Page 14 of Bourbon Sins
“What took you so long to call?” The man asked, as he leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed against his chest, observing my every move.
Trying not to fidget under his intense glare, I said, “Why don’t we start off with a little introduction, eh? You know, the old ‘hi my name is . . .’,” I motioned my hand for him to continue.
“What took you so long to call?” he asked again, ignoring my impromptu suggestion that we have an actual, normal conversation.
Blowing out a frustrated breath I said, “Sorry I didn’t jump at the chance to call a number from a stranger who contacted me three times while following me around the fucking French Quarter.”
It was as if his face was cemented in stone; he had absolutely no facial expressions. “Why did you end up calling?”
“Because I am a masochist, apparently.” I got up from the table and said, “This isn’t working out. Thanks for the . . . water.”
I started to walk away when he said, “Your tens of thousands of dollars in debt aren’t going to just disappear, Goldie.”
I swung around in shock as he played with the straw in his water and eyed my next move.
Quickly sitting down in my once-abandoned chair, I said as quietly as possible, “Where did you get that information? That is a violation of privacy.”
“Do you want out of the hole you’re in now, Goldie? Do you want to feel safe, taken care of, and debt free?”
“No, I want to live in the gutter while being fucked in the ass by Bourbon’s hobos,” I answered sarcastically with an exaggerated eyeroll.
The corner of the man’s mouth tugged to the side from my comment.
“That mouth is going to get you in trouble.”
“Oh, is that right? Well frankly, I don’t give a crap.” I leaned closer and said, “Stop bullshitting me; just tell me what the hell a Jett Girl is and what it entails.”
“Fair enough.” The man leaned back in his chair, took a sip of his water, and eyed me up and down before he continued.
“Have you heard of the Lafayette Club?”
“Only what my friend Lyla told me, which was practically nothing.”
The man nodded. “It’s a high-class gentlemen’s club where very important men go to conduct business. The Jett Girls are the in-house entertainment, ranging from still art and choreographed dances to serving. The girls are never touched, they are never completely naked and their personas are entirely anonymous. They all go by aliases and wear wigs and masks during their presentations, so if they were ever seen on the streets of New Orleans, you would never know they were a Jett Girl.”
“Okay . . .” I dragged on skeptically, not telling the dangerous man the whole scene seemed a little . . . freeeekay!
“All Jett Girls are required to live in the club and earn an education, which is fully paid for, so when they are ready to move on, they have something to move on to. All debt a Jett Girl has accumulated before she signs on is immediately erased the minute you cross the lines into the club. You are completely taken care of when you are a Jett Girl: food, clothes, housing, etc. Every Jett girl gets the feeling of being safe and sound while living in the Lafayette Club.”
I watched the man skeptically as he told me all the great things about being a Jett Girl. It all seemed too good to be true and a little strange.
“What’s the catch?” I called him out; there had to be a catch.
He leaned back in his chair again and said, “If you’re a Jett Girl, you’re required to keep yourself for Jett and Jett alone. Outside relationships are not permitted and you must submit to Jett.”
“Submit?”
“Yes, submit your body to him.”
A sharp laugh escaped my mouth as I considered what the man was saying. Submit, was he for real?
“Man, this Jett guy must be one ugly fuck if he has to spend thousands of dollars ‘saving’ women just to get a little ass. Doesn’t he know there are willing prostitutes on every corner that would only charge him a hundred dollars to suck his dick off?”
The man just stared at me. Wow, tough crowd.
“Well, that’s a nice little, uh, establishment you’ve got going on there,” I patted him on the hand, “But I have to say . . . not interested.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Goldie. You and I both know you don’t have a choice in the matter.”
