After months of dieting, combat training, script readings, rehearsals, filming, press availabilities, fan interactions, promotions, running a YouTube channel, and dozens of other things she was far too tired to remember, Brec Bassinger craved the party she was racing toward like a person in the desert thirsts for a tall glass of water. She wore a white, satin, dress that hugged her lithe, supple frame, sexy, white, heels, and a thin, white gold, necklace. The partition was down, and far too many times, Brec caught her driver spying on her through the rear view mirror. But she only smiled and made no protest. It was Christmas, after all. She saw no reason to ruin his fun.
The party was in a little-known club tucked away just beyond the Hollywood Hills. It was an ornate, luxurious, spacious establishment with a world class bar and state of the art equipment. A suite of elegant, private rooms and a high-class bordello completed the picture of opulence it exuded. The club was known as the Meriadoc, and for nearly a century its existence had been hidden from the public and the press. The driver shot into a dark tunnel and took a hidden turn. Ten minutes later, Brec pulled up before a large pair of oaken doors.
"Fuck, it's good to finally be here!" she cried, not even waiting for her driver to get her door.
She fairly leapt out of her limo and shot across the threshold, tugging the thick, brass, handle with all her might. The door swung open slowly, and a security guard arrived at once, but recognizing Brec, he wordlessly waved her inside. The music struck her first. It was so loud it shook her chest. Her heart began beating in sync with the driving rhythm. She ran past the packed dance floor, full of celebrities in sultry embraces, shamelessly grinding against each other. She waved when she saw Joel McHale, but made a beeline directly for the bar.
"Vodka Cranberry!" Brec ordered brightly. The busty, harried-looking, blonde, bartender nodded and got to work.
Eager to lose herself in fun and excitement, Brec had already downed a few spritzers and two glasses of wine on the way, so she was more than a little buzzed, and very giggly as the warmth of the alcohol danced through her body. She felt warm all over, as if she'd been out in the summer sun, and her mind was blissfully foggy. So when two gentlemen sat on either side of her, she smiled at each of them, giggled, and waved.
Both men were employed by the club. Their names were Jonathan and Drake. Jonathan was tall, about six feet and three inches, toned, but not especially muscular, and handsome. He had short, brown, hair, and keen, black eyes. His body was stuffed in a tight, expensive, suit, with the first three shirt buttons open. Drake was shorter by a foot, but more muscular. He had a stronger chin, beady, black eyes, and a greasy mess of black hair. His muscles were clad in a black polo and a pair of slacks. Both men took Brec in with considerable interest.
"Either of you wanna quench a girl's thirst?" she quipped with a soft chuckle.
"Does a snowman have white balls?" Drake replied, plunking down his money when Brec's drink arrived.
"Wanna start a tab, miss?" the bartender asked Brec, winking conspiratorially at her new acquaintances.
"Hell yeah!" she replied, slurring a bit as she downed her vodka. "You two come here often?" she asked, donning a tiny, adorable, smirk.
"All the time," Jonathan replied, chuckling heartily. "I run the bordello here, so that's sort of my job."
"Mind out of the gutter!" Brec giggled, hitting him playfully.
"But it's so much fun in there," Drake replied. "Besides, you started it, Miss 'Quench My Thirst'."
"Well, maybe I'm a li...-cup-" she hiccupped drunkenly as she polished off another drink. "A little thirsty," she finished, chortling and falling all over Drake.
