The next year we bought a club, and women crowded the place from Wednesday evenings all the way through Saturday night. We did well. Each month we made loads of money. The big downfall was that each month the maintenance part of expenses also ate away at our accounts like a hungry Pac Man chomping down on illuminated dots.
I’ll have to call a plumber. If I leave it to Douglas, he’ll just try to fix it himself and make a mess.
Yanking out my phone, I put it on speaker and pulled up the personal assistant app, Judy. Although just a phone app, she hated my guts. Granted, I worked her non-stop and provided absolutely no pay.
I spoke in front of the phone, “Find a plumber in the nearest area with the most five star ratings.”
The blonde avatar appeared on my screen and ignored my order. “Hello, Christine. How can I help you?”
Oh get over yourself, Judy.
I repeated, “Find a plumber in the nearest area with the most five star ratings.”
“Searching now.” Judy’s avatar eyes studied me as her brain scanned the internet, those bright pupils judging me the whole time.
“Don’t look at me that way,” I told the app. “How was I supposed to know the pipes would flood the club?”
Someone tapped my back. I quickly turned and was greeted by my friend Maria’s beautiful face. She didn’t boast that sickening beauty that made you want to slap her in the face and totally search for flaws in her character. Like me, she possessed a raw elegance, something we worked at, but didn’t obsess about. We both had brown eyes and full lips, except I had a rich chocolate complexion due to my being African American and she had a honey colored tone because of her Hispanic roots.
“Are you over-working Judy again?” Maria tossed her auburn hair over her shoulders.
“Of course.” I gestured to the wet bottoms of my shoes. “You’ve been sitting out here in your car all morning. Thanks for telling me that my club was overflowing.”
“I figured it would ruin your day,” Maria shrugged, “so I decided to just let you see it all when you arrived.”
And besides, you were drooling over half-naked men dancing in the street.
I smirked. “Well for future references let me know immediately.”
“Gotcha.” She winked, took out her own phone, and slyly snapped a few pictures of the men in line. “I swear that guy over there with the huge arms and Mohawk must be from Spain. He has that special swagger that only European men have. You must hire him.”
Judy chimed in, “The plumbing company, Moreno and Sons, have the highest review rating with an average 4.5 score out of five stars. Would you like me to call them?”
“Yes. Go ahead, Judy.” I glanced at the guy Maria pointed to who was currently doing crotch thrusts toward his shadow. “Meh.”
“Meh?” Maria’s eyes widened while her mouth dropped in shock. “Did you just say meh to the hottest male that has ever walked this side of the Earth? I may actually reconsider being friends with you.”
“He has a great face and body, but there’s no rhythm in those hips. It would take six months to show him how to keep up with the song’s beat. Plus, there’s no way he could keep up with the others during the big show numbers.”
Judy must’ve dialed Moreno and Sons because the phone rang on the other line.
Maria sucked her teeth. “With that body, who cares about his ability to dance?”
“Bad dancing means bad in bed. If he can’t move on his own with clothes on, why would he be able to do it right while he’s naked and inside of someone.”
“Um . . . excuse me?” a male said on the other line. It came out smooth with a masculine edge. From those words alone, I guessed he was my age or close, maybe even good-looking. Although I’d been tricked by many with sensual voices to only see them in person and yearn to rush off the other way. Regardless, Maria and I froze.
“Hello?” Curiosity laced his voice.
Great. The plumber overheard my theory on dancing having a huge correlation to sex.
I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry. I was talking to my friend.”
“That’s fine,” he said. “I’m sure I could add my opinion to this conversation. Bad dancing does mean bad in bed. FYI, I’m an absolutely fantastic dancer. Would you like me to show you?”
Maria covered her mouth to hide the loud giggles escaping her lips.
I turned my back on her, just to maintain my own composure. “No, thank you.”
“So you didn’t call for my advice on . . . dancing?” he asked.
I grinned. “No. I need a plumber for my pipes.”
“Clearly.”
I raised my eyebrows, unsure if he was using sexual innuendo or completely understood that I was serious.