Content Warning: misogyny, abusive behavior, mature themes, profanity, drug references
"How do my tits look in this dress?" Jenny asked.
"I honestly don't know how I'm supposed to answer that," Orange said uncomfortably.
It had taken a couple of days, but Terry had come through.
When Jenny had explained her plan to Orange and Genie they had both responded with variations of "are you nuts?" Orange had told them about his own 'meeting' with George T, and pointed out that it hadn't gone very well. Still, neither of them had a better plan.
"What are you going for?" Genie asked.
"Someplace between classy hooker and slutty nymphomaniac," Jenny said thoughtfully.
"I think you've nailed it," Genie said.
"Can we talk about the aspects of this plan that I am personally uncomfortable with?" Orange put in.
Jenny felt she was pretty clear on what Orange was uncomfortable about. They still hadn't really defined their relationship, but after his run-in with George, he was obviously feeling protective. Yeah, he was still his supportive and encouraging self, but Jenny sometimes caught a look in his eye that suggested he wanted to throw her over his shoulder and lock her in the bedroom. Which, she thought, could be fun under the right circumstances. Just, not tonight.
"Look, we need information about Max," Jenny said confidently. "George is going to know stuff... probably more than Max would be happy with. Like I told you, they were always competitive. Always trying to one-up each other. The last time we met, I was with Max. No matter what happened back then," she firmly pushed that memory back down, "Max was the one in control. George will love the idea of taking one of his things."
"You're not a thing," Orange muttered.
"You're sweet. I know I'm not a thing," Jenny smiled. It had taken years under Cassie Goth's wing to really believe it, but she did now. "But George doesn't. Trust me, I get him thinking he can have me, after I got away from Max, and he'll be putty in my hands."
"Which is why you're dressed like a slutty hooker?" Orange sighed.
"Slutty nymphomaniac," Jenny corrected confidently.
"Classy hooker," Genie added.
"The more he's thinking about getting his hands on my tits, the less he's being suspicious about my motives. His dick will totally override his brain," Jenny grinned.
"It's a guy thing," Genie said brightly.
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Uptown Glass was the hot new nightclub in the San My nightlife. A glittering jewel set on the top floors of the fashionable Torendi Tower, it offered overpriced drinks, the hottest local DJs, dancing, a game room, two swimming pools and, most importantly, a chance to be part of the in crowd.
Jenny supposed it wasn't a big surprise that George T had chosen to meet there.
"If you get uncomfortable at all, you'll signal us, right?" Orange asked.
They'd agreed on a simple hand-sign Jenny could make to let them know she needed backup. It was an old barhopping trick. Genie was already mingling with the crowd, as ready as Orange was to come to Jenny's rescue.
"If I get into trouble, I'll signal," Jenny said, adding softly, "I'm already uncomfortable."
Actually seeing George, sitting across the club, had twisted her stomach far more than meeting with Terry had. Which, Jenny thought, was odd given that Terry had been a bigger part of her life, shamelessly exploiting her naivety and desire to be a star to get her to do things she wouldn't have considered. Still, in his own twisted way, Terry had taken care of her.
She'd only really met George a few times, always with Max. Like she'd told them, Max had always been the one in control.
Maybe, she thought, she should have known better. When she'd met Max, she'd already gotten away from guys like Terry. Cassie Goth had taken her under her wing, protected her from the predators in executive suits and started to show her that she was worthy of respect.
She'd just started believing that, and then Max had swept her off her feet. All dark charm and sinister glamour, he'd gotten in her head. He'd also gotten her drinking heavily, which Cassie had discouraged, and using hard drugs, which she'd hidden from everyone.
It was the drugs that had led to Max introducing her to George.
Looking back now, she wondered if he'd been showing off to both of them. To her, he'd been showing how he was a big time gangster. Bigger and tougher even than this dangerous drug dealer. To George, he'd been showing off his latest conquest.
Crossing the nightclub floor, she shivered as the memories she'd pushed away earlier came flooding back.
The way George had looked at her, the way he'd treated her... while Max looked on, encouraging it all with a twisted sense of pride... had made her feel cheap and dirty even while she did whatever they demanded. All because she was sure she'd loved Max.
"Jenny Poole," George's harsh voice didn't so much snap her back to the present moment as merge the past and present together like some strange sci-fi thriller. "Don't you look tasty."
"George," Jenny nodded, putting on a smile she'd learned from the great actress and diva, Judith Ward. "It's been a while."
"It has," George replied with a reptilian smile.
"OhmyGod, you're Jenny Poole," the young woman who must be Corrie said excitedly. "Can I just say, the Urbz is like my favorite show. You're fantastic. I can't believe I'm really meeting you."
"Thanks," Jenny said distractedly.
"Corrie, do something fucking useful and get us some drinks," George commanded.
"Ok George," Corrie replied. "What can I get you?"
"Cherry fizz," Jenny said automatically.
"She'll have a rum and coke," George said firmly. "Make it a double... and get me another whiskey."
"Right away, George," Corrie nodded, rising.
"Great, thanks," Jenny said with mock enthusiasm. Whatever, she thought. I don't need to drink it.
"I heard you wanted to see me," George said, his cold eyes slithering over her body.
"I know it's been a few years," Jenny sighed theatrically. "The show keeps me busy."
"Your message said something about Max V." George's dead eyes flicked to study her face.
"I heard a rumor the bastard was back in town," Jenny said, the heat in her voice more genuine. "I thought, with you being so... connected... and all, you might have heard from him."
"Now, why the fuck would you want to talk to Max V?" George mused, his eyes traveling over her body again.
"I don't," Jenny said firmly. "Fuck him. After what he did, he doesn't get any of this again," she added, arching her back in a way she knew emphasized her chest.
"His loss," George said, openly leering.
"Too damn right," Jenny nodded. "Still, I want to know what he's doing back. If he's going to show up at my door, I want to know... you know? Besides, hearing about him... got me thinking about old times."
"I remember." George actually licked his lips, his eyes crawling over her body. "I remember you being pretty wild, once we got you... relaxed."
"Good times," Jenny smiled, calling on every ounce of her acting abilities. Stay focused, she thought. You can do this.
"So... about Max," she continued.
"Fuck him," George snorted dismissively. "I'm thinking we should go back to my place and get... reacquainted."
"What about your date?" Jenny said, trying for a flirty smile. Maybe the dress had been too much, she thought. "Corrie, was it?"
"What about her?" George chuckled. "She won't bother us. Maybe we can even have her join us. That could be a lot of fun."
"Maybe," Jenny said, trying to keep the growing tension off her face. She knew she was losing her grip on this conversation, knew she should probably signal Orange. "But..."
"I remember how to turn your maybe into yes," George leered, casually pushing a small packet of pills across the table. "Best quality. You remember how they made you feel."
"Yeah," Jenny's breath caught in her throat.
She remembered. Three years clean and sober, and she still woke up some nights craving that feeling.
She watched, horrified, as her own hand snatched up the pills. Three years clean and sober. The pills, washed down with the rum and coke that Corrie would bring back any moment. Three years clean and sober. No worries. No fear. No shame. Just floating, shiny, in waves of pleasure.
She remembered. She was drowning in memories.
"Jenny."
The woman's voice was soft and powerful, a singer's voice laced with the relaxed, smoky accents of Willow Creek. By only saying her name, somehow that voice wrapped itself around Jenny's desperately floundering soul and pulled her gently back toward safety.
"Cassie Goth," George snarled.
