealing out of the tip jar. There’s no way in hell I should be making significantly less in tips. At this rate, I’ll never get out of here.”
Lyla pulled her lips away from her man long enough to guffaw at me and then go back to her tongue tango.
“Shut up, Lyla.”
“What’s that all about?” Carlos asked, as he sat next to me and took a long pull from his beer bottle.
“Nothing. I think I’m going to go get us another drink. Lyla, you want something else? I’m sure you’ll be thirsty once you pull your tongue out of his mouth.”
“I’m good for now. Thanks.” She was ridiculous.
Scooting out of my seat, I walked toward the bar counter, which was now empty. The bartender, who must have seen better days in her lifetime, was watching a football game on a miniature TV with antennas sticking out the top. I didn’t even know those still existed.
“Can I get another round?”
