Chapter 7
Carrying a bottle of his best Scotch, Rifter stepped out of the elevator and hurried across the palm-lined foyer to Charles Stern's suite. He pushed the buzzer and stepped back. A moment later, Frank's voice came over the intercom. Rifter identified himself.
"The boss won't be back till morning, Rifter. And besides, I don't think he needs you to fix anyone up right now. He'll let you know if he does."
"I didn't come to see Charles," Rifter protested. "I came to see you!"
Frank's voice over the intercom sounded suspicious. "Why do you want to see me?"
Rifter held his bottle of Scotch pointlessly into the air. "I brought something to drink. Let me in." Frank loved to drink. He loved to drink so much that Charles Stern had started keeping tabs on his liquor cabinet. So Frank was always interested when someone offered him a drink. The front buzzer sounded, releasing the latch. Rifter pushed the door open and stepped in. He walked familiarly through the suite to the small back room that Frank used for an office. Frank already had two empty glasses sitting on his desk.
Frank asked as Rifter poured the drinks, "What brings this on, man. You're not usually this social. You must want something."
Rifter acted offended. "You say that after I came to do you a favor."
"I'll have to see that before I'll believe it," Frank responded, tossing his drink into his mouth in one, quick motion. He set it back on the edge of the desk for a refill. "Is this the big favor you're doing me? Bringing me a drink?"
"Don't be silly, Frank. This is just because I like you."
"Friends like you, Rifter, I don't need. Now what do you want?"
Rifter refilled Frank's glass and sat in the chair in front of his desk. "I got a couple of hot ones for you," he said, lifting his own glass and holding it out to Frank in a toast. "Bottoms up."
"Hot what?" Frank tossed the second drink down the same way as the first and placed his glass back in the same place on his desk.
"Women, of course," Rifter responded, pouring still another drink in Frank's glass. "What else do I deal in?"
"Nothing would surprise me about you, either."
"You're not being very sociable to a man buying your drinks."
Frank leaned back and placed his highly polished shoes carefully on a corner of his desk. He rolled his third drink between the fingers of both hands and eyed Rifter curiously. "What makes you think I need or want any of the women you keep dancing on your string?"
"Didn't say you needed them, man. But anybody would want them. They're knock outs."
"And just how much are they going to cost me?"
Rifter put on another act as though he had been hurt by his friend's words. "Man, they don't work for me. They're just a couple of girls who like to get screwed. They're kind of kinky, though." He took a small sip of his drink.
"What do you mean kinky?"
"They like it rough."
"How rough?"
"Really rough. One of them likes to have some big stud break in on her and pretend he's raping her. She's really the hot one. She just loves it. You don't necessarily have to beat her black and blue but she likes it to seem real. She puts up one hell of a fight." Rifter sighed. "But she really is worth it."
"You wouldn't try to con me, would you, Rifter?"
Rifter shrugged. "If you don't believe me, ask the girls." He leaned forward with the bottle and topped off Frank's glass. "Interested?" He could tell already that he was by the way his face turned poker-card blank. Frank liked to fuck more than he like to drink. And he was always ready for a new girl.
"Maybe." He inhaled the aroma of his drink briefly and then tossed it down like the others. "Why are you picking me for this great honor?"
"I'm not picking you. The girls picked you."
"They know me?"
"One of them saw you last night. The kinky one. The one who likes to be raped."
"Where did she see me?"
"You saw her, too. It was in the elevator. I was taking her up to be...." Rifter made quotation marks in the air with his fingers, " ... raped by the boss. I tell you she loves it."
Frank's eyes lit up. "Is that who it is? I remember seeing her. I thought she was just one of your girls. You sure were treating her like she liked to be treated rough. Man, you were really slinging her around." Frank's eyes narrowed. "You sure you were taking her up to the boss? When I checked in on him later he had another girl in his room."
"That must have been her girlfriend. Did she have black hair?"
"Yeah."
"That was her girlfriend. They both want you to fuck them. What do you say?"
"Why do they want me?"
"Maybe because you're big, black and ugly. How the hell do I know why they want you. Look, I'm only relaying a message. If you're not interested, I'll tell them to forget it." He stood up as if to leave.
Frank stopped him. "Hold on. I didn't say I wasn't interested, did I? Sit back down, man. Let's have another drink and talk about it." Rifter settled back. His fish was hooked.
Thursday evening Brenda Martin sat alone in her hotel room. She hadn't attended any more of the functions of the convention. She couldn't bring herself to face people. She felt dirty. Branded almost. She felt as though anyone who looked at her could tell the awful things she had allowed to happen to her. She sat near the window overlooking the city's skyline. How had she gotten into such a mess? What was supposed to be a simple three-day convention had turned into a nightmare. She was ashamed to go home to Ross. How could she face him now? If he knew the wicked thing she had done, he would never want to see her again. And she couldn't blame him. She knew that before she would be able to go home and face Ross again, she would have to make peace with herself somehow.
She stood up and crossed the room and stared at her reflection in the mirror over the dresser. Dark circles under her eyes told her she hadn't had enough sleep. But how could she sleep, never knowing what evil thing the spell Charles Stern held over her would cause her to do? Her image stared back at her from the mirror, accusing, reprimanding. She turned away and hurried to the phone again. She dialed Sandy's number, but like all the other times that day, the phone rang unanswered.
Brenda had almost mustered her courage enough to venture out of her room to go down to the coffee shop and get something to eat when she heard a knock at her door. Her breath froze in her throat. Had Rifter come back for a repeat of this afternoon? "Who is it?" she called timidly.
"Florist," a deep male voice answered.
Suspecting a trick, Brenda feared opening the door. She hesitated, her hands clasped together at her breast. "I didn't order any flowers," she called out.
"They're a gift, lady."
"Leave them outside the door, please." She put her ear to the door. She heard something bump against the door, then the sound of footsteps walking away.
Opening the door to the limits of the security chain, Brenda peeked out the crack. There didn't seem to be anyone there. A long florist box leaned against the door frame. She pushed the door closed, removed the latch, and hurriedly reopened it and snatched the box into the room. When the chain was back in place, she breathed a sigh of relief.
She opened the box on her bed. Roses. She picked them up, sniffed them, and placed them back in the box. Picking up the card, she looked at the signature. Charles Stern! She crumpled the card in her hands. Sinking to the bed, she pushed the roses out of the way. What did he have in mind for her next? Tears came to her eyes. Why couldn't he just leave her alone? She beat her fists against her thighs, her shoulders shaking. She couldn't let him force her into anything else. She had to stay and have it out with him!