Sex, Lies and the Dirty (7 page)

Then, completely at random, I see Leper.

The last time I saw Leper was in Vegas.
She and Alien were supposed to do that
Dirty
Celeb appearance at Privé—basically, repeating the Hard Rock event. True to whore form, these bitches thought that they were like
Jersey Shore
or something and started demanding money. It wasn’t
enough they were getting an all-expenses-paid trip to Vegas and all the substances they could handle—they wanted cash on top of it. We bullshitted them into getting on a plane, but that’s about as far as it went. They never showed up to the event and I literally only saw them once: when we crossed paths on an escalator in one of the hotels.

I was going up.

They were going down.

Neither of us said a word.

We pulled off the event anyway thanks to 8-Belles and Blonkey
²⁰
, who are a couple of my horses
²¹
. Levine actually didn’t care about Alien and Leper flaking. Turns out he just wanted to meet me, but after that point I kind of had a
fuck you
attitude toward those two girls.

Things change though.

Dallas isn’t like Vegas.

Tonight, Leper is wearing a cherry red corset, the kind that’s so tight you can’t even breathe normally. Little black miniskirt. An almost natural-looking tan. She’s a bottle server, but word on the street is she’s fucking terrible at it, so the management pays her to look hot and flirt with high rollers. So technically, when Leper comes up to my table to talk she’s just doing her job. Security recognizes the uniform all the Dolce girls are wearing, pulling aside the ropes so she can pass through. I look at her, and things kind of go mute because I’ve got so much history with this girl but it’s only the third time I’ve seen her in person. I think I should be a dick to her, but I’m in Dallas and she’s one of the only faces I know here. And she’s smiling.

She smiles and says in her little Texas accent, “See? I knew you were the guy.”

Leper puts it all on the table at the club.
It’s the first time that she’s not only somewhat sober, but genuine with me. Under the loud house music, Leper says that she’s sorry, that Alien led her down a dark path. One can only assume that means drinking too much, doing too much coke, too many pills, fucking too many random dudes, doing the wrong things to make money. Essentially, all the things they get posted on the site for. Rumors in Dallas have been going around that Leper and Alien will even
do the occasional porn video when their funds get low or no one is around to spot them any cash.
²²
Considering how they acted in Vegas, it’s not hard to believe these things.

Leper says to me, “I loved you. I wanted you the whole time, but Lacy claimed you and there was nothing I could do about it.”

Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.

I say, “It’s not a big deal. Don’t worry about it.”

The party is winding down. People are drunk. Hooking up. And somehow I already know that I’m going to end up with Leper tonight, even if I don’t want to.

After-party.

The ZaZa hotel.

It’s myself, Gags and Ryan Jacque, a few girls they worked on at the club, and, of course, Leper, still wearing her Dolce Vendetta uniform. Occasionally, she’ll squirm or try to adjust the corset to make it more comfortable, but you can tell she’s dying to take the fucking thing off.

Our entire floor smells like weed because Lil Wayne is randomly here. We pass him and his crew in the hall, and the first thing I notice (other than the smell) is the guy is tiny. My height. About 140 pounds. He’s wearing designer sunglasses (Wayfarers maybe) to avoid eye contact, but it’s obvious he’s scoping out every chick within ten feet, including Leper. He does this thing where he points at her and keeps walking, then some dude—which I’m assuming is his assistant, comes up and starts talking to Leper.

He says, “My friend would like to know if you’d be interested in coming up to his room,” totally ignoring the possibility that maybe Leper is my girlfriend or that we’re together. Celebrities can get away with that.

Leper doesn’t say anything though, turning and looking at me like I should answer for her. I say, “Go, it’s Lil Wayne. He’s famous.”

And she says, “No, I love you. I wanna be with you.”

I don’t respond. The group of us keep walking until we get to Gagliano’s room where we order room service: chicken fingers and other stuff to soak up the liquor. Gags and Ryan are with these two chicks, drinking, flirting. They’ve pretty much sealed the deal. I tell everyone that I’m going to run down to my room to get out of the suit, but I’m not 100% sure I want
to come back. It’s late. Our flight leaves at six in the morning.

Right when I’ve decided that I’m just going to crash is when I hear something going on behind me, maybe twenty feet down the hallway. I keep walking, not bothering to turn around. Then, distinctly, it’s Gags saying in his croaky voice, “Leper! Leper! Go! Nik wants to fuck you!” as he ushers her out of his room.

I’m at my door, pulling the room key out of my pocket, and footsteps are getting closer. She’s standing next to me, smiling. Her tits look great in the corset, and then I see that her hands are behind her back untying the fastenings.

I say, “Kelli. No,” but because Leper has got a fair amount of Crown Royal in her system, she thinks I’m playing hard to get. “I’ve got to be on a fucking plane in two hours.”

She keeps pulling at the fastenings on her corset, saying, “No, this thing is just tight is all. I just want to talk.”

I’m thinking, Great, another chick from Dallas that just wants to talk? Is that the code here?

I tell her, “I’m changing,” and we both walk into my room. Leper watches me from the entryway, letting the door shut behind her as she gets back to work on the corset. It’s pushing her tits up to her collarbones, and even though the nice thing to do would be to help her out of it, I don’t want Leper to mistake a simple courtesy for interest. Finally, after a couple minutes, the corset loosens and she’s able to push it down her body with her thumbs. Her breasts fall out, and I catch myself looking at them because she recently had another boob job and they’re just now dropping. Her body is tight, and her face is skinny and well-carved. Leper’s looking at me
with those blue eyes and I have to keep telling myself I can’t fuck this girl.

Nik Richie with more civilian groupies in Dallas, Texas.

You can’t fuck her. You can’t fuck a
Dirty
Celeb.

People have never understood that part of it, but it’d be like sleeping with an employee, a subordinate. Nik Richie doesn’t sleep with his underlings. My legacy is that I’m extremely rigid in my standards, and Leper’s jeopardizing that right now with those tits, that body, those eyes. That smile.

She asks, “Do you have a shirt I can borrow?”

There’s a “Cocaine Kills” tee nearby (something
I
was actually supposed to wear) that I hand her. Leper puts it on, tugging down until the bottom of the shirt is around her mid-thigh. My phone buzzes and it’s Gags saying: You better fuck her dude.

Leper asks, “Who is that?” and me, thinking I’m clever, I say something in an attempt to get her back off. I tell her that I’m currently dating a celebrity.

“Nobody knows about it,” I say. “Her name is Hillary Duff.”

First of all, I have no idea why I say Hillary Duff
because I don’t find her attractive in the least. She’s a little bit of a horse when you think about it. That’s the name that pops out of my mouth though, and maybe it’s because I saw her on
E! News
or heard one of her stupid songs by accident or subconsciously picked it up by reading a
Star Magazine.
I’m not sure. Hillary Duff isn’t my type, but for the sake of keeping Leper at bay she’s my serious girlfriend.

What I quickly realize is that Leper is no longer trying to fuck me, Nik Richie. The scenario has skewed in that drunken little brain of hers. Shifted. A little bit of that fame-chaser coming back. Now she’s trying to fuck Hillary Duff’s boyfriend, and I know the lie has truly backfired when she starts saying things like, “I promise I won’t tell Hillary. It’ll be our little secret,” while she grabs my prick and squeezes.

I say, “Leper, no,” but I’m smiling.

She smiles back and says, “Why do you call me that? I’m not like that,” touching more. Her lips press gently against my neck, my face.

“I can’t do this,” I tell her. “Hillary’s gonna kill me.”

“It’s okay, I’m not going to let you stick it in me
²³
,” she says, but I can tell it’s total bullshit. She lets me grab her tits, and then my hand smoothes down to her ass where, to my extreme displeasure, is a butterfly tattoo not totally unlike what Alien has. On the nightstand is a hotel clock. I’ve got about thirty minutes before I’m supposed to leave, which is basically just long enough to fuck Leper and not endure any of that after-sex weirdness of cuddling or whatever. I’ve got a condom. No one’s going to find out.