5. #Lotus
FIVE
#LOTUS
Rose
One perk about being a billionaire is that you can be eccentric, and people don’t bat an eye.
Like coming to see your college advisor in a turquoise leotard, fishnets, rainbow leg warmers, stripper heels, and a not-so-thin veil of body glitter.
“Have you thought any more about the MBA program?” My advisor, John Mallory, taps his fingers on his desk.
He is forever tapping his fingers on his desk.
I think it’s an anger management strategy he picked up somewhere.
But I love it, and secretly I love him for sticking with me.
I’m not easy to stick with, just ask my mom, my dad… oh wait, you can’t, because they left.
But John has stood the test of time. The test of time being three and a half years. So kudos, John, kudos.
I recross my legs, my feet heavy from the thick acrylic heels. Glitter rains down on the chair and carpet.
More finger tapping.
“I have.” Honestly, I’ll probably register to get my MBA, if only because I haven’t a clue what else to do with my life.
John’s fingers stop tapping, and he actually smiles, launching into a well-practiced sales pitch.
“Rice University has one of the most selective MBA programs in the country. The smaller size allows for faculty and students to work together more intimately and cover a more exclusive, detailed curriculum.” He brings both hands together as if in prayer and tips them toward me.
“The program would be an excellent choice for you, seeing as you’ll be working at West Oil soon. ”
But will I?
Holt’s working the ranch side of the West family business while starting a non-profit, and Flynn’s busy growing his car restoration company and planning to be a stay-at-home dad whenever Jackie and he decide to have kids and she launches into space.
Both my brothers have made it pretty clear that it isn’t actually necessary for a West to work nine to five at West Oil.
Glancing over John’s shoulder, I can just see the Houston skyline. If I squint, maybe I’ll be able to see the West Oil building, situated uptown. Right by my penthouse condo.
“Miss West?” John frowns, then looks over his shoulder to see what I’m staring at. He turns back, confused.
I lean forward and prop one elbow on my advisor’s desk. “Hmm?”
John sighs at my antics, all too used to them at this point.
Poor man should’ve been given a raise when he was assigned as my advisor.
“Rose, you already know everything I’m saying right now.
We’ve had this talk a million times. But your decision really comes down to one thing. ” He looks at me expectantly.
I’ve got nothing, but I smile nonetheless. When in doubt, smile and flutter your lashes. “And that would be?”
He blinks but shakes it off. “What is it that you want ?”
I sit back, thinking. A fine sheen of glitter remains on his desk where my arm was. “What do I want?” I repeat the words back to him slowly.
He nods.
My mind blanks.
Huh. Isn’t that the billion-dollar question? I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me what I want. I don’t even think I’ve ever asked myself the question. I mean, I’m a billionaire, I have everything. Right?
Lately I’ve been obsessing over what I should do. How to live up to all the expectations. How to not disappoint while hopefully making a difference with my life and all its privileges.
But what I want ? I don’t think I’ve thought about my future in those terms before.
John raises his brows at my silence, looking pleased with stumping me.
“I have everything I want.” It sounds more like a question than a statement.
“Yes, but what is it you want to do? ”
“I…” I’ve got nothing.
I’m saved from awkward silence when my boob vibrates. Reaching into my cleavage, I pull out my phone and shut off the reminder alert.
I shake off the feelings of uncertainty that have been plaguing me for months and that John just made worse. “At the moment this girl wants to go learn how to pole dance.” I shove my phone back in my boobs and stand, a living disco ball.
I leave to the sound of his fingers drumming across his desk.
Vance
I’m taking my mother to a strip club.
My flight had barely touched down on the runway when she called. And it wasn’t to ask how my trip to Germany went. No. It was to tell me she needed a ride. To a strip club.
It’s my fault really. I left her too long without a call or visit.
So when she called, the guilt was already there to lay on, making it impossible for me to say no. And now here I am, jet-lagged, irritated, and guilted, pulling my 4Runner into the near empty parking lot of Heartbreakers.
A few cars from people too drunk to drive home last night are scattered like stars in the night sky. One in particular catches my eye. A gold Aston Martin. What idiot leaves a car like that in a strip club over night?
“There’s a spot.”
I say nothing, just raise my eyebrows at my mother and her outstretched arm thrusting toward one of the many parking spots available. But if she wants that one, then that one it will be. “Thanks.” I nod and pull in.
Mom smiles.
I’ve learned not to argue with my mother. It’s useless. Probably what makes me such a good fit to work with Jules in space. Between my mother and older sister, I’m used to being around commanding women. I pause after throwing the gear shift in park. Huh. Maybe that’s why Jules likes my mom so much.
Shaking my head at the thought, I hop out.
Like every time I drive my mother, I circle the front of my car to open her door for her.
The small, old-fashioned gesture reminds me of my dad.
Whether it’s from time passing or how young I was when he died, I only have a few memories of him.
But I do remember waiting in the backseat on multiple occasions, watching him circle the car to open the passenger side door for my mother. It fascinated me.
Although, if he’d had to help my mom out while she wore platform stripper shoes, I probably would’ve been scarred instead.
Once my mom’s steady on her teetering shoes, I hold out my arm for her to take.
“Helen?”
I glance up, my chin dropping to my chest.
Rose, my Rose, the woman I haven’t been able to purge from my mind, or found the stones to text or call, is… is standing there. Dressed like Mom, but with higher platform heels, way less clothing, and a lot more glitter.
My mother beams. “Rosie, dear. So glad you made it today.” She steps forward, frowning when I don’t move.
I try clearing my throat, but it doesn’t help me speak.
My eyes feel ten times their size as I take in her blue spandex one-piece that clings to all her curves.
At least, I think it’s blue. It’s hard to tell with the morning light reflecting off her like a disco ball due to the copious amounts of body glitter.
But whereas I can’t seem to look away from her, Rose can’t be bothered to spare me a glance. Instead she plants her hands on her belted waist and narrows her eyes at Mom. “And just how do you know Bodie?”
“Bodie?” My mother’s eyes ping-pong between Rose and me. “You mean Vance?”
That pulls Rose up short. I’d laugh if it wasn’t for the brief flash of hurt I saw cross her face. “Vance?”
“We met at Jackie’s wedding,” I say, finally finding my voice. “She’s the groom’s sister.”
Rose’s eyebrows shoot up. “Finally figured it out, huh?”
I shrug, not wanting to admit that I couldn’t get her off my mind. Especially since it’s clear she hadn’t felt the same since she doesn’t even know Bodie’s my nickname.
I mean, it’s not like I was looking for a stalker, but I thought I left enough of an impression that she would’ve asked someone about me like I asked about her.
I nod at her stiffly. “Yep.”
Her lips purse in annoyance.
“Well, isn’t that lovely.” My mother steps forward, ignoring the hostility radiating off Rose, and trades my arm for hers. “Come on now. Let’s not keep Angela waiting.”
If anyone had told me that on my first day back from Germany I’d be following my mother and the last woman I brought to orgasm into a strip club bright and early on a Sunday, I’d have thought they were crazy.
And yet here I am. So who’s the crazy one now?
My pointer finger on my right hand is slightly longer than the one on my left. Fascinating? No, of course not. But my hands are a safer place to look than at the stage where my mother is stretching out in different yoga positions in acrylic shoes and yoga pants.
Out of the corner of my eye, I track a pair of sparkling heels walking toward me. They stop less than a foot from my table, one toe tapping the dingy carpet.
“What are you doing here?”
I smile at her annoyed tone. “What are you doing here?”
She huffs. “I’m taking pole dancing lessons. Duh.”
“Who even takes pole dance lessons?”
“Who fake names someone at a wedding?” She snaps back. “Besides, I wouldn’t look down on pole dancers.” She crosses her arms under her chest, smirking. “Your mother is one.”
A chill races down my spine, and I shiver. “Bodie’s a nickname. Vance Boda way.”
She scoffs. “What, you gave me your nickname in case I turn into a stage-five clinger?”
I smile remembering that line from the movie Wedding Crashers . “Well, are you?”
She thinks it over. “When needs must.”
I frown, expecting a vehement denial. “What does that mean?”
“It means that if I’m in the middle of the lotus position, I’m going to cling for all I’m worth, seeing as the more I do the more my clit gets stimulated.”
My mouth drops open.
“Oh, poor dear. You haven’t tried lotus yet?
” She pats me on the shoulder, a look of faux sympathy on her face.
“Don’t worry, maybe one day someone will take pity on your old man ass.
Now, if you don’t mind, I need to go move my youthful goods around a pole to music.
” She shimmies, her sparkling cleavage shaking.
“So you just sit here like a good boy and keep quiet, hmm?” She adjusts her breasts behind the taut spandex, and my mouth waters.
“Your mama and I have to shake and twirl what God gave us.”
The reminder that my mother is on a strip stage jars my thoughts away from the various mental images of Rose working her way through the Kamasutra . My dick is so confused.
Before I can reply, she saunters over to the stage where Mom is waiting with an older lady in a fuchsia Adidas track suit and a younger woman in a string bikini.
“Hey, Angela!” Rose calls out to the bikini lady on her way to the stage. “Why don’t we work on the spread-eagle backbend Helen’s been wanting to master?”
And I’m out.
Rising, I tune out the rest of their conversation and make my way to the door. I don’t even risk a backward glance at Rose, decked out in Jane Fonda bedazzled workout gear. Nothing can make me watch a class that involves my mother doing anything spread eagle.
Rose’s loud cackle is the last thing I hear as I march through the front doors.