Betty

an interesting view of a professional from one of the top floors

            The hotel bar was cozy. Warm lights, soft piano music, and unseen clouds of smoke drifted among those who sat and bore their liquor well. Located in one of the upper floors behind towering walls that glistened white in the light of day, here in the cover of night the floodlights that displayed sublime letters that spelled the name of the multi-million dollar hotel and casino shrouded those that paid well to conceal themselves in the private bar. Temporarily relieved of their fame and wealth, the cloak of darkness and the hefty costs of their rooms gave brilliant and well known celebrities the chance to sit and chat with cigarettes burning in their hands, not having to worry about cameras or swarms of fans that circled around like house flies. Their inebriation and personal weaknesses could never be revealed in the limelight of their careers or in the afternoon sun that brought out so many watchful eyes of those who would be looking for them. Hordes and hordes of common people, greedy for autographs and thinly sliced fame that the denizens of wealth bore with them everywhere they went made it necessary to hide behind the lofty walls that had been built just for that purpose; a little damned privacy.

It took some doing to be seated here. Management was fully aware of how one photo getting into a paparazzi paper or on television's gossip feature would cost specific personalities dearly in face and personal embarrassment. Such iniquitous disclosures would cost the reputation of the hotel more, so every single person who set foot in the private watering hole was very carefully screened, cameras couldn’t be allowed. There were no slot machines or gambling activities at all, so the eye-in-the-sky globes in the ceiling were also significantly absent.

Betty had worked hard to get here; she’d worked and waited for what seemed years. Born and raised in Nevada, she had started in the casinos when she was fifteen, selling fountain drinks and hot dogs in a small cafe on the old strip. By the time she was twenty one she was a certified dealer of Blackjack and Keno. After being raped and left for dead on her twenty fourth birthday, she discovered that she could be more readily looked after in one of the brothels just outside of the big city, making more money than she ever thought possible. After six years of developing her craft, along with her shapely body and method of making up her big brown eyes, her services were more and more requested in private circles. Her time off became longer during the week, and her clients paid increasing attention to her professional capabilities until Betty's services were sought after by only those who could pay, really pay.

As she relaxed in the plush barstool and nursed her cocktail, she ignored where she would have to be going shortly. On occasion Betty was given as a token gift for those who understood her price was well beyond expensive. She’d built a very jaded reputation that only a select few kept very quiet. On nights like tonight, she would arrive at the hotel in a limousine sent by a voice on the telephone where the price and the time of her arrival would be written in stone. Beneath her snug dress she wore suede leather that accented her figure perfectly against the fold up whip in her purse. Years of practice and careful training guaranteed excellent performance on anyone who asked for her perfection in delivering orgasms, ecstasy, torture; whatever they wanted. She'd left absolutely gorgeous women's backs bloody from the whips and chains that they themselves had provided, just like burly men would be curled up in fetal positions, whimpering and blathering as she would finally take her leave of them. Betty always left with huge sums for her sought after and well delivered services.

      Reaching into her handbag, she took a long thin cigarette and placed it into her lips. The menthol smoke was bitter to her throat, but it helped to relieve the anticipation in pumping through her body. Stroking her short blonde hair, and dreading meeting the black guy whose voice was deep and strong as his tool would no doubt be, she closed her eyes and relived the wonderful massage she had across town earlier that day. Bringing her closed hand up, her manicured fingernails softly reflected the dim light. Her nails were always kept clear, with no colored polish, as her mother's always had been.

      Thinking of her mother's smiling face and soft brown eyes, Betty gracefully reached down and smoothed the folds of her silk skirt, just like her mother would want her to, just as the memory of her always insisted that Betty did for as long as she could remember. The small house her mother reared her in was at the foot of the Sierra Nevada Mountains near Reno. Annie, the only name she remembered of her ‘mommy,’ had been similar to Betty as far as her wealth. A big name in cinema, Annie kept her illegitimate daughter from being revealed to the prying eyes of the public, and raised her surreptitiously in the beautiful little home near the mountain forest. Betty wasn't sure how old she’d been when mommy’d ensured she was dressed perfectly for church one chilly Sunday morning, and had left her sitting in a Baptist chapel for hours, waiting for her mommy's promised return; maybe six or seven. All she knew, or all anyone could tell her, was that she grew up as a ward of the state of Nevada from that day. Foster homes had replaced the little house by the forest; she never saw or heard from her mother again.

      Smoke pushed up into one of her eyes as the beautiful woman's face took on a look of mild sadness, apparently because of the bitter smoke to her cornea. The deep and coarse voice that summoned her to the posh bar over the phone earlier stole her attention, and the melancholy was replaced with a knowing smile as she mashed her cigarette out. He was a large man, and a grey beard surrounded his familiar, famous face. She stood up to face him, and he smiled broadly. He turned and gestured for her exit the lounge so he could follow her, and she took her bag and walked with him, taking his arm. The guy towered over her as they walked to the elevator, and he pushed the button for the elevator, going up.

As the elevator door closed and the floor started to ascend to the penthouse, he put his enormous, manicured hand on her bare shoulder. Bringing her buxom body up against the softness of his suit jacket, he closed his eyes and smiled erotically as her body began to pump anew in anticipation. She'd never realized that he was so tall.

 

Reviews

[Mrs.Lovett]

Good job!