Standard operating procedure between the professional escorts and security had been honed over the last several years. Petra’s top security people, of which I was one, had worked together to come up with it. We didn’t have inner office memos or committee meetings, we just shared what worked and what didn’t. It takes a bit of experimentation to successfully and unobtrusively guard Petra’s associates. Ask me about thong cam sometime. (I wouldn’t recommend it.)

Introductions on the first night always included explicit instructions. They needed to understand I was there for them. I needed to know what they could and couldn’t handle. The women and I needed to be on the same page without a lot of discussions.

Petra’s associates, to a woman, were smart, confident, and drop-dead sexy. And they usually could handle a lot. Everyone I’d worked with appeared in control of their situations. Petra didn’t like timid or weak. She did not surround herself with needy or broken individuals. If a low-priced hooker on the street is a victim of today’s society, the expensive associates that Petra had collected over the years had society under their stilettos and they were smashing its throat.

I always pick them up where they live. It gives me the first impression before I even meet the person I’m assigned to guard. It helps me learn about how they might make decisions. Does she live in suburbia? Is she a car pool by day, escort by night kind of woman? Does she live in a high rise? Maybe a lawyer who’s decided to spice up those billable hours? Whatever their original situation, invariably the addresses get better and better the longer they worked for Petra. Working for Petra has its definite perks.

For this job, I had to check the address twice. Marilyn Fields was her “name,” a play on Marilyn Monroe and Jane Mansfield. Marilyn was living in the shittiest part of Las Vegas. She lived in one-half of a rundown-looking duplex. This was the worst setup I’d encountered in my five years with Petra. This new associate was no lawyer or real estate agent. If you lived in this neighborhood, you didn’t have a pot to piss in. If you lived in this neighborhood, you were desperate or destitute. What the hell was Petra up to with this?

When I pulled up, I observed an overweight woman sitting on a folding chair on the front lawn with two kids running around a plastic pool. She observed the shit out of me too.

“This 656?” I asked because there was no house number.

“Yea. You looking for me, sweetheart?” The woman winked at me.

“Do you live in Unit A?” I asked.

“Damn, just my luck alphabetized out of a date with you. Dwayne, pull his head up out of the water right now.” Her flirting was interrupted by violence between the toddlers in the wading pool. “If you want those fruit snacks from the store, you will stop trying to drown Terry!”

Yes. Please stop trying to drown Terry. With the immediate wading pool danger over, the woman looked back at me.

“You can knock on her screen, but I heard her in the shower just a few minutes ago. Best go right in. I can’t imagine she’d be mad at finding someone as handsome as you in the foyer.” The woman pronounced it foy-ay.

“Thanks, ma’am.”

“Call me Retta!” She called after me.

I did knock. As Retta predicted, no one answered, but I could hear a radio playing old time music and water running, so I walked in.

The rundown state of the outside of the duplex contrasted with the sweet charm of the small space inside. Marilyn had adorned a small table with a floral table cloth and had neatly fixed a sheet over what had to be a sagging and beat-up old couch. There were hand-sewn throw pillows and every manner of houseplant throughout the little duplex.

A loud croak that sounded like “La Vie en rose” startled the hell out of me. I’m not the jumpy sort but the squawk, in French, out of nowhere, startled me.

“La Vie en rose.” There it was again, and I whirled around to see a white parrot in a cage saying, no shit, “La Vie en rose.”

“Well, that’s the damnedest thing. Bonjour,” I said back and walked towards the bird to get a better look at it.

“Edith Piaf, what’s with all the ruckus?” And my head swiveled again. Before me stood Marilyn Monroe. Not Marilyn Fields or whatever the fuck alias Petra had given her, but a dripping wet woman/girl who could have stepped out of a 1950s sex dream, complete with a small faded pink towel barely covering her curves. Her white skin was slick from the shower she’d just finished. I never stare, other than at a security monitor. But I stared and took her in from her nearly white short hair to her red painted toenails.

“Oh!” And she was almost as startled as I was to be face-to-face in her small sitting room.

“You’re Marilyn. Clearly you’re Marilyn,” was my opening line. Where were those movie quips when I needed them?

“Is it that obvious? Oh yes, the hair.” She put her hand up to a curl and brushed it behind her ear. “I keep forgetting, it’s still new.” Marilyn refocused on me then. “I sure hope you’re my driver, because if not I need to start screaming,” She said it with wide eyes and a tone that mimicked the superstar. There was a baby doll quality to it, a slight drawl maybe, but it wasn’t high pitched, just breathy. Her voice was an instant turn on, along with the dripping wet skin.  It has to be a put-on, that voice, I thought.

Part of my job was scary-ass demeanor, and I did it well, so despite feeling an attraction, first time ever, to one of Petra’s associates, I didn’t let it show. Or I didn’t think I did, anyway. Marilyn here had to be used to men with hard-ons wherever she went. Probably annoying, truth be told, so I got down to business.

“I am more than your driver. Get a robe and I’ll explain.” The best thing to do with Petra’s associates was to establish the relationship dynamic immediately. The dynamic that kept them safe was no argument, do what I say.

“Okay.” Dynamic established, good. She wiggled out of the room and forgot that the towel was only covering her front. I got a glimpse of the most gorgeously rounded backside I’d ever seen and then quickly looked over to her tiny kitchenette.

 It was best to focus on the neatly stacked plates, not her ass. My last assignment was not the time to break my strict rules. Making sure no harm came to the delectable creature that flounced in and then out of the room, that was my assignment. I needed to get it done and get the hell out of Vegas and away from Petra.

 I suppose with all the women I’ve guarded, odds wise, I was bound to go insane over one. I had pushed my luck. If ever there was a sign from Lady Luck that it was time to go, Marilyn was it. This woman was one final test of my ability to impassively watch a lot of hot sex and not jump in. All the toned abs and thigh gaps as they called ‘em I’d seen among Petra’s people didn’t do it for me. But this woman, this curvy piece of cotton candy, was put together like I would have done it if I was in charge.

“You mind if I put the make-up they gave me on while we talk?” She re-emerged and the room lit up with her reappearance. She plopped down on a kitchen chair and opened a case with a mirrored lid. I remained standing and at attention.

God help me. She was Marilyn: curvy, vulnerable, sinful-looking but innocent. Her skin had almost a sheen, or dew about it, like poured cream. The soft white clear skin was so out of place in Vegas, in the 21st century. This town was all about the spray tans.

Marilyn was going to be in demand, high demand. The thought made me unreasonably angry. I brushed it aside and started the speech. “I am here to protect you, drive you to and from your assignments yes, but protect you throughout the entire booking.”

“Oh, assignments we call them?” She blinked at me without a hint of sarcasm.

“Yes.” I stared at her fingers as she applied makeup to further enhance the similarity between her and her namesake. “I know all, see all, and hear all. It takes a word from you and I get you out of there.”

“You see all? How?”

“We never allow assignments to occur in places we don’t pre-screen.”

“Huh?” She stopped applying her red lips for a moment to raise her perfectly arched eyebrow at me, the lips in a little “o” shape.

“Cameras, microphones, and a safe word are the main ways you and I will stay connected. The safe word is important because sometimes the exertion of the moment can sound like distress. So you’ll need to come up with a safe word. Something that lets me know you need me.” We locked eyes for a moment and she seemed to be searching my face, asking me a question without saying anything. Then she looked me up and down.

“Nothing bad is going to happen, not with you around. I can see that,” the way she said the word “around” hinted again at that southern accent. Her brief seriousness gave way to bubbly energy.

“Hey, you know what my name isn’t. What’s not your name?” She giggled and dammit it I didn’t have to struggle to stop from smiling back at her. Smiling was not in my wheelhouse of badass expressions.

“My name is Lincoln McCall.”

“Lincoln McCall. I like that. So Mr. Lincoln McCall, what do you think? Do I look enough like her for my assignment? Petra supervised my hair and makeup. I was a brunette up until 24 hours ago! That was more Norma Jean, she said.”

“I’m sure you were a lovely brunette, but you are a stunning blonde.” I was honest with her, she was stunning, and despite the bleached hair, she was natural, sincere. Or so it seemed. Maybe she had purposefully perfected that part of Marilyn as well, the champagne fizz.

“Did she tell me how she found me? I was doing a retro act at Frankie’s on the strip. I love retro. Of course, you know that from meeting Edith Piaf.” I listened to her speak but also watched her lips form the words. Her full lips slid over her teeth and pulled my focus from her eyes. Real lips moved. I was so used to seeing fake. Silicone lips were awful, swollen, and usually had a telltale injection mark in the corners. Marilyn’s were her own. Her top lip was slightly fuller than the bottom and the red lipstick pulled your eyes to her mouth. A Petra edict, I supposed.

 Each detail I noticed was more enticing than the next, each more alluring because of its uniqueness, and somehow it deepened my concern for her safety. Once her clients got their hands on her, they were not going to be easy to pry off. I could see it play out. I was paid for my restraint. They were paying so they could be out of control with no retribution or consequence. I was the consequence. I’d very rarely had to step in. But with this one...

A pit began to form in my stomach. Like I was sitting with a little pot of gold, and soon a greedy army of leprechauns would be grabbing for it. God, I hoped the innocence was an act. I hoped she had a black belt or a mean streak. She was going to need it in this job.

“So the parrot was part of the act. Silly, right?” I’d missed the interim of her story while my mind raced.

“I’m sure it was lovely, but we need to go over a few more things.”

“Okay, teach me the ropes, Lincoln.” I did not want to teach her the ropes of this job. I wanted to tell her to run from this job.

“Have you ever done this before?” I asked her point blank. Sure, she was a dancer, but that didn’t mean she was a hooker. Or even experienced with men; she seemed to have no idea what was about to happen.

“Are you asking if I’m a virgin? That’s sweet. No. Girls who develop uh,” she looked down to the v of her robe, where the slightest bit of cleavage peaked out, “…well, who develop let’s just say, at fifteen, don’t stay fifteen long, whether they like it or not. Even country girls.”  She returned to her focus on finishing her makeup.

“But I’ve never been paid. Heck, usually never even asked.” Her voice got quiet. She said it to herself more than to me. It was a sad picture she painted in that couple of sentences.

“Well, you’re getting paid now, quite a bit. And if you do well, Petra will see that you’ll never want for anything. I’ve seen it with all her associates.” I wanted to shore her up if I couldn’t take her away. Take her away? In my five years of doing this, I had never wanted to stop it, whisk away one of Petra’s associates. But none of them had this effect on me. She had every part of me standing at attention if you know what I mean.

But I was the professional here, and she’d need my edge. I may be escorting a babe into the woods, but I’d keep the wolves from getting too rough.

I always felt the woman Petra had assigned to me were tough. They weren’t being hurt but rather taking life by the balls. I did not feel that with Marilyn. Somehow, that difference fired up my protective instinct; whatever it was, it was Hulking out. Her apparent innocence was like a catalyst to the central part of my psychological makeup. Or her tits had me thinking with my dick. That, while uncharacteristic, was entirely possible as well.

“I need to be paid well, Lincoln. Very well.”

“You need to move out of this neighborhood immediately, that’s what you need. Save your pennies, doll. Okay, let’s focus. We have one hour until we arrive at The D. What’s your safe word?”

“I can’t decide. Let me think about it some more.”

“I will always be  in the background. Your client will not speak to me, or I to him. You will not speak to me either. They don’t like it. You need to make them believe that they’re the big man in your eyes.”

“That’s going to be quite the acting job on my part, Lincoln. I’ve never seen more of a man than you.” She smiled at me. Christ, that was the most unfair thing a person had ever done to me; it was a smile that grabbed into my chest and wrapped itself around my heart and squeezed. I gritted my teeth. Was she practicing her Marilyn on me? It worked, that’s for damn sure.

“You don’t have to flirt with me to get me to protect you. I’m being paid to do it. I will not leave you. It is my job.” I was deliberately mean to her. Why is it that sometimes when you see a pretty thing you wonder what it would be like to crush it? That was also what she would engender in some men. Because watching her in distress was almost as gorgeous as watching her smile, this dark thought brought the pit back to my stomach.

“Oh.” Her smile disappeared, and then she disappeared into the bedroom and re-emerged a few minutes later, wearing a black dress with spaghetti straps. It, too, amplified the Marilyn effect. The look made me think the earlier innocence was a come on. She was all sex in this outfit and she had to know, must be used to the power it gave her. It was dangerous for any man to think she didn’t.

“Can you help me, Lincoln? Are you being paid to zip?” She turned around, and the dress was open to the top of a thong that matched. I noticed she had no bra on, and it immediately sent thoughts of running my hands over her shoulders and under the dress racing through my brain. Instead, I put a hand on her hip to elongate the zipper and used the other to slowly zip her up. I was exceedingly careful that my knuckles didn’t touch her soft skin as I dragged the zipper up her spine. I stepped back quickly after she was in.

“All set, Miss?”

“You tell me.”

“You look ready, Marilyn.”

“Okay, let’s go.” She shimmied over to Edith Piaf’s cage. “Be good while I’m gone, Edith.”  And then, out of nowhere, a small gray cat wound itself around her delicate ankles.

“Oh Dean Martin, I’ll miss you too.” She picked up the cat and planted her nose in between the fuzzy ears. “Sorry, I love my animals. I’m a farm girl if you can believe it? I’d have a dog, cat, and goat if I could. Maybe someday I’ll spend my old age in a farm house for retired sex symbols.” She put the cat down and it trotted off. I escorted her to the car. The neighbor and her homicidal toddlers were no longer in the front yard.

I opened the door and she hesitated, and instead of getting in the vehicle, Marilyn put a hand on my wrist.

“Lincoln.”

“Yes.” I was working very hard to stay cold and professional, to not give her any additional anxiety. She put pressure on my wrist and leaned up to my ear. I leaned down so she could more easily say whatever it was she wanted to say. I steadied her by putting my other hand on her waist.

“I’m a little scared. Is that normal?” She swallowed hard.

“Yes, I think so. Do you want to back out?” I would tell Petra in a heartbeat that this girl was not escort material.

“No. I want to go through with it more than I’ve ever wanted anything. I have to go through with it. It could change everything. It will be like dancing. I’ll be good at it. You’ll see.” She held fast to my entire arm now.

“I will see. And I’ll be right next to you in the other room. I won’t let you get hurt.”

“Promise?”  Her blue eyes were wide.

“I promise.”

She let go of my arm, which I somehow found devastating, and gracefully climbed into the limo. She may be a little scared. I was a lot scared. Not for what anyone would do to her, no, I’d make sure she was safe. I was scared of myself.