– 2 –
Lisa
Friday, August 26th
8:30pm
Houston, Texas
Chrissy’s roommate threw the sheets back and bolted up in bed. Eyes unfocused, hair disheveled—she was in the perfect position for an impromptu slathering by dog-kisses. Still within the boundaries of what BH considered a sporting game between friends, he knew to extend a few wet ones, quickly collect the remaining goodies, and then make a hasty retreat. Ear-tweakings and nose-thumpings had been administered on more than one occasion to the unwise dog who misjudged the temper of a rudely-awakened female.
“Wake up princess! ‘Time to rise and be beautiful,” Chrissy cooed in the sweet, mocking voice an attractive girl bestows only upon another of her kind. “It’s the last night of the Gas Supply Conference. Guys, Strippers, and Cash! Rich businessmen with no common sense! Whooo-hooo!”
Elizabeth Ellen Hanson—Lisa to the few people she wanted to know—glanced to her left and then to her right. Several moments passed before the surroundings of the room looked familiar. Her bedroom. In bed. Must be morning. No—night. Well, morning-night. Oh… whatever.
Her eyes were still unfocused—searching—as she uttered the third truth of the evening: “I wanna’ a bump of cocaine. No, make that two bumps. What do I get instead? A dog pouncing—every damn time.” The brunette frowned at her roommate. “Once—just once—couldn’t you throw a couple baggies of coke and not those freakin’ dog treats on my bed to wake me up?”
“Uh-uh. BH wouldn’t move a paw. Dogs don’t like drugs. They are too smart to mess with that stuff.”
“Yeah, well, they should,” Lisa muttered.
Chrissy smiled as she turned to leave. “The fluff-hound and I are going for a walk. Then, I have to call my brother for our weekly disagreement. I love him to death. I just wish he’d shut up about the stripping thing.” Words trailed her as she headed toward the apartment’s front door. “You have thirty minutes to come alive and get ready. I am not paying the late arrival fee again!”
“Whatever, bitch.” Then, Lisa plopped back down onto her pillow—or was it a ball of clothes under the sheets? Like that mattered at 8:30pm in the morning.
Whereas Chrissy’s world had been one of wealth and privilege, Lisa had grown up with deprivation and hardship. Her father—a distant memory of alcoholic rages; her mother—a current nightmare created by the OxyContins and Percocets of the medicinal world; and not one strand of sanity wove the family together.
Lisa had been left alone to raise herself yet sailed through high school with honors. As usual, her mom was far too blown to find the school, much less the auditorium, on the night of graduation.
Lisa’s older brother had disappeared years ago. He had a career in Chicago with some magazine; she wasn’t quite sure which one and didn’t care. Phone calls came only on holidays and were measured affairs of family indifference. This was a happy arrangement for a girl who had learned to trust only herself.
Alone meant safe.
Despite her hard circumstances of her childhood, the neglected young woman had grown into a vivacious beauty of uncanny intellect. Dark-haired and dark-eyed—Lisa had a suggestively alluring personality. Her sensuality stroked men’s desires. Then, when she wished to, she crushed their hearts. Lisa considered that the ultimate girl-sport.
Abused at age fifteen by one of her mom’s more heinous choices of boyfriends, Lisa had developed two methods for dealing with the opposite sex: take money from men and never be in a relationship with one.
That simple philosophy then guided her six-year career as a stripper at Houston’s premier topless bar—The Pump Room. Stripping, partying, the occasional for-fun-and-profit fuck of a minimally-disgusting client—this seemed enough to Elizabeth Ellen Hanson. And, now, finally, a sane roommate! Other strippers, she had learned by painful outcomes, were the worst of all possible choices. Sloppy housekeeping, constant partying, and customers over for more than the customary things: this was not acceptable to Lisa. Well, except if it was her housekeeping, partying, or customer home-visits in question.
Then, Chris arrived, and this one had some promise! It had taken a while to teach the shy blonde how to deliver decent table dances and not freak out when guys tried to put their hands down her panties—which most did. But, within two months, the money was flowing in. Chrissy made $400 to $600 for each night’s work. Lisa worked five nights a week and brought home $3000 or more.
Yet even in the ‘more’ weeks, her bank account never seemed to grow. Drinking was expensive; drugs insanely so; and, her roommate’s discount privileges did not extend to the hot outfits Lisa’s 5’7″, built-for-pleasure body deserved. The biggest cash drain came on the 15th of every month—that damn bill for the breast implants!
Lisa had given some thought to fucking her plastic surgeon; he was well known for accepting payment delivered by a personal touch. Unfortunately, he was ugly and married. Only the first attribute disqualified him, of course.
The front door of their Houston apartment closed, and Lisa awoke again. Chrissy appeared in her bedroom doorway, slightly winded from the walk.
“Have fun last night, party girl?”
“Oh, geez—last night? Fraunk and I were wired until 11am this morning! He’s got this new coke supplier—a weird-named guy. Fiyoz, or Fezzy, or some other sand-jockey name. ‘Didn’t think those types dealt, but damn—the coke he sells is ridiculously fabulous. ‘Something about being ‘ultra pure’.”
“So you stopped your ultra-pure party at 11am, or you ran out of drugs at 11am?”
“Same thing. The worst news is Fraunk can’t get any more of the stuff for three weeks! Why in God’s name is it so hard to find a dependable drug dealer?”
“Oh, the burdens of your life, Hanson. How do you survive them?” Chrissy grabbed the end of the comforter and popped it off the bed. A flurry of panties and short skirts fluttered into the air. Lisa frowned and started to speak. Her words were cut off.
“Shut up and get up girlfriend. We have to check in by 9:30.” The blue-eyed beauty surveyed the damage done by the night’s previous escapade. “Babe, Fraunk’s gonna’ need some extra time with your hair and make-up, tonight.”
Lisa looked into her dresser mirror. Yeah, it was a little out of place but what wasn’t in her life? Brown eyes focused back without apology.
“Well, screw you and your perfect hair. And where’s that furry dumb-ass?”
“On the couch, waiting for you, with his leash in his mouth. He is hoping you’ll take him for a walk before we head out to the club.”
“No way. I don’t do dog walks this early in the morning—particularly with that one. Too much fur, too little brains.”
“God, you are such a hooker. BH is your dog.”
“Yeah, well I am trying to fix that problem.”
“Well, fix it on the way to the club. Now get up.”
Lisa looked down at her feet and frowned. Only one was still encased in a black stiletto heel.
“Hey, Chris—‘you seen my other shoe?”
“You left it at the plastic surgeon’s office.”
“Damn. I’ll probably have to fuck him to get it back.”
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