CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
2004- Switcheroo
Jake and I made it to the private room. It was about 10 feet by 10 feet, with a red velvet chaise longue, a long coffee table, a spanking chair in one corner and an empty minifridge in the other. There was a “Do Not Disturb” sign on the coffee table. I really hoped we wouldn’t have to use it. There was no private bathroom. If needed, we’d have to go out and use the bathroom down the hall.
Our standard issue “working my way through design school” V.I.P. waitress knocked and took our drink orders. She was followed by the house dealer, a Vietnamese guy named Bao, who beckoned me to join him outside.
“Hey, Chelsea, what are you into tonight?” Bao asked.
“Not much, Bao,” I replied. “Just a 50 of coke. Trying to keep it low key.”
“You want any boy to go with your girl? I’ll cut you a deal- 40 each.”
“Sure, sounds good.”
The deal completed, I rejoined Jake, who was sipping on a Jack and Coke.
“You got the druuuuuuugs?” he asked? I quickly rolled my eyes and then nodded.
“Lemme taste it first to make sure it’s okay,” I said. “I don’t want to accidentally give you a fat line of anything bad.”
More like, I didn’t want to accidentally give him a fat line of dope. That was the absolute last thing I needed.
Once I made sure I had the right product, I let Jake get busy on the lines. Halfway through, Miss-tease, the vanilla domme I’d ordered, knocked.
Jake shouted, “COME INNNNN.”
Miss-tease poked her head in.
“Hey, Chelsea!”
“Hey Missy, good to see you! This is my friend, Jake. I think he might like a little lap dance.”
Missy said, “Well, alrighty, then. Let’s get crackin!”
Jake slammed his cocktail and they got to it.
Her song selection was odd- Berlin’s Take My Breath Away- but I guess it was a decent grinding song for a wasted white boy.
And, whooooo boy- Jake was reallllllly into the lap dance. Missy could tell she had a sucker in hand, so she amped it up a bit. Turned around to face him and, riding his crotch, she slipped him out of his suit jacket and began to unbutton his dress shirt. Jake started to make what could only be referred to as “fuck faces.” Missy started pinching his nipples hard. Jake started moaning. Oh man, I could tell where this was headed. Jake started panting and writhing. Missy kept riding and pinching. I just sat there and cringed. But there was nothing to do but watch t all go down.
Right before his final moment, Jake threw his head back and screamed, “BITE MY NECK!!! BITE MY NECK!!!”
Missy obliged.
Jake came in his pants.
I shook my head and laid out a line of coke. Jake would need it once he recovered.
Missy and I exited the room- I handed her a hundred dollars and told her to tell Flavio that I said it was okay for him to add an extra hundred-dollar charge to the AmEx for her.
“And make sure he gives that money to you, girl.”
“I will, Chels. You have a good night!”
And then I went back into the private room to see what Jake was up to.
It appeared that he’d poured a bottle of water over his head and done the line I’d laid out for him.
“Eulaaaaaa!” he bellowed, a finance bro in full coke monster mode. “I want more blowwwwww!”
“Nah, Jake, you’re good.”
“I WANT MORE BLOW. AND I HAVE THE MONEY. GET ME MORE BLOW!”
We went back and forth like that for a good 10 minutes.
I finally gave in, went into my purse and gave him the rest of the blow.
I then grabbed the bag of heroin and went to the ladies’ room to get my head together in peace. I let myself do more than I normally would- I certainly fuckin’ deserved it- but I made sure that there was a tiny bit left for the morning.
I went back into the private room and nodded out for a minute. The dope was hitting so hard I didn’t even check to see what Jake was up to. I just leaned back on the chaise and fell asleep, mouth wide open.
And about 20 minutes later, when I returned to consciousness, I opened my eyes and saw Jake Fuckin’ Shinman sitting on the floor, back against the wall.
Eyes closed.
Mouth open.
Snoring like a freight train.
An empty bag on the floor next to him.
My purse open, contents scattered across the coffee table.
Oh, helllllllll fuckin’ no!
“Jake, Jake!” I ran over to him and slapped him around his ears. I grabbed a half-filled Gatorade bottle and threw it in his face. I stomped on his canoe-sized feet.
“Owwww!”
Jake started coming to.
“The fuck???”
“Jake,” I started in, “it’s 3:30am. We gotta go! You missed the last train to Long Island and I don’t know what you’re gonna do!”
Jake had no idea what the fuck was going on, but I did not care.
I told him to get his shit together then went out to settle the bill with Flavio. $300 for use of that dinky little room, a handful of watery mixed drinks and a bottle of Gatorade- and Missy’s lap dance.
“Give this to the waitress,” I told Flavio as I handed him a twenty. I gave him a hard look. “You’d better give it to her, Flav! And make sure Missy gets that hundred as soon as she clocks out!”
I added a $30 tip to the bottom of the credit card slip, scrawled Jake’s name, took the card and went to grab Jake.
