3 comments/ 8860 views/ 0 favorites A Valentine's Tale By: J.Q. Hack Jack Reynolds grabbed the last stack of printed pages off of his printer and put them at the bottom of the stack already on his desk. He picked up the stack and thumbed through the warm sheets breathing in the scent of toner. Jack loved the tactile sensations of freshly printed pages, and much to his editor's chagrin, Jack insisted on sending a paper copy of his work (even though his editor had told him it was unnecessary and the email attachment he also sent was just fine). "Good, three hundred and fifty pages ... that should be enough," Jack said to himself. He smoothed the edges of the pages and tapped the stack until all the loose pages were flat and even. He stretched a rubber band around the center of the stack and slid them into a large padded envelope. He grabbed a blank sheet of paper and picked up his fountain pen. He wrote a quick note as if it was an afterthought, but that was the furthest thing from the truth. The note was to his longtime editor, Tony D'Appolino. It read: Dear Tony, Here's the manuscript you wanted. Don't fucking call me for a month. I mean it this time! BTW Happy Valentine's Day. Love, Jack This little letter had been a tradition of Jack's every time he sent the final draft of a manuscript to his editor. It had started over twenty years earlier when Jack, unused to the rigors of publishing deadlines, wrote a similar exasperated note. Twenty years and eighteen novels later Jack's deadlines had become less hard, but Tony's demands had remained the same. Jack also knew that this letter wouldn't stop Tony from calling him when he got the package or any other time over the next several weeks until he had another book proposal on his desk. It was just the way they played their game. Over the years Jack's writing process had remained remarkably the same. He worked for hours and hours a day, but too often, side projects distracted him from his main project. It wasn't uncommon for Jack to publish three and four short stories or even novellas and have another four stories being edited while a novel, his bread and butter, languished nearly forgotten elsewhere in his brain. This time had been no different either and he expected the next time to be remarkably similar also. To wrap up his latest novel, an erotic horror story, Jack pounded away at his keyboard for nineteen hours a day for six straight days hammering out the final editorial suggestions and short re-writes. He subsisted on nothing but black coffee, cigarettes and caffeine pills. He looked at his watch. It was nearly three in the afternoon. He slid his note in on top of his manuscript and sealed the envelope. Wielding a black sharpie he scrawled his editor's name and address on the outside of the envelope in large block letters. He had time to walk the package to the post office after that his plan was to crash in his bed and sleep for the next three days. After returning from the post office Jack decided his couch looked more comfortable than his bed. He grabbed his comforter and laid down. The streetlights had already come on and any remaining light in the sky was hidden by the thick and heavy clouds. Jack closed his eyes and soon fell asleep. Two hours later Jack awoke – wide awake. The worst part was he didn't even feel like he had slept. This sort of thing happened to him too often, but he knew that trying to get sleep was futile. He squinted at the watch on his wrist in the orange glow of the streetlight outside his window. He looked out the window and saw that it had begun to snow. Huge fluffy white flakes. The only thing he'd been cognizant of over these last few days was that it was snowing – a lot. This snow was just adding to the already gray and dirty piles of the stuff that covered the streets and sidewalks. Sure it was pretty to look at but he also knew from having been outside only two hours earlier that it was bitterly cold and the sidewalks were slick with ice. Jack decided it would be a good night to stay in and watch old westerns and order Chinese take-out. 'It's Valentine's Day,' Jack thought. He hadn't spent a Valentine's Day alone since he was fifteen and he didn't want to start now. He thought he'd feel like a loser if he had to do that and nobody wants to be a loser. "Ha," Jack laughed, "I know what I'll do." Jack jumped up off his couch and nearly tripped on the comforter wrapped around his torso, almost sending him headlong into an end table. He freed himself and made his way back to his office. Digging through his messy and jumbled desk drawer he found what he was looking for. It was a dark leather bound book, with badly frayed edges and bits and pieces of odd notes and papers sticking out of it from various angles. His address book had seen better days but he knew he could never replace it if only for its contents. Written inside in very neat block letters were the phone numbers and addresses of every woman he'd ever gone out with, the most recent ones at very end. He didn't know how many women he'd have to call, but he was absolutely positive he would not end up dateless for Valentine's Day. He started to dial his phone, working from the end backwards. "Hi, Barb," he said. "This is Jack ... Jack Reynolds." "Jack?" Barb replied. "Why it's nice to hear your voice." "So how have you been, Barb?" Jack asked. "Listen Jack," Barb replied. "I'm getting ready to go out for the evening. Could we talk another time?" "Oh, yeah. Sure we can talk another time," Jack said. He hoped the dejection he felt didn't spill over into his voice. "I should've realized ... you know it's Valentine's Day and all." "Yeah. Bye, Jack," Barb said. Jack hung up the phone and found another number to dial. "Jack, I haven't talked to you in over a month ..." Another number. "I'm sorry, I'm really busy. Please don't call me again." Another number. "It's been three months ... I've moved on." Another number. "You never called me after our first date ... six months ago. Why would I want to go out with you now?" All his "sure thing" numbers turned out to be dead ends. To go back any further would be futile and possibly humiliating. Jack sat at his desk as the snow outside continued to blanket the ground. "Could I've burned so many bridges that quickly?" Jack said. "There's more opportunities out there ... even on Valentine's Day," Jack said. 'That's the spirit, soldier,' he thought. Jack picked up his phone one last time and dialed the front desk of his building. "Colonial Gardens, this is Albert. How may I help you?" the other voice on the end of the phone said. "Al, this is Jack Reynolds in 525. How are you?" "Mr. Reynolds! I'm great how are you?" Albert said. "Hey, I just finished reading your last novel and it was ...." "Listen Albert," Jack said, "I'm kinda in a hurry. I'd love to talk to you about the book, could we do this later?" "Oh," Albert said. "I'm sorry. What can I do for you?" His voice took on a formal, serious tone. Jack noticed the tone change right away. He felt bad snapping at the kid. Albert worked at the Colonial Gardens as a groundskeeper and sometimes filled in as the doorman on weekends and holidays. Whatever tips or extra cash came his way were his to keep. Albert loved Jack's writing and when given the chance he'd talk to him about the smallest details in every book; Albert also had a strange way of digging up his short stories that appeared in the most obscure and unlikely of publications. His researching and digging abilities impressed Jack and sometimes he threw some minor research question to Albert. Albert never disappointed and had earned his way into the acknowledgements and thank yous of two of his books. Albert would be thrilled to see what Jack had written for the manuscript he just mailed that day. "Al, don't worry about it," Jack said. "Is the driver available?" "Uh, it's Valentine's Day. The car's been booked up for two weeks now. I think they might even cancel the rest of the evening on account of the snow," Albert said. "Damn," Jack said. "Could you at least check if a time is available? I only need a ride one way and I can find my own way home." Jack heard Albert talking to somebody, but he couldn't make out what was being said. A minute later Albert came back on the line. "Jimmy says ... I mean the driver says if you're down in a half hour he can take you downtown and that's it." "Great, tell Jimmy I'll be there. Al I owe you big for this one," Jack said. "Thanks, Mr. Reynolds. See you soon." Jack got in the shower and turned the water on. It felt very refreshing since this was the first shower he had in three days. A habit Jack never seemed to be able to break was when he got into his writing crunch personal hygiene and diet, things he was normally very careful with, went out the window. Instead he'd go days without shaving or showering and when he, which he did intermittently, it was either take-out or junk food. As Jack washed his hair he was glad to finally feel human again. He was downstairs in time to meet the driver. Jack handed Albert a twenty dollar bill adding, "Thanks a lot, Al." He bundled his coat against the cold air and ran to the car. The one nice thing about living at Colonial Gardens was that they always had a car and driver available for the use of tenants. Another nice thing was that the heater worked extremely well in this car. Jack relaxed in the heated leather seats and sighed. "It's a bitch out there, ain't it?" Jack said. "It sure is. The weather says they're calling for another eight inches before it's all said and done," Jimmy said. "Really? I've sort of been out of the loop this past week." "Where to Mr. Reynolds?" Jimmy asked. He steered the car onto the street. Even at this early hour the traffic was starting to thin out. The accumulating snow forced many couples to change their minds about going out that night. "Oh, umm ... I hadn't really given it much thought. Take me down to Ninth and Radcliffe," Jack said. "Hot date tonight?" Jimmy asked laughing. "No, no hot date tonight. Just going out," Jack said. "Why the fuck would you want to go out in this shitty weather," Jimmy asked. "After I drop you off I have a couple to take back to the building and then I was told to go home – it's too nasty out there." "Jimmy, why go out? 'Cause it's Valentine's Day, man. If I stayed in it would be like admitting defeat. I may be getting a little gray but I'll be damned if I'm going to spend a Valentine's Day alone." "Good for you," Jimmy said. "My wife and I decided to wait until the weekend to go out. Less people out then, you know." "I hear ya." Jimmy and Jack chatted about nothing in particular the rest of the way down. Despite the weather Jack noticed that all the restaurants and bars seemed to be doing a terrific business. There were couples everywhere, huddled together against the cold and walking hand in hand. He didn't feel so crazy being out now since all these other people were still out. "Here you go Mr. Reynolds," Jimmy said. He veered the car off the snow covered street to the curb. "Thanks Jimmy," Jack said. "Here's a little something for you. Tell the wife I said hi." Jack reached over the front seat and gave the driver a fifty dollar bill. "Have a safe trip back." "Thanks, I will. I imagine by now a plow or two should be out. I shouldn't have any trouble getting back." Jack stepped out of the warm car into a calf deep snowdrift. Right now that didn't matter. Half way down the block he saw his destination. When he got in the car back at the apartment building it was a half formed idea. Originally he intended to walk around for a bit deciding on whether to grab a bite to eat at any one of the many diners that dotted Libertyville's streets or maybe a stop in one of the equally numerous dive bars that populate the side streets and back alleys – all places Jack grew to love since they provided inspiration for much of his writing and not a small bit of the dialogue that ended up in the mouths of his characters. Somewhere between here and the front sidewalk of his building Jack decided to come here. Halfway down the snow covered sidewalk was a black canvas awning that stretched from the front of the building to the sidewalk curb. The scalloped edges of the canvas flapped in the strong wind. A series of bright lights ran around the awning lighting much of the sidewalk and bathing the two dark glass doors in light. On each of the doors etched into the glass were the words Bluepussy Gentleman's Club in an elaborate scroll font. Below the words, also etched into the glass, was a stylized blue Persian cat. Jack pulled the doors open and stepped into the entrance way, lit by only a dim overhead flood light. In front of him were two heavy wooden doors. From the other side of the doors Jack could hear the heavy thump of bass. Jack had been here dozens of times, maybe even hundreds, but he never liked standing in that tiny entrance way. To him it reminded him of a speakeasy from those gangster movies he grew up watching where once you stepped through one set of doors that locked behind you, you were trapped until a door man determined you belonged there and buzzed you through the second set of doors or you were shot dead. Of course nothing like that happened here – he wasn't locked in or shot between those double doors. Jack grabbed the brass handle of the door and pulled. It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, and for his ears to adjust to the noise from the house audio system. "Hey, Jackie! It's been a long time." Jack was greeted by a large man dressed in dark suit with a bright red tie and wearing a diamond pinkie ring. Jack recognized him right away. "Bobby, how you doing? I know it's been too long since I've been here," Jack said. He grabbed the hand extended towards him and gave it a hearty shake. Before he knew what happened Bobby had him grasped in bear hug squeezing the wind out. Jack felt a few vertebrae snap and crackle before he was set back down on the floor. "Normally I'd ask for fifteen dollars now but for you it's on the house – since you're such a good friend. Go grab a drink and enjoy the scenery tonight, okay. I'm sure Neal will want to see you, too," Bobby said. Bobby could let him in for free. Not because he owned the place – not yet anyway, but because Bobby had worked there nearly as long as Jack had been writing. He started off years ago doing part-time maintenance work – strictly after hours. Then he started taking shifts at the front door. At first it was strictly off peak like after lunch until work let out and customers started to slowly trickle in. Bobby quickly gained Neal's trust and he soon became the regular guy at the door. In the fifteen years since then Bobby's equity in the company increased after he co-signed a loan for Neal to remodel the place. Jack scanned the bar to see the place was nearly empty. There were only about five or six guys around the stage when any normal night at this time every chair would've been filled. At the bar two guys, one in a suit and the other looked like he went to college, nursed their drinks. The wall behind the bar had pink and red ribbon strung along its length along with cut out hearts – letting you know, in case you weren't aware that it was Valentine's Day. Apparently most of the men in town got the message because the place was dead. Jack looked to the back of the room where a handful of scantily clad girls lounged on the couches talking with each other and sipping drinks waiting for their turn to hop up on the stage. The girl on the stage, clad only in a black thong did her best to entertain the few guys around the stage. For the most part they were appreciative of her performance and the garter around her thigh was lined with dollar bills. Jack recognized the look on her face – she didn't want to be here – he couldn't tell whether it was just tonight or ever. Jack took a seat away from the two other guys at the bar. The bartender came over. Neal in an effort to make the place seem classy made all the bartenders (they were always female never male) wear the same uniform: black hot pants with a white tuxedo shirt and black bow-tie, and if they were too old or uncomfortable in hot pants they could wear slacks. "What can I get for you?" she asked. This bartender wore slacks and she'd been there as long as Jack had been coming here. "I'll have a Jack and Coke," he said. The bartender went to make his drink. From across the room Jack could see the door to the back office open. Out came a short man with black hair neatly parted and combed over his forehead, he wore a dark suit with an open collared shirt. He walked across the room like he owned the place. "Gina," he said to the bartender, "drinks are on the house for this one." He slapped the bar and pointed at Jack. "Hey Jackie, how ya doing?" He walked over and slapped him on the back. "I'm good Neal, real good." "Any new books coming out soon? You know my wife loves your stuff." "Actually I just put a final draft of a manuscript in the mail today. The book should be out in a few months." "I'd really appreciate it if you bring me a signed copy for the missus." "No problem at all," Jack said, "only if it keeps getting me treatment like this." "Hey," Neal said, "you know it will." A few years ago Jack decided to do a little side project for the local City Paper, you know the free paper that features stories of local interest that are found in the racks of laundromats, gas stations and grocery markets. The story he did focused on strip clubs and the women that work in them. Early on Jack received the cold shoulder from a half dozen club owners in Libertyville. They told him they thought it would turn out to be a hit piece and a smear on the industry. The only thing Jack promised them was a fair hearing. Shortly after that Jack met Neal, the owner and operator of the Bluepussy Gentleman's Club. He welcomed Jack in after he found out that his wife loved Jack's books, he also encouraged the girls to talk to Jack. Over the next several weeks Jack spent increasing amounts of time there. What started off as research trips ended up being a merry-go-round ride of booze and lap dances. By the time he was ready to write his article he had two notebooks full of information gleaned from Neal and Bobby, but also most of the girls that worked the club. He'd also made a genuine connection with Neal and Bobby and he knew they'd feel betrayed if he revealed too much of the seedy side of the industry – even though they both told him not to pull any punches. Over the next several days Jack proceeded to write an article that put strip clubs, especially the Bluepussy Gentleman's Club, in the best possible light. In his story everything looked spotless and blemish free. Gone were the shady business deals that allowed some of the clubs to operate, gone were the drug and alcohol addicted dancers, gone were the sleazy guys twice the age of the dancers that really "felt" a "connection" with the dancers. When the article came out praise and scorn were heaped on Jack. The City Paper was flooded with letters saying it was nice to finally hear the truth about strip clubs. For a while club owners welcomed Jack with open arms. They thought they'd found their best-spoken apologist. They were partially right: Jack loved booze and broads and any place that had the two in great enough quantities was his favorite place. Of course the other side sent hate mail, and tons of it, his way. He heard from all manner of ex-strippers and morality crusaders. They repeated similar stories of abusive boyfriends, greedy club owners, drug pushers. They talked from first hand experience about how degrading the club atmosphere was and how all the club patrons were perverts and jerks. A Valentine's Tale These letters stung Jack the most. He knew deep down that they were all true. His research substantiated every story they told – although they differed only from name, place and circumstance. But, it was like he'd read it all before. He'd chosen to ignore this part of the scene and others had called him on it. From then on he vowed he was done with non-fiction. He found it easier to tell the truth while writing fiction. After the City Paper article came out it wasn't long before Jack delved into his notebooks for story inspiration. The novella that came out of this bore more resemblance to the truth than his non-fiction City Paper article did. In this story he dusted off all the horrible truths he kept covered up in the City Paper article. He could remember receiving one letter from a woman that had read both his story and article and thanked him for writing a "correction" to his City Paper article. The dancer on the stage in the black thong stopped dancing as soon as the music stopped. She stooped down and gathered a few loose dollars off the floor and picked up the scattered pieces of her outfit. In a matter of second she disappeared behind the glitter covered curtain that led behind the stage. As soon as she disappeared two of the guys at the stage got up and headed for the door leaving only three others at the stage. Jack had seen the Bluepussy dead but never like this. Valentine's Day isn't a good day for a business that specializes in the other woman. He sipped at his drink absent-mindedly. "Come on guys, put your hands together and welcome Alisha to the stage," Jack heard the DJ say from his darkened booth. Jack along with the remaining guys in the club politely clapped. Alisha, a tall waif-like blonde with long legs and thin hips, looked just as bored as the last girl had. Jack watched with interest as she strode around the stage, her confidence demanding some attention from the meager audience. Alisha threw herself at the brass pole anchored to the stage and swung around it. Alisha made her way from the pole and shimmied over to one of the few remaining guys at the stage. She swung her hips suggestively and mouthed lewd words to the customer, his eyes eagerly glued to Alisha's. Alisha continued to rub herself suggestively until the guy proffered his one dollar offering. He slid it into the garter around her thigh as she slinked off on her hands and knees to the other guy at the stage. "Hi, sweetie how are you doing tonight?" 'Oh shit, stripper-speak,' Jack thought. "I'm doing good, just trying to stay warm on a snowy night." Jack looked up and saw the girl that had just gotten off the stage, except now she was wearing a blue sequined dress with a slit up either side that ran nearly to her waist. She looked at him with big blue eyes; the look of boredom on the stage had disappeared slightly. "Oh honey, is it getting bad out there?" she asked. "Yeah, it's kinda nasty out there," Jack said. "When I got here there were a couple of inches of new snow, so there's no telling how much is out there now." "If it's bad enough out there I might just have to come home with you," the blonde said. She reached out and touched Jack's arm. "Can I get you something to drink?" Jack asked her. "By the way my name is Jack." "Hi Jack, my name's Ashley." Jack motioned for the bartender. "Could you get the young lady something, please." Jack reached in his back pocket for his wallet. "I'll just have some cranberry juice," Ashley said. As an afterthought she added: "I'm not old enough to drink yet." The bartender brought the drink over and sat it in front of Ashley. "No charge," she said to Jack, "remember your drinks are on the house." "Wow, you must be somebody pretty special for Neal to treat you like that." "I'm just a friend of his, that's all," Jack said. "So Ashley how long have you been working here." "Oh, me," Ashley stirred the ice cubes around in her cup. "I've been here for quite a while almost nine months." "That's not really that long," Jack said. "So Jack, tell me what do you do?" "Actually I'm a writer. I've been doing that for pretty much my whole life." "What do you write?" Ashley asked. "Are you a reporter or do you make stories up?" "Sometimes I think reporters make up their own stuff." "Oh," Ashley said. She looked a little confused. "Actually I write books and stories – mostly horror and some stuff that could be considered erotic." "Ooh, dirty stories," Ashley giggled. Jack leaned in close to her and whispered, "You see your boss over there, Neal?" Ashley nodded her head. "Actually his wife is a big fan of mine. She has all of my books and most of them I've signed for her." "I'll have to try and find some of your books. They seem like something my dad or brother would like." Normally Jack loved talking to girls to like this. The age difference didn't bother him; they were always fun and interesting enough. Tonight though, things seemed different – maybe it was because it was Valentine's Day or maybe it was the fact that he'd had three books published and a bunch of short stories by the time Ashley was even born. Or maybe it was because she thought his books would appeal to her father and not her. 'Am I really writing only for middle-aged men and women?' Jack thought. "So, would you like a private dance, Jack? I promise to make it extra special," Ashley said. Jack took a second before answering to take in all of Ashley. He admired her long thin leg that stuck out one of the dress' slits, her young firm body and full bosom. Jack liked her look and normally he would've jumped all over the invitation. Not tonight though, he wasn't quite feeling it. "How much?" Ashley's eyes lit up. It had been slow enough that all the dancers were pretty starved for attention. Most of them would've been better off staying home in front of the TV instead of even bothering to come to work, not just because it was Valentine's Day but because the snow kept all the other guys without dates, like Jack, at home. "It's fifteen for one song and twenty-five for two. I could find us a really dark corner there to be alone." Jack looked Ashley over again. "I'm not really in the mood right now." Ashley looked downcast. "Oh okay. Well maybe some other time then. My offer still stands." "How about I take a rain check and I'll prepay for a dance at another time?" "What do you mean?" Ashley said. "Here's fifty bucks." Jack reached into his pocket, pulled out the bills and discreetly slid the bills into Ashley's palm. "Next time I come in here, which I'm sure will be soon, you owe me a dance, how does that sound?" "You gave me too much." Jack put his finger up to Ashley's lips. "That includes your tip." Jack gulped down the last of his drink. "I should get going before it gets any worse out there." Jack put on his jacket and headed for the door. "Be careful out there. It's really starting to howl and it's been puttin' it down lately," Bobby said. Bobby wasn't kidding. Jack had to push a mound of snow out of the way just to get the door open. A fresh blanket of snow covered everything. It was coming down so heavy that the streetlights looked like glowing orange balls behind the snow. Even on the streets there was only the occasional tire track left by a passing car. In most instances the wind started to erase those marks too. The only sound Jack could hear was from the engine of a snowblower. Jack started to trudge through the snow towards a bus stop. He hoped they were still running. Most of the bars he passed were still open, but just like the strip club, they were mostly deserted. Many of the restaurants were open too. Some were doing a fairly brisk business. Even the nasty weather wouldn't keep people away from celebrating Valentine's Day. Jack walked through the deepening snow three more blocks until he came to the bus stop he needed. There wasn't another soul around for blocks on the street. Across the street stood the imposing baroque structure of the Barrington Hotel, the old center of Libertyville's shopping and business district. In recent years the owners of the Barrington reinvented it as a place for conferences and business travelers. Jack could see the hotel's bar and lounge were still open. After standing in the blowing wind and numbing cold Jack figured he could warm up in there and wait for his bus. The inside of the lounge looked warm and inviting compared to outside. Jack went inside and found it to be even cozier than he imagined. From his seat at the bar he could see the snow begin to pick up and cover the street and parked cars even faster than it was before. "What'll it be?" Jack looked up at the bartender. He had sandy brown hair and looked barely old enough to shave let alone serve drinks to anybody. "You old enough to be here?" Jack said. "Sure. Now would you like something to drink?" "Yeah, give me a scotch neat." Jack sipped at the scotch, enjoying the numbing burn in his throat. The liquor was going down really smooth, if it went down any smoother Jack realized he'd be drunk before he knew it. Before too long the combination of the warm bar and all the drinks he'd consumed made it so he couldn't ignore the urge to relieve himself. He got off the barstool and steadied himself with one hand on the back of the stool. "Hey, buddy. I'll be back in a minute." The bartender looked up from the mugs and glasses he was drying and nodded his head. By this time it was more of a formality than anything else. The bar had slowly cleared out leaving only a few diehard patrons. "Oh, one more thing; which way to the head?" The bartender motioned toward a side door. Jack pointed over his shoulder in the same direction the bartender did and waved a hand in acknowledgement. When Jack came back to his stool he found the bar had attracted a new patron. She was blonde and wore a dark red evening gown. Jack took a minute to make sure he wasn't seeing things. After a second he decided she was really there and she'd chosen to sit in the chair next to his. He sat back down in his chair. The blonde looked over her shoulder at Jack and smiled. "Hello," Jack said. "Lovely evening. Isn't it?" Jack finished his drink and ordered another. The woman sitting next to him spun in her chair to face him. "Hi, I'm Maggie." She held out her hand for Jack to shake. "It's nice to meet you," Jack said. "So what brings you out?" "Well I'm staying here. I'm in town for business. It sort of sucks that it's on Valentine's Day though." "I guess you'd be at home with your husband, wherever that is, enjoying tonight." "No, no husband, but I might've had a date. Instead my company decides that this sales meeting is important enough for me to come here." "I'm glad I don't have to deal with that shit. I have a pushy editor and he's easy enough to ignore." "An editor? Are you a writer?" Maggie asked. "Something like that," Jack said. He drained the rest of his scotch from the glass and signaled the bartender for another. Jack could feel his head start to swim and vision was blurring a bit and the room wanted to start to spin. "Could I ask your name? Maybe I've read some of your stuff." "Jack. Jack Reynolds." Maggie fanned her face and smiled. "My goodness. I thought you looked familiar but I wasn't sure. I'm such a huge fan of your stuff and I have all your books." "Well then you've been buying me drinks for the last twenty-five years. I feel I should at least buy you one." "I should be the one buying you drinks. I feel like such a gushing schoolgirl here in the presence of my favorite writer." "Please, gush away. I don't mind." The bartender brought over two more drinks and sat them in front of Jack and Maggie. Maggie stirred her drink only occasionally sipping at it. Jack made short work of his drinks and was already asking for a refill. "So what brings you out on a Valentine's Day like this? I thought you'd have tons of women just dying to be with you." "That's what I thought too, but I was wrong. I guess I just couldn't stand being cooped up in my apartment so I needed to get out." Maggie looked around the bar and leaned in close to Jack. She put her hand on Jack's thigh. Jack looked at her generous cleavage nearly spilling over the top of her cocktail dress. "Listen, I can't stand the thought of being alone on Valentine's Day. What do you say to coming with me up to my room? It's getting late and I have an early day tomorrow, but I'd hate to see this night go to waste." Jack looked at her hard for a second. His booze soaked mind was trying to process everything he'd heard. "I don't mean to be rude, but did I just hear you correctly?" "You certainly did Mr. Reynolds. So what do you say?" "Well Maggie, that sounds absolutely wonderful." Maggie took Jack by the hand and helped him towards the exit of the bar. After a few steps Jack's stumbling gait was replaced with a more sure-footed step. By the time Maggie and Jack approached the bank of six elevators in the lobby you wouldn't be able to tell that Jack was drunk. As soon as their elevator stopped on the seventh floor Maggie grabbed Jack and pulled him down the hall. "My room is down here on the right, seven-oh-nine," she said. Jack walked into the darkened hotel room and stumbled down the tiny hall falling onto the large queen sized bed. This sent the room spinning in a dozen different directions all at once. Jack struggled; he found that focusing on Maggie helped considerably to bring his vision to a standstill. Maggie turned on a small table lamp bathing the room in a soft yellow light. Jack lifted his head to look at Maggie even though it hurt to do so. Jack looked around the room a little to get a better sense of his surroundings. "You seem to travel pretty lightly," Jack said, not seeing any of the usual trappings of the traveling businessperson. "I'm only here for two days. I don't need much." Maggie reached behind her back and pulled the zipper on her dress down. Her cocktail dress crumpled into a pool of fabric at her feet. She stood there in front of Jack wearing a bra and panty set that matched the color of her dress. "Wow," Jack said. "I take it you approve?" Maggie said. "Oh yes, most definitely." Jack grabbed Maggie's hands and pulled her onto the bed with him. Maggie straddled Jack's hips and began to unbutton his shirt. "Let's get you out of this shirt." Jack wrestled with the sleeves of his shirt struggling to get his hands free of the material and the shirt tails out of his pants. "I'm so glad I found you," Maggie said. She pushed Jack's t-shirt up and lightly kissed his chest. Jack stroked Maggie's blonde locks as her tongue gently lapped at one of his nipples and her lips pulled it into her mouth. Maggie leaned up as Jack finished taking his shirt off. She reached behind her back and undid the clasp of her bra, letting it fall to the bed. "You're gorgeous," Jack whispered. He cupped Maggie's breasts in his hands, kneading their soft creamy skin and twisting the pink nipples until they were hard little nubs beneath his fingers. Maggie let out a moan as Jack drew one of her nipples into his mouth, lashing at it with his tongue. Maggie ground her hips into Jack's groin and growing cock as he sucked on her nipples. "You're starting to get so hard," Maggie said. She leaned down and nibbled on one of Jack's earlobes. "I want you to fuck me." "I think I can do something about that." Jack rolled Maggie off of him and onto her back on the bed. Despite his spinning head Jack was on top of her kissing her breasts and sucking on her nipples before licking and kissing the smooth skin of her stomach. Maggie moaned urging Jack on further. Jack pulled Maggie's red panties off revealing her smooth shaved pussy. Her pink lips were swollen with excitement. Jack stroked them with his fingers. He brushed her thighs with his hands spreading her legs further apart. He lapped at her pussy lips with his tongue; circling her clit with his tongue in a tight little circle. Maggie shuddered with pleasure as Jack's tongue moved down one side and up the other. Maggie grabbed Jack's hair and pulled him up from eating her out. "Jack," she said, "I can't take much more of this. I need you to fuck me." "Anything for you, baby." Jack was feeling pretty good about how this Valentine's Day was turning out. Never in his wildest dreams would something like this have happened to him. What made it all the better was that he apparently brought his 'A' game. Jack quickly unbuckled his pants and kicked his pants off. His boxers soon followed revealing his swollen and erect penis jutting from a tangle of dark pubic hair. Despite all the booze Jack consumed that night (and on a regular basis) he was pretty satisfied with how he was presenting. He felt confident that Maggie would be satisfied, too. "Ooh, Jack, you're so big," Maggie said. Jack knelt on the bed and kissed her. Their tongues tangled together. Jack slid his hand up Maggie's leg and squeezed her ass. Jack wished he could've gone down on Maggie longer but he was more than happy at this moment to give her exactly what she wanted. Jack brushed the tip of his cock against Maggie's pussy lips. A soft moan escaped her lips, but before Jack could finish she patted his chest. "Is something wrong?" Jack asked. "I feel stupid for asking this now. Would you mind wearing a rubber?" Jack looked at her in disbelief. He couldn't believe she was bringing this up now; why not twenty minutes earlier? "Fuck." Jack smacked his forehead with his open palm. "I don't have any on me. I guess I can run out and see if I can find one." "Nothing's going to be open at this hour and especially not with this weather. It's a good thing I'm prepared." Maggie twisted around and pulled open the drawer on one of the nightstands. She reached in and pulled out a square foil packet. "You bring condoms on a business trip?" "What? You're looking at me as if I'm some sort of whore." "Never mind." Jack grabbed the package and rolled on the condom. He stroked his flagging cock a few times to bring it back to life. Holding his shaft at its base he plunged his cock into Maggie. Maggie gasped as Jack entered her fully. He began to pump in and out of her hole. Maggie grasped Jack's arms for support as she shuddered from Jack's deep rhythmic strokes. She raised her hips to meet his thrusts. A series of tiny moans escaped from Maggie's lips. Maggie's hips met each of Jack's deep thrusts. She raised and lowered her hips and as necessary. By this time Jack was huffing and puffing from all the exertion. 'I gotta quit smoking,' Jack thought, 'this is killing me.' "You're not going to die on me? Are you?" Maggie asked. Jack didn't answer but continued to pump her with his long deep strokes. Maggie's moans increased with intensity as Jack felt his orgasm approaching. It was getting tough for him to concentrate and keep his rhythm steady. It was only a matter of time before Jack came. Before he could form another thought Jack felt his cock spasm. His prick twitched again telling him he didn't have much longer to last. Jack's movements became more erratic as he slowed down his pace. "That's it, come for me baby," Maggie whispered. "Shit," Jack breathed between his teeth. With one final thrust Jack pumped his load into the condom. He laid a top Maggie for a moment or two before withdrawing his softening prick. He crawled off the bed and got rid of the rubber and its contents in the bathroom. As he stood in the bathroom urinating the excesses of the night roared back to life in his head. It was all he could do to stand up and not wobble. He turned and slowly made his way out of the bathroom to the bed. A Valentine's Tale Maggie was sitting up in bed smoking a cigarette. "I borrowed one of yours," she said. "No problem," Jack said. He collapsed on the bed next to Maggie. "That was nice," Jack said. He leaned over and kissed Maggie's naked thigh. "Don't get too comfortable," Maggie said, "I have an early morning and I need to get some good sleep." "I'll only be a minute," Jack said. Even as he said those words he knew it was a lie. He could feel the alcohol taking its toll. It would be a miracle if he didn't lose everything he drank from his stomach. Besides that the weather was too shitty to go anywhere and the bed was warm and comfortable. Jack figured if Maggie needed to sleep alone there was always another bed in the room. The last thing Jack heard before nodding off to sleep was Maggie saying, "You can't sleep here. You've got to go." * * * * "Wake up you bastard." Jack rolled over in the large warm bed to get away from the pushing hands. "C'mon get up. This is bullshit; get the fuck out of bed." "Is it morning?" Jack opened one eye in the dimly lit room. The small table lamp did little to dispel the gloom in the room. Jack saw through a hole in one of the curtains in the room that orange sodium vapor streetlight still shone brightly through the falling snow. Jack looked at his watch; it wasn't even three o'clock yet. "You have to go – right now. You're costing me money. I had to cancel on somebody already." Jack shook the few remaining cobwebs from his head and looked at Maggie, who was dressed again in her red cocktail dress. His head hurt from the copious amounts of alcohol he drank but his thinking was clearing. "What the hell are you talking about?" "You owe me seven hundred dollars. I'm charging you for the time I lost waiting for you to wake up and get the fuck out of here." "What are you talking about?" Jack said. "Is this some sort of joke?" "No joke, Jack. You owe me for the time I spent with you." "I don't think so," Jack said. "What do you think? I fucked you out of the goodness of my heart?" "Well, no, but I didn't think you were a prostitute. I don't remember agreeing to pay you anything." "Don't tell me you really thought I started talking with you because I found you interesting or witty. You're a lot denser than I thought you were." "This is pretty fucked up lady. I don't know what kind of scam you're running here but I'm calling the cops and we'll let them sort this out." "You don't want to do that. If you think I don't know these cops around here you'll be pleasantly surprised. Anyhow if you fucking call them, what will they think when I'm locked in the bathroom and tell them you tried to beat me?" Jack couldn't believe what was happening. All he wanted to do was have a little fun and not spend a Valentine's Day alone. That all happened, but that all changed very quickly. Now he was dealing with a prostitute that he didn't know was a prostitute. "I guess you have me over quite the barrel, don't you?" "You still wanna call the cops?" Maggie said. "No I don't. I want to avoid any more hassles so if I give you money will you leave me alone?" "As far as I'm concerned our business will have concluded." "I can tell you I don't have seven hundred in my wallet. I'll give you what I have and send the rest to you in the morning." Maggie rolled her eyes and looked up at the ceiling. She crossed her arms as if to think. She sighed and said, "It figures. Okay, give me what you have and that's it." Jack pulled his wallet out of his pants that were hanging over the chair in the room. He opened it up, his money was still there. "I'm surprised you didn't roll me and just take my money." "I have more class than that. I may be a prostitute but I'm not some sleazy street whore." "Could of fooled me," Jack muttered beneath his breath. "What the hell did you just say?" "Here, all I have is four hundred bucks, I swear." Jack held out a thick stack of money towards Maggie. "It's not what I normally charge but I guess it will do. Now get out," she said. Jack got dressed, grabbed his coat and headed for the hotel room door. He didn't say another word to Maggie. As far as he was concerned it would be too soon if he ever saw her again. By the time the elevator doors opened in the lobby Jack was fuming. On the way out the door Jack kicked a small brass garbage can by one of the many marble pillars in the lobby and sent it skidding across the empty lobby with a loud clattering noise. The only person to see this was the night attendant behind the front desk. "Hey, now what the hell do you think you're doing," he yelled. He stepped out from behind the desk to intercept Jack. "Fuck you, you little cocksucker," Jack yelled at him. The guy rethought his advance towards Jack and took two steps backwards. "I'm calling the cops. You can't come in here and do shit like that." Jack slowed down enough and turned towards the guy. "Go ahead and we'll ask them about the whores you have working upstairs." The desk attendant stopped dialing the phone and set it back down in the cradle. "Is there something I can help you with, sir?" Jack laughed loudly. "It's too fucking late for that buddy." Jack hit the front lobby door hard, rattling the door in its frame and shaking the overhead panes of glass. The snow hadn't let up yet and there were even fewer cars on the road at this time. Much to his relief Jack looked up the road and saw a bus coming and he thanked his lucky stars that it was one he could take back to his place. Jack darted across the street to the bus stop. The bus stopped and let Jack on. "I wish you'd gotten here four hours earlier," Jack said to the driver. Jack fed a few crumpled dollar bills into the fare collector. "I bet. You look like hell," the driver said "Yeah I had a shitty night." "Lady troubles?" Jack started to laugh a deep hearty laugh. "Boy if you only knew the half of it." "Not your Valentine's Day, I guess?" "You can say that again." Jack got off the bus about a block from his building and trudged through the ever-deepening snow. In the back of his head a spark of a story was starting to slowly form. Once in his apartment Jack wrapped the comforter around his body and laid down on the couch. He was sure sleep would come to him quickly. He just laid there staring up at the plaster ceiling. Meanwhile the spark that had ignited in his brain out on the street was slowly growing and feeding his creative juices. At first he had just the vague outline of a story; he could see hazy characters with only slight features, there was no question about the setting or its description. After a few restless hours there were a few holes and a few loose embers that needed tending but he had a fully formed story circling in his brain. When this happened there was only one thing Jack could do. That was write and write until it all came out. Jack kicked the comforter onto the floor irritated with himself but anxious to get his new story down onto paper. Jack made a full pot of coffee and lit a cigarette. He looked at the computer and the chair sitting in front of it. He had barely been out of that chair for twelve hours yet he was going to sit back in it and not get up until this particular story was done. Jack sat back in his chair as the morning light was beginning to peak through the dark snow clouds. The snow was finally letting up. Jack hardly noticed any of this though. All his thoughts were centered on the blinking cursor as it danced across the screen pouring all his thoughts and words onto the blank screen. After six days, numerous pots of coffee and nearly a carton of cigarettes Jack put the finishing touches on his manuscript. His eyes were heavy with fatigue and his various body parts didn't want to cooperate with him any more. He was pretty happy with his new story. For the most part it turned out better than he'd hoped and he knew Tony, his editor, would like the story. Jack kept his wits about him long enough to attach the story to an e-mail and send it to Tony. After that Jack found the couch and passed out. He woke up several hours later. It was already after noon. Jack checked his answering machine. He was surprised Tony hadn't called him yet about the new story. Instead of waiting for Tony, Jack picked up his phone and dialed his editor's office. Jack waited for several rings before Tony answered. "Tony, did you get my e-mail?" "Yeah, I haven't had time to read it yet. What's with the attachment?" "It's a new story." "A new story? Your corrections on the novel just arrived two days ago and you're sending me another story?" "Yeah. I want to do something new with this one though." "What do you mean?" "I want to release it on my website as a download. We'll let people give us a few bucks for it." "Hold on Jack. Corporate won't like this too much. Why don't we just hold onto the story and release it during the mid-summer break. People will love getting a new Jack Reynolds story in time to take to the beach." "No, Tony listen to me. I want this story out there as quick as humanly possible. I figure the web is the quickest way to get it out there. Plus, you guys will still make money off of it and if you want it, you can put it in my next short story collection. I think I owe you a story for that one anyhow." "Why do you want this out there so damn quick? Why am I getting a story this fast? You've never written anything for me that soon. Usually, I'm waiting on you, not the other way around." "Let's just say I had a bad Valentine's Day. You'll understand when you read the story." The usual admonition from fiction writers that any resemblance to any person living or dead was only partially true. Maggie was in the story except she'd become Martha. Martha was a prostitute like Maggie, but she was also a vampire and so were all her cohorts. The bartender was there too, except Jack had to guess at his name. To Jack he looked like a Brady. The Barrington Hotel had become the Barrington Place Hotel. Maggie's room seven-oh-nine had become seventeen-oh-nine. To anybody that had ever been in the Barrington Hotel, Jack's descriptions were right on. Jack hadn't bothered to fictionalize anything he saw in the hotel that night. That was his big "fuck you" to everybody that ran the show at the Barrington. He figured he couldn't have been the first person this had happened to in the hotel and he knew he wouldn't be the last. He wondered how many unsuspecting businessmen came to the hotel, and deciding to have a drink, ended up in the bed of a woman that then told them they were owed money. These same guys, many good family men or important enough to want to avoid problems, just paid up. He just hoped they all got the message he was trying to send. After a couple of weeks of haggling and discussion Jack's latest story was up for download and sale on his website. For the promotional artwork they used a painting that had been made for an earlier work of his, this allowed for an even quicker turnaround since they didn't have to commission anything new for this story. Vampire Hotel generated a good deal of discussion just for the novelty of a fairly well known writer, like Jack, putting a long story up and letting anyone download it for practically free. After his night at the hotel Jack's usually fine capitalistic instincts took a backseat to his desire to screw with somebody. Jack was exhilarated to see the traffic to his website skyrocket and downloads of his story continued to climb day after day. A few days after downloads peaked Jack got a frantic call from Tony. "Jack, we're going to have to pull the story. Corporate got a cease-and-desist order from the Barrington Hotel's lawyers. They want to comply." "Good, those cocksuckers got my message then." "No, Jack. This isn't good. Those lawyers are calling it libel and slander and something about harm of reputation. They're threatening us with some pretty big stuff." "It's not libel," Jack said. "What?" Tony screamed, sounding irate. "They can't be threatening me with libel," Jack said. "I suppose you're some sort of fucking lawyer now," Tony yelled. "No, I'm not. I just know libel is spoken. I haven't said anything, I just wrote some stuff," Jack said. "Anyhow, I knew they'd do something like this, Tony. They know I'm telling the truth or something close to it in this story." "Jack, corporate's lawyers want the story taken down by the end of business tomorrow until the story is rewritten so any resemblance to the name or description of the Barrington Hotel is obliterated." "Listen here, Tony and listen good. If one word of that story is fucking changed I'll come to New York myself and rip your head off and those of the lawyers with my bare hands. Those fuckers at the Barrington are just trying to play hardball and they think we'll crumble because they sent a note on letterhead. Fuck them." "Jack what if what happened to you was an isolated incident that night?" "It wasn't, I know it. Those whores have probably been working out of there for years and nobody has said anything until now." "I sure as fuck hope you know what you are doing. I really hope so." The publisher's lawyers sent a nicely worded letter to the Barrington Hotel's lawyers telling them to cram it. This seemed to be enough to get them to back off since no other letters followed. Jack had all but forgotten about the letters from the Barrington's lawyers when his webmaster called him. "Jack I'm forwarding you some emails from your website," Stu, his webmaster, said. "What's going on?" "You'll like them, I think." Jack logged into his email account and saw about two dozen e-mails from Stu. They all had similar subject lines like "Barrington whores" or "Scam at Barrington." Jack eagerly read through each one. They all told similar stories. Men on business trips or ones that had just dropped by were all approached by beautiful women – the descriptions and various circumstances all changed but enough was there to recognize the story. After a few drinks the women asked each man up their room where they all to a one had sex with the woman. Once the price was named the ones that didn't pay up were threatened with blackmail. The ones brave enough to call the cops faced assault charges when the police arrived and found the prostitutes cowering in the corner of a locked bathroom swearing the guy was trying to kill her. After reading those stories Jack felt like he'd made out like a bandit only losing a couple hundred of bucks. Jack agonized over the next few days about what to do with these emails. As more and more similar stories came pouring into his inbox he knew something had to be done. The decision of what to do, however, was made for him. Jack was lounging in his living room sipping at a cup of black coffee as a light snow fell outside. Jack was getting sick and tired of all the damn snow but winter seemed to keep hanging on. It was nearly noon and Jack was satisfied with the progress he'd made that morning on a novel outline and a short story he'd had sitting around for quite a while. Jack turned on the television in time for the start of the noon news. He was half paying attention to the reporterette reading the news and half reading a collection of short stories his editor, Tony, thought he should look at in his free time. 'What free time?' Jack thought as he sat down with the book. The next set of half-heard words from the television had Jack scrambling for the remote. "Up next, a local prostitution ring is broken up with help from an unlikely source." Jack moaned out loud as the screen faded into a commercial for some energy boosting drink. He thought about calling Stu or Tony but he didn't know what the story was about. It might be a coincidence or local to this TV station could be some hapless housewives in a town fifty or a hundred miles away. After all the commercials were finished after what seemed to be an eternity to Jack the reporterette was back looking just as serious as before. "Today in local news the Libertyville Police Department raided a suspected prostitution ring operating out of the Barrington Hotel. The police made several arrests including those of some of the suspected call girls, also seized were several computers and file cabinets believed to contain vital records. In addition four Libertyville Police officers were suspended on suspicion of corruption and receiving bribes. The police would not comment but a source close to the investigations says the two cases are related but they would not state what the connection was." The B-roll footage showed several police officers in windbreakers forming a human chain passing along computers, box upon box of papers, a handful of CDs loading up the back of city delivery truck. Jack could also see in the background two upright filing cabinets being wheeled out on hand carts. Jack was hoping to catch a glimpse of the girls being led away to see if Maggie was among the group but the news wouldn't indulge him in that. Jack grabbed his cell phone and dialed a number from memory. "Stu, turn on the news you've got to see this." "What's going on?" "You'll know right away." "This case was considered by the Libertyville Police to be at a standstill due to a lack of evidence and a clearer understanding of how the operation worked until they received help from an unexpected quarter. A few weeks ago a new novella published on Libertyville author Jack Reynolds' website allowed the police to put together a few loose ends. Many of the details in the fictional story matched known details from the Barrington Hotel. After several victims of this prostitution ring stepped forward and told the police their story the District Attorney felt they had enough evidence to obtain a search warrant and proceed forward with the case. Unfortunately Jack Reynolds could not be reached at this time for comment on his role in the breakup of what the District Attorney is calling the 'largest prostitution ring ever seen in this part of the country'." "Bullshit," Jack yelled into his phone. "What's wrong?" Stu asked. "Did anybody contact you about this?" "No, why?" "They're saying that I couldn't be reached for comment. That's just plain bullshit. I never turn down an interview. What's that old saying? Say whatever you want just spell my name correctly. Tony hasn't tried to contact me either so they're lying." "Maybe the message never got to Tony. There could be a dozen reasons why." "Stu, if you could do me a favor see if you can get ahold of the TV station. I'd be more than happy to talk to them." Less than two hours later the reporterette from the station and a camera man were sitting in Jack's living room. He'd managed to make the place look more presentable and he showered and shaved so he didn't look like a complete degenerate. Nothing will garner less support than a victim of a prostitution circle that looks like he frequents prostitutes. After less than twenty minutes both the reporterette and camera man were gone. The reporterette promised she'd call him later as she'd like to do another story on Libertyville's most famous story teller. Jack thought there might be more to this than just a simple interview request so he agreed eagerly to do the interview. Later than night Tony called. He was ecstatic and it took Jack a few minutes to calm him down. "You're not going to believe this." Tony said. "What am I not going to believe?" "It's the story. I mean since this afternoon ... since that story ran on the news." Tony sounded like he'd just run up several flights of stairs. "Calm down, Tony. Take a deep breath." "Okay, I think I'm fine now. Ever since that story broke about the prostitutes and your connection with it the downloads of the story have gone through the roof. The boss upstairs says any time you want to do another story like that, feel free."