Colt held up a finger. “Unless a customer walks in and asks for you by name.”
“Yeah, that happens a lot, especially for a grade-A hottie like you. And then, of course, let’s not forget the lineup buzzer.” Bitterness pricked at Pamela’s countenance. “That cursed thing wakes you every single time.”
Lineup buzzer? Information was flying at breakneck speed. Wait, wait, hold up a second. Lindsay had difficulty trying to sneak a word in edgewise.
“We don’t want to rouse you out of bed, but it happens,” Colt said. “It’s why we’re closed for seven hours each morning. This isn’t a boot camp. We want all our girls to be rested and healthy and provide our customers the absolute best experience possible. Happy employees mean happy customers, which means more profit for both you and us. Making money is why we’re here.”
“Of course, sir.” After a few seconds of unexpected silence, Lindsay sensed an opportunity to speak further and focused on Pamela. “I have a question. What type of guys come in here?”
“Like what kind of guys do I normally get?”
“No, no, not you. Just in general. Who is the typical guy that shows up here? Older? Younger? The regular, everyday customer? What’s he like?”
Pamela stroked her chin. “Lots of older mongers, like older white men. We get Indians, Black men, loads of tourists. We get, like, Europeans, truckers passing through town. Me, personally, I have two younger guys who live here in Flagstone and party with me every month. Not together, they’re not friends; I doubt they know each other. Both were virgins when I first partied with them. I see disabled clients, widowers, divorcés, and love helping couples spice things up.”
Mongers? Lindsay recalled Pamela using that word earlier as well. What does it mean?
“No typical guy comes in here, really.” Pamela’s head lay at a right angle, making her appear lopsided, like something inside popped loose. “They’re all unique, all special.”
“You’re free to leave the premises for a few hours each day,” Colt said after another stretch of silence, “but if you go alone, you need to be very, very careful.”
“The sheriff in town is a dick and will arrest us for any minor infraction if we’re outside.”
Lindsay focused on Pamela and wrestled with a sudden tightness in her chest as Colt said, “Yes, she’s right. Even with this brutal heat, you’ll want to be fully clothed if you go outdoors. Jeans, a loose-fitting t-shirt or top, minimal makeup, and nothing revealing. This is a small town stuck in the 1950s, if you ask me, and Sheriff Spaeth makes up the rules on the fly. He hates our brothel. Good thing Mayor Bradley is on our side.”
“If you wear anything revealing outside like those denim shorts, Sheriff Spaeth will arrest you for solicitation.” Her mouth set in a firm line, Pamela’s jaw tensed. “If you talk to anyone, he will arrest you for solicitation. Hell, if you so much as smile the wrong way, he will arrest you for solicitation. He keeps an ongoing tab of all the girls here.”
“How can we get arrested if we’re walking down the street and minding our own business?” Lindsay crossed her arms. I’ve read up on those laws and am well versed in them. “Not even talking to anyone?”
Pamela’s face clouded. “His town, his rules. And our curfew is five o’clock in the afternoon.” Her expression softened. “He’ll lock us up if we take a step off the property after five. If it were up to him, every single one of us, including Colt and Jim, would be in jail forever.”
“His jail,” Colt amended. “The one right here in town. He wouldn’t ship us elsewhere. He’d love that.”
Sounds like some crazed shit.
“But as long as we keep everything legal and inside these walls, there isn’t a damned thing he can do to us.”
Colt leaned back. “That tears him apart too.”
Pamela kneaded Lindsay’s inner thigh. “Don’t worry, though. If you ever need anything, Colt, Jim, or the night bartender on duty – Jenn or Mindy – will scoot off and snatch it for you. The chefs too. Ask them, but be courteous about it, respectful, grateful. You can go yourself if you like but it’s not advised. A conviction in Nevada means you can’t legally work in a brothel again for five years. And who wants the terms solicitation and prostitution on their records forever? I know I don’t.”
“Wow.” This is deep. Lindsay tugged both knees to her chest and curled into a ball. What the hell type of life did I get myself into? Citronelle may have been the center of all things boring, but at least Lindsay was safe there.
“We’re a family and take care of one another. If you need to step away from the house for a while, again, ask Colt or Jim.” Pamela placed a hand on Lindsay’s calf and extended the leg outward. “Relax, baby. There’s a town called Oakfall on the Nevada-Utah border, and either Colt or Jim drives there four or five days a week without fail.” She trailed a fingertip across Lindsay’s kneecap. “Someone is always asking to go. It has quality restaurants and several places to shop. Plenty of hiking and sightseeing, too, and a casino. Jim took Sahara and Riley to Oakfall yesterday. How long were they gone again, Colt? Nine whole hours? They had a blast.”
He tapped a pencil on the desk. “It’s over a hundred miles away. That being said, distance is not an issue for us. We’re happy to be your chauffeur for the day. We take care of our employees in whatever way we can. The people in Oakfall don’t know us, so there’s never any trouble. Yet another reason we only allow our girls to work a maximum of three weeks at a time. It’d be easy to go stir-crazy within these walls. Jim and I take a week off every month too.” Colt inspected his fingernails. “You can hang out in the backyard, though, whenever you want. It’s one hundred percent enclosed, and no one can see anything from the street. There’s a pool and numerous ways to exercise.”
“Kk.” Lindsay didn’t like the idea of having to stay on the property. She wanted to dabble and explore on her own. But she didn’t want to risk getting arrested either. Mom and Dad would go apeshit.
So, this wasn’t a “lockdown house” like other brothels she read about (the ones in Nye County were notorious for that), yet in a sense it was thanks to an overzealous sheriff who believed he was above the law. I don’t want to be trapped indoors twenty-four/seven. What was the harm in stretching her legs and walking a thousand feet down the block to the convenience store? Lindsay clutched her backpack. Jesus Christ. She hadn’t left the country, right? America was the land of freedom. Well, it’s supposed to be.
Despite the lecture about rules and repercussions, Lindsay’s nerves, overall, were dissipating. I have a future here. She wasn’t as apprehensive around Colt as earlier, but the fear still lingered. If I fall in line and be a good soldier, everything will be okay.
