Page 42 of Cash

ELEVEN - Kimberly

Dressedin a ridiculously small two-piece bikini with a pair of cut-off jean shorts covering her bottom half, Jennifer stood at my side as I watered the flowers.

She lifted her chin and gazed up at San Diego’s signature clear blue sky. “This day’s perfect. It’s only ten o’clock, and I’m frying out here. You should change clothes.”

I was wearing shorts and an old tee shirt. Obviously more modest than her, I felt if I wore any less, I’d be committing a crime.

“I’m fine,” I said, taking another look at her. “You should consider getting a different top. Where’d you get that thing, anyway?”

She tugged at the small triangles of material, shifting them from one side of her boobs to the other. Eventually, she centered them over her nipples and gave up. “I bought it at Nordstrom’s Rack last week. I love it.”

I moved the hose to the Cleveland Sage and then looked her over. Attempting to cover her boobs with the two pieces of material of her bikini top would be like trying to cover an SUV with a beach towel.

It was a matter of what part she wanted to conceal and deciding if what was exposed was acceptable.

“You should really do something with those things,” I said with a nod of my head. “I don’t want the neighbors thinking you and I are, you know, bumping uglies.”

“I bought it to get sun,” she snapped back snidely. “Not go to out to dinner.” She tugged at the hem of her shorts, and then peered out at the street. “If that worthless biker would stop by from time to time, they wouldn’t think you’re bumping uglies with me.”

It had been ten days it since I’d seen Cash. To him, it might have been normal to go such a lengthy period of time without making contact.

To me, it seemed like a lifetime.

“Do you think I should have waited?” I asked. “You know, to give him a blowie?”

“Hell no.” She buried her nose in the purple flowers and inhaled a long breath. “I’d have sucked him off on day one. I’d have ridden that dick, too, but that’s just me.”

I moved the hose to the next flower. “Do you think if I’d have screwed him that he’d have come back?”

“I doubt it’s over. He might be coming back, you don’t know. Bikers are weird. Their clocks don’t spin at the same speed ours do. They answer to no one, and don’t give a shit about time of day, or days of the week. Every day is a weekend, and there is no night or day. It’s a constant party with those guys. He’s probably recovering from some striper party they had at the clubhouse or shooting it out with a rival club down in Chula Vista.”

I scrunched my nose. “Stripper party?”

“Yeah. They have those things all the time. They’ve got stripper poles in their clubhouses. Girls fall all over themselves to get a chance at riding the polished brass in an MC’s clubhouse.”

“More Netflix facts?”

“No,” she said. “This stuff’s common knowledge.”

“Seriously? They have stripper poles in their clubhouses?”

“Stripper poles. Machineguns. Heroin. Cocaine. Safes full of money. Meth labs. Stolen motorcycles. Yeah, their clubhouses are off-limits to pretty much anyone. Except for the club whores.”

I released the trigger on the nozzle’s sprayer and stared at her. “Club whores?”

“You didn’t know?”

“I had no idea. What do they do?”

She pinched her eyes closed and arched her back, pointing her sparsely covered boobs at the sun. “Basically, they’re naked robots. They’re all wacked out on meth and do whatever they’re told. Gangbangs, orgies, cum-fests, that kind of stuff.”

“What’s a cum-fest?”

“All of the bikers surround the girl and whack off on her face. She isn’t allowed to wash it off.”

I gave her a look of disgust, followed by another of disbelief. “Ever?”

“She can either eat it or have one of the other club whores lick it off,” she said as if the statement were absolute fact.