The House Always Wins
By: Andr0gene (andr0gene@hotmail.com)
**********DISCLAIMER**********
The characters and incidents portrayed and the names used herein are fictitious, any similarity to the name, character or history of any person is entirely coincidental and unintentional. Pictures used are those of models who are not the characters in real life; they were found on the web in catalogues.
This story portrays, at times, strong erotic content. If you are a minor, or in any other way not allowed to read it, you are advised strongly to discontinue.
*******© andr0gene 2004-2005*******
(Note from the author: this story was written during the writing of another called "Colorado Game", which will resume after this. The author would also like to tell the readers that some parts of this story might be legally incorrect. The age of the main character means he is not allowed to gamble. At the time, the author was unaware of this until his new, US based, editor pointed such out. It was decided it could work, but the author reserves the right to change the storyline at any future time, if and when inspired.)
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CHAPTER 1
$20,000, 1 month, 1 lie; twenty thousand dollars; one month to earn it; all I have to do is live a lie. How hard can that be, huh? Well, we're about to find out, dear diary.
Do you know the saying "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas"? You probably do.
If you didn't; you know it now, and I'm about to break that tradition by writing down what happened to me, and also what is to come in the near future.
**********
It started a week ago, when I ran away from home. Life, as I knew it, was over. Well, not exactly ran away...I was kicked out of the house, really, because I got caught ‘entertaining' a friend of mine in my room - the kind of entertainment that had us lying on my bed, engaged in a romantic embrace.
It had been quite pleasurable, kissing and feeling each other up a little, until the door of my bedroom opened and my stepfather, a hard man and ex-military, unexpectedly barged in, barking why the dog hadn't been let out yet. My hands' placement was particularly embarrassing.
Suffice it to say that the next hour was the worst I've ever experienced. Yelling, lectures (about what God would do to cocksuckers), threats, me retorting with sarcasm and anger; and it all resulted in one thing: me, a guy barely out of his teens and with a little over $500 in cash, stepping off a bus in Las Vegas.
I'd barely slept, other than some napping on the bus, and I desperately needed a shower and a good long sleep.
The choice to come here had been relatively easy to make; right after I'd been kicked out of the house, I used my cell to call around to some of my friends to see if I could crash for a while with one of them. My "friend," the one I'd been caught with, didn't even answer my call. Weird, really, since one would think that allowing him to stick his tongue down my throat would count for something. Guess not - another lesson learned - and the next few calls weren't helpful, either; most of my friends couldn't help me out for even one lousy night, and then my battery died.
I decided to go to the bus station; if no one could, or wanted, to take me in, there was no reason for me to stay until this blew over. It would be a very long wait, I expected, since my ‘parents' (and I use that word lightly) were deeply religious; them forgiving me a mortal sin? I didn't think so. Their parting words - "Don't ever come back, we don't want your kind here!" - were somewhat of a clue as well.
When I arrived at the station, I couldn't really decide on a destination. That problem was quickly solved; map in the window, point at it with my eyes closed. Viva Las Vegas. So I got on a bus, came here and where do you go when you have some money, and are in Las Vegas? Right; the Strip.
I started walking in the direction of the Venetian, hoisting my backpack over my shoulder, and got to the middle of the Strip. I'd passed the Tropicana and MGM Grand, and a few others, and then stopped, trying to get my bearings. Across the street, the white walls of the Europa Hotel/Casino rose up into the air, twenty-five stories high; palm trees lined the driveway to a grand entrance. At least five or six limousines, and a couple of taxis, were parked underneath the overhang, protected from the elements, and the hotel valet smiled pleasantly as I approached.
I was about to head inside when a chain of events was set into motion that would determine the next few days in the life of Jason Jake Carter. As I reached for one of the double glass doors, I could hear a bit of shouting and cursing, and saw that a very large man was being escorted outside by two security guards. The door I reached for was flung open with such speed that I had no chance, none whatsoever, to get out of the way or to take a step back; it contacted me full on my forehead with a dull twang, a blow so hard that I saw stars. They faded rapidly as blackness engulfed me, and I hit the ground.
**********
"He's coming to," a female voice spoke, softly. "Where's that doctor?!"
Ouch, lady - not so loud!
"On his way, he should be here shortly. Is he still bleeding?" a male voice asked.
Pressure on the side of my head temporarily diminished, then returned a moment later, reapplying pressure. It hurt, and I moaned.
"No. But he's going to have one hell of a headache, that's for sure. Poor kid."
"Find out who he is..."
The male voice continued, but it didn't register for long as I slipped back into blackness.
**********
"There he is," a male voice spoke softly.
It was a different voice, and sounded older than the first one I'd heard. My head was thudding like someone was stomping on it with a boot, but I risked a try at opening my eyes.
"Hello there."
"...'lo," I replied, a bit groggy.
A sharp light lanced into my right eye, and I hissed.
"I'm sorry, I should have warned you. How do you feel?"
"Not so good."
"Do you remember what happened?"
I opened my eyes a little wider and found his image, slowly swimming from two into one.
"You a doctor?" I asked.
"Yes, I'm Doctor Verger. And you are...?"
"Nice to meet you, JJ. So... do you remember what happened, do you know where you are?"
"Someone shoved a door in my face," I answered, frowning. "Euro... hotel?"
"Europa Hotel, and yes, that's what happened. Good, you remember, that's very good. You landed on the ground pretty hard, and hit your head against a small boulder; two stitches. How's the headache?"
"Freight train doing loops around my skull."
"I'll give you something for it. You have a slight concussion, young man."
He looked up and spoke to someone else. "Is he a guest?"
"No," I answered, just as the female voice replied with "Yes."
"Well, you're not going anywhere for a while, son, so I'll take her word over yours."
He smiled gently and looked up again.
"He needs rest, and lots of it. Have you contacted his parents yet?"
"No, not yet. We wanted to wait until you had a look at him. I'll call them right now."
"No!" I said, and tried to get up. Christ, that hurt.
"Woah, woah, woah...lie down," the doctor said, pushing me back down. "I wasn't kidding, you need rest. Let them take care of you."
"Okay, but please don't call my parents," I begged. "Lady? Please?"
Her answer sounded unsure.
"Fine..." she said slowly. "We'll talk about it later. For now, I've had a room prepared for you, so we'll take you there in a minute."
"Thank you."
CHAPTER 2
The room I was taken to was a comfortable one, and not too big. The woman, who had introduced herself as Carly Johnson, helped me get undressed and into bed. She was the casino host, she told me, and would try to make the next few days as comfortable as possible. The room was complimentary, since the hotel acknowledged their responsibility for the accident, she replied, on my statement that I couldn't pay for a room like this.
"You just focus on getting better, and let us worry about the bill, alright? I'll come and check on you in a few hours, after you've had some sleep."
I thanked her again, but she waved my gratitude away.
"Don't mention it. Sleep tight, JJ."
That I did. Whichever prescription drugs I'd received from the doctor, they had quite a kick; I was out like a light until the next morning, when Carly woke me up by shaking me on my shoulder.
"Hey there, how do you feel? Better?"
I blinked a few times, slowly moving my head from left to right, and nodded, sliding myself up to lean against the headboard of the bed.
"Want something to eat?"
Want? I was starving, and I made a face at her when she picked up the phone and ordered toast and tea from room service. Bah.
"Doc Verger said to take it slow with the food, or we'd need a staff on permanent cleaning duty here."
Well, he was the doctor, so he'd know better, I suppose.
"Where's my stuff?" I asked while waiting for room service to come up. "I had a backpack with me."
Carly nodded and rose from the bed, walking over to a closet and opening the door. All my clothes, what few I'd been allowed to take with me, had been unpacked and hung up. On the floor lay my backpack.
"Thanks."
"Sure thing, kiddo. Now, there's one thing I have to ask, because my boss has been riding my butt about it. This matter about us not calling your parents? I'm guessing that something happened, or you wouldn't have asked us not to call."
I nodded slowly.
"Care to tell me what happened?"
I sighed.
"They kicked me out of the house."
"I see. Now why would they do a thing like that, hmm? You're only nineteen...with no job to support yourself. That's a bit cold, isn't it?"
I frowned, ignoring the soft jab of pain on the right side of my head. How did she know how old I was? Then I realized how.
"You went through my stuff?"
"We had to find out who you were. Now, I've honored your request, but we also found over $500 in cash on you, and some expensive equipment; laptop, MP3 player... my boss thinks you stole it. What's the deal here?"
There wasn't much choice but to tell her everything, the whole story.
"I got kicked out because my step-dad caught me and a friend of mine in bed..." I began.
"Since when does a father kick his son out of the house because he catches him with a girl in the..." she interrupted.
"Guy," I said, interrupting her in turn. "He caught me with a guy."
"Oohlala..."
I blushed when she pursed her lips and wiggled her eyebrows.
"So he kicked you out because you're gay. He didn't know, huh?"
"No. I kept it hidden from them because they're kinda religious; kind of a lot, actually. I got a whole lecture about God's wrath and all that..."
"Aww, you poor kid," she groaned, sitting down and patting my arm. "I understand. Don't worry, we're not religious here. This is Vegas."
I couldn't help but smile, and hissed softly when another jab of pain shot through my head. Carly's face contorted in sympathy, and she handed me a pill and a glass of water, which I took and emptied.
"Anyway, I got like five minutes to pack up my stuff and get out. So I grabbed the stuff that was in my backpack and some clothes, and that's all I have. I emptied my bank account. I didn't steal anything, I swear."
"I believe you, JJ. Don't worry; I'll take care of my boss. You just concentrate on getting better, okay?"
I gave her a thankful hug and she patted my back. Just then, a knock on the door sounded, followed by a soft "Room service."
**********
Three days later I felt a lot better, and Doc declared me fit to travel. He'd come by once a day to check up on me, and the bump on the right side of my head, which was almost gone by now. The stitches would come out themselves in a few weeks, he assured me.
"So where are you off to then?" he asked, closing his bag.
I shrugged.
"Dunno. Wherever the first bus out of here takes me, I guess."
He looked at me with sad eyes.
"Carly told me about your...ordeal. I'm sorry. Do you have any other family?"
"Sure. But they're even more religious than my parents, so I don't think they'll welcome me with open arms, either."
"No, I guess not. Listen, talk to Carly before you go, okay? Maybe she can help you out; she's pretty familiar around here, maybe she has some options for you."
I promised him that I would, and thanked him for all his trouble. He left shortly after that, and for the first time it hit me: I was all alone.
CHAPTER 3
I arrived downstairs, once again prepared to find another bus to take me further away. The lobby had little more than a handful of guests, so I checked myself out, handing over the key to the room I'd been staying in for the last four days.
I hoisted my backpack up once again and was about ready to leave when my eye fell on the entrance to the casino, where the well-known sounds of slot machines were coming from.
Somehow I felt drawn to it, as is anyone at some point, and what the heck; five bucks, ten at the most.
I placed my backpack beside me on the floor and took $10 out of my wallet, feeding the one armed bandit in front of me. These days, they're all computerized, half the fun is gone, I'm afraid, but it would do. And it did! On the first try, wham! $100. Ding, ding, ding.
Maybe this hadn't been such a bad idea after all. If I could make a few more hits like this, my money problem wouldn't be much of a problem for a while. I could look for a job in the meantime, living off of the proceeds from today's winnings.
**********
An hour later that idea was shot to hell, and what more, I wouldn't even be able to take the bus out of this hellhole. I still couldn't believe it: $500 lost and gone.
Somewhere along the way, when playing slots or gambling in general, you get overconfident. After playing the dollar machine for about fifteen minutes, and not winning a single dime, I moved to another machine, a $5 one. On the third I hit $50, so my spirits rose a little. Two hits later, another $50.
Afraid to repeat the same mistake with the last machine, I moved again, this time to a $25 one. Hey, no pain, no gain, right? Remember that overconfidence I talked about? There's also this feeling that tells you one more time. Come on, you can do it.
Well, I couldn't. And if I were to ever have a dollar in my wallet again, I'd never go near another slot machine. It was my own fault, I knew that. I chided myself, over and over, looking at the machine with sadness. Then I sighed and felt for the last $10 in my pocket. Oh well... as a final farewell to this money-eating establishment, I walked out to the first lounge I could find, and sat down on a stool at the bar, off to the side, and ordered a plain soda.
There were three couples sitting at the bar, a few tables were occupied by older people, and two larger groups had taken over the couches. I recognized one group from a comment that one of the hotel employees had made: bankers.
Apparently there was some sort of convention going on, and the entire hotel was pretty much booked to capacity. The employee had no idea that I was listening in on the conversation, but she told one of her colleagues that she had been to three different rooms on three separate nights so far.
I think I even recognized one of her nightly adventures, because of the goatee that one of the men sported. He was the only one who had one, and she was right; he was cute. I guessed around thirty. Most of the men in the group were pretty young, from the looks of it; I didn't believe there was one over forty.
One of them rose from the couch and walked to the bar, and I followed him with my eyes; it was hard not to. This guy was gorgeous. At least 6'5, but probably taller. Endless legs, small ass (as far as I could tell, since most of it was covered by his jacket), and broad shoulders. I couldn't tell the color of his eyes; it was too dark to make them out. He laughed at something one of his group yelled after him, and I got a glimpse of two rows of blindingly white teeth. He wore a pastel green suit, which fit him very well, a white shirt, and a blue-grey tie. He had to walk past where I was sitting, and as he went by, he glanced to where I sat, and slowed a little when I put my empty glass down on the bar.
I smiled when he nodded to me, and he smiled back.
I kept following him with my eyes, to check out his other side and wasn't disappointed. Normally I'm not so superficial, but give me a break, okay? When you see eye candy like that, you simply lose control over some of your faculties.
A few minutes later he returned, and again he smiled. He had a great smile. Some people shouldn't be allowed to walk around with so much going for them, ya know?
I ordered another soda, and kept watching the other people, but my eyes were constantly drawn to this guy. He talked a lot with his hands, and was very animated; not loud, though. I couldn't hear anything they were saying.
After about an hour, most of his group stood up and left, leaving only three behind, and I was glad to see that the guy was still one of the three remaining. Why was I glad about that? I wondered about it for a while. I think it was just physical attraction.
I kept observing the three guys, watching one of the waitresses look up when Mr. Pastel called her over. She was only too glad to do so, overdoing her hip movements and putting on her most seductive pout. I wasn't the only one in the room who thought he was hot.
I frowned when she listened to him, quickly glanced in my direction, and then reluctantly nodded. She walked back to the bar, got their order and then, instead of taking it back to their table, the waitress came over and set a new drink in front of me.
"Compliments of the hot blond one," she said, winking at me. Then she bent over and he voice was low and soft. "No offense, but it's just a damn shame. All you cute guys are either married or gay."
I uttered something like "none taken," and risked a glance at the three men. Two were talking to each other but Mr. Pastel was looking straight at me, lifting his bottle of beer in silent salute. I picked up my drink and returned it, then drank almost half of it in one gulp.
To my surprise he kept his gaze at me, pretty much ignoring his colleagues, who were in some sort of discussion. He took slow sips of his beer, licking his lips after each sip, and sitting back, relaxed. His other arm was loosely resting on the armrest, a hand on his leg. At first I didn't notice it, because I was too busy looking away when it got a bit too familiar. Yes, I'm shy, okay?
But then I noticed the hand on his leg, moving up and down slowly, so as to not attract any attention from his two friends. Not that they'd see all that much, most of it was hidden from their view. But that hand was definitely going somewhere. Like I said, at first I didn't notice it, but once it had my attention, it pretty much stayed there. It slowly crept up to his crotch, resting there while he responded to a question. Then the thumb began to move up and down the crotch. When he slowly turned his head back, taking a sip as he did so, I knew he was coming on to me, big time, and there was definitely something growing down there.
Then he nodded to me, just barely, and winked, and then motioned up with his eyes. In his other hand he held a room keycard.
Oh damn... did he want me to...
He rose from his chair and said something to his colleagues, and then came over, stopping right beside me.
"How much?" he whispered, without looking at me.
"How much what?" I asked back, frowning.
"For the entire night... you and me, what do you say? How much... $500?"
I almost spit out my last sip and my heart was thudding wildly in my chest. Was he offering me money to sleep with him?
"I ... ahh ..."
"Alright, $1000, but you'd better be good, and for that kind of money. I want bareback." A thousand dollars! Oh man... I could really use it. But... what the hell was bareback?
"Okay," I said, not believing I was actually going to do this. "A thousand. Up front." If he was going to pay me for it, then I wanted to make sure I'd get it.
"No. $500 now and $500 after."
He pulled out his wallet, and plunked down five hundreds without so much as blinking. I saw even more where that came from, so I knew he'd be good for it.
"Alright..."
I pocketed the $500 and followed him out the bar, passing the desk in the lobby. That's as far as we got; from behind, a hand gripped my elbow, and none too gently. When I looked up, my eyes met with a pair of startling blue ones.
"What do you think you're doing, hmm? Hustling in my hotel? I don't think so."
I had no idea who he was but he was tall, though not as tall as Mr. Pastel, and broader. I'm only 5'8 but he towered over me by being at least 6'3.
"And you, Sir..." the man spoke with a posh British accent, addressing Mr. Pastel, "are lucky. But please; next time, try to not show the contents of your wallet so publicly."
Then I was pulled, or more like guided by force, to a door marked ‘Personnel only'. He yanked it open and pushed me through.
"Where are you taking me," I asked, "let me go. I didn't do anything wrong."
"Oh please, don't insult my intelligence. It's all captured on camera. So we're going to my office, we're going to have a nice chat, and wait for the police to arrive, so they can arrest you for soliciting."
CHAPTER 4
He took a hold of my elbow again, tightly as a vise. I tried to yank it free, but I might as well have saved me the trouble; he didn't let go, even tightening his grip a little more.
"Jesus, who are you; Hulk Hogan?" I groaned softly and he released his grip a bit.
The strides he took had me almost jogging beside him, and I was a little out of breath by the time we arrived in what was clearly his office. We had to take a private elevator up to get there, and when the doors opened; it revealed a room that seemed fitting for him: glass, steel and lots of windows. On one side, Vegas life streamed by; on the other, I could look down straight into the security room through tinted glass. Wall-to-wall screens could be seen in that area, and a staircase lead down from the office into the room, but I couldn't hear any sounds.
"Sit down," he snapped, grabbing the phone and dialed, waiting for someone to pick up. "Send Carly up here, will you?"
He sat down and planted his elbows on his desk, fixing those icy blue eyes on mine. I grew pretty uncomfortable after about a minute of this and looked away.
"Why am I here? If you're gonna call the police, call them," I said, softly.
"What was the plan; take him for all he had on him? Hmm? Go up to his room, let him do his thing with you and then wait until he slept? Did you really think you could come in here and steal from our guests?"
"What! No, I..."
"Oh, please save it. I know how you boys operate. Who's your pimp? Eddie?"
Just then, footsteps quickly came up the stairs and I looked behind me, relieved to see Carly Johnson appearing from below.
"JJ? What's going on... why aren't you..." she spoke, before being interrupted sharply.
"You know this piece of work?" the man asked, frowning.
"Carly," I sighed, "thank god. Could you please tell this...dickhead who I am, and that I'm not a hustler?"
She winced and covered her eyes with her hand, groaning. Then she wiggled her finger between me and the man behind the desk.
"Michael...meet JJ; JJ meet Michael Black, the owner of the Europa Hotel/Casino. He's my boss, JJ, so I think you might wanna tone it down a little."
Oops.
"Sorry," I whispered in Mr. Black's direction, groaning inwardly. Great move, JJ.
"Carly, you seem to know this foulmouthed creature. Care to explain?"
"Remember that guy I told you about, that got hit in the head at our entrance a few days ago?"
Mr. Black thought for a moment, and then nodded once.
"That was JJ."
"I see," he replied, slowly. "So we help you, arrange medical care for you, and this is how you pay us back?"
"Michael... what did he do?"
"We caught him in the bar, hustling. He was about to go upstairs with one of the guests from the conference."
"What! No... JJ? Please tell me that's not what happened?"
I slipped deeper into my seat, blushing.
"Oh my god. Why?"
It went completely silent, with both of them staring me down until I cracked and started to ramble out what had happened.
"Okay, I was on my way out; I saw the entrance to the casino, thought ‘what the hell' and tried a few slots. Before I knew it, all my money was gone. So I went to the bar, to buy a drink with the last of my money, and then go. But this guy came on to me, not the other way around, I swear. He offered me a thousand and...I was broke. What was I supposed to do?"
Carly sighed deeply and rubbed her forehead.
"And you're certain he came on to you?" Mr. Black frowned, tilting his head.
It seemed like he didn't want to believe me, but I nodded.
"I swear. I didn't want to make any trouble but..."
I stopped talking when he held up his finger and grabbed the phone again.
"Send me the footage of cameras two and three from the lounge. Give me the last half hour."
He took a remote from his desk and switched on a screen; about half a minute later, I saw myself sitting at the bar, at the left side of the split screen; on the right, Mr. Pastel could be seen sitting with his colleagues.
The scene played itself out; I came in, dropping my backpack to the floor and taking a seat at the bar; me looking around, Mr. Pastel walking past me, slowing down; him coming back and sending me a drink and then all three of us saw Mr. Pastel rubbing himself, after he had sent me that drink. Mr. Black switched the screen off at that point, tapping his teeth with the remote.
"Hmmm... It appears you're telling the truth. Still, that doesn't excuse you from the intent. You did accept his money, and you were about to go up. We have a strict policy here of no prostitution, male or female."
I blushed and bit my lower lip.
"I'm not a prostitute..." I said softly.
"So you say. It doesn't prove that you haven't done anything like this before, at another hotel or ano..."
"Michael," Carly interrupted, "he's nineteen, and was just kicked out of his home because he was caught fooling around with a guy. I believe him. He saw a chance to get some money and yes, it was stupid but..."
"I never even slept with a guy before..." I confessed, interrupting her in turn, speaking barely above a whisper. "But how do I prove that, huh? I can't...go back. I have no money, nowhere to go..."
She put her hand on my shoulder and squeezed softly when I started to sniffle. God, I hate crying but I just...you know?
"Shhh, it'll be okay. Michael, can't we help him? He needs a place to stay and some money. Do you wanna throw him out on his ear for making a mistake? All he needs is a chance..."
I avoided looking at Mr. Black, and wiped my eyes.
"Alright," he answered after a minute of silence. "Carly, leave us alone for a while. I'd like to talk to JJ in private. I might be able to help."
She thanked him and squeezed my shoulder one more time. I looked up and sent her a silent thank you of my own.
"Oh, and Carly? Find out who this guest is, and throw him out. I don't want to see his face here, ever again."
She promised to take care of it and left, leaving me alone again with him.
CHAPTER 5
"Here, drink this," Mr. Black said, pouring a glass of golden liquid from a crystal decanter and handing it over to me. "You look like you could use it."
I took the glass and swallowed it in one gulp, realizing too late that that wasn't the smartest thing to do. My throat constricted and I almost couldn't breathe, and started to cough and thump my chest. Mr. Black softly began to laugh.
"Little sips, that's the key."
"Thanks," I coughed, when the constricted feeling subsided. "Next time, tell someone that up front."
He inclined his head to me and sat down.
"I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions; I had not seen that the guest started all of this," he apologized, "I thought you were a hustler, a small pest in this town, and drew my conclusions from that."
"It's okay now, right? I'm not going to be arrested?" I asked, still a bit unsure.
"No, you won't."
I sighed relieved and rose from the chair.
"Thank you. And I'm sorry to have caused so much trouble. I'll leave now and won't ever come back, I promise."
"Where will you go, JJ, with no money? You won't get very far. I meant it when I said that I might be able to help. We may even be able to help each other," Mr. Black spoke, nodding at the seat I had just vacated. "Please, sit."
He had a point there. Although... when I'd gotten up, I felt in my pocket and now pulled my hand out, revealing the five hundred Mr. Pastel had given me.
"Keep it," Mr. Black said. "That should be an expensive lesson learned for him."
I blushed and sat down, still fingering the money.
"Well, I can now at least get out of town."
"Yes, but what will you do after? How much is that; four or five hundred? It won't last you that long. I may have a more elegant solution; beneficial to both you and me."
"Okay," I said. "What do you want me to do?"
"I can't believe I'm going to propose this but I don't have much time to arrange something else. I've landed myself into a spot of trouble recently, and I need some help. It concerns a personal matter."
"Okay," I repeated, slowly.
"Let me explain: for almost two years now, my mother has made it her mission in life to see me 'happy'; to settle down with a partner, a dog and a house with a white picket fence. She has been parading a whole string of candidates in front of me, and I need it to stop."
I looked at him and nodded, and he continued.
"Now...a few weeks ago, she announced that she was coming over again. She comes over from England once a year, and stays for about a month - six weeks at the most. Since I had no interest whatsoever in her trying to fix me up with every available guy in the state, I told her that I had met someone. The one, so to speak, and I was deeply in love." He was gay? Could've fooled me!
"But..." I asked, not really understanding where this was going.
"But I made it up; that person does not exist. Now, I'm a busy man, I have a lot on my mind, more important things, and the date of her arrival simply crept up on me until it was too late. She arrives tomorrow evening, and I had forgotten about my claim of having found the one."
"So what does that have to do with me? Why not just tell her you broke up?"
"And have her start "Dates R Us" all over again? No, thank you. No, I need help; and you're the only help I can get, this fast. It'll have to do.."
"Doing what?"
"Pretend to be that guy; the one. In exchange for your help, I'm prepared to pay you handsomely. Say; $20,000? That should be more than enough to get you on your feet; look for a job and a place to live."
"Excuse me?" I gasped. I had to have heard that wrong.
"Pretend to..."
"No, I heard you the first time. Ever heard of the word hypocrite? Ten minutes ago, you accused me of being a hustler, all too ready to hand me over to the police," I said, jabbing my thumb at the door, "And now you're asking me to actually become a hustler?"
His face took on a sour expression and he smirked.
"Ah... I'm sorry, I think we have a bit of a misunderstanding here - this is all going to be an act. Empty. No sex; just show affection for each other when my mother is around. And for your information, I'd never pay for sex."
"Oh..." I felt like an idiot.
"Think about it; its perfect. You're gay, so am I; you need help, so do I. We can help each other."
I swallowed several times, my mind racing. Twenty thousand! That would more than...wait a minute... this would never work.
"JJ?"
"It wouldn't be very believable, even to me. I'm 19, you're what, 33, 34? Aren't I a bit too...umm...young for a man like you?"
He frowned.
"Sorry, I didn't mean that you're old, or that you're a pedophile or something" I stuttered, blushing.
"You didn't seem to have any problem with it an hour ago," he said, frowning. "I'm 35. And I prefer...men younger than me. Granted, you are young, but you look a little older than 19, and you're definitely my...taste. And judging from your willingness to entertain an older man..." He let his voice trail off into silence and gave me an inscrutable look.
"I umm. . ." I stammered, blushing. Oh my god, he was for real!
"My mother knows me; she knows, or at least thinks she knows, what I look for. I know I'm not the ugliest person in the world, but if you think you can't do it, pretend to be in love with a person of my age, or with a man, period..." he said, frowning.
"No, no, no," I said, quickly, "I think you're..."
"Ah, so you do think I'm attractive enough? How about hot or sexy?" He asked, sarcastically.
"No! What I meant was not too old...in my opinion."
He seemed genuinely surprised at that and I looked away, shyly.
"I see...so it wasn't just the money, you actually prefer older men," he realized. "That should certainly help sell the act. Now, you realize what this all entails? We have to act the part; if we don't, she'll catch on and it's all over. The end, no money." He said that last warningly.
"I'm not a dumb jock you know...of course I know what it entails." It shouldn't be too hard to convince an old woman that you're lovers, right?
"Well then... do we have a deal? I pay you for helping me out, for as long as she's here."
I didn't have much of a choice here. He was right; the five hundred wouldn't last me very long. What he offered would start me off to a life on my own, maybe even go back to school and finish my degree.
He came around his desk and extended his hand, giving me an expectant look.
"Alright, you have a deal," I replied, taking his hand. "$20,000, right?"
His long fingers wrapped around my hand, and they were cold. Like his eyes.
"Right. Excellent, we'll get started immediately. This way, please." He extended his arm, inviting me to the private elevator, and he followed me inside.
"Where are we going?" I asked, frowning when he pushed the top of the three buttons, and we went up instead of down to the lobby. "Don't I need a room?"
"What, you think I'd let the love of my life stay in a room in my own hotel? She'd never buy that for a second; I‘d want him as close to me as possible."
I stared at him.
"You're moving in with me, of course," he said. "As of right now."
Live with him, for a month? Jesus...
"Right," I replied, sighing. "I just thought...never mind."
I'd just have to keep my eye fixed on the solution to my problems; twenty thousand dollars.
CHAPTER 6
His home, a private suite on the top floor of the hotel, was an unexpected surprise. I half expected it to be a sterile, masculine place with a lot of glass and little color, like his office. What I found instead was a home, not unlike the one I'd been kicked out of, cozy and warm, but more luxurious than I was used to. It could only be reached by the private elevator, accessed from downstairs. There were three buttons inside; ‘residence', ‘office', and ‘lobby'; a key-card was needed for activation - the elevator wouldn't move without it.
"So what's your actual name?" he had asked on the way up.
"My friends call me JJ, which is short for Jason Jake. Last name's Carter."
"I'll use Jason, if you don't mind; I like to call people by their given name. My father used to call me MB, and it drove me nuts. So please call me Michael. My full name is Michael Bartholomew Black."
I shrugged but he was pretty adamant about it.
"It's important: the small things, like middle names and such, are going to sell us as a couple."
The elevator arrived with a soft ping.
"We have the rest of this afternoon and evening; and tomorrow morning, to get to know this sort of stuff from each other: little quirks, likes and dislikes, things like that."
The doors opened right into a spacious living room with huge windows overlooking the city. Light brown, comfortable-looking sofas were arranged in a semi-circle facing the windows, and a top-of-the-line plasma TV.
I followed Michael out of the elevator, and my shoes sank deep into the cream-colored carpet, giving me the urge to take them off and walk on bare feet. I resisted the urge and took a few steps inside, hearing the doors close softly behind me.
On the far side was long hallway, leading to the back of the suite. Next to the hallway, there was a small bar with five barstools and a rack of liquor above it. An open arch behind it showed me a glimpse of a luxurious kitchen.
"I'll show you the place, so you won't get lost. I can't have you walking into a closet when you need to use the bathroom, now can I?"
I snickered at that, and a corner of his mouth curved up as well.
The suite wasn't overly big. Most of the other rooms were accessible from the living room; to the right there was the dining room and beside that a study. A huge desk took up almost a quarter of the room and one of the walls was lined with books; the other with several TV screens. A computer sat on the desk, switched off.
A few comfortable chairs were in a windowed corner, both facing a chessboard. I love chess! I saw that there was a game in progress, still in a very early stage, and I studied it on and off as he showed me some things, listening with half an ear; then I moved the Queen when Michael wasn't looking. Let's see if he noticed.
The large kitchen was furnished with every kind of gadget available. The refrigerator, the most important appliance in any house in my opinion, was loaded with food. There was also a service elevator, for use of the maid, who'd come in five times a week. Another door led to a closet that was held the cleaning equipment.
We left the kitchen, and continued the tour; down the hall, there were three doors. The first door on the right revealed a large guestroom. Inside there was another door leading to a luxurious bathroom. The room itself was furnished with a comfortable bed, a desk and a sitting area with a sofa and a chair. There was also was a walk-in closet (the size of my own bedroom back home!!!), a plasma TV, and state-of-the-art audio equipment.
Michael told me to leave my backpack here; I could unpack it later that evening, since this would be the room where I'd be sleeping for the next month to six weeks.
The next door, to the right, revealed the master bedroom. It was much bigger. The bed stood on a small rise; you had to climb three steps to get into it. It wasn't large, but it looked very comfortable, and old. I guessed it was an antique.
The room also had a luxurious bathroom, with a Jacuzzi tub, and separate shower. The rest of the room contained two walk-in closets (one revealed casual clothing, the other business attire), three plasma TVs, audio equipment, lots of bookcases, and an antique desk. A laptop sat on it, closed, and a phone with loads of buttons.
Two of the TV's switched on as soon as we entered, one showing a screen split up in four views of several security cameras on the casino floor; the other the lobby of the hotel.
We left the master bedroom, and checked out the last door; it was a bathroom for visitors. Then we went back to the living room, and I took a seat on one of the barstools while Michael walked around behind the bar, asking me if I wanted anything to drink.
"Water, Evian if you have it."
"Check. Are you a health freak?" he asked, producing a bottle from a stocked fridge filled to the brim with all sorts of beverages.
"No, I just like ice-cold water."
"How about Coke, beer or alcoholic preferences?"
"Cherry Coke, if it's available; I usually don't drink alcoholic stuff."
He raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"It makes me...an easy target," I explained, shyly. God, I had to stop that.
He smiled for a moment.
"I'll have to remember that. I'll get some Cherry Coke up here. I myself like a beer on occasion; I prefer an English brand called Guinness, which I have on tap here, or one of these." He held up a bottle of Heineken, unscrewing the cap. "I also like a Cognac before I go to bed, but other than that, I never touch strong liquor."
I took a sip from the bottle he set in front of me, while he came around the bar and pulled up a stool as well.
He reached inside his jacket, producing his key-card for the elevator, sliding it over.
"Take this; I have another one. Don't lose it, and keep it on you; I don't have time to constantly let you in or out."
I put the card in my t-shirt pocket, watching as he wrote something down on a small piece of paper.
"This is the security code for the alarm; memorize it, then use the shredder in the study to get rid of it. It changes once a week."
I looked at the string of numbers that made absolutely no sense at all; I'm a basket case with numbers.
"All right, now we get to some other things you'll need. Tomorrow, we're going to do some shopping. You're going to need a lot more clothes, shoes and other items. Here's a credit card you can use for any expenses you have while you're here, and I'm not there to pay."
He held it out to me between two fingers, pulling it back when I reached for it. "It has no limit. Can I trust you with it?"
"You can. I don't need much." It was the truth; I've never used the things, except on Amazon.com, to buy books, or the occasional CD, or DVD.
"I hope so. Hmm...the clothes, shoes, and whatever else we buy tomorrow, are yours when this is over. These, however, are not..."
He held up a set of keys. "Here are the keys to a car you can use."
A dangling round logo told me that it was a BMW and I almost grabbed them out of his hands.
Sweet!
"I'm an excellent driver, don't worry," I said, eying the keys.
"Mmm...maybe you should use the hotel limos, instead. I recognize that look. Desire...the need for speed..."
To my great disappointment he pocketed the keys again.
"No, no, no...aaaah, come on, I'm not an old lady who needs to be driven around."
A corner of his mouth turned upward again; was he testing me?
Then he produced the keys again, handing them over this time.
"Try not to scratch it," he said.
"Yeah, yeah," I said quickly, snatching the keys. Maybe this arrangement wouldn't be so bad after all.
**********
The rest of that evening was filled with all sorts of facts about ourselves, flying back and forth. He hated to be called ‘Mike' or ‘Mikey", for instance, while I hate to be called ‘Jase' or ‘Jay'. He had no other brothers or sisters, and his father had died when he was twenty-four. Education-wise, he had gone to Eton in England, and then on to Harvard.
He also came up with a small outline of how we were supposed to have met (on the Internet, of all places), and an approximate date of our first meeting, three months ago. His favorite drink was Guinness, as mentioned earlier, and he only drank coffee in the morning. He didn't drink wine, he disliked it; the same for champagne. Damn - I liked champagne sometimes. When it came to food, he liked just about everything except pasta, double damn; I love pasta. My mom once told me that was probably because of my biological dad; he was Italian.
Michael got up at 6am, and went to bed around 2am. I myself usually get up around 7am, turning in around 11 (on a weeknight), a time set by my parents, since they turned in at that time as well. I usually like to read for a while, which he did as well. Spanish or Italian novels were his favorite, and he usually watched the news channels and left the TV on, the sound turned down low, or off.
Other things mentioned were a few anecdotes from his past, names of past ‘acquaintances', the name of the maid (Gina) who would come in every weekday at ten to clean, change towels and the like. She'd be one of the select few that Michael would talk to, to inform some key people his mother knew, so that they wouldn't give away our secret arrangement. Aside from the maid, there was no other staff in the residence.
Michael couldn't cook. As for myself, I like doing that, on occasion; I used to be a guinea pig for my mom, and I guess it rubbed off on me. But Michael, according to himself, even screwed up a boiled egg, so dinners would mostly take place downstairs in one of the two restaurants; lunch usually consisted of fruit for him. His mother would probably be present during both meals.
He gave me some details about his mother, bits and pieces. Her name was Olivia; she was sixty-six years old. She lived in Kensington, London. She drank tea without sugar, a bit of milk. She also drank martinis, and sherry, preferring the former. She had a dog, a poodle named Chester, but he wouldn't be coming with her, since she despised putting the dog through the hell of quarantine every time she visited her son.
During the day I could do pretty much whatever I wanted, since she would be staying in a suite in the hotel; but if she asked me to take her somewhere, he said he'd greatly appreciate it. Michael preferred to have someone with her whenever she was here. Usually that meant sending a member of his staff along, but now that I was here, he asked if I would mind doing it. I had no problem with that at all.
