Racing the Light (Elvis Cole #19; Joe Pike #8)(65)
“Let’s hear it.”
Josh tapped his phone, and Rachel Belle Bohlen told us what happened.
47
Her Finest Performance
She’d been with Grady Locke so many times during the past five years she couldn’t remember them all. Rachel usually met him at party locations like hotels or yachts where Grady wined and dined big shots. But every so often, maybe half a dozen times a year, she went to his two-bedroom loft on the seventh floor of a former factory building in downtown Los Angeles. The concrete walls and ceilings were painted various shades of gray, the polished concrete floor gleamed, and the cabinetry in the kitchen and living room was a rich mahogany, which lent warmth to the austere gray walls. Each time she arrived, Grady made a big deal of pointing out the eastern view of the Arts District and the L.A. River bridges, and the northern view across Chinatown to the glow of Dodger Stadium, as if she’d never seen them. Skylar oohed and aahed as always, but Skylar wasn’t impressed and didn’t care. Acting impressed was part of the gig, and, truth was, she wanted to finish him fast and get the hell out.
The tour ended in his bedroom, him framed in the window, pointing out the golden glow from Chavez Ravine as if the view were a trophy. Skylar decided to nudge him along.
She said, “Hey. Look at this instead.”
He turned from the window.
“What?”
Skylar let her black leather jacket fall. She peeled the tiny black dress up from her body like a snake shedding skin, and flipped it away. She turned left, letting him see. She turned right.
“Me or Dodger Stadium? Which view do you like best?”
They did the same stupid dance every time. Yawn.
Grady grinned and moved closer.
“You win. Want a drink?”
“If you’re drinking, sure. A drink would be nice.”
“I have some pot. We could four-twenty?”
He seemed hopeful, so she gave him the answer he wanted.
“Spark up, dude. Let’s party.”
Skylar followed him back into the living room, which, like every loft space she’d ever seen, was an enormous industrial cavern—exposed ducts along the ceiling, exposed electrical conduits running down the walls—divided into areas: here’s the kitchen area, here’s the dining and bar area, here’s the living room area with the monster big-screen. He kept his joints in a small inlaid box behind the bar. She went to the dining table for her briefcase, which was slim and professional. The briefcase gave her an air of legitimate purpose when she entered buildings for work, as if the people who saw her might think she was a woman entering their building for some appropriate, legal reason.
He saw her opening the briefcase and smiled again.
“Bring your movies?”
She lifted out her iPad, teasing him.
“I know you dig watching, but I don’t know if I should show you these. They’re nasty. You might be disgusted. You might want to spank me.”
He was grinning like a doof. He had paid eight hundred dollars for three hours of her time. Drool was already dripping down his shirt.
He said, “Damn, you’re hot. Let’s do this.”
Grady, like many of her johns, dug her past as a pornstar. Watching the girl in the video with the girl in the video turned them on. They watched the girl in the video even when the girl who had been in the video was under them. Skylar preferred this. When they focused on the video girl, they were not with Skylar, and Skylar was not with them. Skylar could be absent.
He scooped up the joint box, tucked a bottle of gin under his arm, and followed her back into the bedroom. She was booting up the iPad when his cell phone rang.
“Shit. I gotta take this.”
He scrambled for his cell, and went to the window.
“Uh-huh, uh-huh, okay.”
He glanced back at Skylar, and held up a finger. Won’t be long. Only a minute.
“How much?”
He turned toward the view and listened some more.
“I’m in the middle of something. A friend.”
More listening. He glanced at her again and shrugged.
“Couple of hours, maybe. Less.”
Skylar gave him a thumbs-up. Grady returned it, but suddenly frowned.
“Here? Can I bring it over later?”
His frown deepened.
“Boss, I’m running out of room. It’s piling up, and I don’t like keeping it here. It’s yours. What if my building burns down?”
His frown became a scowl, and Skylar knew Grady Locke was not happy.
“I guess I could, but— I know, okay. Yes, sir. Yes. You’re the boss.”
Grady held his phone at arm’s length and gave it the finger.
Skylar laughed.
Grady said, “Yes, sir. Okay. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
He ended the call and flipped off his phone again.
“Asshole.”
Grady came back to bed, put his phone on the nightstand, and pulled off his pants.
“Fucking dick.”
“The Sandman?”
“You wouldn’t believe the guy. The shit I put up with.”
He pulled off his underwear, swung onto the bed, and patted a spot beside him.
“C’mon. A double feature might help.”
Skylar took a spot next to him and played one of her scenes. The scene had taken three hours to shoot and was cut to fourteen minutes. They were six minutes into it when Grady’s phone buzzed with an incoming text. He scooped his phone and immediately scowled.