Painting Pearls

*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, utilizing Microsoft Spell-Check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.Pearls

*.*.*

Priscilla Perez kept the 'Ho' smile on her face as she gathered up her clothes and her tips. She kept the smile on her face until she exited the stage. Then she allowed her face to relax.

She hated working the early shift; nothing but old men. And the majority of these old buzzards were cheap. They expected to be able to cop a feel for their measly tips. They expected to be able to rub their gnarled fingers over her sweetly rounded backside for their wrinkled old dollar bills.

"Hear Cotton's hiring," Jason, the manager had shrugged when Priscilla had complained about the schedule.

Cotton Blossoms was an ill-disguised front for a whorehouse. It was rumored that the mob ran Cotton Blossoms. Their girls danced, then took customers into private rooms for a fuck. Supposedly, the club took an eighty percent cut of the girls' earnings. Supposedly; Priscilla didn't know any girl that worked there, so it was pure supposition, told to her by other girls that worked the Captain's Table.

Hunter's Cabin was another Gentlemen's Club. Their reputation was good and their clientele was a cut above The Captain's Table. But because Hunter's Cabin was a 'Members-Only' club, full nudity was expected of their dancers. If a customer took a girl into one of the Deer Stands, it was expected that the girl would suck cock.

At least at The Captain's Table, the girls kept most of their money, and were allowed to set their own rules about what they would and would not do in 'The Stowaway' private room. Priscilla dressed in half shirt that had 'The Captain's Table' logo over her left breast, a wrap-around skirt that barely covered her buttocks and pasted a 'Ho' smile on her face.

She stayed away from table six. Leroy Burns was sitting at table six, arguing about the Myndee University Blue Jays baseball team with another old buzzard. Leroy Burns had done three tours in 'Nam and had lost a leg over there. He called Priscilla a 'yellow slant eyed kooch' the first time she'd approached his table. He told her he didn't trust no damned Vietnamese bitch.

"But I'm Filipino," Priscilla had argued.

"Yeah? And ain't none of y'all ever lied 'bout what y'all was neither, right?" Leroy had accused.

So, Priscilla avoided table six and smiled sweetly at a morbidly obese man as he complimented her. She cooed and asked if he'd buy her a champagne cocktail.

"Telling you, boy pitching? Ain't shit," Leroy was screeching, spittle spraying.

"Boy's got a ninety five mile an hour fast ball, Burns," another man said. "Going tell me that ain't shit?"

"Uh huh, don't matter how fast throw fucking thing. Walks more than strikes out; piss ass little pansy," Leroy countered.

Then suddenly, Leroy Burns grabbed his chest, let out a strangled screech and slumped over. Priscilla hurried over, pulled the man to the floor and began CPR. Clarkston County Medical sent out an ambulance and the two paramedics smirked at the sight of an Asian girl, breasts and buttocks barely concealed in her skimpy attire, trying to revive the man.

"Shit. Probably what gave him the heart attack in the first place," One whispered to the other as they slipped the oxygen mask over Leroy's face.

"'Bout give me one," his partner agreed.

Leroy Burns came to in the hospital, fighting mad. He remained in a foul mood, complaining about his chest hurting where the paramedics had hit him with the paddles. He complained about the food, he complained that someone had taken his cigars away.

Being told that it had been a stripper that had performed CPR on him did give him a slight smile. Until Leroy found out that it had been 'that little slant eyed yellow kooch' that had saved his life.

He squawked noisily when Paula Kim came in to take his vitals. With quiet grace, the Asian-American nurse left his room, tuning out his shrill complaints. A moment later, the alarm went off. Paula let another nurse rush into Leroy's room to check on the patient.

Priscilla Perez let a few tears slide down when she heard that Leroy Burns had passed away. Leroy had been ill-tempered, unfriendly, obnoxious. He was also a child of God, loved by his Heavenly Father.

When Matthew Burns heard of his father's passing from Buddy Jones, his father's lawyer, Matthew instructed Buddy to bury his father in the cheapest casket he could fine. Leroy Alan Burns would lie next to Jennifer Amy Burns, Matthew's mother in Eternal Gardens cemetary; the plot was already paid for.

"The cardboard box the caskets come in? That's good enough for that horrible, horrible man," Matthew declared.

"Mattie! That's your father!" Derek, Matthew's husband said.

"And the residence, an uh two ten Conway Road?" Buddy asked, unperturbed by Matthew's declarations.

"Strike a match and burn it to the ground," Matthew snarled.

"And the contents of same residence?" Buddy asked, unfazed.

"Up in flames," Matthew insisted. "Let it all burn in hell like it deserves."

"How 'bout I sell it and send you a check?" Buddy suggested.

"That would be fine, Derek, Matthew's husband said. "Sorry, hi, this is Derek Singer; Mattie's husband. Mattie's out on the porch, sulking right now."

"And you have his permission to act in his stead?" Buddy asked.

"I'm his spouse," Derek insisted.

Priscilla loved garage sales, estate sales, yard sales and consignment shops. She had a keen eye for bargains; her one bedroom apartment was testament to that. Her furniture was of exceptional quality and she had not paid full market value on anything in her space. She attended the estate sale of 210 Conway Road and managed to snatch up a 24 inch strand of lavender pearls with matching earrings and a 40 inch rope of white pearls with matching earrings. She bought both for two hundred and fifty dollars.

On a whim, she asked the woman what would be done with the home itself.

"Appraised at seventy nine five; make an offer," the woman said, then turned to take some money for the box of rusted tools an elderly man was interested in, over the objections of his wife.

Priscilla looked again at the house. It was a wooden structure among other wooden structures. 212 Conway Road was also for sale, as was 216 and 209 Conway Road. 208, the house to the left of 210 Conway Road was obviously a rental; there were three cars in the driveway, and three young men standing on the front porch, drinking beer, even though it was only ten thirty in the morning.

Safely in her apartment, Priscilla accessed her bank account. She had a substantial nest egg; she had very few expenses. Rent, utilities, health and car insurance were the bulk of those expenses. Priscilla allowed herself few frivolities.

Priscilla hated dancing, hated taking her clothes off in front of nasty men. She hated going into the Stowaway room, letting those disgusting men touch her flesh. But she had to admit, the money was good. On an average day, she made between five to seven hundred dollars, except when ass hole Jason put her on the early shift.

She knew Jason put her on that shift in an effort to manipulate her into fucking him. That was a trick of his; he would put a girl on three or four early shifts. When they complained, he would smirk and say, maybe if they were nice to him, he would be nice to them.

Priscilla wasn't about to be nice to Jason. The early shift still earned two to three hundred dollars a day.

"You go to college," Carmen Perez, Priscilla's mother had insisted.

Priscilla knew she wasn't cut out for college. She'd barely squeaked by at Hattie caroway High School. She wasn't stupid; she just didn't like school.

In an effort to persuade Priscilla to go to college, Carmen kicked her eighteen year old daughter out of her home. Priscilla knew she wouldn't be able to support herself on her salary from Zydeco Doughnuts, so enrolled in Myndee's Vo-Tech School, studying to become an Administrative Assistant. The commercials made it look quite glamorous. You dressed well, did exciting work for well-dressed, handsome professionals.

Soon Priscilla realized she'd never be able to study, work, and support herself for longer than two, three months. Her mother wasn't appeased; Vo-Tech was not college. So Priscilla started dancing at The Captain's Table and attending classes when she could; the Vo-Tech was willing to be flexible with her.

When she managed to get her certificate of completion from the Vo-Tech, Priscilla soon found out that Myndee, Arkansas did not have very many places that needed an Administrative Assistant. Further, she found out that when prospective employers learned she danced at The Captain's Table, they assumed that she was a whore. They expected her to be a whore for them. This expectation came with a job that had very few benefits, and a salary just above minimum wage.

So, Priscilla returned to dancing. She studied the classified ads on-line, put in applications, hoping for the day she could tell Jason to stick his job up his very wide ass.

"Seventy nine five, huh?" Priscilla smirked as she looked at the Gold Standard Real Estate listings.

212 Conway listed for sixty seven eight. 216 Conway said it was a steal at sixty two. 209 was asking seventy three nine. Priscilla saw that 212 and 216 had been on the market for one hundred and four days and one hundred and ninety days respectively. 209 had only been on the market for twenty four days.

Priscilla called Buddy Jones's assistant, Shirley Fremin. Shirley Fremin had been the woman in charge of the estate sale.

"Ms. Fremin, this is Priscilla Perez," she said. "I was at your estate sale earlier and asked about the home?"

"Hmm? Oh, two ten Conway?" Shirley asked. "Yes, we've had quite a few people asking about it."

"How do I make an offer? Do I put it in writing? Email it?" Priscilla interrupted Shirley's sales spiel.

Shirley gave Priscilla the address of their office. Priscilla looked again at her bank account, looked at the other three listings on the two hundred block alone and then looked to see that there were nine other homes for sale in a three block radius.

Her bank had a small 'calculator' on their web site that let her quickly do a mortgage approximation. Priscilla put in how much she was paying each month in rent and smiled.

Priscilla ate lunch, then dressed for another day's work at The Captain's Table. She'd had three days of early shift, and finally had a late shift tonight. On a whim, she put the forty inch rope of pearls around her neck. The luminescent white pearls looked good against her golden brown skin.

Shirley Fremin smiled when the young Asian woman entered the office. She vaguely remembered the attractive girl from the estate sale; the girl had bought some jewelry. She'd also been one of three people that had asked about the house itself.

"Yes, yes, I believe I'd told you it had appraised at um, seventy nine five?" Shirley smiled.

House across the street is also a three bedroom, two bath home, and has an in ground swimming pool," Priscilla smiled, showing all her teeth. "They're asking seventy two. House next door's asking sixty seven and one down the street's asking sixty two. One next door's been on the market for four months now, next one over's been on the market for six, and one across the street's been on the market for a month."

"I uh, well, yes, but..." Shirley stammered, caught off guard.

"One across the street's been updated. One down the street has all new kitchen appliances and that's a new roof," Priscilla continued. "Two ten Conway? I bet those are the original faucets; that home was built in Nineteen sixty four. And there's no telling when that roof was put on."

Priscilla paused for a moment. She'd planned on offering fifty five thousand. Instead, she wrote out forty five thousand, signed and dated the paper, and handed it to Shirley.

"This, that's an insult!" Shirley sputtered, looking at the figure.

"No. It's a legitimate offer. Cash," Priscilla stated. "Please make sure Mr. Jones gets it."

"He will," Buddy Jones said, entering the small office from his own office.

"But, it's almost half..." Shirley sputtered as Buddy took the paper from her hand.

Dancing that night, Priscilla put her 'Ho' smile on her face. She kept her pearls on; the strand looked quite fetching as it dangled down over her 29C breasts. The pearls looked brazen, slutty as she squatted, allowing the long rope to drape over her red satin covered crotch.

At the end of the shift, Priscilla checked the new schedule Jason had posted in the locker room. She was off the next day; Priscilla frowned at that; Fridays were usually good days at the bar since it was pay day for many in the area. And Jason had her working Saturday's early shift. Saturdays, most of the men that came in were there to watch the Myndee's Blue Jays baseball and eat wings. They weren't there to tip the girls. But Priscilla knew better than to complain. Jason would just leer at her and tell her to be nice to him, he'd be nice to her.

One month later, Priscilla was cleaning her apartment when her phone rang. She didn't recognize the phone number, but it was a local number.

"Hello?" she answered warily.

"Ms. Perez? This is Buddy Jones. Are you still interested in two ten Conway Road?" Buddy asked.

"Hmm, that's the three bedroom, yes, I think so," Priscilla feigned disinterest.

As Buddy had told Derek, Matthew Burns' spouse, no one had expressed much interest in the home; there were twelve others for sale within a five block radius, one of which had been on the market for nearly eight months. They had one legitimate offer in writing, but it was fairly low.

"Uh huh, and how much will we have to pay to just let it sit there?" Derek had said. "Sell it. As is, no warranty, they pay all closing costs."

"Who do I make the check out to?" Priscilla asked, already pulling up her bank's web site on her phone.

Finally, the big day arrived and the movers emptied Priscilla's apartment and brought it all to 210 Conway Road. They were efficient and polite and moved quickly.

While the movers worked, the five occupants of 208 Conway Road stood around and watched. Priscilla couldn't help but smirk; it was apparent that they were students of the local university. Two of the young men had on Myndee University tee shirts, the overly endowed blonde girl had on a Myndee University sweat shirt with the sleeves torn off, and the slender red headed girl wore a Blue Jays ball cap.

Priscilla waved to the five young adults. The blond man posed and preened, smiling with a self-confident swagger. The morbidly obese young man waved, pushing his greasy hair back, the third young man stared vacantly at Priscilla. The red head gave a smile and wave and the blonde actually turned her back on Priscilla.

"You go to college?" Carmen Perez asked when Priscilla called to invite her mother to see her new home.

"No, Mother," Priscilla admitted.

"Bye-bye," Carmen sang out and disconnected the call.

"But, uh, should see the college students right next door," Priscilla said to the dead air. "Now, those college students are some real winners, hear Mother?"

Priscilla, 'Delilah' as she was known to the customers of The Captain's Table used her long strand of beads, running the strand between her legs, pressing the strand tightly against her black satin covered crotch. She ran the strand up and down her body, ran the beads over her breasts, between her breasts, smiling her fake smile.

When she'd worn her rope of real pearls, the reception had been positive. Priscilla estimated she'd pulled in nearly two hundred dollars more in tips that night. The next day, she'd stopped off at a small arts and crafts store and purchased white glass beads, slightly larger than her real pearls and made herself a sixty inch strand; she didn't want to chance damaging, or worse yet, losing her real pearls.

Leaving the bar early in the morning, Priscilla nearly drove to her apartment. At the last moment, she remembered she now had a home and drove to 210 Conway Road.

She almost drove past the house; it was a weathered white wooden house among other weathered white wooden houses. There was a streetlight in front of 206 Conway and a streetlight in front of 212 Conway, leaving her home in darkness. Thankfully, when the garage door slowly went up, it caused the interior light of the garage to come on.

Walking from garage to bedroom, she smiled. Her home. At just twenty years of age, she Priscilla Perez was a home-owner.

The next morning, Priscilla went onto the small concrete pad that formed the miniscule back porch, yoga pad under her arm. She looked around; there was an eight foot tall wooden fence enclosing the back yard. Leroy Burns had put the fence up just to piss off Tom Jensen; the neighbor directly behind the home. It was a good, sturdy fence. Between each one by six board, the builder had nailed a one by two inch strip, leaving no gaps whatsoever.

Priscilla stripped off her tee shirt and shorts and moved from pose to pose, completely nude. Her ankle length black hair was piled on top of her head; she usually tied it up like that to keep it out of her way as she exercised.

An hour later, golden brown skin glistening with sweat, Priscilla gathered her mat and shorts and tee shirt and let herself into her home. She smiled as she closed the sliding glass door; her home.

"Need to change out these appliances," Priscilla thought as she prepared her breakfast.

"Need to get a better tub," Priscilla thought as she took a leisurely bath.

"Need to get a better job," Priscilla thought when Jason called, begging her to come cover the early shift.

When Pricilla pulled out of the garage, the blonde next door was outside. She pointedly looked away when Priscilla waved.

"Oh, ooh, that really hurt, stuck up cunt," Priscilla said aloud as she drove away.

Pricilla let Jason know she wasn't happy; she was supposed to be off today. Then she hurried to get dressed to go on the stage. The DJ announced Delilah was in the house and she strutted onto the small stage, sixty inch strand of pearls dangling down.

"Damn, love what you do with them pearls,"" Jason admitted after her set.

"Uh huh," Priscilla said, zeroing in on an old man that was staring intently at her.

It was still daylight when she arrived home. The blond man and the freakishly tall young man were in the front yard, playing Frisbee. Priscilla did not wave to them. She did smirk when the blond man intentionally-accidentally struck her car with the plastic disc. She didn't acknowledge him when he ran up to retrieve the Frisbee.

There was a small sole-proprietorship hardware store a few blocks away, on Roselawn Way. Priscilla despised the big box stores; they had little leeway when it came to pricing. Small mom and pop stores, Priscilla found she could usually get a deal. And the proprietor or manager usually knew what the hell they sold in their store, unlike some kid that got a week of training and then were turned loose on the floor of the large chain stores.

"Grass is dead or dying; yard looks like crap," Priscilla said. "And honestly? I don't feel like cutting it."

"So what you thinking?" Chad Campion asked.

"Tear it all up? Put in ground cover?" Priscilla asked, eyes firmly glued to a claw foot tub display.

"See you like that," Chad smiled. "And look. Looks like an old time tub, don't it? But. Ever see one them old tubs with Jacuzzi action?"

"How hard is it to put in?" Priscilla asked, imagining herself luxuriating in the beautiful tub.

"Going need a plumber. Internet will tell you, 'aw you can put this in yourself' but believe me, you're going want someone knows what he's doing. Oh. Or she's doing."