Bang Bang Bang 5
For the next 60 days I will be sharing a chapter a day of my first POP EROTICA novel. Bang Bang Bang, A summer of sin in Brooklyn.
Maurice and Amanda were a perfect couple. They had a daughter who was turning eleven. Maurice was from a southern family, in South Carolina. Where they came from, his family had a name. He was like royalty in Charleston. At twenty-two he married a freshman student. He had gotten her pregnant, so he did what a southern man does. She dropped out to have the baby and he stayed on and finished up his senior year. After school, she was a stay-at-home mom, which at the time was fine but now her daughter was almost a teen and she had spent most of her twenties being a mother and going to school part time. All those years Maurice lived a completely different life than his wife. He was in finance, which meant the money was good, very good. His family was well taken care of, but he was almost never around.
Amanda, on the other hand, was totally committed to their marriage. When Maurice was not home she spent most of her time reading erotic novels. She was addicted, saying she needed rehab was an understatement. Maurice and his boys were always all over the country blowing off steam, had something to do with the stress levels of his job. Maurice must have been away about 25 weekends out of every year and in all that time he had been unfaithful, sometimes he had different women, sometimes it would be a repeat affair. His crew or his band of conspirators, Milton, Brovec, Muhammed and Oluyemisi got themselves a four bedroom suite at Trump Soho to celebrate Brovec’s birthday. They were a strange group, mainly because of their genetic make-up. Beyond that, they were like quintuplets, they walked the same, talked the same, and dressed the same. Everything they did was about flash. Milton was Jewish, non-practicing, and graduated from Wharton. Muhammed, Indian American background, Columbia graduate, math. Brovec was from Kiev, graduated from MIT, masters in statistics. Oluyemisi was recruited because of his work in systems engineering. He was by far the most brilliant of the group. And Maurice graduated from Syracuse, business law, then got his MBA at Harvard Business School. They were all young, moneyed, and filled with testosterone.
Since it was Brovec’s birthday weekend, he wanted to go to Vegas, but as a group they decided to stay in New York City. Fuck Vegas, New York was the capitol of the world.
That night they did a club run. Maurice had a friend Brenton he knew from college. He and Max had helped Brenton set up his artist booking agency. Brenton knew all the best clubs in NYC and most of all, knew how to get them in the door, with bottle service etc.
It was never about the money for these guys, it was all about how it looked. To get into some of these clubs was probably about twenty or thirty dollars on most nights. A good top shelf drink was about twenty five bucks. But to walk up to a club with a line around the block and just walk in; that was PRICELESS.
They were always going for the: “Who the hell are those guys?” effect. The only rule they had for their nights out was they only did shots, only top shelf. They were like five James Bonds, going from place to place doing shots with beautiful women and snapping photos and posting them. Tonight was different; they were going shopping, shopping for beautiful women. The sunset was beautiful on the roof of The Gansevoort. You could see entire stretches of lower Manhattan, and the Hudson River, streaked by water traffic. The guys were toasting to Brovec, first shot of the night. Oluyemisi checked his watch; it was early, 9:15pm, so they had tons of time. They had only been there for barely fifteen minutes and Maurice had already convinced two young ladies that they were in for the night of their lives. One of the girls was a beautiful, petite black girl with a fro-hawk and a tiny button nose. Her friend was of Italian background, and looked like a taller version of Kim Kardashian. They were a fine pull. All the guys needed now were two more until the next spot. It was 10pm on the dot; they were rolling into Buddha Bar. They were doing better numbers than expected. They had six women in their group so far. It was all hands, smiles, laughs and flirtatious banter. It’s amazing what two shots of Café Patron can do for a conversation.
They moved into Buddha Bar like a den of spies. They had a few rounds, sang Happy Birthday did a group hug and then one last shot for Brovec.
Everyone was at a beautiful medium. They were in a drinker’s limbo, somewhere between tipsy and barely drunk. Another four women joined their group – they were totally loving the plan. These new girls were professional socialites. These were the type that Maurice liked. They didn’t take much of what they did seriously. They did it for the fun and for the perks. A Prada bag here, a Louis V purse there, a trip to Vegas or Miami. Not that it was a contest, but in the morning there would be stories about blow jobs in bathroom stalls, and finger popping girls in the VIP at Tenjune, what girl threw up or passed out, and how many shots who had and who got whose number. These nights were literally anything goes. But tonight was special because it was a gift for their friend Brovec. So they were all standing on the seats in Tenjune singing at the top of their lungs. “Tonight, ama love love you tonight, give me everything tonight, for all we know we might not see tomorrow…” And for a moment there, they were all gay. Not gay like homosexual, but gay like you could hug a dude during the song and it would be ok. Milton, Muhammad, Oluyemisi, Brovec and Maurice had their hands in the air singing, surrounded by sixteen beautiful girls and one chunky chick with a whole lot of personality, all vying for a top spot. The bottles of Grey Goose were almost out. Everyone was filled with the same amount of happiness. Some of the girls were hugging. Two of the professional socialites were making out. One of them gently took Brovec’s hand and pulled him towards them - he joined in. Oluyemisi looked at his watch, and then around the room after the song ended. The petite black girl with the fro-hawk was fast asleep. Maurice had his finger pressed into the lower back of the tall Kim Kardashian look-a-like while another young woman, dressed in the least amount of clothes allowed off Staten Island, had her hands clasped around his waist. Milton was fully engaged in a slurry conversation about Nietzsche with the Chunky girl; Milton had game but he was always willing to take one for the team, even when he didn’t have to. They walked into the club at Trump SoHo with their newly minted drunkenness just as the party was on the brink of winding down. They stood in the doorway, all twenty one of them like a murder of crows about to go on a feeding frenzy. When they stepped into the room they brought with them a kind of mayhem and festive chaos that reignited the party.
More drinks, more shots, more dancing, more women, more slurred speech, more kissing on the dance floor, more group hugs, more grinding, more drinks, more drinks, more drinks, more of everything. And for a moment there was no sound coming from the speakers, just the booming bass pushing against their bodies, and someone’s hand was up someone’s skirt. Someone else had a fist full off ass and a mouth full of tongue and a shot in the air. “To Brovec!” They all swallowed their drink, made that face and the room was back to normal. Bodies pushed up close against each other, all hands in the air singing and swaying. It was now 3:45am and they stumbled into the hotel lobby with a group of about 17 girls. The rest of the night’s revelry can’t be put into words. There was enough alcohol, weed and coke to kill a small army, but somehow this group of crazies was still alive the next morning. The hotel suite was a total wreck. There were half naked women all over the place. Maurice pushed Brovec’s room door open.
“Dude last night was fuckin’ insane!” Brovec had two girls in the bed and one sleeping on the floor. “Dude did you fuck that fat chick?” Brovec mouthed back to Maurice in a whisper. “No way, just got a little,” he made the sign for blow job. “But Milton did.” Brovec narrowed his eyes, using some of that Soviet truth serum he learned from his grandmother. “Ok, ok. I did too… Did you do all of them?” Maurice made a ridiculous face, his eyes bulging. “No, just,” then Brovec pointed at the girl on the floor and the one on his right. “Damn!” Maurice was happy for him. The two girls who were supposed to be chillin with him had gotten too high and too drunk to mess with, so he slid the fat girl from under Milton while Milton was in the bathroom getting high. She did give him some head and maybe he returned the favor, but that is a big maybe; there were a lot of drugs involved, so the story is up for review. Maurice pushed Muhammad’s room door open. His friend was dead asleep, passed out on the floor next to the bed. The four socialites were wide awake and going at it. They all paused for a moment, looked at him, they all smiled and just like that –Bang. Maurice entered his first five-some.