Turning The Page 2 (Patreon)

Enough, he decided. He got out of the car and checked the gate. It was impressive, bars jumping up nine feet to sharp spikes, but the walls continuing to either side of the gate were just six feet. He easily grabbed a brick rim at head level and chinned his way up over onto the other side.

The grounds of the mansion had a better lawn than the land outside. Jason saw a peacock wandering around, giving him a flummoxed regard. It wandered on and Jason ignored it, moving for the mansion.

There were several cars gathered in the circular driveway. Jason considered setting off the alarm on one of them, but decided that would be letting them off easy. And it would be too depressing if no one noticed his breach after that.

He slipped by two Lexuses… Lexi?... And tried the front door. It was unlocked. Jason stepped aside.

He thought he recognized the decorating style. Tres tacky. For when you wanted to show you were rich, but not square. Fake Roman busts with makeup sprayed on the features. Big paintings, but of dogs playing poker and Elvis being velvet. Big wooden bookcases with Sweet Valley High books lining the shelves. A carefully calculated lack of taste, as considered by a well-paid decorator.

Jason wondered how long Bettie would wait until actually furnishing this place with her own taste. Maybe when her fifteen minutes of fame were up, she'd get around to making this place livable. Probably spent more time in a trailer than whichever bedroom she'd set up in here.

“Where are you supposed to be?” someone asked. 

Jason glanced at him. He was a p.a. type and he wasn't challenging Jason so much as taking his fast food order, to go by his voice.

“I'm just here to pick up this thing,” he said, gesturing to a portrait of Abraham Lincoln in Ray-Bans, then went to pick it up off the wall.

“Oh, okay,” the guy said. He was very much a guy. “You need any help?”

“Nah, just gotta visit the bathroom before I go. Which way?”

“Over there,” the guy said, pointing. “You know if they're bringing in a new painting or just… wall?”

“I think they're putting in a TV.”

“Cool.”

Tucking the painting under his arm, Jason walked down the hallway indicated. He heard noise passing down the stretching walls to him. Music and a photographer's playful commands and a camera shutter going off and the whole chorus of noises that cell phones could make. Sounded like a whole high school class that should be learning.

Jason sighed and walked down the floorboards. The way these celebrities went on about their privacy, you'd think they'd want to be alone at home, enjoying having so much peace and quiet to themselves. Instead, they brought an entourage with them to make a bagel. The rich are different from you and me…

The hallway opened up into a sort of indoor courtyard; one of those rich people rooms he'd never be able to name. There were at least twenty people milling around. A party in Jason's world. Photography equipment was everywhere, jostling for space around the props and set dressing.

None too convincingly, the room had been turned into a retard’s idea of a sex dungeon. A grown man in a diaper. A cheerleader locked inside a cage. A Doberman with a spiked collar. A black guy in a Speedo and leather jacket with milk being poured on him. A man in a tiger costume like a high school mascot. A lot of things that someone somewhere might find titillating in theory, but nothing that anyone ever would.

Bettie herself lay being wrapped up in bubble wrap. Through it, Jason could see she was a good-looking woman. More than good-looking. Classically beautiful, with an hourglass figure shown off to perfection by a leather leotard and nylon stockings covering her from ass to spike heels. 

She was a genuinely gorgeous girl. Jason didn’t know who could think she needed all this razzle-dazzle to look pretty. You put her in a nice dress, told her to strike a pose on a halfway comfortable couch; that was your sex appeal right there. He guessed the photographer swished too hard to realize that. Thought she needed to be post-modern or ironic or any damn thing other than what she was, which was purely and simply…

But she looked the way she looked. He shouldn’t get hung up on it. He’d seen beautiful women before; honeypots. And unlike these darkroom damsels, those girls were trained to deliver on their promises. When he thought of this little girl lost actually having the sexual knowledge that all this hokum seemed to boast of…

Well, he just had to laugh. And he did. It was maybe the one thing that could cut through all the noise, but he couldn’t help himself. This was funnier than every episode of Must-See TV in a row.

Bettie got up, wiggling out of the bubble wrap to come to her full height, which made Jason want to laugh all the harder. He stopped himself, or tried to. Managed to restrain himself to just a wavering smile.

It was about as real as the one Bettie plastered on to greet him. But damn, was it a nice smile, even when it was as plastic as a G.I. Joe. “Is there something funny, sir?”

Her accent was delta-South, sweet even when it was sour, like now. Shamed him a little, like it was meant to. He felt like he was telling the high school beauty queen that her audition for the glee club wasn’t good enough.

“No, not funny, exactly. Amusing.”

“Amusing,” Bettie repeated, like it was a word out of a foreign language. “And what’s the difference?”

Jason shrugged. “I suppose funny is just funny. Amusing is a little weird.”

“Ah. I do see now.” Bettie joined her hands together in a little clasp, like she might go ahead and pray for him if he persisted in his foolishness. “And who are you, may I ask? And what are you doing with my painting?”

Jason took the painting out from under his arm and leaned it against an armchair. “I’m Jason Purdue. Byers sent me here. He seemed to think you needed a bodyguard.”

“And is that what you would be thinking?”

“I think you might be paying a bodyguard, but you don’t have one. I walked right in. And I borrowed your painting. You can have it back, though. I’ll put it back where I found it, no charge.”

Bettie smiled frostily. Such a damn good smile. Almost made him sad that he was pissing her off and missing out on the full effect.

With some hand gestures, Bettie commanded the troop. The photographer got out a light meter and did whatever you did with that, the guy in the tiger fursuit took off his head and got a Fanta from a cooler, and all the hangers-on continued being useless, but from a safer distance.

One of them brought Bettie a dressing gown, which she shrugged on. Jason could’ve groaned in disappointment. He was pretty sure a lot of people would’ve paid good money to have Bettie Page pissed at them while wearing something like she had on.

She swayed closer to him. Hips, breasts, those jet-black bangs—all moved in harmony, the sashay of them so in accordance with each other that a line of chorus girls would be envious. And when she got close, he could hear her even when her voice was a low whisper. Low like she didn’t want anyone else to catch the venom directed at him.

“What do you find so amusing about my work, Mr. Purdue?”

Jason guessed at putting a gut reaction into words. “It insists upon itself.”

She was practically pressed up against him, looking up into his eyes like all he had to do was crane his neck to get a classic screen clinch with her. “How. So.”

Jason scratched the back of his neck. Bettie’s eyes blazed. He supposed she took that as a sign of weakness. Well, let her. If she wanted to think she could intimidate her employees, he’d let her think that as long as the check cleared. “I get the kink thing. I understand it. But this isn’t sexy, it’s silly. If I thought this was something someone was authentically into, okay. But it’s all just chest-thumping. Telling everyone how sexy you are instead of being sexy. Maybe because you’d rather be thought of as a slut than share what actually turns you on.”

Bettie’s eyes locked with his. They really were blue, but not cold at all. More like the sky on a summer day. She blinked eyelashes heavy with mascara. “Well, what really turns me on is guys taller than six feet with intimacy issues and a severe disrespect for boundaries.”

“I respect boundaries just fine,” Jason retorted. “Do you have any?”

Bettie twisted around. She had a nice ass. It seemed too big to be real after how narrow her waist was. Like a rosebud coming out of a stem. And seeing it all in leather was just… unfair. “I have a boyfriend. He’s more knowledgeable about all this fighting and shooting and killing stuff. If he says you can do the job, you’re hired.”

“Is he here? Should I wait? I could just have a seat.” Jason glanced over to where a redhead was down on all fours, making herself a bench for a blow-up doll. “Or a person, if you’d rather.”