Butterfly (68 page)

tinue with their sideline, but under Manning’s supervision. I guess old Bob figured that if

the customers were willing to pay for it, well then what the hell, let them have their fun.”

Roy took a long drink of diet cola, and added, “Manning also said something about

controlling the standards of the operation. He said they couldn’t just have the guys doing

whatever and going wherever. It’s going to be conducted under one roof with some kind

of supervision. They have to think about herpes and VD and all that.”

“I just can’t believe it!” Ann said again, her eyes alight with excitement. “I mean, Bob

Manning is such a stuffed shirt! And what if Beverly found out about it! My God, Roy,

she started Fanelli!”

“Now, that’s an interesting point. Michael says he’s seen Beverly going upstairs with

Bob on three different occasions, and that they were talking mighty privately. It would

seem to me that Beverly must already know about it.”

Now she really gave him an incredulous look. “Oh come now, Roy! I’m talking about

Beverly Highland, our old friend who is so straitlaced and prudish that she hasn’t been on

a date with a man in the twenty-four years we’ve known her! She wouldn’t condone such

a thing!”

“Michael said there were two women with her—a redhead and a Chicana. Sounds like

Maggie and Carmen to me.”

“This is impossible!” Ann whispered. Then she fell silent, suddenly remembering

something. Actually, remembering several things. Various occasions, over the years, when

she had come upon Beverly and Maggie and Carmen with their heads together, discussing

something secret, and falling silent when they saw Ann. She had always known that she

was something of an outsider, that she wasn’t really one of them. There was something

about those three that bound them together more tightly than Ann could ever be bound

to Beverly, even though they had been friends for two dozen years. But, the question was,

what was the secret they shared?

Fifteen minutes later, having said good-bye to Roy and now speeding along the Santa

Monica Freeway in her BMW, Ann digested and finally came to accept what Roy had told

her—that Fanelli was going to run a secret bordello upstairs and that, somehow, Beverly

was involved. And once she was used to the idea, another idea came into Ann Hastings’s

mind. It was so boggling and breathtaking that she excitedly pressed her foot down until

the car was going ninety and she got stopped by a cop, making her late getting to Beverly

Highland’s office.

*

*

*

298

Kathryn Harvey

Bob Manning thought it was a brilliant idea—he thought all of Beverly’s ideas were

brilliant ideas—and was anxious to get started. But they had to be careful.

“No one,” Beverly stressed as she faced Bob and Maggie and Carmen across her desk,

“absolutely no one must find out about this. We must be very cautious about whom we

hire for the upstairs work, and about the clients we accept. What we are embarking upon

is highly illegal and could backfire on us. And, more than anything, we have to be careful

that no hint of this change gets back to Danny’s headquarters. We can’t risk snoopers

from Royal Farms.”

They had argued over where to establish Beverly’s “fantasy factory,” as Maggie called

it. Carmen wasn’t so sure that the floor above Fanelli was such a good idea. But Bob had

insisted that that was the only way he could maintain strict control over the models and

their customers. It was the safest way, he said, and the simplest. And why would anyone

find out? he asked. As far as the accountants at Good News Ministries knew, those rooms

were being rented by legitimate enterprises. They would still be receiving their rent, they

just wouldn’t know about the change of tenants.

“Secrecy is so vital,” Beverly said. “I want the women to be protected. I’m sure the

models will want to keep the secret safe in order to protect such choice jobs. One leak,

and they’re all out on the street. And as for the clients, they will naturally want the opera-

tion kept a secret. Most of them will be married. And I insist upon careful screening of

both the models and the customers. We must set the absolute highest standards for both.

I’ll entrust that aspect of the operation to Jonas when he gets back from Arabia.”

The others nodded and then got down to work.

Carmen was the first to report. She had done some research on various “escort” serv-

ices that were operating in and around the L.A. area. “The most lucrative and longest-

running of them don’t consider their escorts as employees. There’s no payroll, no Social

Security withheld, no insurance, and so forth. The escorts actually work as independent

contractors. If we set up our establishment along those lines, and deal strictly in cash, we

would save ourselves a lot of paperwork and eliminate much of the risk of discovery.”

Beverly agreed and turned to the others for input.

“I think we should restrict the membership,” Maggie said. “An idea like this, well, if

word got around we could literally be overwhelmed with customers. Women would line

up around the block! We’ll have to keep it small and discreet, with limitations.”

“We can establish a charge for membership,” Carmen said. “Like a country club. And

new members are brought in by members in good standing.”

Beverly turned to Manning. “Bob, I’m putting you in charge of the men. We have to

have certain guidelines for them to follow. We don’t want our clients coming down with

herpes or venereal diseases.”

This surprised him. Beverly Highland had always struck him as being such a lady.

How could she possibly know so much about the running of a brothel? “I’ll have a talk

with them,” he said. Once again he was amazed at her ability to know exactly what it was

people wanted. He knew the secret operation was going to be a success.

“Maggie, you see to the refurbishing of the empty offices over the store. The bed-

rooms and private dining room must be perfect. Don’t skimp on cost. The rooms must

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299

be beautiful; the environment must be conducive to every woman’s fantasy. Finally, Bob,

I want you to counsel the men. These women will be buying precious dreams. I don’t

want them hurt or disappointed.”

“What do I tell the guys?”

“You tell them to give good sex, is what you tell them,” came a voice from the doorway.

They all turned to see Ann Hastings standing there with her hands on her hips, a big

smile on her face. She came in and closed the door. “You tell the guys to forget about

pleasing themselves and just concentrate on giving the clients pleasure. You tell them not

to rush, not to slobber, not to use dirty language. You tell them to take their time and to

be loving and caring and to act as though the woman he is with is the only woman in the

whole world. You warn them about bad breath and beard stubble and rough hands.” She

turned an apologetic smile to Beverly. “I was eavesdropping, I’m sorry.”

“How much did you hear?”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t hear a thing. I got the story from Roy, who got it from his good

friend Michael.”

When Maggie cast a worried glance toward Beverly, Ann came around to face them

and say hastily, “Don’t worry about me. I’m not going to tell anyone! I just want to be in

on it.”

“In on it!” said Carmen. “Doing what?”

“Just what I’ve been doing for Royal Burgers all these years. Quality control. Making

sure we maintain high standards and that each customer benefits from those standards.

After all, sex is a commodity like anything else. It can be dynamite or it can be lousy.”

They looked at one another.

“Look,” Ann said. “Someone’s got to tell those guys what works. Someone has to clue

them in on how to really make love to a woman. Otherwise, you’ll have inconsistency in

your products. Some of them might be good, others could be real turn-offs.”

“And I suppose,” Carmen said slowly, “that you would personally train them and see

to it that they are all up to standard?”

Ann grinned. “It works for hamburgers, doesn’t it?”

43

Jamie had to drive around the block six times before he found a parking space. And

then he had to beat out a bitch in a white Lincoln Continental, who darned near creamed

his VW with her big shiny fender. Dropping coins into the meter, Jamie paused to look

across the street, at the men’s store with the butterfly logo over its door.

He knew guys who actually shopped here.

Better, he knew guys who had sugar mammas shop for them here.

They were the lucky ones, the fortunate stiffs who, between acting jobs, had managed

to find some rich lady to take care of them. Jamie, he hadn’t been that lucky.

Strangely, his weekly swims in Beverly Highland’s pool had panned out to exactly

zilch. She had even stopped watching him. What had he done wrong?

“You should have made a move,” Gary, his roommate, told him. “She’s got her repu-

tation to protect, you know. She’s Reverend Danny’s number one supporter. She can’t

very well come on to her pool-boy, can she?”

“Make a move how?” Jamie had asked, really wanting the advice. Man, to just step

foot in that house….

“I don’t know.
You’re
the stud.”

But Jamie felt he had too much common sense to go making any overt sexual passes at

a woman like Beverly Highland, and, as a result, he’d blown his chance.

Anyway, it looked as if opportunity was knocking again. And in a most unexpected way.

He’d gotten a phone call a few days ago, from the director of this very store. Would he

be interested in interviewing for a job as one of their models? The work was easy and

pleasant, the pay very good. How did she know of him? he had asked. How did she get his

name and number? But all she would reveal was that someone had recommended him.

He ran across the street, dodging traffic, and stopped in front of the window to check

himself a last time.

Jamie knew he was one good-looking dude, and he worked hard to maintain the

image. Regular workouts, proper diet, lots of sun, and a perfected Jeff Bridges kind of

look: wrinkled Hawaiian silk shirt unbuttoned down to the navel, khaki pleated pants

with no belt, the waistband button left carelessly, teasingly undone.

He entered a little self-consciously, this store being way out of his league, and sort of

browsed his way to the back, where the director had said she would meet him. There he

found customers—women dressed to the hilt and reeking of money—sitting in brocaded

chairs, drinking tea, and watching men strut their stuff in the best of Ralph Lauren and

Hugo Boss. Looking at the models, Jamie decided that he could hold his own against any

of them; it was a cinch he’d get the job.

300

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301

A young woman in a black skirt and white blouse with a butterfly embroidered in

gold on the pocket came up to him and asked him to go with her. They stepped into a

small elevator and rode up one flight. Upstairs she led him to the first door on the right;

as they entered he glanced down the hallway and saw two rows of closed doors. Offices,

he figured.

A nicely dressed, average-looking woman rose to greet him. She held out her hand and

invited him to sit. When they were alone, she introduced herself as the director, not giv-

ing him her name, and got on familiar terms at once by calling him Jamie.

“What do you think of our store?” she asked.

“Classy place.”

“Did you see our models? Do you think you would like to do that kind of work?”

“Sure,” he said with a shrug. “But who gave you my name? I mean, I’d like to thank

him or her.”

“Let me tell you a bit about the job.”

He listened in all seriousness, nodding with a poker face when she mentioned the too-

good-to-be-believed salary, and said when she was through, “Yes…Yes, I think I could

work here.”

She smiled. “I should tell you right off that I will be interviewing several other men for

the job. We only have the one opening and I’ve received several recommendations. I won’t

be able to give you my decision today.”

He nearly shouted, “What!” but managed to keep his head. “Yes, I understand. Of

course,” he said.

“Now, may I please see how you walk?”