Vive Serves Up Bye-And-Bye Dick Pie
Warner couldn’t have dreamt Red up if he tried. He’d never seen her in his entire life, so she was unmistakably not an island local. He assumed she’d come to St. Barth for business as a swimsuit model for Sports Illustrated, remembering the photographers shot their magazine spreads nearby. She must’ve been. But her skin was porcelain, not tan as it would be if she’d been on the beach all day.
Indeed attractive, late twenties, she looked classy. Wrapped in a stunning dress, sexy shoes, and her vintage jewelry, she led him to assume if not magazine modeling a bikini, perhaps she’d jetted in from London. Red could’ve come to ‘winter’ at a villa down the shore, escaping England’s cold season. But her voice spoke with a sharp tone, maybe from Chicago, certainly not British.
Her tuberose scent remained potent, in a good way—heady, fleshy and yet sweet. The perfume confused him all the more.
Red didn’t know Warner owned the club. She kept calling him Garner and he didn’t correct her. The music had deafened their introductions at first, but when they sat down, the magic started. Warner caught her vulnerability and glimpsed Red’s taste for great adventure. He looked forward to discovering more about her.
“I don’t bring pretty ladies home often.” If ever. He forced himself to settle down as they came up the winding driveway’s final stretch. His mind and body came together.
“You have a preference for taking fuglies back to your shack then?” Red laughed, pulling the champagne bottle to her side. It was remarkable to witness a woman with such beauty be so at ease.
“This is it, my winter home.” The landscape lighting danced shadows against his manicured foliage. His guardsmen had gone for the day. It being a holiday weekend, he didn’t have the heart to make the locals work around-the-clock. Warner had no plans to host any parties where he’d typically be full-force with security.
“Exquisite. Your yard is something else.” She turned, taking in his acres.
“Maybe in the morning I can show you the gardens out by the beach.” He hoped she’d stay for breakfast. Warner cooked a tasty eggs Benedict. At least, Sheldon always gave him compliments on it.
“I don’t have much outdoor space where I live.” Her malachite green eyes blinked with sophistication. He’d not caught their brilliance until that point.
Warner drew her close. “And where would your home be?” Kissing her left cheek, his lips admired hers. He noted she didn’t answer, so he asked again. “Where do you live?”
She shook her head. Red wouldn’t tell him.
“Will you share your name?” Drawing his tongue over Red’s neck, Warner teased her nape in hopes he’d secured the answer. “Is it Red?” Tell me. His kisses traveled to her face’s right side, keeping his lips in constant contact on her skin in hopes she’d reveal where she’d come from—anything.
“Not tonight.” Mystery spoke in her sultry voice, on her juicy lips, and shone in her alluring eyes. “How’s that for an answer?” She squeezed his hand harder, perhaps with promise that she’d share more—later.
“Fair enough.” After turning the estate’s corner, exhilaration charged every nerve. He reached with his free hand inside his left pocket for the keys.
Red massaged his arm’s inner part. The stimulation ran a tingly feeling over him.
He hadn’t felt that in years.
“Gimme some sugar,” a twanged voice barked from the driveway’s opposing side.
Her voice…her presence…it irked Warner to no end and reminded him of something he’d seen on the news recently. In Dallas, ranchers called the Texas Rangers in a frantic pace, reporting the four-legged animal sightings of something similar to a boar-meets-dog creature with a reptilian appearance. It didn’t bite for blood, rather sucked its prey bone-dry. Farmers called the beast a Chupacabra.
Warner suspected it was too coincidental that the second his ex-fiancée fled their Manhattan penthouse for her native Lone Star state, people noticed an upswing in this monster roaming their prairies. He knew for certain the Chupacabra existed and called herself Rielle Bruni. And a moment ago, on his lawn, as he held Red’s hand, Rielle’s sulfuric stench arrived in St. Barth’s.
“I waited for ya,” she yapped from across the estate lawn.
No, no, no. Not Rielle. His ears could’ve bled. Each eardrum felt shot out.
Red’s perky stride slowed as she squeezed his hand tighter. “Garner, who’s coming toward us?”
“My worst nightmare.” Shit, I knew this felt too good to be true.
Rielle approached from the long, narrow driveway’s other side as if seizing her next victim. “Honey, I’m his fiancée, Rielle,” she drawled between cigarette puffs before flicking the fiery bud in his direction. “I’ve come to ring in the New Year with my man.” Her infamous snort got caught in her exhale, twisting her voice into a hackled cough.
Red’s warm fingers unlocked.
Don’t let go…
Every delicious inch of Red’s body went cold. She turned and stared at him, but her face didn’t seem fazed. Red wasn’t anyone’s victim. A woman who didn’t have time to bullshit, Red was too good for this.
“Rielle is not my fiancée. Not anymore. I’ll call authorities to remove—” He grabbed for her arm.
She sidestepped and spun, causing her clutch to drop to the ground and open. Papers, money, a hairbrush spread at their feet, the champagne bottle following. It landed, shattering glass shards throughout.
“I’m sorry, Red. I am.” Warner indicated with a wave he’d pick her things up. “I don’t want you to cut yourself.”
Rielle snarled and laughed at him, walking in their direction. “I’m still wearing the ring he gave me. Ain’t I?” She held the diamond to Red’s face. Warner was surprised she hadn’t pawned it yet.
“Stop with your lies, Rielle.” Frustrated, Warner dropped to his knees and collected the treasures lost. He placed Red’s items back in her bag. “We broke up. Let me explain.” I can’t believe this shit.
Red stood over him, her long legs like something off a European fashion show that had lost their runway. Her eyes were focused on Rielle.
“I’m carrying his baby.” His ex lied and then rubbed at her belly, trying to stick it out.
“Enough! My family knows you were not really pregnant.” On his way up, he studied Red’s body, her tense calf muscles, her hands fisted at her side. With lips pursed, Red held her breath, unshaken. Red could take Rielle down in addition to anyone else who stood in her way. Did she want to fight her? He couldn’t imagine so. No, Red came off altogether annoyed. He sensed she’d bolt the second he gave her the bag. Then she’d be gone. Warner hoped not forever.
“Not really pregnant?” Red repeated. “Were you ever engaged to her?”
“Yes. Let’s talk tomorrow when she’s gone. And we’re alone.” He pulled his calling card with private contact numbers from his pocket. Maybe he could salvage that night for the next. Warner slipped his number inside her bronze purse and returned it to her. And similar to her hand, he didn’t want to let go of her bag, either. He didn’t have a choice, though. Red wasn’t his to keep. Not yet.
Her arms extended, ready to catch—and leave. “Your future wife is determined.”
“We’re not engaged anymore.”
Red’s tone had chilled, eyes stoned, face mannequin-esque. “Maybe you two can get back together and work it out before the kid arrives.” She lowered her voice. “Hopefully she’ll quit smoking before the baby is born.”
“I’d like to explain everything to you tomorrow. Please. I put my card in your—”
Raising her hand, Red cut him short. “I left crazy back home.” Her once-captivated eyes unlocked from his with disinterest. “I sure as hell have no interest in your St. Barth’s drama.”
Red never looked back at him. She didn’t acknowledge her Big Daddy when leaving.
He kept his eyes on Red as she turned the corner. Her russet hair cast a black veil over her perfect face in the night. Her tuberose scent lingered behind, as if to say, ‘I should be in your arms tonight.’
“Honey bunny!”
“Rielle…”
“I’ve missed you terribly.” Reeking of gin, she extended her arms for capture.
“Congratulations.”
She cocked her head and twisted her featureless face. “For what, honey?”
“You’ve always possessed such a gift—” He didn’t finish. He was too busy staring at his hands. They were bleeding from the amber-colored glass embedded in his palm. Warner hadn’t even noticed until then. Taking a handkerchief from his pants pocket, he dislodged the bits from his skin then wrapped his hand tight to stop the bleeding.
Intoxicated, she slurred, “I have many gifts, sugar. So do you.” Rielle hurled her desperation on him.
Warner held Rielle by her shoulders, dodging her hot breath. After meeting such a wonderful woman as Red, this contact created an instant sour pucker in his throat. Hatred, he tasted hatred. Lowering his head to meet her at eye-level, he informed her, “What I was going to say was you have such a gift for ruining the best moments in my life.” It hurt him to say that to the woman he once thought he loved. From the outside, Rielle was still beautiful, but who she was inside made her ugly to him.
“What?” Rielle stepped back. Her eyes narrowed into black slits, trying to sober in hopes she’d heard him wrong.
He advanced with reassurance. “Get the hell out of my life and away from me for good.”
“Warner, honey.” She tried to stand tall.
“I have to hand it to you. Being a bitch at your level requires enormous energy.”
Whack! Rielle’s pink nails tore across his face. “How dare you! I fly down to this floating French sand dune to see you, and this is how I’m greeted?”
Blood spotted his white shirt from her scrape. “I told you I never want to see you again.” He wiped his cheek.
“I’m still hoping we can…” Her face darkened, appearing less attractive to him than ever. She stared at his crotch and argued, “Pity to waste such a beautiful horse dick.”
“You’ve run empty on tricks. No more trying to seduce the men in my family. No more fake pregnancies. No more scams.”
She swung her other hand.
Ready to snap her in half, he gripped her wrist midair. He wouldn’t, though. A gentleman didn’t. “Move on to another billionaire group or try a few millionaires. The Truman’s can’t take another iota of you.”
Rielle screamed for him to reason with her. She wanted her job back at the foundation and for everything to return to how it once was. He refused. Infuriated, she spit in his face.
You bitch. Warner didn’t care what she spewed or spit. He didn’t deserve her abuse. He should never have been subjected to the cruelty she’d given him or the pain she’d caused him.
The night Rielle had run into Sheldon’s arms in her typical cry for attention, Warner was co-hosting a fundraiser and cocktail party. The lavish affair took place at the private residence of Manhattan’s mayor. Mixed with his parents, brother, and friends, he campaigned to secure funds for a new development, South Street Seaport Resort & Spa. Adjacent to the financial district, the new condominium-resort-spa community featured Brooklyn Bridge views.
Truman Enterprises’ banks had required a high percentage presold before the residential spa and resort could break ground. With his attention divided, he’d suggested, “Rielle, it may be best if you stayed home tonight.” She’d demanded his undivided attention and couldn’t stand it when he talked to anyone else for more than a second, even if for business.
“It’s my opportunity to be seen,” Rielle had insisted and accompanied him to the party. Glued to his arm, her squinting eyes kept women away from prospecting Warner, as well as any potential investors for South Street Seaport Resort & Spa.
“Stay put. I have to go chat with someone. I won’t be long.” He smiled to reassure her she could stand her own amongst the city’s elite. “Why don’t you talk to your future in-laws?” He’d eyed his folks who sat in the corner, their enthusiasm soured.
At the start, his first wife Jacqueline had shocked his parents due to their age difference, but they’d grown to adore her. “Rielle is…different from your beloved Jacqueline,” his mother remarked gravely to him after their first introduction.
“Don’t leave my side, Warner. I mean it.” Rielle had grabbed his arm, her nails sinking into his flesh as her insecurities drove a wedge between them.
“Stop.” He turned his back, ignoring her threat.
“You bastard!” she’d screamed, loud enough for onlookers to hear.
Christ. He yanked her close, pressing his mouth to her left ear. “Go home, Rielle.” His heart sank with disappointment as she stalked off. She’d taken pleasure in the negative charge between them. Raised in a loving home, Warner had never once witnessed his parents argue or fight. Anytime they had a disagreement, his mother would always turn to his father and say, “We’ll talk about it later, darling.” As he grew older, becoming involved in his own relationships, he wondered if his parents’ ‘let’s fight another time’ ever came. Did they argue behind closed bedroom doors? If they did, it never came close to what Rielle brought to the bickering table.
Sheldon confessed later to Warner he’d grown bored at the fundraiser, grabbed a joint from catering, and had snuck into a back bedroom to smoke. Stoned, he’d gazed up to see Rielle grabbing for his attention, unbuttoning his shirt and pants.
“Stop it.”
“Fuck me, Shel.”
“No!”
“Yes.” She’d pushed him onto the bed and attempted to ride him. When he couldn’t get hard, Rielle had pulled her dress top down and shoved her nipples in his face.
“Freak, get off me!” Sheldon had shouted.
Warner heard his brother and had walked in on them as Rielle’s authenticity surfaced. She stood and lunged for him, begging for his attention. Her fake pregnancy bump hit the floor and so did her billionaire-scheming agenda.
“Con artist,” his brother had muttered.
At first, Warner didn’t believe it. The fake pregnancy didn’t make sense to him until he recalled Rielle stating he couldn’t touch her or make love to her while she carried the baby. She also hadn’t allowed him to go to her OB-GYN appointments, because they didn’t exist. He stood stock-still, holding her shoulders as she started hitting him. In Rielle’s mind, her failure was his fault. In one night, he’d observed his engagement and baby become a sham.
That night in St. Barth felt no different.
Warner wiped the phlegm from his face. He reached in his back pocket for his cell and called the St. Barth’s police station.
As authorities arrived, the woman he thought he once knew scratched her own face and tore at her blouse. Rielle claimed he’d beaten her, but the police didn’t buy it. When her charade didn’t work, she pretended to faint, claiming exhaustion from their miscarried love child. Her lie didn’t go over with the female officer who slapped the handcuffs on her wrists. Rielle relieved herself, perhaps in hopes the policewoman would let her go. Or maybe she became scared.
“Nice goin’, lady! Stand in your piss until I finish my paperwork.” The officer shook her head and chewed her gum, swearing in French. “Let the New Year’s Eve weekend loonies bloom, folks. Bonne année.”
One thing was certain: Rielle was headed for jail.
Bloody hand unattended, he left Rielle standing in her yellow puddle. In the driveway, Warner passed the broken champagne bottle he’d intended to share with Red. He slid into his convertible, driving up and down Rue de la Republique and around Gustavia Harbour in search of her. Pre-New Year’s parties were in full swing atop the yachts lining the waters. Blondes and brunettes danced and called his attention, but no redheads. No Red.
Where are you? Who are you? I have to know.
Why is it so impossible to get laid? Taddy walked up to the villa, her gator-skin bag under her arm. Vive stumbled three steps ahead, swinging her skunk fur purse in the air. “Farnworth!” Taddy shouted after her.
Vive turned back. “Brill.” One eye opened wide as the other slid shut. “Wasup?” She unlocked the door and pushed through the living room, collapsing on the sofa in an exasperated huff.
Taddy went into her bedroom and threw the purse in her suitcase. It was covered in dirt. No good to me now. She slipped her dress off, dreaming of Garner’s hands on her body. Wrapped in a terry cloth robe, she returned to the living room.
Lex sat in a lounge chair next to Vive and sketched her fashion designs. She gazed at Taddy. “This is early for you. What gives?”
“Go first, Vive. I wanna hear how things progressed after you hit the dance floor.” Taddy hoped her friend’s night had been better than hers. From the caked mascara around Vive’s blue eyes, it appeared likely.
“One sec, my feet are killin’ me.” Vive slid one Christian Louboutin stiletto off followed by the other. “That’s better. So tonight, this hot Frenchman was eating from the palm of my hand.” She held out her arms to show the bite marks. “We’re getting it on at his hotel room over by Tom’s Beach. Oliver, I recall. Anyways, my dress is up over my head, because he couldn’t get the zipper down. He’s goin’ to town, eatin’ me out.”
“I’m jealous.” Taddy sighed.
“Ollie’s runnin’ his eager tongue in long strokes over my slit and into my ass. Cloud nine, here I come, right?” Eyes rolling back in her head, Vive clenched her legs together and huffed dramatically. “Between his sexy tongue stabbing my clit, he licked, nipped, and bit my hard nub.”
Here my gal Vive goes…
Lex rested her hand under her chin, eyeing Vive to continue.
“He gets his belt loose and drops his pants. The dude zaps the lights before I pull my dress from my face. I must see what I’m gettin’ into, so I flip the nightstand lamp on.” Vive’s head shook in apparent disgust. “When I spot…”
“What?” Taddy didn’t follow.
“Itty bitty sores.”
“Huh?” Lex’s left eyebrow shot up.
“Little dots, sorta reminding me of the sprinkles Lex puts on her Häagen-Dazs.” Vive added, “Except they were purple and filled with—”
“Gross.” Taddy wished she hadn’t heard that. The man she Candy Land-tripped with was hunky perfection—minus his bride-to-be and baby-on-board, of course. Vive won on worst-guy-to-score-with, hands down.
“We see where this conversation is going.” Closing her sketchpad, Lex stood from her nesting spot and stalked into the kitchen. Pots clanged then the water came on. “I’m making us tea.”
“Go on.” Taddy sat back on the sofa cushions next to Vive.
“Well, he’s rock-hard. I ask him about the blisters. Ollie explains they’re some reaction to the hotel’s soap.” Vive heaved in laughter. “Granted, I haven’t attended an STD class since the tenth grade, but his rash resembled those images from Mrs. Pringle’s slideshow—herpes.”
Lex came in with a Neapolitan wafer tray. “I ordered room service after you two left.” She poured herself some cream and passed it over to Taddy.
Taddy took a sip as the warm liquid relaxed her throat. She tasted Garner on her lips and an excited tremble passed through her. “This is better than champagne.” She smiled at Vive who didn’t argue. “What did Ollie do when you called him out on his…inflammation?”
“He threw me out of his room. Can you believe this shit? I didn’t intend to lick, suck, nor ride Ollie’s dirty dick anyways. The nerve.” Vive crunched down on a cookie. She spoke with a mouthful. “The two studs I chatted up prior to Mr. Herpes were a couple. So cute. So bisexual.”
“The guys you danced with when we first arrived?”
“Yup, and they invited me home with them, too. I can’t get into the two-guy thing, though. It freaks me out. Who wants to suck a dick after he’s shoved it in another dude’s ass? I don’t wanna lick a shit-sickle. Hell, I don’t even wanna suck a cock after it’s fucked my vagina or ass or both.” Vive rode the wit and sarcastic joke wave.
“Nice language, Farnworth.” Taddy wondered if she’d snorted a bump. Her pupils didn’t appear dilated, though. Plus, Vive had been off drugs for a few months by that point.
“I should’ve gone home with the bi-guys. Then I wouldn’t be sittin’ here eating calories with you bitches.”
Alrighty then.
Lex directed her attention to Taddy, refusing to pay Vive any mind. “And what about you, Miss Taddy?”
“I met a Big Daddy.”
“Yummerific!” Vive stomped her bare feet with enthusiasm.
“Name was Garner, didn’t get his last name. He smelled expensive and made me orgasm in my seat.” Taddy assumed it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
“Now I’m the one who’s envious, honey.” Vive frowned.
“Don’t be. The second we got back to his place, his fiancée broke it up. Bitch comes outta nowhere and starts going off. I hightailed it outta there.”
Pouring more tea, Lex confirmed, “This is why I stick to my Masi Salami and don’t go out much to clubs, let alone date.” She swung her feet onto the ottoman and seemed happy her two friends had come back to spend time with her.
“What’s a Masi Salami?” Vive asked.
“Lex named her dildo after the hot guy she buys fabrics from,” Taddy answered on her friend’s behalf.
“Blake bought it for me. It’s from the Pleasure Chest in the Village. I didn’t think I’d like it.”
“But?” Vive loved dirty talk.
“I love it.” Lex smiled. “Anyways, we need to focus on much more than men this upcoming year.” Lex said. “I have an idea, Vive. Taddy and I spoke about this earlier.”
“You were serious about us giving up—”
“What?” Vive interrupted.
“Men!” Lex declared it as the greatest thing she’d ever come up with. It sounded pretty dumb to Taddy. “For the New Year, we focus on our businesses.”
“Meaning?” Vive didn’t get it.
“I’d be happy with Easton Essentials securing more Barneys doors. Their Beverly Hills store, yes, and if they take the line, the rest is easy.” Lex held up the sketch she’d worked on. Safe, comfortable, and form-fitting, a sure hit.
Vive interjected, “Okay, I follow. So…in the New Year, I want Debauchery to out-subscribe People in circulation. I’d also love to merge my biz with a larger media company—a TV network.” Vive’s face sobered as she added, “Work aside, I want to quit drinking.”
“Nothing would make us more proud.” Taddy didn’t want to cheer a Mardi Gras–style hooray for Vive’s claim to give up booze. She made that testament each holiday, birthday, and anytime the moon glowed full. Nevertheless, it was a vow they prayed she’d keep and soon.
She heard her friends make their goals, but Taddy didn’t know what she wanted the New Year to bring her. Brill, Inc., as always, pressed full-media-steam ahead. Her goals had been inked and dried while stuck in Vancouver. What about love? That hadn’t been on her list. But that night planted a seed, an urge filled with lust and longing. One she hadn’t felt in forever. A sensation which neither Dr. Fassenbender’s cosmetic enhancements, Gilad’s Pilates workouts, nor Brayden Brooks football dreams could measure up to. How was it that Rielle warranted such a Big Daddy? His juicy, full lips upon hers each morning, and night. Those color-changing eyes and the way he ran his hands over her body.
“What do you wish for the New Year, Taddy?” Vive asked.
I’d love to have a Garner in my life every day, not just on this Caribbean holiday.
Rielle was a lucky bitch. But one should never wish for something they couldn’t have when he belonged to someone else. It’s unhealthy to dream otherwise.
“I guess I want more of the same.”
“Let’s commit to no more men and lots more of everything else,” Lex challenged. “No sex. No male contact whatsoever.” She spoke as though it would be easy for her.
“Five hours ago, I would’ve replied hells no. But after seeing Ollie’s penis, I’m so in.”
“Vive, you mean no booze and no sex.” Taddy didn’t want to hurt her friend’s feelings but needed to be realistic. “You can’t go to the Exhale Bliss Spa on Park Avenue and ask the male massage therapist to relax your cunt muscles while you sip Bailey’s on the rocks.”
“Fuck you, Brill,” Vive snapped.
Shit. Her words sounded harsh, more than she intended. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“Let’s do it.” Vive didn’t let Taddy finish her apology.
“Yeah!” Lex cheered.
“What’ll we do next year without cock?” Taddy didn’t see a ‘no man’ year as a viable option. Although she hadn’t had a boyfriend recently, she’d accepted some pleasure in the idea that the hunk du jour might come along—if not right away, then soon. But making it a goal to not have one was absurd. Regardless, she’d still like to see Vive focus on her sobriety and Lex’s line make more money. Then she could surely pay for Birdie’s next episode of hypochondria herself.
“We’ll focus on our businesses and manage our careers.” Lex lifted her teacup to toast the idea.
“Sounds good to me, although I’m still going for my anal bleaching appointments for good habit.” Vive clanged her mug with Lex’s. “If I orgasm at the spa, it ain’t my fault.”
Taddy met her cup with theirs. “Deal.”