Reyna's Anniversary Part 7 (Patreon)

Announcement: I'm going to give two days between polls. That gives more of you time to read it and time to vote. I'm hoping to get some more participation in the voting process. 

***

It was Esmerelda. She hesitated for a second. What could she want? Unless she was working for Reyna. Or with Reyna. If that was true, Grace didn’t want to go anywhere near her. 

But then Grace thought of Esmerelda’s piercings. A dozen questions sprang to her mind, ones she never had before: did they hurt? Did she like them? How often did she clean or maintain them? Did the pain turn her on? Did they make sex better? 

Grace blushed at the last question and pushed it away. She pushed it all away. 

And yet, she still answered the phone. 

“Hello?” 

“Grace?” 

“Yes?” 

“It’s me. Esmerelda. We saw each other again yesterday at the Gold Club?” 

“I remember. What can I do for you?” 

“It’s just … um … I need a lawyer.” 

Grace shot up, her blood ran cold. “What? For what? What’s wrong?” 

“Um … can you come down to the club? I need you to talk to my boss.” 

“What? Your boss? Esmerelda, what’s wrong?” 

Esmerelda sighed. “He says my papers are wrong. He just checked it out, and he’s … Grace, he’s threatening to call ICE.” 

“Holy shit.” Grace stopped. Her whole mind stopped. Her arms held the phone limply against her face, but she wasn’t concerned anymore with Reyna or the Gold Club. Something was wrong. Severely wrong. First Guadalupe and now Esmerelda? Coincidence? 

Or was Grace that bad of a lawyer? 

“Yeah,” said Esmerelda. “Listen, he’s saying I have to leave. I don’t want to cause … I don’t know. He’s kind of a scumbag. I’m afraid I’ll come back with no job and everything in my locker given away to some new girl. What are my rights here?” 

Grace imagined Esmerelda’s boss. Probably some overweight and balding guy in wife-beaters and bad body odor. Probably some sexist pig that liked to grope his own dancers. He’d probably use this against Esmerelda. Maybe he’d make her sleep with him to keep his job, to pretend she didn’t have the right paperwork. That would be - 

“Grace? You there?” 

“Hm?” 

“Jesus, Grace. Should I be calling someone else?” 

“Um, no. Absolutely not. I’m your lawyer.” 

“Then start acting like it.” 

“Right.” 

“What are my rights here?” 

“If you don’t have paperwork, he can’t get you deported, I don’t think.” 

“Don’t think!?” snapped Esmerelda. 

Grace sighed. Her mind was so foggy. She kept imagining Esmerelda stripping for her boss, giving him his daily lapdance so she could keep her job. Jesus, where was that all coming from? What the fuck was wrong with her? 

“Is there a coffee shop or something nearby?” 

“Um … there’s a shitty diner we go to sometimes.” 

“Go there. Get away from your boss. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” 

“Okay.” 

“It’ll be okay.” 

“Yeah.” Grace went to hang up the phone, but then Esmerelda said, “hey Grace?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I really need this fucking job. I know it’s not much but my family -” 

“I know,” said Grace. “I’ll figure it out. Ten minutes. Shitty diner. Be there.” 

“Yeah.” 

Grace hung up the phone and got dressed. She decided to look as professional as possible, if not for Esmerelda’s confidence, then for her own. She put on the one suit she owned: grey pants, white blouse, and grey jacket. She hesitated between white and black heels (white) and debated jewelry choices (white gold necklace, pearl earrings). She wrangled her hair into a tight bun and sprayed it in place. She looked professional, like a TV lawyer. Maybe she looked like she was trying too hard, but she didn’t have time to second guess herself. The only way out was through. 

The diner was shitty. Everything was sticky or had a thin grey fog and film over it. She wanted to spray the whole thing with a power washer, including the staff. It was filled mostly with truckers, and a few of them eyed her when she came in. Unimpressed, they turned their leers back to Esmerelda. 

Grace’s client was in a tight and low-cut green tank top. She had on tight jeans with intentional rips along the thighs and knees exposed. Her makeup was impressive - a flawless cat’s eye with smokey purple eye-shadow - and her long black hair was up in a ponytail. She looked annoyed, scrolling through her phone and sighing occassionally. She had on half a dozen bracelets, mostly bangles, that clattered everytime she typed. 

“Esmerelda?” asked Grace as she stood next to her client’s booth. 

“You’re late.” She didn’t look up from her phone. 

Grace waited for an invitation to sit, standing awkwardly next to the stripper. “Who are you texting?” 

“Family.” 

“What about?” 

Esmerelda sighed and looked up. “What do you fucking think?” 

Grace nodded, trying to hide her embarrassment. She moved to tuck away a stray hair, but there were none, just hair held tightly against the side of her head. She decided she was never getting an invitation and slid in across from her client. 

“Right, sorry.” Grace took out a notepad and a pencil. “How are you feeling?” 

There was a sound like a squeak, and then Esmerelda broke. Her nose wrinkled, her eyes squinted, and her chin shook. One manicured finger with a long orange nail rose to catch the tears, to save the makeup, but the dam was broken. Esmerelda caught one tear, but then she snapped. She let out something like a hiccup and then a howl. 

Grace felt the eyes of the diner lock onto them. Except now they weren’t checking the two women out. Now they were asking questions. Wasn’t that Grace, the immigration lawyer? Wasn’t that Esmerelda, the stripper? What were they doing together? Why is her client crying? Did Grace fuck up? Or wait, are they fucking? 

Grace blinked, clearing her head. Her mind felt like a strange place, like a new country with a new language. Thoughts - new and dangerous thoughts - would come out of nowhere. Sometimes they fascinated her, and sometimes they scared her, but they always confused her. She was left in a perpetual state of culture shock in her own mind. 

She offered Esmerelda a napkin, and the woman took it. She was still trying to save her makeup, bless her heart. But she calmed down. She took deep breaths. Her chest shook as sobs threatened to take over, to break her down again, but she held strong. She kept it together. Slowly she raised her shoulder, pulling her head up and straightening the spine. She wouldn’t let this break her. Not this, after all she must have been through. 

Fuck, she was beautiful. 

Another new thought, but one Grace didn’t run from. This one fascinated her, like an exotic show in some far off land. It may not be normal for her, but she could entertain it. She could do it just this once, while on vacation. Right? 

Because Esmerelda was beautiful. Her face was lean and strong. There was an arrogance in it, a regality. With her posture so straight, she looked like she owned this diner, like every eye was on her because of her power, and not because of what each man wished he was doing to her. With the light on her face, she looked like a queen. No, like an empress. Grace could understand why any man would want her. She looked unattainable, flawless. She looked flawless and elegant. With the light shining on her, she almost looked like an angel. With the light shining on her - 

Her piercings shone … 

“We’re going to figure this out,” said Grace slowly, but her eyes didn’t leave Esmerelda’s face, her piercings. She couldn’t see the navel or nipple piercings that entranced her last time, but it didn’t matter. Grace talked, telling her all about the situation with her boss - his name was Marco - and how she needed to support her family and something about something and another thing … But when she talked, Grace followed her pierced tongue. It was pierced on both sides, bright blue in her both, dancing around, mocking Esmerelda. It became a game, wondering what words would cause Esmeralda’s piercing to show? What words requires the most open mouth and tongue? 

Mmmm … tongue … 

“So yeah, I don’t want to end up like that.” Esmerelda finished and crossed her arms over her chest. She pouted her lips, and for a moment, Grace waited for her to talk again, to show more of her tongue. Then she realized Esmerelda was waiting for Grace’s expertise.

What expertise? 

“Oh! Right.” Grace looked down at her blank pad of paper. “Right. Okay.” Grace chewed on her pencil. She had to say something. She had to form words. Words weren’t hard. She’d been speaking all her life, right? 

But when Esmerelda worried, she furrowed her brow. Her pierced furrowed brow. Even her pout lip drew attention to her lip piercing. Pouty lip piercing. Her adorable lips curled up, almost touching her septum piercing. Sexy septum piercing. 

“I’m sorry,” said Grace, blushing a little before she even asked the question. “This is totally off topic, and I promise I’m processing your case.” She pointed the pencil to her temple. “It’s all rolling around up here. But I was wondering - if you don’t mind - about your piercings.” 

“My piercings?” Esmerelda seemed to perk up and smile. 

“Yeah. If that’s okay.” 

Esmerelda reached out with both her hands and grabbed Grace’s free one. “Honestly, anything to distract me from this shitty day.” 

“Right. Well … First question: did -” 

“It hurt?” Esmerelda smiled. The pout was gone, but even the soft spread of her thick lips drew attention to the pierced lips. Holy shit, was there anything she could do that wouldn’t draw attention to her piercings?

“Yeah,” she said. Her eyes danced with … something. Something magical. “I mean, of course it hurt, right? But it didn’t hurt too much more than an ear.” She raised her hand and touched Grace’s earring. The redhead’s whole body turned red, burning with embarrassment and appreciation and … 

Lust? 

“Belly hurt a lot more. Anything that’s not soft skin, but it’s not too bad. Ice or vodka handle it nicely.” 

“Yeah?” Grace didn’t dare look up. If she met Esmerelda’s gaze, if she looked at her one more time and all her piercings … she’d melt. 

“Vodka covers a multitude of sins.” 

“Covers or promotes?” 

Esmerelda laughed. “What’s the difference?” 

Grace smiled. 

“You don’t drink?” 

Grace looked up. Esmerelda met her eyes with intensity. Her regality was back. She was no longer the scared little girl looking for a lawyer. She was a woman, powerful and calm amidst a storm of uncertainty. 

“Not really. Just special occasions.” 

“Well, let me know when the next one is. I’d love to see you relax a bit.” 

Grace blushed again, shrinking into herself, eyes back down. Esmerelda was still holding her hand, and Grace thought she was rubbing one knuckle with a thumb. Was that real? Or was that imagined? 

“Um … well … maybe you’re one of those special occasions?” 

“Are you hitting on me?” 

Grace tightened up, her eyes looking to find Esmerelda’s. Her hand was gone. She recoiled into herself, looking at Grace with a look of shock. Her eyes were wide and eyebrows were raised. 

Her pierced eyebrows … 

Esmerelda stood up, and Grace followed. Things were fuzzy. Something was wrong. Something as missing. She shouldn’t be upsetting Esmerelda. She should be making her feel good. She works for her. She’s the client. The client is always right. She just had to make that smile come back, to brush all the confusion and worry away. She had to make her shine. That’s all. 

Grace’s body started to move, but she didn’t fight it. She didn’t want to fight it. She trusted it now. Whatever it wanted, she wanted. 

***

What move does Grace make?