Naked Frame (10 page)

"I don't think so. And that's my cutoff. I'm
very strict about it. There's a reason the ad specifies a range of
21 to 25. Men come here to see tight, young bodies. And while
they're here, they spend a lot of money. I can't afford to
disappoint my customers."

Rebecca felt the sudden urge to leap over
his desk, cram the cigar down his throat, and beat his face to a
bloody pulp.

Bobby chimed in. "Give her a chance, Boss.
She's got a killer body."

"You think?" said Joey. "Let's get a better
look." He grinned at Rebecca. "Well?"

Rebecca thought she had prepared herself for
this moment. But as she unbuttoned her blouse and took it off, and
unhooked her bra, she wished she was somewhere else. Anywhere
else.

"Very nice. Huh, Boss?"

"Hmm. Pretty good boobs," said Joey, blowing
a ring of smoke into the air. "Now let's see the rest of the
package."

Rebecca reluctantly unzipped her mini-skirt
and let it drop to the floor.

"Panties too," said Joey.

What the hell was she doing? Rebecca didn't
have to put up with this shit. But if she couldn't handle getting
naked in front of two men, how was she going to walk around in
front of all those men in the café wearing nothing but a tiny
thong? She took off her panties fast—before she could talk herself
out of it.

Joey smiled. "Give me the 360."

She gritted her teeth and slowly rotated.
Halfway around, she wanted to bend over, tell him to kiss her ass,
and get the hell out of there. But she had already humiliated
herself. She had to stick with the plan.

"Okay, you know what? I
don't care whether you're really twenty-five or not. Hell, with
that body, I don't care if you're
forty-five
. You're hired,
Baby."

Rebecca put her clothes back on, and Bobby
sent her down the hall to fill out some papers and get a badge. He
watched her until she was inside the security office.

Bobby walked back inside Joey's office and
closed the door.

"That girl looks sort of familiar," said
Joey. "But I can't place her."

"You don't think she's a cop, do you,
Boss?"

"Didn't you check her out?"

"Well, yeah. We ran the usual background
check on her. Like we always do. But we couldn't find a Heather
Dreslaw."

"Go down there and tell her I changed my
mind, and kick her ass out of here."

"Oh, come on, Joey. Give her a chance. I
really don't think she's a cop. But even if she is, it doesn't
matter. We're not doing anything illegal here."

"Oh, I get it. You old son of a bitch.
You've got the hots for that babe."

"No...well..."

"Okay, look. I'll keep her on for a couple
of nights. But if you haven't banged her by then, you're out of
luck. And she's your responsibility. So, keep a close eye on
her."

"Oh, I will, Boss."

"I don't doubt it. How long since you got a
piece, Bobby?"

"I don't kiss and tell."

"That's because you ain't got nothing to
tell. Believe me, Bob-o, if you were hitting it every night like I
am—"

"—I know, Boss. You're a stud."

"One
hell
of a stud." He leaned back in
his chair and puffed on his cigar.

**********

Gabby pulled over, and Rebecca got into the
car.

He said, "Well?"

"I got the job."

"Congratulations. I knew you could do it.
Did he make you take off your bra?"

"Just drive."

Gabby drove away from the curb. "So, you
start tonight?"

"Start
and finish
. It's a one-shot deal. One
night is all I can stand. I just hope I don't have to kill
anybody."

"What do you mean? You can't take a gun in
there. There's no way you could get it past security."

"I don't need a gun. If some guy comments on
my boobs or my ass I'm liable to take him out with my bare
hands."

"It's going to be tough. I know. But you've
got to keep your cool—somehow."

"I know." She took a deep breath and exhaled
slowly. "They open at five. I've got to be back at four."

"Okay."

"I really think Joey might have hired
somebody to murder Big Bill. He couldn't have done it himself, or
he would have recognized me."

"Yeah, especially when he saw you in the
buff."

"I can't believe I'm gonna do this."

CHAPTER 20 - Tuesday, 3:56 p.m.

Gabby dropped off Rebecca at the end of the
alley. As she approached the employee entrance, she saw two young
women going inside. The alley smelled like dead fish.

She swiped her badge and the door unlocked.
She pushed it open and walked into a long, narrow hallway. The door
immediately slammed shut behind her, creating a loud echoing
racket.

"Welcome, Miss Dreslaw."

Rebecca looked around, trying to locate the
source of the loud voice. She spotted a security camera and speaker
near the ceiling. "Thanks."

When she entered the dressing room, several
women were already changing into their outfits: black high heels
and a black mini-thong. Each waitress had a dressing table with a
large mirror in the center, bordered by three smaller, angled
mirrors. The only thing missing was a rearview mirror for checking
out your butt.

Rebecca found the dresser
with the name tag,
Heather Dreslaw
(Boobsicles)
, and sat down on the stool.
All of the waitress were assigned sexy nicknames. Rebecca would
have preferred something like
WhatAreYouLookingAtAsshole
.

She held up the mini-thong. It looked like a
pirate's eye patch.

"You'll get use to it."

Rebecca turned and saw a young woman to her
left, just arriving at her own dresser. "I doubt it."

The woman laughed. "Hi, my
name is Darcy. AKA,
Sweet
Cheeks
." She held out her hand.

Rebecca extended hers. "I'm Heather." She
doubted Darcy was 21. She looked like a teenager.

"Better try your shoes. They give you
whatever size you say, but, you know, sizes can vary. I'd guess
you're a 10B."

"That's right. How could you tell?"

"I used to work at a shoe store."

"Why—"

"—did I quit? Lousy pay. And I was their
best salesperson."

"Well, if you don't mind me asking...how
much do you make here?"

"They didn't tell you?"

"Well, I know I get $2.13 an
hour in wages. But that's only enough to pay the taxes. I
understand the real money is in the tips. They told me it could be
several hundred dollars if I give the men what they want.
Whatever
that
means."

"Yeah, it's true. When I first started I was
pretty shy. But I still made $600."

"Your first week?"

"My first
night
. And that was just
food and drink tips."

"What other kind of tips are there?"

"We call
them...
sex
tips."

"Whoa."

"Don't get me wrong. We
don't have sex with the customers. But we make them
want
to have sex. You
know—you accidentally rub up against them while refilling their
drinks. You lean over the table to serve their food, letting your
boobs hang down two inches from their faces. Stuff like
that."

"So, how much did you make after you learned
to do all that?"

"Anywhere from $1,200 to $1,800 a
night."

"That's amazing. So, those sex tips are in
cash, I assume."

"Yeah. That's why you have that little pouch
that snaps onto your strap." Darcy pointed to the small black
leather bag on Rebecca's dresser. "Some girls slide theirs around
to the back. I keep mine at my side because I'm afraid somebody
might try to rob me if it's in back."

"So, guys put bills in that pouch?"

"No. That's where
you
put them for
safekeeping.
They
stuff the bills under your strap. But you've got to watch
them. Some men will try to reach down too low. And one time a guy
put a hundred dollar bill in my butt crack."

"What did you do? Slap him? Did you call
security and get him kicked out?"

"No. I just kept my distance from him the
rest of the night. And I kept the bill."

Rebecca winced.

"I washed it, though. I wash all my tip
money. I throw it in the washing machine. It doesn't hurt it, you
know. Then I dry it and iron it."

"That's great advice, Darcy. Thanks."
Rebecca slipped into her heels and stood up.

"How do they feel?"

"Okay, I guess. I don't usually wear heels."
She took a few awkward steps. "Why do they have to be
five-inch?"

"Because it's kinda dark in the restaurant,
so people can barely see our black shoes. It almost looks like
we're barefoot—tiptoeing."

"Which is suppose to make your calves look
sexier."

"Yeah. And they can't see the mini-thongs
very well either."

"So, they think
you're
completely naked?"

"They know you're not. But
it lets them
imagine
you are."

"I just don't want anybody grabbing me."

"Well...that kinda comes with the job."

"Y'all let guys
touch you?"

"You don't
let
them. But once or
twice a night some guy will grab your butt. Or lean his head into a
boob while you're refilling his glass. You get used to
it."

Rebecca cringed.

CHAPTER 21 - Tuesday, 4:27 p.m.

Megan Cinaway turned on her cell phone.
Passengers were beginning to stand up and get their carry-on bags
out of the overhead compartment. The non-stop flight from DFW to
JFK had been boring and long for most passengers. But not for
Megan. Her mind had been titillated with visions of money and
airbrushed, magazine-cover fame. She couldn't wait to start her
modeling career.

She had one voice
mail:
Megan, this is Rebecca Ranghorn.
Please call me when you get this message. It's extremely important.
Your life is in danger
.

Megan deleted the message. That detective
would do anything to stop her from living her dream. She was sure
her mother had put the woman up to it. But it would not work. Megan
was old enough to make her own decisions.

She saw a young man retrieving his bags from
the compartment over her seat. He was hot. Maybe he was a model
too, she thought. "Would you mind getting mine down?" She offered a
sexy smile.

He stopped what he was doing and turned
around. When he saw her, he returned her smile. Perfect teeth.

"Would you mind? It's a pink bag." Blonde
hair, perfect body, beautiful smile, and pink bag in the big city.
She was Elle Woods, from the movie, Legally Blonde.

"No problem." He took hold of her virginal
bag and gently lowered it to the floor. "There you go."

"Thank you so much," said Megan, with all
the gratitude of someone who had just been given a new car.

His girlfriend stood up, and
shot Megan a look that said:
Keep your
slutty little paws off my man, Bitch
.

Whatever. Nothing was going to spoil Megan's
day. She extended the handle of her bag and rolled it along behind
her as she made her way off the plane.

But as she walked through the terminal, she
began to have second thoughts about Rebecca Ranghorn's message.
What if her life really was in danger? She began to see evil in
every passing face, imagining herself a little stuffed teddy bear
among giant grizzlies. At any moment, one of them could rip her
head off. She was helpless to defend herself. Megan took out her
phone and located Rebecca's number from her earlier call.

Gabby answered.
"Megan, this is Rebecca Ranghorn's phone, but
she's not here right now. I'm her friend, Gabby."

"Are you the guy who was with her at the
airport?"

"Yeah, that was me. I'm afraid I have bad
news for you."

"What?"

"It's your mother."

Megan stopped walking. "What happened?"

"She's been murdered."

"No!" She hurried over to a bench by the
wall. "Are you sure it was my mother? Carly Cinaway?" She sat
down.

"Yes, I'm sure. Rebecca and I found
her."

"Where? At the hotel?"

"Yes."

Megan began to cry.

"I'm sorry, Megan." He waited a few moments
until her sobbing began to subside. "And there's something else. We
believe somebody's going to try to kill you too."

"Here in New York? Why?"

"It all has to do with Big Bill Smotherburn.
Did you know he's dead? He was murdered too."

"When did all this happen?"

"Last night. We think that whoever killed
him might have also killed your mother."

"And now he's coming after me?"

"Yeah. Or maybe he's hired somebody up there
to do it. It seems like he's trying to eliminate everybody who was
involved in—"

"—the so-called rape. If Mother would have
just left it alone, everything would have been fine."

"Is somebody supposed to pick you up?"

"Yeah. He'll be holding up a sign with my
name on it."

"He may be the killer. Don't go with
him."

"Well, what am I supposed to do? I don't
know anybody up here."

"I called my uncle. He should be there in
thirty minutes. You can stay at his apartment for a few days, until
this thing blows over. His name is Melvin. He'll be wearing a
Dallas Mavericks cap. I gave it to him, and he's never worn it
before. So it will look brand new."