Fool That I Am (5 page)

“No. He hasn’t called or texted and I haven’t tried to
contact him, either. As much as it hurts to say this, I think it’s probably
better this way. I need to move on with my life and find someone who can love
me as much as I love them. Sam can’t ever do that and I’m only making myself
miserable by pining over him. It’s just better this way,” Billie repeated with
false cheer as she inspected her favorite pair of skinny jeans.

Pulling out a hanger full of colorful camisoles, Irene
replied drily, “Keep telling yourself that, cupcake. You might actually believe
it someday. I really hate it for you, but I think you’re doing the right thing.
Life is too short to waste time on someone who can’t give you what you need.
You’re young, you’re beautiful, and your breasts are still smooth and perky, so
stop wasting time and find yourself someone who will appreciate all that.”

Billie blinked rapidly and pasted on a bright smile. “That’s
what I aim to do. But for tonight, I just want to forget all that and just have
fun. I need some distraction and music. And maybe a cute soldier to feel me up
while we dance to that new Flo Rida song.”

Irene laughed loudly and agreed, “That’s the spirit,
sweetie! Now, I think I’ve found just the outfit that will walk the line of
sexy without falling over into slutty territory. You ready to see what I’ve put
together?”

Billie nodded eagerly, having full confidence in whatever
Irene had chosen for her. It turned out that she was right to do so. To go with
her skinny jeans, Irene pulled out a ruby red satin camisole with black lace
trim that dipped down to give a peekaboo glimpse of her cleavage. The lace also
framed the bottom hem. It looked like it belonged with a matching set of
panties, but they toned down that vibe by pairing it with a cropped black shrug
and her knee-high black boots that she picked up at the consignment store for
$20 two years ago. Irene found Billie’s jewelry box and liberated a pair of
silver cascading earrings, matching necklace, and a silver wrist cuff bracelet.
The outfit was a little more flashy and sexual than she was used to, but she
trusted Irene’s judgment.

Next, she was ushered unceremoniously into the hallway
bathroom where Jessica and Connie were waiting with their instruments of
torture and Solo cups of wine for everyone except Billie. Irene, her part over
with, lounged in the doorway sipping her Sunset Blush and offering unsolicited
advice on color palette while Jessica artistically applied eyeliner, shadow,
and blush to Billie’s face. Meanwhile, Connie was using a rat-tail comb and
curling iron to section out Billie’s long hair and create loose, spiral waves
that she fortified with generous passes of the hairspray can while she kept
them all laughing with stories about her large extended family.

Half an hour later, the three nurses stepped back and viewed
Billie critically. Irene declared her “a total knockout,” Jessica exclaimed
that she was “so jealous,” and Connie just pronounced her “
Perfecto
!”
Billie actually agreed with them this time. Looking in the full length mirror,
she hardly recognized herself. She was alluring and lovely and the clothing
Irene picked maximized her curves by slimming her waist and emphasizing her
breasts and butt. It was amazing what a little makeover could do to a girl’s
confidence. Billie didn’t just
look
different. She
felt
different,
too.

“One final touch before we go,” Connie insisted, pulling out
a tube of lipstick. Popping the cap off and twisting the stem, Billie saw
lipstick the color of blood-red wine. Before she could protest, Connie gave her
the evil eye and proceeded to make her gloss her lips with the color.

Finally, the women drained their plastic cups of wine and
piled into Billie’s car to head to the popular hangout, Cannon Fodder, a club
opened by an ex-soldier that was honorably discharged from the military after
being wounded. Since its opening two years ago, it had been
the
place
for adults to congregate, drink, dance, sing, and have fun. It was located on a
large, open spread of land on Dixie Highway right on the line between
Elizabethtown and Radcliff, only a few miles down the road from Ft. Knox. It
was a large structure. On one side was a huge room composed of a long bar and
dance floor with an impressive DJ booth elevated on a small stage where it
would overlook the crowd. The other, marginally smaller room, was full of
tables, a bar, and a stage where local live bands could play or where karaoke
was set up if there were no bands scheduled. The food there was simple, but
delicious, like most bar food, but the main attraction was on the stage.

Billie had been terrified the first time she got on the
stage to sing at the insistence of her friends. At this club, the audience was
not the passive listeners one would expect or hope for. The people eating,
drinking, and talking were strongly encouraged to cheer or jeer whoever was
brave enough to get up on stage, and the best and worst singers were even
memorialized by having their pictures hung up in room. On the left wall was the
Hall of Fame where exceptional singers were congratulated with a free drink,
their picture, and the name of the song they sang to get there. The right wall
was very similar, but it was the Wall of Shame. On this wall, the worst of the
worst were captured for posterity by having their mug shot taken behind fake
bars with the name of the song they had “murdered” listed along with their name
and their sentence. The sentence for the Wall of Shamers was the length of time
they were banned from being able to sing karaoke again and many of them were
Lifers. Strangely enough, people were more eager to be on that wall than on the
Fame wall and everyone loved to show off their mug shot to their friends.

The first time Billie had gotten up the nerve to sing, she
chose a song that she knew very well,
No One
by Alicia Keys. Then, she
took a shot of tequila before she walked on stage. However, instead of the
terror she had expected to feel, she instead felt alive and in control,
especially once she started singing and the audience began to cheer. She was
one of the few patrons who were placed on the Wall of Fame the first time
around and many of them knew her by name and would begin to chant for her when
they saw her arrive. It was a heady feeling to be so admired by people she
didn’t know and it made her feel like she was walking on air.

As they pulled into the already packed parking lot at 8 pm,
Billie felt the nervous excitement begin to flutter in her belly as she thought
of what songs to sing tonight. She didn’t get to go out often, but when she
did, she enjoyed every minute of it. Tonight, not only did she look like a
million bucks, she felt like it, too. That still didn’t stop the rogue thought
that flitted through her mind:
I wonder what Sam is doing tonight.
Then
she shook that thought out of her head and resolved to not think about him
again the rest of the night. But, she knew that was a resolution she would not
be able to keep.

By 11 pm that night, Billie was exhausted and happy. She and
her friends had split their time between dancing feverishly and laughing as
they sat around a table listening to karaoke. They laughed, hugged, flirted
with handsome men, danced with abandon, and, in her friends’ case, drank. Since
they were missing their absent friend, Connie even drunk-dialed Shanay to tell
her everything that was going on and rub it in that she was missing out on the
fun.

Billie had been up to sing three times already, which was
unheard of on a busy night like this, and she was shocked when the DJ
approached her to let her know that someone had put her name in as a special
request. Chester, a hip and stylish older black man, was the DJ in charge of the
new state-of-the-art karaoke system and had worked hard to make the program a
success. Once a singer was on the Wall of Fame, they could turn in a list of
songs that they wanted to sing, and he would make sure they were loaded in the
system and filed under the singer’s name for easy retrieval.

“Miss Billie Jean,” Chester greeted her warmly. Tonight, he
was dressed in creased black slacks, shiny wingtip shoes, a flashy purple
button-down shirt open at the throat, and a vintage newsboy cap on his head.
“Some fancy-looking fella wants you to come up and sing again and even offered
me $50 to make sure you got back up there again. Can you believe that?”

Billie laughed lightly and replied, “I can believe you put
that money in your pocket or you wouldn’t be standing here. Did this fancy man
request a specific song or can I just choose from my list?”

“I knew you was a good girl. I told him he could choose a
song off your list, but he really wants to hear you sing
Fever
by Peggy Lee.
You know that song, don’t you?” he asked her anxiously, afraid to lose his tip.

Billie didn’t have to think long. Thanks to her dad’s love
of old jazz and blues records, she had grown up hearing that song plenty of
times. “Yes, I know that song, but I’ve never sung it before. I’d be happy to
give it a try, especially if it means you get to keep your money!”

Obvious relief passed over his weathered features as he
leaned in to tell her, “You get up there and sing that song even better than
Peggy Lee, missy. This fella looked like he had heavy pockets, if you know what
I mean.” With a sly wink, he left her at the table with her friends who had
been listening raptly.

Billie turned around to give her friends an astonished look
with raised eyebrows. Irene, cheeks flushed prettily after finishing her fourth
Jack and Coke, raised her voice to be heard over the noise and told her, “You
get up there and sing that song like your lover is watching you in the crowd. I
love that song and I know you can do it justice!”

Jessica, licking the sugar off the rim of her strawberry
daiquiri, put in her two cents. “Oh, my God, Billie! You have a secret admirer!
I bet he’s a billionaire!” A new thought struck her and she gasped
dramatically. “He could be your very own Christian Grey from
Fifty Shades of
Grey
!” she added, squealing excitedly.

Billie’s nose scrunched in distaste. “God, I hope not. Those
books were abominable. If that character was a real man, I would punch him in
the nose if he treated me that way. If he’s a billionaire, I’d much rather he
be like Tony Stark or Bruce Wayne. Those are some fictional characters to get
excited about,” she countered with a dreamy smile on her face.

“BEE-LEE!” Connie squalled over the pounding music. “
Escúchame,
por favor!
”

Billie couldn’t help giggling at the antics of her friend as
she stood from the table and weaved drunkenly over to her side. “Ok, Con, I’m
listening,” she patronized her friend.

Connie intruded into her personal space and she could smell
the sweet scent of tequila and cherries waft over her face as Connie counseled
her. “This is your chance,
mija
! You get up there and you sing your
heart out, okay? But you got to move your hips like this,” she continued,
raising her arms up in the air and gyrating her hips to the beat of the music.
It worked, too, because a nearby table full of men in uniform began to whistle
and cheer for her.

Flashing them a sultry smile, she promised Billie, “You get
up there and act like you wanna hump the man you singing that song to and your
body will follow along. Have fun with it,
linda
!”

Billie acknowledged all the alcohol-soaked wisdom her
friends bestowed by blowing them air kisses as Chester announced her name and
told her to come to the front. Billie deftly navigated through the throng of people
and tables until she was ascending the steps to the stage. Her stomach began
the familiar flip-flop as she walked to the far side of the stage to retrieve
the cordless mic from the DJ.

Chester, using the control panel in his booth, dimmed the
house lights further, and illuminated the stage with a soft, red glow. With his
patented smooth growl, he announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, back by special
request, please put your hands together for the lovely and talented Miss Billie
Jean Hardesty!”

The room erupted into applause and several wolf whistles
split the air. But as soon as the low music began, Billie was in a world of her
own. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and began to move along with the
beat. As the finger snaps in the soundtrack began, Billie’s hips took on a life
of their own and she imagined Sam sitting in the audience watching her on
stage. Heat rolled through her blood causing her voice to deepen with sexual
energy as she began to sing:

Never
know how much I love you

Never
know how much I care

When
you put your arms around me

I
get a fever that’s so hard to bear…

As the sensual words wove a spell around the audience,
Billie felt transported to another time and place when Sam’s arms were wrapped around
her and her body was flushed with longing. Abandoning all thought of
embarrassment or watching eyes, she channeled every coquettish move, every
sensual look, and every lingering touch that she had seen in movies and on TV.
She felt sexy, desirable, and seductive all at once.

When the song came to a close, she was jarred from her
waking dream by the sound of thunderous applause, whistling, and even some
people banging on the table tops. She could feel the heat rush up into her
cheeks as she murmured, “Thank you so much” into the microphone before hastily
delivering it back to Chester.

When she descended into the audience, people called out to
her by shouting compliments and offers to buy her a drink. She waved and smiled
good-naturedly and eventually made her way back to her table where her friends
were waiting for her on pins and needles.

Jessica, squealing and clapping, pushed through the milling
crowd and grabbed Billie in a huge hug. “Oh, my God! That was so awesome! You
belong on a huge stage in concert. You should have seen the jaws drop on the
men from the next table. You had them drooling!”

Billie laughed delightedly at her friend as they made their
way over to the table. Irene lifted her glass of whisky and soda in salute with
a simple, “Well done, Billie!” and Connie was talking her up to the table full
of soldiers like a well-intentioned mother hen.

Eventually, after about ten minutes, everyone had calmed
down except for Billie. Irene had wandered off to go to the restroom, Jessica
was leaning across the bar to flirt shamelessly with the bartender, and Connie
was now sitting on the lap of one of the soldiers at the neighboring table.
Billie took a long drink of her diet soda to get her breath back and was just
about to check her watch for the time when a low, masculine voice interrupted
her.

“Excuse me, Ms. Hardesty. Would you mind if I have a seat to
speak with you for a few moments?” the voice asked.

Billie looked up, and up, to determine who was speaking to
her. The gentleman had to be well over six foot tall and was dressed impeccably
in a suit with the shirt open at the throat. The outfit looked perfectly
tailored to his muscled frame. He was groomed with attention to detail, but
without the slick polish of a metrosexual man. He exuded a calm confidence that
spoke of ambition, wealth, and power that was hard-earned. He looked to be in
his 30’s and his eyes were molten chocolate brown with hair that was dark
brunette with hints of red undertones. He was classically handsome and reminded
Billie of a darker, more intense Michael Fassbender. He was utterly gorgeous
and Billie was utterly tongue-tied.

“Uh, well, sure. I mean, of course you can sit down,” she
stammered, as he nodded his head in deference before pulling out the chair next
to her. He placed his drink on the table, unbuttoned his suit coat, and took
command of the chair next to her.

Silently, Billie was thinking that if Christian Grey looked
like this man, she wouldn’t mind letting him tie her up and spank her, but she
quickly squashed that thought as he offered his big hand and said, “It’s a
pleasure to meet you, Ms. Hardesty. My name is Daniel Petrosky.”

Billie placed her hand firmly in his and shook his hand in
return. Taking a deep breath for confidence, she replied, “It’s nice to meet
you. Are you the one that requested that song?”

A slow grin appeared on his face showcasing his straight
white teeth and charming dimples in each cheek. Relaxing into his chair, he
cradled his tumbler of amber-colored liquor between his hands and replied,
“Yes, that was me. I had been listening to you sing and watching the way you
interact with people all night, but that final song was more of a test, I guess
you could call it.”

Billie’s eyebrow arched in question. She was feeling a
strange jumble of nerves, attraction, intimidation, and the desire to flirt. “A
test? I just met you and you’ve already admitted to stalking me and testing me.
I don’t know if I should be intrigued or worried.”

Daniel smiled ruefully. “I would rather you say ‘observed’
instead of stalked and I hope you would be intrigued, especially when I tell
you why I was observing you.”

Reaching into an inside pocket of his coat, he pulled out a
small, black business card and handed it to her. Curiously, Billie read the
card looking for clues. The card itself was printed on thick, glossy black card
stock. Silver embossed lettering spelled out the words “The Silver Knight” in
blocky script. Underneath it, in smaller lettering was the subtitle “Social
Club and Lounge” in Louisville, Kentucky. In the bottom left corner was his
name with “Proprietor” written underneath.

By now, Billie’s eyebrows had climbed so high on her
forehead that they disappeared under her bangs. Her eyes shot up to his in
shock. “You own The Silver Knight club?” she asked incredulously.

He nodded in agreement and answered, “Yes, I am the owner
and operator of the club. I take it you’ve heard of us?”

Billie could feel the heat climb up in her cheeks. Of
course, she had heard of the infamous new club in Louisville. In the two years
since it had been open, it had attracted national attention and even a few
lawsuits that were either settled out of court or dismissed altogether. The
Silver Knight was infamous for its strict rules and practices, but since it was
technically a “private” club, they could get away with screening the invitees
based on very strict criteria. The concept of the club was a throwback to a
time when men wore suits, women were femme fatales, and the music was classy.
Entrance to the club was reserved for and highly coveted by men and women of
wealth and influence who were looking for a place to socialize and network
while dining on the finest cuisine, drinking the most expensive liquor, and
brokering deals worth millions of dollars.

The club was not without its scandal, however. Not too long
ago, there was a highly-publicized lawsuit by a former “hostess” who claimed
she was fired for refusing to sleep with a member. Billie vaguely remembered
hearing about it on the news, but she couldn’t recall the details. She did know
that the club employed “hosts” and “hostesses” who were essentially beautiful
men and women whose sole purpose was to make the members time more enjoyable.
They danced, talked, entertained, and even refreshed the drinks of the wealthy
patrons as they socialized and relaxed. Billie knew she wasn’t the type of
woman they employed for that job, so she couldn’t understand what Daniel
Petrosky could possibly want with her.

“Yes, I’ve definitely heard of the club, but then again,
just about everyone in the country has heard of it. I believe I saw in the
papers last week that Justin Timberlake was seen entering there while he was in
town for a concert. That’s not something that can go unnoticed when we’re only
forty miles south of you,” Billie answered honestly.

He tipped his head in a brief acknowledgement before
replying, “We don’t usually make it a habit of speaking about our patrons and
guests, but I will make an exception in your case and tell you he was every bit
the gentleman, and very gracious. I am glad you have some idea of my business,
since I’m hoping that will make my proposition easier to explain to you.”

Billie immediately went on red alert. The gossip surrounding
The Silver Knight spanned the spectrum from secret sex club all the way over to
stuffy, uptight, and entitled snobbery. Either way, she didn’t think that she
would fit into either one of those categories at all. She definitely didn’t
make enough money to be asked to join the club, and she wasn’t related to
anyone of high social standing. In the few seconds she took to run through the
options, she couldn’t think of a single reason for him to pay any attention to
her at all.

Mirroring her thoughts, she said doubtfully, “I can hardly
think of anything you could propose to me, Mr. Petrosky. We have precious
little in common and I can’t even begin to imagine why you are sitting here in
a small club in E-town listening to karaoke.” It was a not-so-subtle reminder
that he didn’t belong here, and also a fishing expedition to feed her curiosity.