hey. so this is in honor of being on the favorites and alerts list of fifty people. yes. fifty people. each. -jumps up and down- thanks to everyone who has favorited, alerted, etc. to me or any of my stories. :D love you all.
Sticking to the Cover
"Cammie! Are you ready yet?" Zach called, banging on my door.
I stuffed a gun into the little band around my thigh. "Um, almost. Come in." I began to unclip the rollers in my hair and searched the bag in front of me for blue contacts. After I found them and put them in, I opened a drawer a found four skinny knives, which I slipped into my boots.
I heard Zach enter the room. "Hey, the car is here, and Bex and- whoa."
I wheeled around and glared at him. "Don't. Say. Anything." He stood back, smirking, and quite possibly admiring the view.
Because, while he was dressed as a hotshot trust-fund living newcomer to the business world, I was dressed as his prostitute. Yeah. I wanted to ask if the Director was crazy too. But apparently, lots of rich business men liked to indulge. Like, a lot. The upside? The black dress... and black high-heeled boots... and fishnet stockings... well, they could all conceal an amazing amount of weapons. The downside? Um, everything else.
"You, uh, really went all out," Zach commented, as I rolled my eyes and looked for my coat.
"Shut up, before I poke your eye out with one of the twenty-four knives I have."
"Ha."
"Not joking." I saw it, finally, next to my bed... On the floor. I walked over, and tried to pick it up without bending over or squatting. Which I couldn't do. "Can you pick up my jacket?" I asked Zach. And I'm one hundred percent sure he would've complied. If he wasn't so busy staring into the contents of my bag.
"Abendroth's Calls?" He asked, holding up a card. I sighed.
"It's part of my cover. Now can you pick up my coat?" He continued staring at the card. "Didn't the Director tell you anything? Oh, and that has a sharp edge." He put it back in my bag and opened his mouth. "Make one joke, and I will-"
"Yeah, yeah, twenty four knives, whatever." He walked over and picked up my jacket, handing it to me. "But seriously. Can you even-" I grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back, pushing him towards the door.
"Go away."
"I'll be in the car!" He called, as I shoved him out the door. I shuffled around my bag, looking for the flesh-colored camera and mic. Taking it out, I activated it, and put it on my neck, where it stuck. And where, of course, the sexual harassment began.
"Holy cleavage, Batman!" I heard Grant's voice cry. "Is that Cammie?"
"Cammie can hear you, jerkface," Macey said.
"I like this cover," Grant confirmed. "I think all of you girls should use it more often."
There was a sound of skin hitting skin, and I suspected Bex. "That hurt, Baxter."
"That's my best friend you're zooming into."
I straightened up. "What?!"
"Cammie, honey, put on your coat." Macey advised. I slipped it on and wobbled out of the door. "And walk straight! Oh my God."
"I'm sorry, but these heels feel like I'm defying gravity or something and-" I stumbled out the door. "Crap. Ouch." I slammed my door shut. This was seriously frustrating.
"Maybe I should've taken the cover," Macey said worriedly. "Are you sure you aren't going to die, Cam?" I grumbled in response. "Oh, come one, they're only three and a half inches." Right. Only three and a half inches. Something was wrong with this girl.
"If it's any consolation," Grant started to say, and I knew it wasn't going to be a consolation of any sort. "If you were a real hooker, you'd be really, really expensive."
"Thanks, Grant. I hate you."
The neighbors were starting to look at me funny. I smiled and waved, pointing to my ear as if to say I was on a bluetooth and so they wouldn't call me crazy for talking to myself. I spotted the standard black car sitting about three feet away. I was beginning to think I couldn't even make it two feet away, when it moved forward and the door opened. Grant was the first person I saw, and he had a huge red mark on his face. I gestured to it, holding back a smile. "Um, you have something on your face."
"You're best friend loves you very much," he said through gritted teeth. "I'm pretty sure she'd kill for you."
"Pansy," I heard Bex say.
"There's a spot next to Zach," Macey said, adjusting the rearview mirror. And that's how I ended up in the back back row of the car, with Liz on one side and Zach on the other. Except Liz was typing away at her laptop, so it was basically only Zach. Yeah. It was going to be a long car ride.
"So, do you have a nickname?" Zach asked, grinning. He was enjoying this way too much.
"A nickname?"
"You know. All the prostitutes have one. Like Bubbles. Or The Black Amethyst. Or something."
Grant twisted around so he could face us. "No, man, that's strippers."
"I don't like this conversation," I announced.
"How do you know strippers have nicknames like that?" Bex asked.
Grant turned back around. "Um, common knowledge... And stuff."
"You mean you've never gone to a strip bar or anything," Bex clarified. And it was her tone that let Grant know he was in trouble.
Grant let out a short laugh. "Ha. No, of course not."
"Or hired one for Zach's twenty-first birthday party?"
Grant shot her a look. "See, now you just ruined the surprise."
"Oh my God," I sighed, putting my head in my hands.
"You hired a stripper for me? Thanks, man," Zach said, high-fiving Grant. Bex, Macey, and I exchanged a look. Liz tapped away at her computer.
"Yeah. Her name is the Officer," Grant shared excitedly. "And the chick she's arresting is called 'Miss Behaved'. Hot, right?"
"Of course," Zach agreed. They were both grinning broadly now.
"Hey! One more word of strippers and I put on the Pussycat Doll CD!" Macey yelled from the front.
"Nice hotel," I commented, glad that the whole stripper conversation had died down.
"It better be, or else this uniform that I'm wearing is going to be shoved up-" Macey started to say, but Bex cut her off.
"Shouldn't Grant be driving? He was supposed to be our chauffeur, anyways." Macey drove into a little place a bit off from the rest of parking lot, and Bex pushed Grant out, then followed. Macey exited the car, and now it looked exactly the same as the rest of the shiny black cars, filled with young starters and experienced old businessmen. And, quite possibly, their call-girls.
But it was for the sake of America, okay?
"By the way, this cover is perfect," Grant said, sliding into the front seat. "If I had a trust fund, I would definitely spend it on-"
"I think you can drop us off here, thank you," I ordered. I sighed. Zach looked at me and smiled.
'Ready?"
"This is for the sake of this country's safety. I'll just tell myself that."
"Okay, and we have to sell it, so you need to, um-" He trailed off, then held his arm out.
"Is Zach getting shy? That's so cute," Grant basically squealed.
"And if I fall in these ridiculous heels, I am shooting everyone I see," I said.
He shook his head. "Don't do that. Just don't fall."
"Fine." I took off my coat and exhaled deeply. "Okay. I'm ready." Zach peered out the window.
"Hey, look, I think there's another one. And another one. The Director wasn't kidding when he said this would be a perfect cover."
"Thanks, Zach," I muttered. Grant got out and opened the door for us. We climbed out and I held onto Zach's arm. How does a prostitute walk, exactly? Well, she would try to be normal, but she also has to be her money's worth, right? Also, it's pretty hard to walk normal in really high heels and an increasingly tight dress.
"Are you okay?" Zach asked.
"Just trying to stay upright," I said cheerfully. I figured she'd want everyone to see her, so she'd make even more money. Or maybe she'd walk quickly, to try and get to a private place quickly? Did a hooker enjoy her job? Oh my God. This was way more complicated than I thought it would be.
"Relax," Zach instructed me. Maybe a hooker was ignorant and just didn't care. Maybe she cared a lot and made no eye contact. Did she walk with purpose? What kind of purpose? Maybe I should strut. Okay, no. "Relax. You're at... a prom..." Zach tried. "You're at the ball. Remember? Sophomore year?"
"How could I freaking forget?" I hissed. "That's when my bra fell down and you kept appearing places-"
"Wait, that's why you ditched me?" Zach asked, surprised. "I thought my debonair dancing skills were just too much for you to handle."
I rolled my eyes. "I thought you knew everything, Spy."
"Ahaha, irony, you're so hilarious. I thought it was my debonair dancing skills." I sighed.
"The point is, I didn't really feel like relaxing. Not to mention, I wasn't dressed as someone you paid for!"
"Details, details," he said, waving them off. "Just... stick to the cover."
"I'm trying." We walked a few more feet, and I realized I must be doing something right, because one of the hotel employees was staring. Wonder how much that cost, I heard him say to his fellow employee.
"See, you're not doing too bad," Zach said, pressing the UP button on the elevator. "Wait till we get to the hotel room."
"Yeah, then you can go and-" the elevator dinged. "-yourself."
The actual place where the event was being held was very classy, even though every few rich guys I saw another one of 'my kind'. In fact, one of them came up to me, and asked 'how I did it', because apparently, she went on 'house calls', but one of her friends worked at the 'warehouse'.
After throwing up a little, I told her I was on house calls. Because I didn't really want to think about warehouses. That was just wrong.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Zach go up to some Middle-Eastern guy, pretending to be interested in making an investment in whatever. They shared a couple drinks, and even though I could hear what they were saying, I tuned them out, trying to look as airheaded as possible.
"And... go," I heard Macey's voice say. I took a deep breath. This is where my cover came in. What Zach was supposed to have done was seriously piss off the Middle Easterns. And then, he would order some special drink, then we would go up to a hotel room, and then we'd totally kick ass. Slowly, I walked over to him and grabbed his arm.
Crap. How did a hooker talk?
"Mr. Goodson, we only have an hour," I said, disguising my voice with a foreign accent. The Middle Easterns, all of whom had looked slightly pissed off before, stared, testosterone washing over their faces. And all I could think was, Never. Ever. Ever. Ever. Again. Never. "Unless." And I couldn't really decide whether to say 'pay the boss' or 'give me tips', because both sounded fake and made me laugh, so I just trailed off. Trying to sound hookerish.
"Yeah, we should go now," Zach confirmed. I pulled him towards the elevator again.
The elevator took us to our floor, and we walked inside our room and began to scan for bugs. Then we heard footsteps.
"Uh, guys, get into your covers, like, now," Macey ordered. "Haha. I'm so punny. Get it? Because the covers... and the bed... and the covers... Ha." Zach and I looked at each other. Trying hard not to blush (because prostitutes don't do that.), I pushed him onto the bed.
"Loosen your tie and unbutton your shirt," I said, smearing the edge of my lips a little bit to smudge the lipstick. "Now." He fumbled with his tie as the footsteps got closer. Then, I climbed on top of him.
Awkward? Yeah...
The doorknob jiggled, and there were mumblings outside, but it was kind of the least of my problems at the moment. Surprisingly. "Zach!"
"What? I can't- I can't control it, okay?"
"He's right, you know," Grant agreed. I sighed.
"Try!"
"Well, right now, I can kind of see right down your dress, and it's not really helping with anything-"
I resisted taking a pillow and killing him with it. "Close your eyes."
"Yeah, that'll help," he mumbled, closing them. The door broke open. Five or six men burst in, and I felt myself being pulled off the bed.
"3, 2," Macey whispered, counting down. One of the guys pulled me aside, and I held my hand out. "Haha. You're funny." He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a hundred dollar bill. He reached out to hand it to me, and I grabbed his hand and threw him onto the floor. Unconcious.
I did the same with two other guys, while Zach took care of the rest. Kicking, knifing, punching. Finally, something I was comfortable in.
"Body count, three, one from Cammie, two from Zach," Macey calculated. "Rest are unconcious. We're sending in clean up. Awesome job."
"That was awkward," I sniffed, watching the playback from when Zach and I entered the hotel room. "I am never, ever, ever doing that again."
"But it was such an awesome cover," Zach protested. "I liked it."
"I hated it. I hate you."
"You two stop bickering, you're starting to sound like Grant and Bex," Macey called.
"It was horrible," I stated, ignoring Macey.
"It was fun."
"For you!"
"And not you?"
"No!"
"Why not?"
"Zach, you weren't dressed up in fishnets pretending to seduce the person you've-" I stopped and stared out the window. He poked me.
"Say it."
"No."
He leaned back, smirking. "Why not?"
"Because if I do, I'll have to kill you."
He laughed. "Whatever. I already know." I gave him a look. He stared back.
"Right, because you know everything."
"Not everything, just most things. After all, I am a spy."
"Not a very professional one."
"Are you still mad about the thing?"
"Yes."
"But-"
Macey cut in before he could finish. "Guys, shut up. Seriously." There was weird pause. Then Grant spoke up.
"I volunteer Bex to be the next cover hooker."
haha. unrealistic, cheesy, and totally fun to write. review? :)
~kiwi
