Violet Diamond lazed on the opposite side of the world. The fingers that were working her over were heavenly, almost erotic. She thought of tiers of power, as her head lolled from side to side. Clad only in a small towel draped lazily across her backside, too bad the hunk is gay she purred as the boy touched a nerve that shot to her toes.
“Easy, Redulpho,” her voice a dreamy syrup, “don’t want to hurt the goods.” The massage continued, as Violet rolled in and out of consciousness, her concentration on the sensations.
“Madame, décrochez le téléphone,” a pouchy woman appeared in her periphery holding an antique telephone.
“I left orders not to be disturbed,” Violet’s tone rose in steel.
“Ze bout your daughter,” the woman pushed the phone forward. Violet gave a glare but rose onto her elbows. The woman placed the phone before her handing her the receiver.
“Yes, what is it now,” Violet’s voice showed no alarm, “is she back in rehab…burned…slow down…Gwen, calm down and start at the beginning…taken to Sinai…yes, of course, I’ll take the first available flight…you really must calm down, girl…I’m sure she’s fine.” Violet handed the phone back and bonked her forehead on the table several times. She lurched up and snapped her fingers. “Rodulpho, fetch me my phone.”
The boy retrieved the cellphone from her Gucci and handed it to her. She immediately began tapping out a number. “I didn’t say I was through. I paid for two hours, get to work.”
The boy resumed, moving from her shoulder to her spine.