It`s time for Tuesday Tales.
Today we have a snippet from my new MM contemporary nightclub book, The Bachelor & The Balladeer, Tales of the Scarlet Owl #1. In this excerpt, Cab has had his epiphany about The Scarlet Owl and is telling his partner about his exciting news.
This story may have gay erotic scenes, strong social issues addressed and mature language. If those things offend now is the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales blog. Thanks for stopping by!
Fifty minutes later, I was roaring into Maurice’s driveway out in Hidden Hills. I fairly leaped out of the Caddy, the safety strap never having been buckled, my bare feet slapping on the smooth driveway leading up to the stunning Santa Barbara style home. My partner was not exactly happy to see me at his door when he finally yanked it open. Small dogs barked madly upstairs.
“Cab, it’s six o’what-the-fuck in the morning,” he snapped while tugging his droopy boxers up a bit higher.
“Sorry about the early hour but I had a vision,” I told him as I pushed around him and stepped into the airy Spanish influenced foyer. Pale adobe walls, rounded archways, and a large brass and wood chandelier welcomed you warmly to the sprawling seven-thousand square foot mansion. Five beds, seven baths, Olympic sized pool, perfectly tended grounds, and a garage that housed a Bentley, a Lamborghini, a Rolls, and a Corvette from the early seventies. And those were just Maurice’s cars. Colette had a new Mercedes. Quite the step up from sleeping where you worked and naming the cockroaches that shared your abode.
“If you tell me you woke me up because you found God, I will kick your skinny black ass all the way back to Quebec,” he grumbled, what little hair he had left standing straight up.
“No, I did not find God, but I did find my destiny.” I grabbed his hands in mine. My gaze found his. “Maurice, I want to open a nightclub.” He stared at me, his face void of any emotion. “Did you hear me?”
“This is why I’m standing here in my underwear? A nightclub? Really? For fuck sake, Cab, go invest in a nightclub then.” He tried to pull free but I held onto his hands for dear life.
“Non, I don’t want to just invest in a nightclub, I want to open one. Build it from scratch. Make it mine, fill it with the music that we love. Hire the best singers and entertainers and gear it towards the gay market. The staff will dress like they did in the forties. The music will be live, the singers real, and the drinks top shelf!”
“Okay, fine,” he said around a jaw-cracking yawn. “We can find a place somewhere in LA for this new gay club. Can I go back to bed now?” He jerked on his hands again. I tightened my grip. His thick eyebrows knotted. “You have something stuck in your mustache. Is that a pimento? Also, you don’t smell so good.”
I wiggled my nose to try to dislodge the pimento from my mustache. “Apologies for the smell and the pimento. I threw Mateo out last night and dove into some Glenfiddich.”
“Ah, that explains why you look like something one of Colette’s pug dogs left in the back yard.”
“Probably, yes.” I wished I had showered, but the rush of excitement had pushed me out the door so that I could share my news with my friend. “But, I don’t want to open my club here in LA. I want away from this city. Far away. I need to begin anew. So, with that in mind, I am going to sell you my share of Cabriolet Music, move to the east coast, and be a club owner. I think I’ll unload the beach house as well. I never go there. And I will need the twelve million that I paid for it for start-up costs and incidentals. Ah, well, I will also have the money you pay me for my half of the business, so I should be sound financially until the club grows popular. What do you think?!”
“I think you just crashed right into a fucking midlife crisis,” Maurice stated and jerked his hands out of mine. I shook my head. Maurice gave me a questioning once over.
“I know I look a little hungover.” He pinched some air between his thumb and forefinger. Colette’s dogs were losing their minds up on the second floor. “And I am, yes. But, this is not the booze talking. Maurice, I woke up and Holiday Inn was playing. It’s a sign.”
He slapped a hand over his face.
Copyright 2017 ©by V.L. Locey
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