“You need to go back to the hotel and get some more sleep. I'm worried about you. You don't look well at all.” Try as he might, Colt's words didn't seem to penetrate the invisible wall that surrounded his wife as he enjoyed a late afternoon lunch with her and Scarlett at a mom-and-pop diner in Ambridge, Nevada. Pamela had been a busy little bee in the past twenty-four hours, but her current issues went well beyond sleep deprivation. She slumped over at the table, shoulders sagging, hands dangling, and her eyes struggling to stay open.
“Colt is right, Pam-Pam,” Scarlett said.
Pamela struggled to raise her head and make eye contact with her friend. “I've been doing this for the past twelve years. All my adult life, really.” Her voice was uncharacteristically hollow. “And last night was, by far, the most challenging party I've ever had.”
Scarlett huffed and folded both arms across her chest. “You should have declined the party and told Charlie you were sick! I'm sure he would've come back to party with you in a day or two.”
Heat rising from within, Colt’s face reeled away so Pamela wouldn't see the equal looks of anger and concern etched across it. Ambridge was a quiet, desolate town just north of Calafell Canyon. Outside, two dust devils – whirlwind anomalies that were strong, well-formed, and typically short-lived – buzzed by and, as usual, the heat was onerous. Downright sizzling.
With a better grip on his emotions, Colt glanced back and noticed Scarlett had a hand on Pamela's forearm. The air conditioning was refreshing throughout the diner, at least. Yet Pamela's gaze had dropped again, and in a moment of weakness Colt's headstrong, confident wife was gone and replaced by a frightened little girl who was wrestling with what she’d become.
Pamela, the unquestioned conscience and backbone of the brothel – the one woman everyone else seemed to go to and seek advice from, the so-called Mother Hen – was on the verge of a meltdown.
Why did you agree to the all-nighter with Charlie? Why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling good to begin with? Colt dug his fingernails into his palms. Good God. You know better than that. I never want you to put yourself at risk for a payday. I've told you that for years.
This reinforced Colt’s belief that Pamela needed to step away from the industry for good. The constant wear and tear weren't healthy. The expectation she put on herself was to always perform and give her all, even when it was to her own detriment.
But this was all Pamela knew. She was nowhere near ready to think about a future in the “real world” and live a structured, routine life, with an eight-to-five job, and children to raise. That type of life was foreign to her and so out of the ordinary. In some ways, it terrified her. So, Pamela insisted on continuing to work at the brothel.
And on certain days, she could be irritable, callous, moody, emotionless, and/or too exhausted to do anything – like today.
Colt hoped their vacation to Bora Bora would recharge Pamela's batteries and give her a new lease on life. In many ways, it did. She was happy, full of energy, and hadn't been so at ease since their trip to Hawaii last summer.
Yet the instant she stepped foot back in the brothel this past Sunday, it was like nothing had changed. Although she showed genuine affection for most, if not all, of her clients (and wanted to please them at all costs), Pamela's energy level immediately dipped back down near record lows. Barring outward appearances, she was worn out and tired. Ultimately, the long after-hours party last night and into this morning did far more damage to her psyche than it did good for their joint bank account. That fucker Charlie took a piece of you with him.
“Look at that,” Pamela said an hour ago in the hotel after waking up from her four-hour nap as she glanced at her smartphone. “Charlie has sent me five e-mails since he left the ranch this morning. Says he's going to come back in September for sure and spend an entire week in Flagstone.”
“Oh, wow.” Scarlett had never stayed at this motel before. It was nothing special but provided enough peace and quiet for a few hours of much-needed sleep. “An entire week, huh? Surely, he can't afford it. Not after what he spent yesterday and today.”
“No, he won't be at the brothel full-time,” Pamela said as she skimmed through the messages. “He wants to set up several appointments throughout the week so he can work on his quote, communication, bedroom skills, and kissing techniques, end-quote. Wants me to help him.”
Changing her clothes, Scarlett reached across the bed and took Pamela's hand as Colt brushed his teeth in the background. “This Charlie dude is in love with you, babe. Wishes you were his wife. It's so freakin' obvious. I think his e-mails are code for ‘I wanna put a ring on your finger and a baby in your uterus.’”
“Tell him you're not available,” Colt said.
This situation wasn't anything new. When older virgins had a party, they often fell head-over-heels in love with the provider. Intimacy was a new thing for them, an exciting thing, and they didn't know how to process all those emotions at first, especially when a gorgeous, exotic woman like Pamela McCarron threw everything but the proverbial kitchen sink at them.
“Me? I was merely a supporting actress in his love story for you. The third wheel of the threesome.” Scarlett fanned herself and playfully lamented, “I feel so neglected.”
Pamela took a week off from work every month, and alongside Colt, would distance herself as far away from the brothel as possible. Sensual and Sultry Pamela would stay in Nevada as well and she'd rest, spend time at the library, rollerblade, and volunteer at an animal shelter in her hometown of Fairfax, Maryland. Pamela was an avid reader of fiction novels and loved all animals, particularly dogs. She'd grown up with several but couldn't figure out how to fit a friendly canine or two into her current life. So, she got a bit of a fix at the humane society.
She'd also go into a cocoon and avoid contact with nearly everyone except Colt and her immediate family. She relished those moments of solitude and clarity. Pamela was close with her older sister and had always looked up to her, although she and Paula were polar opposites.
Whereas Pamela dressed provocatively and got into constant trouble throughout her teenaged years, Paula was prim and proper, straitlaced, and now a successful prosecuting attorney in Washington, D.C. If Paula (or her parents or other sister, Candice) ever found out what Pamela did for a living, all hell would break loose. But the news wouldn't surprise any of her family members either.
Pamela's parents met in 1980 when her father was in the U.S. military and stationed at Naval Air Station Patuxent River in St. Mary’s County, Maryland. Tom spent four years in the Navy as a helicopter technician, mostly in Maryland, and took locally born-and-bred Carol one hundred miles upstate to the suburbs of Baltimore when his commitment ended in 1984 and married her.
In time, Tom opened a pet store and indulged in his primary passion: caring for animals. Carol was quiet, religious, and happy as she tended to the house and her three children. Once the youngest, Candice, was in middle school, Carol took a job at a medical supply warehouse to help provide extra income. Cornell Law School, where Paula was off and studying, didn't come cheap.
Unlike Paula and Candice, Pamela grew up with that wild, rebellious streak, and routinely tested her parents' patience. She became a nude webcam model on her eighteenth birthday, charging viewers to interact with her, and performed in several online masturbation acts.
As she became more comfortable in front of the camera, Pamela pushed her boundaries further and often sucked and took dick from an old flame, Roger, to the delight of her viewers. Her most profitable month as a webcam girl was May 2006 when she made $4,000.
After a brief foray into Strip Club Land, Pamela, at the suggestion of a fellow model, applied thousands of miles from home at Happy Ending Ranch mere weeks after graduating from high school.
The rest, as they say, was history.
And while many girls in this profession dove into a world of side-hooking and streetwalking in their downtime, Pamela was one of the lucky ones who didn't. Colt would never allow her to go down such a road. He'd do anything to protect her and made certain she steered clear of all the countless pitfalls that typically entrapped a courtesan.
Pamela was his one true love. His first love; his only love. Colt had been with other women in the past. So many, in fact, that he felt ashamed of himself. Being around a brothel for the past twenty-six years, he'd lost count of the exact number long ago.
But it’s over five hundred, easy.
Once, he had three women at the same time. It was fun while it happened, but being older and looking back on things now, the memory wasn’t pleasant. None of those girls cared about me. Dad made them fuck me, and he refused to give them any money for it too.
Pamela was eighteen years of age (and Colt was thirty-two) when he realized he had something special on his hands. Sure, Colt could say he'd been in love with Pamela since day one – and in many ways he had – but on that one chilly December morning in 2006, any lingering doubt was forever erased.
And of all the locations for such a magical moment to take place, it happened in the buffet lounge of the Red Rock Casino Resort & Spa on the outskirts of Las Vegas in Summerlin, Nevada.
Having spent the prior four days in Sin City and introducing a wide-eyed, teenaged Pamela to its many wonders (and having free rein to enjoy her body at his leisure), Colt went back to the breakfast bar that morning for seconds. When he returned and found Pamela at their corner table, enjoying the last of her own meal in the most inconspicuous of settings, Colt's heart nearly exploded.
Something about Pamela's long, wavy hair combined with the sun shining through a nearby window cast a halo around her as she finished her chickpea-and-onion omelet. To Colt, Pamela was an angel, the way she moved food from plate to mouth and how her fingers appeared so sensual, curved around the fork's handle. It was the defining moment in his life. What would set him on his forever path: the way Pamela's shoulders were squared up, her long, swan-like neck, the sudden happiness in her eyes, and the sight of her lips curling into a joyous grin when she glanced up and saw him approaching?
He'd seen all these things every day since they met five months earlier during her interview. Yet Colt never noticed them until this one specific moment in time. At least, all of them together, and framed in one stunning package. The puzzle of Pamela Annabeth Prescott was pieced together, and the result blew him away.
And I allowed her to continue as a working girl. After twelve years, she's battered mentally, is tired most of the time, and has no energy for anything.
Back in the current time, in the diner, Pamela pushed her lunch bowl to the side – she'd ordered “a salmon salad with no salmon”, her exact words to the waitress – and placed her opposite hand over top of Scarlett's. “I'm glad you were with me and Charlie all night, though. I don't know what I would've done without you.”
Scarlett shrugged. “I was glad to make the money.”
“Last night was rough.” Pamela blew out a breath. “I've had many overnight parties before, but never an overnight threesome party. And I got sick again afterward.”
What? Colt’s legs were spread wide, and he had the sudden urge to jump across the table. Sick, as in 'vomited?' Oh, things just kept getting worse, didn’t they?
“Charlie was such a sweetheart, and I felt terrible because of some of the stories he told us about his life back home. Horror stories. He's had such bad luck with women. It's not fair. Sometimes with these guys who are all alone, I wonder how come they're not married. They’re so nice, and they deserve five wives at once. If only women weren’t so superficial and took the time to get to know them.”
Scarlett's eyes constricted and an iciness surrounded her much like a protective cloak. “I never believe what clients tell me. Not a fucking word. Some are nice, yes, but I don't care if they tell me the truth or not. It doesn't matter. It's a business transaction to me, nothing more.”
Pamela’s gaze narrowed as well. “That's a little harsh, isn't it? They’re people just like you and me and deserve to be treated with respect.” Pamela's attitude was unique because of Colt's influence. He'd always stressed how important it was to be caring, but also genuine, to all her clients.
Keep your distance, yes, but also be courteous and genuine. Who doesn't prefer honesty? It translated into longer parties, future visits, and more money.
“I don't let any client affect me emotionally.” Scarlett’s tone had a jagged edge. “They pay me for a service, and I give said service to the best of my ability. But when it's over, it's over … until the next time. I'll share e-mails and post on the website, sure, but only because it may lead to more money down the line. Some of these guys are super dependent on receiving messages from me. Says it makes them feel important.” She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I'll always answer back if I'm confident they'll see me in the future.” She flexed her fingers as if they were sore. “If not, fuck 'em. Fuck ‘em all.”
Pamela needs to retire. Colt continued to stare at her and kept repeating the same basic thought. I cannot say it enough. Emotionally, spiritually, physically, she was a shell of her former self. And during the downtime Pamela had, there were certain occasions when she could barely drag herself out of bed. Things aren't supposed to be like this for a thirty-year-old.
“Still, I'm happy Scarlett was with me last night.” Pamela switched her focus to Colt. “She took some attention away, and I snuck in some quick fifteen- or twenty-minute power naps. That was awesome.” Pamela rubbed her thumb over Scarlett's knuckle. “Without you, I … I don't know. I wasn't feeling good last evening to begin with and doubt I would've been able to make it through the night without you. Thank you, but I'm still exhausted.”
Colt shook his head, not because of what he’d just heard, but because Pamela had gone well beyond her expiration date. Indeed, it was time to hang the high heels up once and for all. “You need to go back to bed.”
“Are you going to message Charlie back? He sent me an e-mail, a quick thank you, but nothing more.”
“Of course I will,” Pamela told Scarlett, ignoring Colt's plea for the time being. “Charlie's a nice guy and it'll be an opportunity for big money if he comes back.” Several mongers over the years promised to return one day, yet Pamela never saw them again. For whatever reason, it was a common occurrence. “I'll wait, though, to e-mail him until we get back to the house because it's easier to do it on my laptop.” Pamela released Scarlett's hand and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “I'd prefer to be with Charlie for five hours, even if it's spread over several days, instead of five random truckers for five one-hour parties. I want him to come back.”
Scarlett scrunched her face. “Truckees are so dodgey. I'm glad we have the shower for them. Sometimes they come in all bitter and angry because of their long routes. And lots of times they stink to the high heavens. Fuck those assholes; I hate them!” She shifted toward Colt and punched his forearm. “I almost lost it this morning when you texted me and said to offer Charlie thirty additional minutes for free.”
Colt finished his cheeseburger. “He spent a lot of money and I'd like him to come back in the future.” But I had no idea Pamela was under the weather. “I wanted him to leave the ranch with the best experience possible. People like free stuff, especially in brothels.”
Pamela's phone dinged again. “Lindsay – Kayleigh – just sent me a text.” She read it and chuckled. “Oh, poor thing. ‘We've had two lineups today, and I wasn't chosen for either of them.’ She put three frowny faces at the end.”
“I'm going to need to talk to Kayleigh.” Colt gave a shake of the head. “She can't keep getting upset if people pass her over in lineups. Girl needs thicker skin. It's going to rub others the wrong way and create enemies.”
“Aaliyah was pissed at her last night because of the way she acted when that guy chose Sahara,” Pamela offered. “I'll have a talk with Kayleigh too.”
“I get passed over all the time and it doesn't bother me,” Scarlett said. “Can't take it personal. I know my look, my image – porn star wannabe – doesn't appeal to everyone. Neither does Kayleigh's. Not every fifty- or sixty-year-old man is gonna want to pay to be with an eighteen-year-old. A lot of guys like deep conversation, a genuine connection, and Kayleigh is too young to offer that.”
“Sammy wasn't interested in any deep conversation with Kayleigh last night. He wanted one thing, and one thing only.”
Scarlett smirked at Pamela. “Sammy is unbelievable. I love him. He's the one customer I enjoy spending time with.”
“Did you tell your fiancé back in Cincinnati that you made forty-five hundred dollars for a single party?”
“I did, and Jason was happy. I'm flying back home Monday morning for my week off and have been thinking of things I can do to pamper him.” That was a lie on Scarlett's part. She was flying from Vegas to Salt Lake City on Monday morning, and home to Cincinnati that evening.
“I'm on pace to have about fifteen thousand gross on my three-week paycheck, which is epic. I may buy Jason a top-of-the-line sporting experience or something. He loves baseball. I'll see if the Reds have any on-field promotions. I should look online tonight.”
“I don't want you to call for an Uber ride to the airport like you did last time,” Colt said to Scarlett. “It's way too expensive. Kayleigh got robbed by coming here the other day in an Uber. Jim or I will drop you off at McCarran Monday morning.”
“My flight leaves at six-thirty.”
“Won't be a problem. That’s perfect because Elisabeth's flight lands at eight-thirty. We'll drop you off and pick her up on the same trip. Kill two birds with one stone.”
“Oh? Elisabeth's the one coming in next week to fill my spot?” Scarlett blinked several times. “I haven't seen her in a while.”
“You'll see her the week you return. She wants to work a full three-week shift this time.”
The reason Scarlett was going to Salt Lake City (and didn't want Colt or Pamela to know about it) instead of immediately returning home to her fiancé was that she had plans to hook up with Sammy for a little hush-hush, off-the-books “transaction.” Sammy had Scarlett's phone number – something Colt and Pamela weren’t aware of – and texted her last week with an offer of $5,000 in cash if she'd take a detour to Utah and spend Monday with him.
For Sammy, he'd get to take a spellbinding young woman out to breakfast and have her on his arm, and eventually settle back at the hotel where they'd fuck like crazed sex junkies for the rest of the day. There were no house rules or etiquette to abide by and hold them back. That meant, for example, there'd be no condoms used during oral, vaginal, or anal sex.
He’d tie her up, too, and make her his BDSM slave.
Sammy had dozens of numbers of both current and retired girls. He would pay for Scarlett's plane ticket to get there and for another for her flight to Cincinnati. All she had to do was show up, be wined and dined by an older, refined gentleman, do her thing, and collect her money.
No strings attached.
Scarlett, like every working girl Sammy had taken things to the next level with, had no hesitation in being with him. She treated him differently than the typical client, too, and enjoyed their time together. That was because emotions never entered the picture and he was benevolent with his money.
They'd done these meetups several times before, and even once in her hometown of Greyford, Ohio, when Sammy was in Cincinnati on business. This man would never stalk her or blow up her phone and wasn't looking for a committed relationship. Sammy wanted to have pure, mindless sex, and Scarlett received a sizable cash gift as compensation for her time and services.
There were two other clients Scarlett met at the brothel whom she felt comfortable seeing outside its walls as well. One was from Texas and the other from Illinois. The money was first-rate and way too good to pass up. Colt or Pamela could never find out, though. If either did, Colt (and maybe even Pamela, too) would fire her on the spot.
The reason she paid for an Uber ride after her last tour instead of letting Colt drive her to the airport was because she met Scott in Vegas at the Bellagio. Scarlett took the red-eye home once they were done fucking.
Aside from the obvious risk of getting caught by the police and arrested, and perhaps thrown in jail, doing this could also destroy Scarlett's career as a legalized working girl. A conviction for solicitation in the state of Nevada meant she'd be ineligible to work in a brothel for a minimum of five years.
Scarlett was arrested two years ago by an undercover police officer while working the streets outside the annual AVN Convention in Las Vegas but got out of it by agreeing to take him back to her room. There, she put her magic mouth to work and was forced to allow the cop to fuck her bareback and even have explicit photographs taken of her as souvenirs. It wasn't her proudest moment, but Scarlett did what she had to do. And she still had an unblemished criminal record because of it.
Pamela's forehead fell to the table with an audible thump. “Oh, I'm so tired.”
Colt hung his own head and exhaled a tortured breath before focusing on his bride. “Why don't you take the rest of the night off?” Self-deprecation took over. This is your fault, man. You should have steered her away from this lifestyle years ago. She’s way too good of a person to be doing this. “We can take Scarlett back to the house and return to the hotel. Just the two of us.”
“It's Wednesday night, baby! You know Wednesday nights are always good for us business-wise.” The color rose in Pamela’s cheeks as she flipped her hair in defiance. “I don't want to miss out on any parties!”
Colt, and close friends like Scarlett and Nicolette, realized it wasn't weakness or loyalty that kept Pamela at the brothel. No, it was the fear of the unknown – the cruel world beyond the brothel's walls and the fact most working girls, including long-time retired ones, received little to no respect in society.
What good would Pamela's studies do her, even as she worked toward an online graduate degree in Psychology and was striving to one day become a Nurse Practitioner, if prospective employers investigated her past? Who would hire her with such a sordid employment history? Anyone?
Down deep, Pamela understood reality and was afraid. She could envision herself still working at the brothel two, maybe even three decades from now, too, as there may not be any other option. “I’ll probably let random guys fuck me ‘til the day I die,” she once told Nicolette. “It’s what I do; what I’m comfortable with.” And the sad fact was that the money Pamela earned was far more lucrative than anything she could make in the medical field. It wasn’t even close.
To her, it would be stupid to retire. She was in her prime and making more money than ever before.
“Lady Pamela.” Colt touched her shoulder. After her brief burst of conversation, she was slumping like an exhausted child who'd spent all day at the amusement park. “I'm taking you back to the hotel and you're going to bed.”
“No!”
“I'll take you out in the morning and you can go on a shopping spree of your own.” Not only did he have to sweeten the pot, but Colt needed a reason other than being legitimately concerned for her mental and physical health. Hearing such words might make her angry. “You got four hours of sleep and you're still exhausted. You've partied for fourteen-and-a-half hours in the past day alone.” Pamela relented somewhat, so Colt hammered home the point by saying, “I want you to take the rest of the night off. We'll go back to work tomorrow afternoon, okay?”
“I hate to say this, but you're not looking good right now. Of course, I'm not either. We both look like whorezillas.” Scarlett snatched Pamela's hand and kissed it. “You should listen to your husband, babe. Get some more rest tonight. It was so nice to sleep in at the hotel today and not be jarred awake by all the noises we're used to.”
“I have a better idea – I'll drop you off at the hotel, take Scarlett back to Flagstone, and come right back to you.” Colt gazed deep into Pamela's eyes. “I want you to lie down and rest. Can you do that for me if I leave you at the hotel?”
“Yes.” Her voice was quiet, timid, even submissive.
Colt smirked. Pamela had an iron will and didn’t crack like this often. “When I get back, we'll cuddle in bed and talk, all right? I know how you love that. I'll buy a tub of your favorite vegan ice cream, too, and bring the heat pad for your back. How 'bout it?”
She pouted and shunted away, unable to look at him any longer. “Okay, fine.”
“You want the rest of the night off, too, Scarlett? You're welcome to stay with us at the hotel. I'll pay for your own room if you prefer.”
“No, I'm good. I want to make some money tonight.”
Ahh, yes, of course you do. That's all you care about. Colt had received numerous customer complaints over the years for a perceived lack of interest on Scarlett’s part. A few even demanded their money back, calling her cold and unresponsive, but Colt had said nothing to her about it because, despite all the negativity, she was his top earner and many clients came to the ranch strictly to see her. It was the ultimate Catch-22 because he didn’t want to upset his breadwinner and have her quit and go elsewhere.
“Can I have off until eight o'clock, though?” Scarlett asked. “That'll give me time for a long bubble bath, and I'll ask Kenzie for one of her world-famous massages if she's not busy. The overnight party was rough on me too. Charlie was super emo, a lame, uncoordinated slob, and I so wish I could have those eleven-and-a-half hours of my life back.”
Why are you such an egotistical diva? “Eight o'clock is good. I'll let Jim know.”
“Thank you, Colt. You're the best!”
(End of Chapter Seven - to be continued)
