Shamiso learns of her sister's recent past, as told by the woman's business manager Neville Bevits. Not the stories told in the media, naturally, but the actual events he'd witnessed firsthand.
More or less anyway. After all, the pop star hadn't told him everything she'd done (and with whom). The truth about Rudo Love's nocturnal adventures were far more salacious; potentially more scandalous than even he could have imagined. If members of the press only knew, they'd have had a field day - assuming their reports would have made it past network censors. He knows enough however; and he's about to tell her.
Shamiso learns of her sister's recent past, as told by the woman's business manager Neville Bevits. Not the stories told in the media, naturally, but the actual events he'd witnessed firsthand.
More or less anyway. After all, the pop star hadn't told him everything she'd done (and with whom). The truth about Rudo Love's nocturnal adventures were far more salacious; potentially more scandalous than even he could have imagined. If members of the press only knew, they'd have had a field day - assuming their reports would have made it past network censors. He knows enough however; and he's about to tell her.
Hello and welcome back to Season Two of Twin Paradox. I'm King Everett Medlin and what you're listening to is a SciFi trilogy I wrote four years ago under the pen name Purple Hazel. Twin Paradox follows my first podcast series entitled Deathwalker Colony, which is now a full length novel available for purchase on Amazon, along with the first two books in the Rijel 12 Series, the Rise of New Australia and Return of Anarchy. Go online and check 'em out!
Continuing with Part Seven: Divas and Drugs, Shamiso learns of her sister's recent past, as told by the woman's business manager Neville Bevits. Not the stories told in the media, naturally, but the actual events he'd witnessed firsthand. More or less anyway. After all, the pop star hadn't told him everything she'd done (and with whom). The truth about Rudo Love's nocturnal adventures were far more salacious; potentially more scandalous than even he could have imagined. If members of the press only knew, they'd have had a field day - assuming their reports would have made it past network censors. He knows enough anyway; and he's about to tell her.
Twin Paradox is a SciFi series encompassing three full length novels, all of which can be found on Amazon.com. You can go online and purchase them, or, if you prefer, listen to me read them to you. Ladies and Gentlemen, Part 7: Divas and Drugs. Chapter 35: Club Girl.
“About five years ago, your sister had an unfortunate accident,” Neville said. “Literally fell off a stage during rehearsal – suffered a massive concussion. She went on of course. Wouldn’t let anyone tell her not to. Later, her publicist sought to suppress the story. ‘Cause o’ that the public found out little about it ... even after the story started getting around. It happened during the tenure of her first business manager – not me, naturally - and he chose to downplay the true scope of the injuries she’d sustained.”
Shamiso sighed; a look of concern on her face as Neville continued.
“The show that night was a cock up. She puked on stage at one point … from the effects of the head trauma, nothing more … stage hands had to come mop it up while she sang and danced with her backup band on the other side of the stage. Fans didn’t know what to make of it. Wondered if it might have been part of her act. Considering how outrageous some of her shows used to be, I suppose that was not too far-fetched.”
He then went on to reveal that after the show she was in woeful condition and had to be hospitalized for several days. Couldn’t go on. Her body was exhausted and her mind was swimming in and out of full consciousness for the first 48 hours. A couple of concerts were postponed while she recovered (for a week) then the tour resumed and she circled back to concert venues she’d skipped over so to give fans a “special command performance”.
“But by then, see, she’d changed ... fans started to notice it. Something just wasn’t quite the same with her. Didn’t seem like her old self,” Neville explained.
The tour wrapped up a few months later and everything seemed to be going alright. Rumors began to circulate, however. The fall during rehearsal had received little attention in the press - but being in the hospital only hours after her bizarre stage performance? Was that due to something else? That’s the story that got around the entertainment world in the months following - as did the vomiting on stage. News of missing concert dates also spread 'round the industry, as well as speculation that she might be using drugs to cope with the rigors of an 11-month long world tour. Other bits of hearsay leaked out as well. Stories circulated that she dated five, maybe seven different young men during that period – and that only served to feed the media machine. The previous manager – the one before Neville – simply couldn’t handle her. She was too wild and he eventually reached a breaking point.
“Went through lovers like a bag of crisps, she did,” as Neville put it. “Poor bloke she had managing her affairs before me … he just wasn’t going to put up with it, God love him. Thought her behavior disgraceful … and it wasn’t long before they had a kerfuffle of sorts. Sent ‘im packing not long after it. Not really sure who left who though. Just between you, me ‘n the lamppost … I’d imagine it was her manager who decided to move on, not the other way around.”
After the previous manager parted ways with Rudo, her handlers – made up mainly of music company executives or their representatives, personal assistants who’d stuck it out with her through the years and assorted “close friends” – brought in Neville Bevits to take the helm. He was just the type of person who could handle such a mess – at least that’s the reputation he had. By the time he arrived, the situation was rather dire.
“Oh, she had her favorites, that was for sure,” remarked Neville in regard to her love interests. “She seemed to go for those handsome, hard-body types – muscle heads and posers built like a brick shithouse … got those flashy runway modeling gigs or posed shirtless for advertisements.” He then rolled his eyes and gestured toward the servant’s bedroom where his lover Anders was most likely sleeping soundly. “Guys like my Derz, basically. Only she managed to find the few straight ones ... 'n while we’re at it, usually the stupidest ones.” Parties were outrageous affairs with drinking and drug use abounding. Everyone young and beautiful: “Everyone who had an ‘in’ with the ‘in’ crowd,” as he put it. “If you knew someone who knew someone and they knew you were cool – well, you just might get in, know what I mean?” He then laughed, reminiscing about those wild times right after he took over as manager. But there was more.
“Rudo and her entourage of hangers-on and drug dealers and pretty boys and the like ... backup dancers 'n such … would pile into limousines and go do the town rotten. Bodyguards would form a vanguard around her table inside fancy nightclubs and dance clubs. She’d hold court, drinking and occasionally having a knees up with some cute guy she’d found checking her out. Take him back to the limousine sometimes ‘n have herself a shag. Kick 'im out then do it all over again. Oh yes, your ‘sis was a wild one. That’s what I had to deal with. A rudderless ship heading for a rocky coast. Had to get things under control before that ship dashed itself to splinters, you see?”
“So how did you intervene then?” interrupted Shamiso - finally - after several minutes sitting in silence. By now she’d finished her ice cream and was licking the spoon one last time, just to make sure she got every last drop. “What was your plan to save her?” Obviously whatever the man had tried worked out at least well enough to keep her from bottoming out. That was apparent enough, given the posh digs they were living in.
“I kept her busy mainly,” replied Neville. “Plus I have a talent for being able to manage eccentric ... spoiled – if you’ll pardon the term ... rock stars, who simply need a firm hand as well as a gentle touch.” He then smiled. “Basically I did my homework and found out what was troubling the poor gal. Worked on that mainly and it got her back on track … for a while anyway.”
Shamiso raised her eyebrows and cocked her head to the side. “Why? What happened then? And what do you think was bothering me sis?”
“Well first off, you have to understand – she never really had a childhood. She had you … at the orphanage that is … and that was her only family you see? That gave her someone to look after. She told me about it once or twice.” Neville sipped the remainder of his Gin and Tonic and slurped the last bit of liquor from the melting ice in his glass, taking in one or two ice cubes and swishing them about in his mouth while he talked. “Said you two were very close. Then … somehow or other you were taken away. She’s been alone ever since.” Shamiso dipped her head and nodded, realizing how devastating this must have been for her twin sister.
“I see,” she said softly; then sought to elaborate. “Wasn’t her fault really. It was them folks from Space Programme. Tested all of us kids at the orphanage. Chose me ‘cause I had higher scores on me tests. Understood science and math. Rudo – she uh – well, it just wasn’t her thing ya’ know? She was the tough black chick no one dared to fuck with. Not even grown men would chance taking the piss whenever we was out in the town walking to our jobs. Had to cover ten, twenty blocks sometimes, just to get to work. Walk back late at night sometimes when we was done. No one messed with her.”
“God … they made you work? As little children?” clarified Neville with a look of revulsion. “That’s disgraceful. I’ve heard about that sort of thing, you know? Mainly from Rudo. Shameful.”
“Ah, now don’t go playin’ it off like you’re surprised ‘n offended,” Shamiso chastised him. “Everyone knows what goes on … with orphanages and folks from the underclasses. We ain’t treated too well. No one gives two shits about us. Rudo knew that more than anyone. Used to tell me that, too. Said we had to figure out a way to make it … if’n we was ever gonna get out. And then, well … they came and got me. Drove away. Me inside that van with all them Space Programme blokes. Never saw her again. Until tonight anyway.”
Neville nodded and began to ponder that last comment. “Yes, that explains a lot – kind of what I thought back then when I took over. Like I was sayin’, she never got to be a kid. You were the only connection to her childhood and then you were taken away. Simple as that.” Eventually however Rudo did settle down with a guy she’d fallen deeply in love with, and everyone thought (at least for a while) that she’d get herself back on track. Neville went on to tell the story.
“But then he came along. Shola Oyenusi; the guy you probably read about. He was beautiful, to say the least. African bloke. Nigerian. Supermodel. Gorgeous body. Intense look and striking features. The press loved ‘em together. They were a dream couple in every possible sense. Handsome fellow; beautiful young lady, still in the prime of her career. She was putting out new material, touring the world, and having this hot guy along with her wherever she went. It was like one of those celebrity couples you almost want to hate ‘cause they’re so attractive; yet you can’t help feeling happy for them seeing how they’re so much in love. And they were, let me tell you. Madly.”
The relationship was tempestuous at times. They’d argue, she’d refuse to back down, he’d get embarrassed, he’d storm off. He’d disappear for a few hours or maybe for a day. Then he’d return and they’d make up. Usually it was over jealousy. Rudo had many, many former lovers within her circle of friends. Most were quite welcoming toward the new man in her life and embraced the couple’s happiness. But naturally, whenever conflicts arose - or for that matter if a guy seemed to be getting too close to her – it might provoke a quarrel. If a former lover or male friend placed a hand on her and left it there for a few moments. If a guy greeted her with a kiss and her new hubby felt he was lingering too long; anything like that might set him off. An argument would ensue. Folks would back away to give them their space (typical of any couple really – at least at first that is). It was often seen as cute – almost silly at times. However in time those little spats got bigger, louder, more dramatic, and eventually – sadly enough – violent.
“I can’t really tell you with any sense of confidence that it was Rudo herself or that African fellow who threw the first punch,” said Neville – and Shamiso shuddered thinking what might have occurred next - knowing her sister's temper. Did Rudo’s husband start getting physical with her? Or did he simply threaten fisticuffs with her identical twin and that had provoked an altercation? Knowing her ‘sis; if she’d felt threatened or even for that matter challenged; well, she’d never back down. It was not in her nature. No matter how tough the guy may have thought he was, Rudo would never run from a scrap. No sir. Shamiso sighed as she imagined what likely transpired.
For about six months problems were minimal between the couple. They’d show up at all the right parties - dressed up nice, made up right, clothed in evening attire. Always dazzling. Elegant. Fabulous. They went to the most popular clubs. Went to charity events too; and the cameras followed them around videoing their daily lives wherever they made an appearance. If Rudo visited an orphanage, there’d be a swarm of paparazzi on their tail. When she’d make a statement regarding the plight of the poor – they’d be right there recording it for the 24-hour news services. Her husband seemed to tag along like a big Labrador retriever as she’d stroll around Soho or attend the opera … even when they went for a coffee. At nights they’d go clubbing and photographers would be right there taking pictures of them, keeping the public tuned in to their every move. To the world, it must have seemed like a fairytale romance.
“As for the media circus, I had no objections to that,” said Neville. “Fans were enjoying it. Downloads were selling briskly. We were making money hand over fist. Then came the tours, and we were selling out venues from London all the way to Moscow. Even sold well in North America. Kids over there were crazy about her too.”
“So what happened?” asked Shamiso. She knew of course about the marriage and the violent end to the relationship with Rudo’s husband being hauled off to jail. She braced herself for what Neville might tell her next.
“They started fighting – fist-fighting - one night in a club as I recall,” he began, looking away from Shamiso and staring out at the lights of London through the penthouse windows. “It turned nasty. She punched him. He punched her. Probably started with a few shoves back and forth, then it degenerated into a proper tussle. Folks didn’t know what to do. Her bodyguards didn’t either. Oyenusi already made her fire most of them when he started finding out which ones she’d slept with. They didn’t know whether to kick his head in or try fending off the nightclub’s bouncers. Tried pulling the two apart mainly.” Neville paused before telling the rest of the story.
“What happened the rest of that night, none of us are completely sure of. I know for a fact their entourage got them out of that club and into the limousine before too long, just to keep the club manager from having to throw them out. No one knows what started the fight, mind you. The usual, I’d assume. I mean … she was more famous than him, don’t you see? Always drawing more attention. And I reckon he rather enjoyed it at first – being married to a famous pop singer. Didn’t have to work anymore. Could’ve sat on his ass all day. Usually did. Worked out in the gym down the street from their flat. Stayed in great shape. Hell, it did wonders for his career, as far as I’m concerned. Opened up modeling gigs for him that I’d assume he’d never have secured previous to marrying Rudo Love. He was about as famous as he’d ever be, I’d wager.” Neville then got a noticeable look of regret on his face.
“During that time I rarely saw her ; not for weeks. Communicated by electronic mail and had a call with her every few days to go over upcoming tour dates – sales of downloads and where they were coming from so we knew just where to plan our concerts. Things like that. Suspected nothing, though I’d certainly heard about the fight in the night club. Fuck me, everyone in the world seemed to know about that by the following Monday.” He looked back at Shamiso momentarily before returning his gaze to the city skyline.
“And I certainly had my doubts – of them ever staying together, I mean. It especially worried me thinking about her getting pregnant with that tosser. To be honest I foresaw them breaking up within maybe a year; three years tops – pretty average for celebrity couples really. Yep, I could see them having maybe one child together, then divorcing a year later – once the attraction started to fade. Once the lust faded. Crying baby waking them up in the middle of the night. Wearing them out so they’d be too tired for each other. Then, once she was back on tour, doing concerts, with him left in charge of that infant back in the dressing room … while she went out to do all her outrageous stage antics? The crowd screaming her name. Rudo lapping it up. Oh yes, he’d get resentful. Could see it happening. They’d start quarreling. Would come right down to choosing between him or her career – then she’d tell him to bugger off. Could see it going just like that, I did.”
But that’s not exactly the way things went unfortunately. Rudo never stopped taking birth control pills and continued to pursue her career with earnest. That’s essentially what destroyed the relationship. Her husband wanted her to back off the touring and promotional events so she could start a family. Be a wife and mother instead. Let the fans find someone else to perform for them … some other “trained monkey” as he put it to her. That’s when things escalated.
“Never suspected he was beating her, I’m afraid to say. Just knew they’d get into a punch-up on occasion. For months she kept it quiet. It was only when we went back to the studio to record again that I saw what had been happening to her. The evidence was apparent. First off, her husband was nowhere to be found. That was a red flag. They’d hardly been apart the whole time they’d been married. Secondly I saw her eye swollen, like she’d been struck with something or had banged into a doorway. Her lip was cut, like she’d been out in the sun too long. She was tired too, like she hadn’t been sleeping well. All of these things occurred to me and that’s when I figured I’d better intervene.”
Shamiso could hardly contain the worry showing in her face as Neville rattled on.
“We all did really. Bodyguards, entourage, backup singers, musicians, everyone. We banded together to try and convince her to leave him. Under the circumstances it seemed like the only logical solution. No one of course ever wants to put themselves in that sort of position, naturally. No one ever wants to break up a marriage. Always seems like that’s none of your business you know? But the danger to our dear Rudo - that was what finally drove us to act.”
She listened to them of course, or so Neville claimed. Promised to get out of that apartment they shared and get her penthouse suite back at The Langham. Just had a “few things” she needed to pick up from there, then they’d all see her soon once she’d packed up her doll collection and her clothes. Neville said he even volunteered to accompany her just to make sure things worked out okay. She turned down his offer.
“Probably saved my life; tell you the truth,” he observed. “If I’d gone back to that apartment with her, God knows what he’d have done to me.”
The rest, Shamiso had pretty much learned about on the macronet, and told him so. “So this is what I been readin’ about online, isn’t it? She went back to pack up her belongings and he attacked her, the plonker.”
“Yes, the media covered the story quite well, I can assure you of that. Someone heard a ruckus. Called the police,” Neville elaborated.
But Shamiso had already heard the tale. London cops showed up within minutes, only to find the famous pop star completely nude, cowering in a corner, covering her face with blood-streaked hands. Her husband was nearby in the dining area, raving like a lunatic and rummaging through her suitcases. He’d taken a kitchen knife to slash her clothes, it was said. Meanwhile she’d grappled with him and he’d cut her hands, according to police. What’s worse he’d struck her in the head numerous times with his fists (among other things) to the point she had to be hospitalized – again – for a concussion. After that, as Shamiso now knew, she filed for an annulment, which caused the man to be deported back to Africa. Seemed somehow the fool had managed to let his work visa expire once he’d gotten married to an English citizen. It was a mistake he'd come to regret.
“That was my doing, I’m proud to say,” boasted Neville. He stated this with a chuckle even though the story they were discussing was not the least bit humorous. It was a relieved laugh more than anything else. He had planned it all along, once he’d seen their relationship going south. Knew the man was in England on a visa. After the attack it wasn’t too difficult to find out it was expired; and what’s more it was quite easy to find out how to annul the marriage since it had been less than one full year of cohabitation. Once done, Neville knew, that temperamental African would find himself living in Britain illegally, and that would be that.
“It wasn’t terribly complicated,” he explained. One call to immigration from his friends at the City of London Police Department, and poof, they were on him like white on rice. The morning he got out of jail for the assault, they were sitting out front of Belmarsh Prison in Thamesmead, waiting for him in a white solar panel van. By dusk that same day he was already on an air ship bound for Lagos. No one ever heard from him again.
“Since then we’ve had only a few close-calls,” continued Neville with a look of satisfaction, “but I’ve got to warn you my young friend, she’s still prone to having her little episodes from time to time. Sometimes she’ll disappear for hours. I’ve had to warn the hotel staff to watch out for her trying to sneak out into the city. She’s done it before and it made everyone think she might have gotten herself killed.”
Shamiso got a confused look. This still made little sense. True, she was beginning to see what the doorman Clive might have been referring to when he spoke to her like she was Rudo. Remembered how he kept talking like she wasn’t supposed to be outside the building. But to be fair, she had no concept of what concussions might mean to a young woman who’d suffered repeated blows to the head. Had no idea about Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy and the long term effects such as memory loss, impaired judgment, sudden aggressiveness, depression, dementia, and on top of everything else … impulsiveness.
Neville then told her about the incident in question.
“She got out most recently by posing as a maid. Pretty easy really. They got nearly a hundred of ‘em here. She just popped into the employee locker room downstairs and grabbed a maid’s uniform. Walked out the back of the building pushing a laundry cart. No one noticed.”
After saying that, Neville fell silent for a few moments, recalling what all he knew. Shamiso asked, but he claimed no extensive knowledge of how it went down following her ‘escape’. Simply told her she’d been gone the entire night and didn’t show up again until nearly eleven the next morning. Police brought her back to The Langham once they figured out who she was. Upon arrival she was barefoot; wearing nothing but a policeman's overcoat.
“So you never found out from her where she went? Seriously? She just shows up in a police van … wearing a raincoat and a shit-eatin' grin … not another stitch of clothing? And you never asked her where she’d been? Cops didn’t know neither?”
Neville shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. Said the police had just “found her walking around London”. It didn’t add up, but Shamiso decided to let it go. Chances were, Neville knew far more than he was letting on; only he had enough sense (as well as good manners) not to tell her about it.
That was quite correct in fact. Neville had eventually learned quite a bit about what really happened during those “missing” 12 hours.
********
Early one evening, a few months prior to Shamiso’s arrival from Germany, Rudo had snuck out of her hotel room wearing nothing but panties and an oversized T-shirt. She was barefoot. Had a wad of Euros tucked into the waistband of her underwear. It was right before dusk, right after shift change, right when she knew the employee lockers would be unoccupied. Once having been a maid herself, she still remembered how things worked around a big hotel like The Langham.
Escaping out the back door, now wearing a maid’s uniform still unzipped in the back, she must have looked like she was hurrying out to some raucous costume party somewhere in town. But it took her absolutely no time thumbing a ride down to Soho with her dazzling looks. Pretty much the first transport lorry that approached her, stopped to pick her up. Minutes later - it would later be reported by eyewitnesses - she’d sauntered inside one of Soho’s oldest gentlemen's clubs, “The Revue Bar”, dressed in her nylon maid’s dress. She asked the owner for an audition, and shockingly enough, despite his apprehensions, the man hired her right on the spot, not recognizing who she was. She later convinced him to let her work there the rest of the night as a dancer, and she performed “striptease” for customers the next two hours.
Apparently however, at least according to the owner of the establishment, she became bored after a while. Went backstage with her fellow strippers and hung around until it was just about time to go back up to dance, Neville found out later. But by then one of the girls had recognized her as the famed pop star. At the time, Rudo was sitting completely naked at one of the makeup tables, doing up her eyes like when she was onstage performing as Rudo Love. When she did so, some of the other dancers began to see the resemblance and asked her if she was indeed the celebrated singer. Rudo, according to witnesses, and with no hesitation whatsoever, then quite honestly told them she most certainly was. It came as quite a shock to them! Some of those dancers in that club had grown up idolizing Rudo. And yet, as they described it, she was quite bold about it. Claimed she just wanted to have some fun.
“Tired of sitting around in me hotel room,” she said. “Tired of doin' nothin' all day,” she also said. One of them in particular, according to testimony given by the young girl later, then offered to aid her in this venture. Rudo, she claimed, agreed immediately. Went up and performed one more dance, then left with the young dancer. Basically walked off the job, the two of them arm-in-arm, never to be seen the rest of the evening.
The pair first went to a succession of sex shops and apparel stores in the area, the girl later told police. Stopped into a classy establishment full of women's intimate apparel and purchased some sexy lingerie. Had coffee together at Café 54. Rudo remained dressed in her maid’s uniform, only now with silky new underwear and bright red stockings - her face made up like her normal stage persona. People at the café must have thought she was a Rudo Love impersonator! Some gay guy mimicking the diva's appearance. Not surprisingly, the two women were quite an item wherever they went the rest of the night.
Darting down alleyways dotted with walk-up apartments that had little hand-written signs on the doorways saying “Model Upstairs”, they explored the Red Light District of Soho for another hour or so. Popped into one or two flats where a prostitute was entertaining a client. Joined in with a gal on at least one occasion giving blow jobs to customers or stroking their shafts until they ejaculated while taking turns French-kissing the delighted fellow and playfully biting his nipples. Wasn’t too much longer after that, said the young dancer, before they found some big spending gents out on the town looking for a good time – as well as the cash to make it happen. Those boys knew just where to take them, claimed the girl.
After that it became the London club scene until late in the night when bars had to close. Rudo and her new buddy from The Revue Bar had a fabulous time. Did drugs, drank shots of alcohol, and danced the night away. It was only come 02:00 in the morning that the action finally dwindled at the nightclub; then moved across the city to a private home in Notting Hill just off Portobello Road.
The rest was pretty much a blur for the gal Rudo had met in the strip club. Rudo could remember only pieces of it as well, even days later when she had recuperated and seemed to have returned to her old self. What’s more the young stripper actually came to live with Rudo for about a week after the incident and they became fast friends. They were inseparable: Rudo the tough singing star grooming a young protégé … sleeping together in Rudo’s bed … waking up in the night to play with Rudo’s doll collection … occasionally making out on the couch in the living room or worse, swimming topless in the hotel’s pool.
Neville was hard-pressed to finally convince Rudo to kick her out. Took over a week to figure out just how to approach it. Luckily the girl simply didn’t come back one morning after going out the night before looking for a new job. No one saw her after that. Rudo didn’t seem to care that much either. She’d probably tired of her, Neville later surmised.
But while she was living with them, the girl told Neville the tawdry details of their exciting time at the Notting Hill walk-up where they partied until well into the next day. Drugs, drugs, and more drugs. Twenty different men coming and going as the night progressed; some with dates but most without. They popped pills like candy just to keep themselves awake. Took pills to keep from passing out from all the alcohol they’d drank! They did shots (tequila mostly); and slept with practically the entire house full of guests (even a few of the women at one point or another) while the party raged on.
The girl said Rudo was like some possessed demon filled with raw, unbridled lust. They even got into a contest - much to the thrill of their hosts. Lying next to each other on a king sized bed, they took on guy after guy after guy to see who would pass out first from exhaustion. “Wanted to see who could shag the most men.” She described Rudo as insatiable. “Sent one of the blokes for another box of condoms - just to keep things going!”
Come morning – ‘round 09:00 or so – they were still plugging away, with the last of the male guests who was still waiting for another go-’round finally finishing off at right about the top of the hour. As the man lurched and groaned and moaned and grunted, Rudo was said to have hollered out her final score for the night’s contest. She’d won by only a “paper thin margin”, the dizzy youngster said. Nevertheless, Rudo was the “undisputed champ”.
Neville cringed hearing this. Nevertheless, the girl went on to assure him that during the night the men merely thought they were just club girls – floozies - party girls who liked to "get wild" every once in a while with anonymous lovers. Such a thing was "quite common", the stripper claimed. No one recognized the pop music diva in the darkness of that back bedroom, she promised. Besides, by then Rudo’s makeup and eyeliner were streaming down her cheeks and her lipstick was smeared across her face from penis after penis being shoved in and out of her mouth. She gave out blowjobs until her jaw was too sore to speak clearly. Yet she was inexhaustible. Stripper girl said she could barely keep up with the woman. “Took on bloke after bloke in between them silky brown legs … then she’d smack his bottom, scratch his back, or pinch his nipples until he finally came.” He’d growl and grunt and snarl with passion. She’d only chuckle and encourage the man with lustful compliments like “Oooh, you’re good at this ain’t ya’?” or call out playful rallying cries to “fuck me harder … yeah, fuck me harder!”
Later; still high as a kite and tripping badly on some hashish they’d smoked, the two girls were eventually found by London's finest – back in Soho right where they’d started their nocturnal odyssey. At the time officers pulled up, both girls were sitting on crates in an alleyway getting stoned. A concerned resident had phoned police saying there were “two prostitutes” working the alley next to his flat; and by the time police arrived, apparently Rudo had decided she didn’t want to wear her maid’s dress anymore. “Got tired of the scratchy material,” is what the stripper said Rudo proclaimed; then the pop Diva ripped the dress off to sit there nude smoking bowls of hash with her new friend. The sexy lingerie she’d purchased the night before was either missing or hanging from her in tatters. She had only one leg of hose on, and had lost her panties somewhere during the night. A red garter belt was still fastened around her waist though, with only one strap hooked to her stocking.
Ultimately she would keep this last little souvenir from her adventure. Made it part of her concert wardrobe. Wore it on stage a few times with some lacy panties, red thigh-high fishnets, patent leather pumps, and faux leather jacket which draped over her bare breasts. Shaved her head into a Mohawk which she painted bright red to match her panty hose. Even wrote a song about it which did pretty well on the charts. The song was called “Club Girl”.
********
“So …that’s why we have to keep a watchful eye on her now,” concluded Neville. “We don’t know just when she’s going to have one of her spells. If so, we’ll find ourselves searching the city high and low. To make matters worse, we don’t know who ... or what ... might follow her home next time.” To this Shamiso nodded uncomfortably. Had no idea what he meant by that last comment ... figured he might be referring to a venereal disease.
Presently a maid arrived at the front door, this time wheeling in a folding bed for Shamiso to sleep on. She set it up off to the side along a wall where there were some paintings of African villages. In the corner was a pair of African drums with a warrior’s shield propped up next to them. Shamiso got herself ready for bed. Brushed her teeth while Neville signed off for the night.
“I hope that wasn’t too terribly disturbing, darling,” he said in closing. “I realize it might be a lot for you to handle, having come through so much. And not to put too fine a point on things, but frankly – at least I'm inclined to think so anyway – your being here might be just the thing we need to get her back on the path to recovery.”
He smiled paternally. Shamiso could tell he was fully dedicated to helping Rudo back to the stage and in so doing regain her status as a star. That was his job after all, and no way of faulting him for wanting this. But Shamiso could also sense; could see it in his eyes that he genuinely cared for his talented client. She decided she liked him. Neville was 'good people'.
“Thank God he came along when he did,” she concluded.
Neville then said as he was walking away, “You sleep tight tonight and don’t let the bed bugs bite. In the morning I’ll get Derz and me packed up and out of here so you two can have the place to yourselves. We’ll bugger off to my flat in Peckham. Let you have a chance to work your magic. Now that she’s going to have you back in her life, I believe I can leave her in your capable hands, wouldn't you agree?”
He said this with an air of finality - as though he'd already decided on the matter. Shamiso, mouth full of toothpaste and a toothbrush, which she was delighted to be able to use with real tap water after so many years, at first panicked.
“Mmmh-mmm?” she mumbled toward him as he headed across the living room to the servants quarters. He pretended to pay no attention, though he’d anticipated her reaction. Knew just what to say, as always.
“Oh, not to worry. I'm sure you'll do fine. When she sees you in the morning, I just know … she’ll be thrilled.”
This concludes tonight's presentation of Chapter Thirty-Five: Club Girl. I hope you enjoyed it. Watch for Chapter 36, which I'll be posting very soon.
Also, and don't forget, my latest full length novel, Deathwalker Colony, is available for purchase right now on Amazon.com, along with the first two books in the Rijel 12 Series: The Rise of New Australia and Return of Anarchy. A link to these is included in the transcript for this episode. Go online and check 'em out!
I'm King Everett Medlin. Thanks for tuning in.
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