Wherein we party hardy, then finish the shoot, and me
Author's note
: this is part 4 of a 12-part story arc which I've put under Group Sex (see Chapter 1). Like all my stories, it begins with character development and in this case, over several chapters. The chapters can have the elements of a number of different categories and I will try to give advance warning. This one is primarily Group, Bi/Lesbian and background. And a gentle reminder: this is all Fiction – Willing Suspension of Disbelief recommended...
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Going in to enjoy Fuzion was a delight. Ginger changed back into her street clothes, but Molly and I took a few minutes to spiff up. I decided I really liked the white sundress, but I got back the shoes I'd worn last night – much more comfortable to dance in. Molly blew me away. Black leather miniskirt, black sleeveless halter and flats. That and an understated job with the make-up and she looked phenomenal.
Jerry had a huge GMC Savanna van that would seat nine with all the amenities – or it sure seemed like it. We all piled in, the five guys and we three girls, and he drove us on down to the bar. I was a little nervous about how much attention we were drawing when he parked the van in the city lot a few blocks from the bar, but I had to admire his chutzpah in dealing with it.
He picked a big, mean-looking guy who was loitering around the cashier's station. He walked up to him, handed him the keys and a hundred dollar bill.
"That van hasn't got a scratch on it," he told the man. "If it still doesn't when I come back for it, you get to live, and another Benjamin. Clear?"
The man looked at the van, then the keys and money Jerry had put in his hand, then the rest of us, then back at Jerry.
"Sure," he said dispassionately. Jerry stuck out his hand. "Jerry," he told the big guy.
"Kong," the guy said, taking Jerry's hand. Then I saw Jerry open his coat slightly so the guy could see something. Something I thought was illegal in California. The big guy just nodded.
Jerry smiled as he turned to join us. "Okay, you groupies," he told us. "Let's go harass the band!"
"Hey!" Ginger punched him slightly. "I
am
the band!"
"Oh, goody!" Jerry just leered at her and she broke up laughing.
We all headed over to the bar and once inside, commandeered a couple of tables and pushed them together so we could get a ringside seat. Ginger checked in with her band, then sat with us for awhile before she had to go get ready.
Under the hubbub of the rapidly filling bar, I leaned over to Jerry and asked as quietly as I could, "are you allowed to carry that in this State?"
"We're still may-issue," he told me, "and L.A. doesn't... although that may be changing. But actually..." He paused as he reached inside his coat and pulled out a shield, setting it on the table in front of me. It had a blue circle on a six-pointed star with a bear in the middle of the circle. On the top of the circle it said "Deputy Sheriff" and underneath, "Los Angeles County" with a number under that.
"You're a Sheriff's Deputy?" I asked incredulously.
"Reserve, for the Aero unit," he told me. "I'm a civilian pilot and can be called in to help in emergencies. The status of sworn deputy goes with it. So does the carry permit."
"So you get to fly one of their helicopters?" I asked, surprised.
"No, I fly my own. I kind of lend her to them when we're needed."
"You own a helicopter???"
"Um... yes," he told me, smiling slightly. "Maybe you'd like to go flying sometime."
I guess the concept of obscenely rich hadn't really sunk in yet – but it was definitely trying to.
"I think that would be nice," I told him. "But I don't know how long I'm going to be in town."
"If the opportunity arises, the offer is open," he told me. "We've got five guys and Molly. Should I roll a die to see who gets the first dance with you?"
I must have looked at him kind of funny, because he added, "I'm sure you noticed that girls
do
dance with girls here, right?"
Actually, I hadn't, and I told him so. "I was too busy with the testosterone-based eye-candy... so no, I didn't notice same-sex partners."
"Well, I suppose Dave and Paul can have that effect," he smiled.
"You, too," I told him. "Don't sell yourself short."
"I never sell short," he kept smiling. "I'm in the market for the long haul."
I just shook my head and smiled. His ability to turn everything into a pun or a double-entendre was part of his charm.
"So do you happen to have a die?" I asked.
"No," he told me. "But flipping a coin two or three times will do the same thing."
I eyed him skeptically. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a quarter.
"Molly is one, Dave two, Paul three, Jackson is four, Ron is five and I'm six," he explained. "First flip divides the results – heads is one through three, tails is four through six." He flipped the coin and it came up heads.
"Next toss divides it into high or low," he went on. "Heads is one-two, tails is three. It isn't the same probability of throwing a six-sided die, but it'll work." He flipped the coin and it came up heads.
"Last one is straightforward," he smiled. "Heads is one, or Molly, and tails is two, or Dave." He flipped the coin and it came up heads. Three heads in a row. And Molly, who smiled at me.
"Don't let him bully you," she told me. "You don't have to dance with me if you don't want to..."
My answer was drowned out by the opening chords of ZZ Top's "Legs"...
Well, fuck it,
I thought.