Trish Stratus laid across the sofa, her ankles propped up on the far arm and her head flat on the cushion. Her hands were folded over her stomach. Dressed in silk boxers and a tank top, she looked a lot more comfortable than she really was. She didn't need to see who came into her condominium. There was only one person who would walk in so boldly and slam the door.
"Care to hear about it?"
Randy groaned and closed his eyes. He took off his suit jacket and hung it up on the coat rack beside the door. He felt an argument coming on, and to get out of another, he took off his shoes and placed them side-by-side on the door mat. Trish was positively anal about her white carpet and she had no trouble reaming anyone who dared walk on it with shoes on.
"Whatever, Trish."
"Don't whatever me." She continued to lay stretched out, staring up at the ceiling. "I thought it was rather interesting, despite the fact that it was disturbing as hell."
Randy sighed and looked down at her. The only sign that she was angry came from her burning stare upwards. He lifted her legs and fell down on the sofa, then dropped her legs across his lap. "Who called?"
"That's why it was disturbing. I don't know." She unclasped her hands and let her fingers tap against her stomach. "Didn't recognize the voice, but whoever this guy was, he had a lot to say about you."
"What the hell could anybody you don't know possibly have to say about me?"
"Oh, the usual... you're a disgusting, perverted human being. But I knew that already. The interesting thing was that this person told me I should ask you about your extra-curricular activities. Mainly, that I should ask you what happens back there in that VIP room when you disappear from the club. I thought that was really interesting."
"Trish, come on... I never thought you to be the jealous type."
"I'm not. I'm the possessive type." She sat up slowly, steadying herself with a hand on the back of the sofa. "I told you in the beginning, Orton. I don't share. If that's what you want, get somebody else."
"Why would I cheat on you, huh?" Randy turned to look at her. His right hand slid over his short-cropped hair, down the back of his head and slid over his neck. "Jesus Christ, you're the hottest thing in town. I got a good thing here. Why would I fuck that up?"
"Because you can?" She shrugged. "I know what you're up to, and the shit better stop. Despite what some assholes would tell you, a blowjob is considered cheating, and the second I get some concrete proof, your ass is out of here."
"Trish! I am not cheating on you!"
"Bullshit! Ya know what the disturbing part of this whole thing was? The fact that you can't hide your business better than that. Some fucking stranger knows what's going on, Randy. Christian never took me for granted, so why the hell do you?"
Randy withheld a growl. He was getting tired of her ex-boyfriend being brought up in every argument. The man was gone for good, and no amount of talking him up was going to bring him back from the dead. "What's the point in bringing him up? He was a fucking junkie and he fucked himself over. Is that the kinda man you want, Trish? A fucking junkie that can't handle his high?"
"Christian was not a junkie!" She threw her legs off of him and swung them around front. Trish stood up and stalked back and forth in front of Randy. "Somebody killed him, and we all know it. Yeah, he got caught up with the wrong people, but it was a mistake. Somebody shut him up and it's more than a little bit your fault."
"What!" Randy jumped up and stood in front of her, halting her steps. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"It means..." She looked up at him and glared. "He met those people at your club. You didn't warn him what he was getting into. Sometimes..." She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Sometimes, I think you got him messed up just so you could get me away from him."
"Now, that is just ridiculous!" He grabbed her by the arms and gave her a brisk shake. "What the hell is wrong with you! You're basically calling me a murderer! Do I look like a fucking murderer to you?"
"Honestly? I don't know what you look like, Randy." She jerked back away from him and turned her back to him. She still felt bad for dating him after losing Christian, but she had waited long enough. Randy had pursued, but she had mourned for a year after his death. She didn't think he would be mad at her. Christian always wanted her to be happy, but... there were times when she wondered.
"I'm not stupid, Randy," she said, her voice low. "Just because I shake my ass in a cage five nights a week, that doesn't mean that I'm stupid or a whore or some shit like that. I dance at that club because it makes me a hell of a lot more money than I would make doing damn near anything else. I could take my med tech license to any hospital and get a job. I dance for the money, and because I love the atmosphere."
Randy took in a deep breath and forced it out with a groan. "Is this going anywhere?"
"Yeah, Randy, it is." She turned to face him. The sadness over thoughts of Christian was replaced with a determined glare. "Don't you ever mistake me for some dumb bitch who sucks your dick in one of the back rooms of the club. I am not stupid. I am not a whore. I do things with a purpose, and it would behoove you to remember that. You are really fucking replaceable as far as I'm concerned."
Randy stared at her and didn't know what to say. Of course he'd gotten blowjobs in the back. Everybody did except for Dave, who was under the impression that his girlfriend would kick his ass. Everyone else was pretty sure of the same thing, though, so Dave wasn't being paranoid about it. Chyna wouldn't have taken the betrayal from him, and while Randy thought a little head in the back wasn't a big deal, he was starting to think that Trish might be thinking along the same veins as Chyna.
With a sigh, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small dark vial. He held it up to the light and watched the white powder move back and forth inside as he tilted it to and fro. "Will this make things better?"
Trish glared at him. "I just sat here and ranted about Christian and..."
"And, you can handle your high. You need your high. That son of a bitch that called got you pissed off over nothing, and now it's time to relax. You don't wanna be stressed for work, do you?"
"I don't work for hours," she said, folding her arms. She fixed her lips in a thin line of defiance, but she couldn't stop her eyes from following the movement of the vial. She had to admit that she did need a little relaxation. If there was anything Randy was good at, it was relieving tension. He did it one of two ways... sex or cocaine. She didn't feel like touching him at the moment, so she would have to go for the second.
Growling, Trish snatched the vile out of his hand and knelt down in front of the long glass table in the center of the living room. She put a hand out and Randy rolled his eyes. He went to his jacket and pulled out his wallet. First, he handed her a platinum Visa. Then he took out a hundred dollar bill.
While Trish cut the powder into fine lines on the table, Randy rolled the bill into a slim tube. For the past six months, she'd been cutting her coke with a credit card and snorting with the largest bill Randy had in his wallet. Randy often wondered if it were all just for his benefit, to show him exactly how high maintenance she was. He didn't really care, though, because she was a good catch. Trish Stratus was, as far as he was concerned, the sexiest woman in Miami, maybe all of Florida. She moved he body in ways that he didn't even think was possible. And, almost the most important thing, she wasn't an addict. She used at parties, and when Randy brought it to her. She didn't waste his money on excessive drugs and he wouldn't have to worry about her moving up to track lines. She preferred her drugs with a rolled up hundred, not a needle.
Trish took the bill from him and put it to her nose. She sniffed in as she ran the bill along the line, then sat back. She closed her eyes and squeezed her nose, then shook her head. "Whew!" She shook her head again, then passed him the bill. "Don't think this makes me forget anything, though. I don't care how good the coke is. I don't forget a damn thing."