Post-coital Tristesse — Word Count: 36,269

“Thanks for the tip, Caroline,” Amy said, jotting down Bruce’s name in her reporter’s notebook and scribbling down a question mark beside it.

“But, speaking of Bruce — you’re going to be so interested in this piece of gossip, although I’m afraid it’s not actually newsworthy — he’s supposedly fucking Elizabeth Wakefield!” Caroline said, nodding furiously. “Can you believe it? Of course, Todd Wilkins is fucking Ken Matthews, so it was only a matter of time before Elizabeth made some bad decisions, but I really thought she’d give Enid Rollins a go, you know? Elizabeth seems too polite to turn anyone down for sex, regardless of her own sexual orientation. Oh, and I have it on good authority that she cries after every orgasm. Every single one! Can you believe it? I’ve never cried after an orgasm, but you know, my boyfriend lives out of town, so I can’t tell you the last time I actually had an orgasm — well, not one given to me by an actual human being and not something with batteries, anyway—”

“Thanks again, Caroline,” Amy said, cutting her off before things got worse. “And that’s TMI, just so you know.”

“Sure, anytime,” Caroline said, making a big show of pulling out her cell phone. “Oh, look, I have a text message from my boyfriend, uh, Gary, yeah, Gary, right now! I guess I’d better text him back. Byeeee!”

Amy let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding as Caroline walked away. Man, that girl is messed up, she thought. What a fucking moron.

* * *

Jessica pushed her breasts into her too-small bra top, letting them spill slightly over the cups, and gave them a little wiggle. Perfect! she thought, mentally repeating her standard greeting whenever she took a look at herself in the mirror. Her sequined blue-green bra and thong really brought out the color of her eyes, and her smooth, tanned skin set off her fluffy golden hair. I’ll be raking in the cash this afternoon. And once Liz finds out we’re going to be in a triad with Marshall the fifth, I’ll be raking in the cash for the rest of my — OK, his — life!

Outside the dressing room, Jessica could hear the music pounding — the latest collaboration between Justin Bieber and Jamie Peters — and she started to subconsciously move her body to the beat, warming up for the extremely athletic pole dance she would be undertaking in just minutes. She tossed her hair around as she danced, giving it a sexy, tousled look.

She gave herself one last look in the mirror. I look a little too … Jessica, she concluded. Mr. Collins will probably be here, so I’d better have my Elizabeth act ready.

From her cleavage, Jessica produced two matching blue-green barrettes and used them to clip her hair up on either side. Dipping her face close to the mirror, she practiced her best look of mock concern. Despite her glittery blue eyeshadow and artificially reddened lips, she looked just like her twin sister. I look practically saintlike! she thought with a smirk, flouncing out of the dressing room.

Slowly, Jessica climbed the steps to the stage and started gyrating around, all the while keeping her eyes alert to what was going on in the club. Mr. Collins was there, down front in his usual spot, and scattered throughout the club were Nicholas Morrow, Aaron Dallas and Enid Rollins.

Wait a minute — Enid Rollins? Jessica thought, snapping to attention. What is she doing here?

Enid was staring up at her in complete awe, her eyes fixed on Jessica in the creepy stare she had so far only endured from Mr. Collins. Jessica watched in horror as Enid stood up from her seat and walked toward Jessica as if she were in a trance, a dollar bill in her outstretched hand.

Panicked, Jessica turned toward Nicholas and started pulling down her bra top in his general direction, but he looked on with bored disinterest. Grabbing the pole, she kicked up off the ground and swung her legs out toward Aaron, but he only blushed and looked straight down at his drink.

Oh, fuck, Enid is headed right this way, Jessica thought. She launched herself off the pole and slinked toward Mr. Collins on her hands and knees, crawling up into his lap.

“Want to head to the VIP room?” she whispered, running a finger down the side of his face.

“Whatever you want, Elizabeth,” Mr. Collins replied. Jessica stood up and grabbed his hand, leading him behind her. A quick glance over her shoulder let Jessica see that Enid had given up on her and had sat back down at a table all by herself. I sure dodged that bullet! Jessica thought, breathing a sigh of relief.

Sweet Valley

Elizabeth was frozen on Bruce’s lap, mortified. Not only had Elizabeth seen more crotch thrusting and silicone in the past fifteen minutes than she had ever seen in her life, she had also sat stiffly while a beat-down looking woman rubbed all over her thighs as part of the lap dance Bruce had bought for her. She had also watched in horror as Bruce made it rain, throwing stacks of hundred-dollar bills in the air and then yelled at the strippers for diving after them instead of continuing to entertain them. Roger and Winston had just sat by and laughed, making crude comments about the strippers’ appearances.

And now Lila has seen me partaking in all this debauchery, Elizabeth thought, her cheeks red with humiliation. Word will surely get around about this. Things couldn’t get any worse, could they?

“Perfect little Liz Wakefield is a secret pervert?” Lila asked, throwing back her head and letting out a loud peal of laughter. “You really are more like Jessica than any of us thought.”

“In case anyone’s wondering, I’m perfectly fine with this development,” Stan interjected, peering at Elizabeth over Lila’s shoulder.

“None of us were wondering, dickbag,” Bruce shot at him. “Who the fuck are you, anyway?”

Lila stood back and crossed her arms over her chest in anticipation of an interesting argument.

“I’m Elizabeth’s boyfriend,” Stan answered. “And Jessica’s. We’re part of a triad, right, Elizabeth?”

Bruce laughed. “Yeah, right. Elizabeth wants a real man, not some 80-year-old who can’t even get it up,” he said. Elizabeth felt his arms grasp her waist a little too tightly, as if she were some object to be possessed.

“Now, let’s not argue,” she said desperately, looking back and forth between Bruce and Stan. “You’re both real men — in your own special way.”

Bruce placed a finger over her lips. “I’ve got this,” he said to her. Then, to Stan, he said, “You obviously don’t know the Wakefield twins that well. There’s no way Jessica would share anything with Elizabeth, especially a guy.”

“We are part of a triad,” Stan said, his voice raising in anger. He waved his cane in the air, jabbing at the ceiling with every word he spoke. “Elizabeth and I made all the arrangements on the phone this morning.”

Elizabeth shook her head, looking to Bruce for support. “Oh, no, Stan, that wasn’t me,” she said. “You must mean Jessica.”

“No, I mean you,” Stan said, turning his cane to point at them as he spoke. “I spoke with you earlier today.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Elizabeth said, shaking her head.

“Oh, who cares?” Lila snapped. “The point is, Elizabeth is a total slut. We all know it!”

“I am not,” Elizabeth said, sounding wounded.

“She’s really not,” Bruce confirmed. “She cries after every orgasm.”

Winston and Roger, growing tired of the argument, went back to their respective lap dances. Elizabeth turned her head away in disgust as Winston’s stripper thrust her tattooed breasts dangerously close to Elizabeth’s face.

“Like that means anything,” Lila sniffed. A waitress came by and offered Lila a shot from her cleavage. “Ugh, no!” Lila cried, jumping back. Stan practically knocked her out of the way to get to the shot glass.

This is a total disaster, Lila thought, looking around desperately. And where the hell is Jessica? She said she was working today.

Just then, a familiar-looking man walked into the VIP lounge, a woman’s tanned arms draped over his shoulders.

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04 2011

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