Hall of Infinite Doors
You look at the lady in red. She looks to be in her late twenties. "Do you need help getting home?"
She smirks. "No, at that I can do just fine." Then she pauses as if to contemplate a deep thought. "But maybe I can offer you a drink? After all, our dates ran off together."
"I'd like that," you reply. "But how did you --"
She interjects. "I know John. He treats me nice because my father runs a modelling company, and he likes to look good with all the high class models--when all he actually wants are little tramps like your girl. No offense, I mean. What did he promise you for this favor?"
"He said he would speak well of me to my boss. I work for Marvel Mag, and he knows the CEO, Craig Gibson."
She snickers. "Ah, well. Let's go. By the way, my name is Ashlee. I need that drink."
"Sure," you reply, not wanting to pass up free alcohol.
You follow her car to her house. You have a small rusty Cavalier while she hums along in a new Mercedes convertible. You park in front of a large pleasant house in a nice neighborhood. She hushes you as you walk in, as she says that everyone will be asleep. Then she brings you over to a full bar off the living room where she downs four martinis. You enjoy a couple MGDs. When she is done she grabs your cheap suit and peels it off your body. She is an animal. She hauls you back to her bedroom where she shoves aside the stuffed animals and then rides you to her satisfaction.
Somewhere you fall asleep.
You wake. It is light out. Ashlee is picking up your clothes from the floor. She looks hung over. "Here," she says, handing your clothes to you, "take them and leave. I hear my father stirring. Go, go, go."
You get up and leave.
She smirks. "No, at that I can do just fine." Then she pauses as if to contemplate a deep thought. "But maybe I can offer you a drink? After all, our dates ran off together."
"I'd like that," you reply. "But how did you --"
She interjects. "I know John. He treats me nice because my father runs a modelling company, and he likes to look good with all the high class models--when all he actually wants are little tramps like your girl. No offense, I mean. What did he promise you for this favor?"
"He said he would speak well of me to my boss. I work for Marvel Mag, and he knows the CEO, Craig Gibson."
She snickers. "Ah, well. Let's go. By the way, my name is Ashlee. I need that drink."
"Sure," you reply, not wanting to pass up free alcohol.
You follow her car to her house. You have a small rusty Cavalier while she hums along in a new Mercedes convertible. You park in front of a large pleasant house in a nice neighborhood. She hushes you as you walk in, as she says that everyone will be asleep. Then she brings you over to a full bar off the living room where she downs four martinis. You enjoy a couple MGDs. When she is done she grabs your cheap suit and peels it off your body. She is an animal. She hauls you back to her bedroom where she shoves aside the stuffed animals and then rides you to her satisfaction.
Somewhere you fall asleep.
You wake. It is light out. Ashlee is picking up your clothes from the floor. She looks hung over. "Here," she says, handing your clothes to you, "take them and leave. I hear my father stirring. Go, go, go."
You get up and leave.