Pool Girl: A Forbidden Slow Burn Romance Read online

  Surprisingly, all I can think about on the way home is that gorgeous man in the Range Rover who almost ran me over. I wonder if he’s local or if he was just passing through.

  I wonder if I’ll ever see him again…

  I don’t know why, but I want to.

  Chapter Four: Cullen

  I pull the Range Rover off the main road and into the shadows of the parking garage. It’s barely 3 pm, and the temperature outside says it’s nearly 108-degrees. I lean against the armrest and use one hand to steer the behemoth of a vehicle through the labyrinth to find a spot.

  I’m dressed in a bright blue dress shirt with custom-stitched Gucci pants and jacket. I wear a Rolex watch, which is one of only one thousand made. A special edition to celebrate their anniversary.

  I’m listening to ‘The Eagles’ music on the oldies station. They now consider rock-and-roll music as “classic” I can’t believe that. I hum along, moving my body to the beat, remember the good times. I feel the tension leaving my body as I let the music distract me from my nervousness about this meeting.

  Rick agreed to meet me in the restaurant of the hotel he lives in, in Las Vegas. I keep in touch with most of the guys I knew from work and most still live in Los Angeles, but Rick was able to find a management position in Las Vegas where he can still keep his finger on the pulse of the porn industry. I hope that after today’s crucial meeting, several of the guys will consider relocating to Vegas.

  Everything hinges on this meeting. Every bloody thing. One thing is certain; I can’t go back to being broke. I’ve tasted the two sides of money—having it and not having it—and I would choose the having it side any day.

  The thing is, I’ve been at the lowest of the low before. Right before I landed my gig as a porn star, I dumpster-diving in Los Angeles. I was a stripper at a seedy joint that didn’t put much stock in ethics or morals and bled all the dancers dry. Lucky for me, a famous actress in the business happened to stop in one night and liked what she saw. She took me home and was impressed enough at my range of skills in bed that she put me in contact with Mark.

  Mark immediately put me in front of the camera. At first, I was shy. I’d never openly had sex before. But when I saw the quality of girls they brought me, I quickly got over it. I started out for the pleasure of it. Fucking a couple of busty ladies? No problem! But then, doing it over and over again, year after year, I lost enjoyment in it.

  I got so good at it, and everyone felt it was real, including the producers. But in the back of our minds, we all knew it wasn’t. Like most things these days, it was all fake. We were actors. We had to sell it. All those moans and groans were just for show. The only people who didn’t know it was all faked were the millions of viewers who paid top dollar for over two decades to watch me fuck the shit out of ladies tall and short, curvy and petite—ladies of every nationality.

  As for me, after two months, all that mattered to me was making money. Love lost all meaning to me. How could I think about love when three or so times every week, Mark would throw about ten girls at me and tell me to fuck them silly in front of a camera.

  “Release the animal, Cullen!” he’d scream from behind the scenes, egging me on.

  Before long, they’re all the same to you. Props, objects to be used for gratification and nothing more. It’s hard to make meaningful connections when the only conversation you have is her encouraging you to fuck her. How can you possibly fall in love like that? Of course, once or twice through the years, there was a special girl that I lusted over. At those times, it almost felt like more than a job again. But the flames still died eventually. They always do.

  It’s why at forty-two, I have no family. I have no love life. And I still struggle with the thoughts that women are just tools, a means to an end. Sometimes I catch myself trying to figure how I can make a woman scream when I’m just meeting her for the first time. I don’t know how to have a healthy relationship.

  I’m making headway with this problem, or, at least, I’m trying to. It’s just that this other problem now has my attention. The issue of my impending bankruptcy.

  That’s the reason for tonight’s meeting. Out of panic, I moved the meeting up. Throughout the day, I’ve wondered if my decision was right. After placing the call to Rick, I felt the urge to call him back and cancel.

  I didn’t go ahead with this urge for a number of reasons. I mean, I didn’t want Rick or these potential investors to think I’m crazy and unstable or even overwhelmingly controlled by my emotions.

  After all, I’m not. After twenty-two years in the adult film industry, it’s hard for me to get very emotional at all. Whatever emotions I had, they were extinguished by the thousands of hours of taped sex.

  Plus, I want us to have this meeting. The sooner I get this business rolling, the sooner I can start making money to keep me out of the hole.

  The neon lights of the town flash different colors in repeated patterns. A couple of dark figures are hanging around the corner, probably doing a drug or prostitution deal.

  The parking lot is full tonight. I notice Rick’s sleek Mercedes Benz two cars from mine. Good. If he’s here, the others will be here, too.

  Before I turn off the ignition, I retrieve the fancy folder I have on the front passenger seat. In it are one original and five copies of my proposition. I don’t believe in long tales, so it’s just a one-page business plan.

  I hope it’s enough to sway their decisions finally. I still have a little problem with my plan. It’s a problem I hope we can solve together. Still, it’s not something that can’t be resolved one way or the other. It’s just going to take a little more time to come up with a solution if I have to do it on my own.

  I clamber out of the Land Rover. I tap the button on the key-fob it locks, the hazard lights flash, and the handles sink in flat. I make my way through the parking lot to the elevator. A bouncer is standing there as I exit into the smoke-filled lounge. I give the guy a nod as I pass by. He replies with a nod of his own.

  The bar we’re meeting at is stuffy, a thick cloud of smoke hovering around the slightly-vaulted ceiling. The dance floor is littered with a few dancing couples. The music is subdued, but still audible. It’s just the right decibel to enable a conversation that doesn’t have to be screamed. The actual bar lines the entire right side of the building, with tables and chairs curving around the dance floor in a semicircle. Built into the walls are booths that can be closed with a curtain.

  I circle around the tables, heading for booth thirteen. As I get there, I tap on the booth’s wooden wall and the curtain parts. There are five men seated in the booth, three on the left and two on the right. Rick’s on the right with Andrew. On the left are Shawn, Jeffrey, and Dixon.

  “Hi, guys,” I say in greeting. They each respond with mumbles or nods and Rick waves for me to join them.

  I slide into the right side of the booth next to Rick. Once I’m seated, I slide the curtain into place, sealing us off from the rest of the bar.

  Before I can begin, Rick pours me a drink. I slug it back. All eyes are on me.

  As soon as I’m done, I put the folder on the table and hand each of them a document. I retain the original. Then I say, “Everything you need to know about the proposed business is in there. Take your time to read it. I’ll answer any questions you have when you’re all finished.”

  As they read the document, I observe them one after the other. We’re all about the same age. All males who are out of work, except for Rick and Jeffrey. Most of them were wiser with their money than I was. They’re all either ex-dancers or have done stints in front of the camera as well.

  Most of them are older than I am. Only Jeffrey isn’t, which makes him the youngest among us, just turning forty over the last two weeks.

  They’re not all from America; Andrew hails from Australia, while Dixon is a Brit. Rick is a full-blooded American, and Roberto is from Mexico. Jeffrey is Canadian.

  “House of Stars?” asks Dixon in his heavy British accen
t. “Is that what you want to call it?”

  “Yes,” I say as my brain whirls back to a moment earlier in the day when I thought I saw something beautiful. “House of Stars.”

  Dixon doesn’t seem quite satisfied with my answer, but before he can say more, Andrew pipes in. “Everything looks good on this paper,” he says, looking up from the document, “but we all know a lot of things look good on paper until you try to implement them. Then it all goes to shit.”

  “Nope, not this one,” I say.

  Andrew keeps looking at me, hoping I’ll say more, but the truth is, I have no more to say.

  “Come on, Cullen,” Rick says. “You have to give us more.”

  “In my experience…” I start.

  “What experience?” Jeffrey cuts me off with a sarcastic smile. “Your experience as a porn star?”

  His comment sparks anger in me, but I don’t let it show on my face. “In my experience working with my producer, I have noticed that simple is always better. Just start! If you start a project, then the universe brings everything into alignment. No need to make it complex.”

  I nod at the original copy of the proposal that I’ve placed on the table.

  “House of Stars is designed to be a very innovative and exotic strip club,” I reply. “It’s as simple as that. Everything in that paper is possible. Las Vegas could use a high-tech and classy club. Since I plan to have high-tech rooms. I want one we’ll call the Screen Room, it’ll have tv screens the size of walls and screens on the ceiling, and all of them will play a 360-degree view of somewhere; a mountain, a green pasture, a crowded street somewhere in the world. I also want a few voyeur rooms, and maybe a few “other” types of indulgence rooms, think of all of the college kids that would flock here on Spring break. You guys remember how it was?

  “The only thing is, we need a headliner – a star.”

  I watch as realization dawns on Jeffrey’s face and he smiles.

  I refer to the dancers as stars because that’s how I felt in the limelight when I was being watched. It was almost indescribable, the feeling I got stripping in front of the camera. The carnal senses were taking over. All time seemed to stand still as I became the center of the universe and women begged for me to fuck them so hard and slow and long until they blasted off into the heavens. That’s a Star! And since every one of my friends here knows what that feeling of power and pure cosmic energy was like, ‘House of Stars’ seems right on for this venture together.

  After a little more deliberation and some persuasion from Rick, everyone decides to get on board with the plan. They all agree to invest in the business, and before the meeting is over, I have raised enough capital to kickstart the business.

  “I’ll have my lawyer draw up the official agreement,” I say, “but I think we’ve come to a verbal agreement?”

  They all nod.

  “My lawyer should be sending you the documents in a day or two,” I continue. “I expect you’ll all be in town sooner or later.”

  “Hopefully sooner,” Rick puts in. “There’s nothing any of us are doing right now that’s more exciting than this. Only Jeffrey has a job as a small-time porn star for a startup porn company.”

  Jeffrey shrugs. “It’s not what it used to be in my younger days, but it pays enough to keep the electricity, water, and Internet on.”

  “Yeah, but with House of Stars’ success,” I say, “you can move back to your hoity-toity house in L.A..”

  “Maybe,” Jeffrey concedes. “If we can make it work.”

  “We will,” I reply. “I will.”

  All I need now is to find a Star. Just one beautiful, sexy-as-hell damsel to get this business off the ground and turn my fortune around.

  Chapter Five: Gemma

  The incessant buzz of my phone does nothing but annoy me. I swat it away from its position beside my head, toss over in bed, and try to settle back to sleep. It keeps buzzing.

  “Ugh. Go away,” I moan groggily into my pillow.

  As though it senses that I’m ignoring it, the phone seems to buzz even more fiercely. With some annoyance, I sit up in bed and look out the window. The curtain dances in the early morning breeze that wafts into the room. Beyond, the sky is still dark, but I can see light streaks of golden sunlight on the distant horizon.

  It’s not even sunup, so I wonder who’s calling me at this ungodly hour. I turn to see that Taylor is still sleeping like a log in the tiny bed beside mine. How can she sleep with that racket?

  I stretch and pick up my phone. I’m still sleepy-eyed, so it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the brightness of the phone and for the blurriness to dissipate from my eyes. The phone is still buzzing, which means that whoever is calling is persistent. Maybe it’s urgent? I begin to wonder what’s wrong. As the characters on the phone coalesce to form words and numbers, I see who is calling. It’s Jack Monroe.

  “He-hello?” I stutter.

  “Gemma Johnston?” Jack’s brisk voice barks over the phone.

  “Y-yes?” I say.

  “Sorry to wake you up at this time,” he apologizes. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  Only my sleep, but who cares, right? I don’t say that. I only say, “No, Mr. Jack.”

  “Good. I want to talk to you about your work at J&J Pools.”

  “Yes, sir,” I answer. Oh, great. He’s going to fire me.

  “I know there’s a pending order you have to finish up this morning,” Jack says.

  “Yes, sir,” I reply, recalling the work I’d done for him yesterday.

  “I’m supposed to take the parts to the client’s house tomo…sorry, today,” I say. “Is there a problem, sir?” A pause. “Am I in trouble?”

  “What?” Jack squawks as if I’ve caught him off guard. “No. Not at all. It’s just that we had an important order come in yesterday and we’ve been looking for someone to fill it, and I can’t find anybody.”

  I frown. “I’ve been free since you let me go early yesterday. I could have taken the order.”

  “Yeah,” Jack mumbled. “But you see, this is for a very important client. A new one, in fact, since he just moved back into town. You might even know him.”

  “Who?” I ask.

  “Mr. Cullen Roberts,” Jack replies.

  I think hard about the name. Nothing comes up. “Never heard of him, sir.”

  “He owns that three-story mansion overlooking the golf course,” Jack explains. “He recently relocated from Los Angeles. He was some kind of actor there and made a lot of money. Seems like he wants to settle down.”

  “Okay,” I mumbled, wondering why I should care about all the backstory. After all, the policy is that all clients are equal. The way Jack is speaking with reverence, it sounds like he values this Mr. Roberts more than any of our other clients.

  “As you can imagine, he hasn’t used his pool in a while,” Jack continues. “He wants us to come and take a look. Do some maintenance. Clear out any cobwebs in the works. That sort of thing.”

  “So, just routine maintenance?” I question.

  “Well … yeah, routine,” Jack says. “But make it thorough, just to be safe.”

  “Why not come to me before now?” I ask a little sharply. “Why call me at five in the morning?”

  “Well, because, honestly, I didn’t consider you at first,” Jack admits. “I wanted someone with more experience, and well….Mr. Roberts is... Well, it’s just our policy. Since we’re trying to land this client as a repeat customer, I wanted someone like Michael or David to go take a look.”

  “But they’re booked out, aren’t they?” I say, understanding dawning on me. I begin to relax. My job’s not in danger. I did nothing wrong. I start to get a little angry for not having been considered first. There’s nothing Max or Pattinson can do that I can’t. Is it just because they’re guys?

  “Yes,” Jack replies. “Mr. Roberts said we could come by any time after ten. So be there early. Fix his pool. And make him happy.”

  I
frown. Make him happy? What am I, a call girl? But I don’t split hairs since I understand what Jack means. Make him happy by making his pool work.

  “Right,” I sigh. “So I still have to go to Mr. Barker’s house and fix the mechanism I’ve already repaired?”

  “Yes,” Jack confirms. “Bob should have called you…”

  “He did,” I say.

  “You can get make it there by ten,” Jack prompts.

  I think about it. It could work. Still, it was cutting it close. I might need to do some minor repairs at Mr. Barker’s house, and it could take some time. But I’m sure Mr. Roberts won’t mind if I come by around eleven.

  “Sure.”

  “Great!” Jack exclaims. And without so much as an apology for rudely interrupting my sleep, he cuts off the call. As soon as he does, I drop the phone and go right back to sleep.

  I don’t rouse from sleep until it’s seven. By this time, Taylor is deep into her studies. This is how mornings usually go.

  By the time I’m out of the shower and get my coveralls on, Taylor is on the phone. These coveralls are faded, but they are clean. They’re not something a girl wants to be caught dead in. I don’t understand why J&J Pools can’t buy us new ones with name tags, pretty pink ones or something that makes us stand out. It’s only good customer service. Cheap-ass place! I leave the house with thirty minutes to spare. I walk down the staircase of the three-story apartment building and meet Dr. Sally Rodriguez as she’s coming out of her first-floor apartment.

  “Hello, Dr. Sally!” I call, excited to see the middle-aged physician’s assistant.

  “Hey Gemma,” Dr. Sally replies, throwing me a grin over her shoulder. She locks her door first, then pulls me into a bear hug, her keys jangling in her hand behind me. I hug back, taking a deep breath of her sea breeze perfume.

  The doctor breaks the hug, but she’s still beaming at me. “I see you’re all ready for work. Shall we?”

  She leads me out to the parking lot, where her car is parked. Dr. Sally is just starting her job after graduating from university. We met when she moved into the building last year. Since J&J Pools is on her way to work at the hospital, we have a friendly arrangement that she drops me off every morning.