Coming Together: With Pride (34 page)

Mikki continued explaining. "The more exotic the request, the higher the price. You do have the right to say 'no' to a customer, but do that too often and they'll leave."

Four women came through the front door, and another lobby host tended to their requests. After marking an "X" on the podium map, the lobby host walked the women down the main hall.

Mikki waved at one of the ladies. As soon as she was out of sight, his smile dropped. "You'll occasionally see women here. If your vision of women is Mom with her home-baked cookies, let it go. The larger the group, the more depraved the women. They always request at least two booth hosts. However, they're charged a base fee for three hosts. We call that the
Tit Tax
." He rolled his eyes. "I don't know about you, but I work with the other guys here, and I have no desire to know what their dicks taste like." He snickered. "After your little offer earlier, I'm sure you're an exception." He pointed at his section on the podium. "This is going to be your primary section."

Foxx followed Mikki down the maze of hallways to Foxx's soon-to-be primary section.

Mikki stopped by a door and pointed at a dark panel by the handle. "This is where you scan your tag." He pulled a small square object about the size of a folded cell phone out of his pocket. He waved it in front of the door panel, and the handheld device beeped. An LED readout lit up on the tag. "This is John Smith, fake name obviously."

Foxx looked at the readout from over Mikki's shoulder.

"This tells you just about everything you need to know, but always expect surprises once you get in there." Mikki pointed at a series of letters below Mr. Smith's name. "This is the code for what he's ordered. 'C' is for conversation. That's almost always up here. 'BJ-R'. 'BJ'—I'm sure you can figure that out. 'R' means receive. He wants you to go down on him. 'C-BJ' always turns out to be more 'BJ' than 'C.'" Mikki opened the door to the darkened booth.

Foxx knitted his brow. "No one's here."

"Because you're in training." Mikki rolled his eyes and hit the dimmer switch on the wall to turn on the lights.

The booth, technically a private room, was little more than a round table surrounded by sectional seating. A small break between two seats granted access. "Is this what the typical booths look like?"

"Yes." Mikki tweaked the lights. "Dimmer switch—self-explanatory. If a tag just lists conversation, don't count on that being the only thing happening. Many times customers don't feel comfortable telling the lobby hosts what they want. You'll learn your regulars and their needs." He pointed to a button panel beside the dimmer switch. "You hit the green button when you get in here. The green button starts an hour timer. If you're just talking, you leave when the hour is up and tend to your other guests. You'll rotate back in here. If you start doing something that shouldn't be interrupted, you hit the yellow button and that stops the timer. Don't worry about going yellow when you have other guests. Lobby hosts will pick up the slack. 'Cs' bring in the least amount of base money, but drunk 'Cs' give great tips." He shrugged. "Some customers seem to think it's necessary to
date
the booth hosts before asking for anything sexual. 'Cs' always become something else on another day. Be good to them." He pointed to a red button. "When the timer is up, you press this when you leave. When all activities are done and the customer is leaving, you press this twice. That sends a signal to the lobby hosts and lets us know we need to send in the busboys."

Foxx pointed to a large blue button on the panel. "What's that for?"

"Emergency." Mikki looked at Foxx. "Sometimes customers get violent or try to drug you." He shrugged. "I don't know why. They're paying for it, and we give it up. If a 'C' doesn't let you leave after the hour time, then you hit that and bouncers come in. If someone is attacking you—and you better know the difference between 'attack' and BDSM—then you hit that."

Mikki hit the red button twice and stepped out of the booth. "One very important rule."

Foxx closed the door. "That is?"

"No drugs. You piss hot once, and you're out of here. You get caught using in a booth, you're fired
and
arrested. Hit blue if the customer brings out anything contraband." Mikki smiled at Foxx. "A few years here, and you can be set for life. The money is damn good, and it's all clean. Got it?"

Foxx nodded. "I don't use."

"Keep it that way." Mikki stopped by another door. "We'll start you off easy. Kind of. This guy tends to break most of the norms. He's been a 'C' for as long as I've been here, and I took him from another guy. Always been a 'C' and always will be. His order never changes—coffee, sweet and light. The guy probably could have bought a coffee company with the money he's dumped here." He slowly shook his head. "All that money
just
to sit with someone. He must be damn lonely." He softly chuckled. "You'll end up doing more sitting in silence than chatting. He tips damn well, so it's worth it. Better than some of the drunk 'Cs.'"

Foxx nodded and felt relieved. A 'C' for his first customer—this he could handle. His heart raced, and sweat rolled down his spine. This customer might be easy, but what about the next one? Could he do this job? He had the looks, but did he have the mettle? No one started his life wanting to be a man-whore.

"Customers will often offer you something to drink, and he's no exception. It's up to you if you accept or not. Never get drunk, though. Act drunk if the customer wants it, but you better be able to handle yourself once you close that booth."

Foxx pulled his tag out of his pocket and looked at Mikki.

Mikki nodded.

With a shaking hand, Foxx waved his tag in front of the panel. The device beeped, and the readout lit up: "Mr. Brice Camden" with the code "C."

Mikki put his rehearsed smile on his face and opened the door. "Mr. Camden, how are you?"

Foxx stepped through the door. Mr. Camden, a slender brunette, wore a steel blue button-up microfiber shirt. His pants were hidden by the round table. Wavy hair spilled around his face. Thin, dark-framed glasses circled his blue eyes.

Once Foxx noticed his eyes, he realized they dominated the man's features. The color wasn't all that unique of a blue, but their shape stood out—sharp and crisp as if they'd been sculpted with a razor, with thick, rich lashes outlining them and making them pop. He was the kind of man who would have made Foxx's dick stand up and take notice if Foxx didn't have the Napkin of Erection Death twisted in his pants. Papers covered the table. A tan, soft-sided bag-briefcase hybrid sat on the seat next to Mr. Camden.

Mr. Camden looked up. The light reflected off his lenses, briefly masking those captivating eyes. "Mikki, how many times have I told you to call me Brice?"

Mikki sat down next to Brice and draped an arm over the customer's shoulders. "Yes, yes, Brice."

Brice looked at Foxx. "Is this fine gentleman your replacement?"

"He's Foxx," Mikki nodded. "I hope he'll take good care of you." He lightly chuckled. "He's not me, but I think he'll do fine."

Brice slowly eyed Foxx, but addressed Mikki. "It will break my heart to lose you, but the promotion is good for you."

Foxx bit his lips closed. That didn't sound fully sincere.

Mikki lightly kissed Brice's cheek before sliding out of the booth. "Try not to miss me too much."

After Mikki closed the door, Foxx sat down. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Camden."

"Call me Brice, please." Brice looked up at the door. "Aren't you supposed to hit a button?"

Embarrassment colored Foxx's cheeks. With his first customer and already on the road to Mistakedom. "Thank you for reminding me." After leaning over and pressing the green button, he noticed something missing on the table. "You don't have your coffee yet."

"Just bring it with you when you return the next hour."

Foxx nodded.

Brice flashed a smile. "I see Mikki hasn't made you dye your hair yet."

"Sorry about—"

"I like redheads. Please, don't dye it."

Foxx smiled. "For you, Brice, I'll keep it red." Hot damn! Someone else who appreciated the beauty of redheads.

Brice sighed. "And take out whatever Mikki put down your pants. That can't be comfortable."

Foxx's stomach flipped. "All right." Nervously chuckling, he fished the napkin from his jeans and put it on the seat beside him.

"Is Foxx your real name, or did Mikki tamper with that, too?"

"One X," Foxx sighed in resignation. Did Mikki intentionally sabotage this first meeting, or was the guy just an idiot?

"Is that your first name?"

Foxx shook his head. "No, Matthew is my first name."

"May I call you Matt?"

Matt nodded. That would be his third or fourth name today. At least this one was a natural nickname for his real name.

"Nice to meet you, Matt."

"Nice to meet you, too, Brice."

Silence settled in the booth when Brice turned his attention toward the paperwork. Every time Brice blinked, his eyelashes brushed his lenses. Matt fidgeted and wondered if he should be doing something. Brice paid for an hour of "C" and they spoke for maybe five minutes. Matt felt like he was cheating the man.

Brice picked up a pen, flipped through several sheets of paper, and pulled out a line drawing of a pair of pants. Huge buckles ran down the sides of the pants and medium-sized keyhole cutouts spotted the legs. Brice set that picture to the side and fished out another picture—a drawing of a mesh T-shirt with a small decorative buckle near the left hip.

Matt picked up the drawing of the pants.

Brice hiked an eyebrow.

The hair stood on the back of Matt's neck. Mikki didn't say anything about touching or not touching Brice's papers. With Brice's eyes on him, he put the paper down. "Sorry." He tucked his hands under the table to hide his shaking fingers. Mistakedom—next exit on the Interstate of life.

"That's fine. Just surprising."

Maybe it wasn't such an egregious mistake. Matt lifted one of his hands and tentatively tapped the picture of the pants. "I was wondering who would wear that." Those pants tried way too hard to be trendy.

Brice put his elbow on the table and cradled his chin in his palm. "What makes you ask?"

"The buckles are so big they'd get caught on nearly everything, and they'd rattle." What if this was Brice's work? He'd be insulting the customer. Great. The bypass to Fired Town was coming up on the left. He shrugged and attempted to backpedal. "I'd find that irritating, but someone else might find it appealing."

Brice nodded. "What about the cutouts?"

"Well…" Technically this was conversation, right? Maybe that's why Brice had these pictures: a conversation piece. Who would pay for an hour of conversation and not have anything to talk about? "For club wear, they're fine as is, but I don't see anyone wearing these to go to the mall or dinner."

"You have a point." Brice picked up the picture and a red wax pencil. He wrote a big "CW" on the picture before setting it aside. "What about this one?" He pointed at the mesh T-shirt.

"How tight is the weave? Are we talking football jersey, or like a screen where you see more of a hint of color than skin?" He could do this. He could talk fashion. All right, Brice, you're getting your "C."

"Black. Tight and light weave. Silk."

Matt nodded. "For this, you'll want some stretch to it. This kind of thing is only sexy when it's tight. Silk doesn't allow for much movement."

"What about the style?"

"I like it." He smiled and looked up at Brice. "I'd wear this to a club or even a private party. The buckle adds a little something to it, but isn't too big to be gaudy." He chuckled softly. "I'd probably prefer to talk to the guy wearing it than be the one wearing it."