American Outlaw - Jesse James [55]
“Jesse, tomorrow night, I want you to come with us to Captain Cream’s!” said Kelly. That was a club in Mission Viejo where she worked. “There’s this superhot chick working there, and guess what? She’s single. We’ll introduce you!”
I agreed, and the following night, we all tooled over to the Captain’s together. As we came in the door, Kelly nudged me, pointing a lacquered nail toward the stage.
“There she is,” Kelly proclaimed, gesturing toward the sexy blonde on stage, who was writhing rhythmically in a red bikini. “Didn’t I say she was hot?”
I nodded, impressed, and waited for the bikini to come off. But Captain Cream’s was only a bikini bar, and the girls didn’t do full-on nudity. The suit stayed on.
“Geez, what a tease,” I sulked.
But I continued to watch the girl on stage. After only a few moments, I had to admit, she had it going on. I’d gotten used to the ultra-slutty, over-the-top, almost comic sexual pantomime that they served up everywhere else. But there was a kind of class to this woman. She had the perfect body and the perfect moves, but somehow she danced to entertain. By the end of her set, I was hypnotized.
“Let’s give it up for Karessa!” sang the DJ, as she moved off the stage.
“Karess-a?” I laughed.
“What?” Kelly said. She looked at me, confused. “Her real name’s Karla.”
“Oh, okay,” I said, still smiling.
“Karessa’s a very good name,” Kelly said, eyeing me distrustfully.
“Yes,” I agreed. “Very classy.”
Later in the week, Mike called me up and said a double date was in the works; was I interested?
“Heck, yeah,” I said. “I’m all about it. Just tell me where and when.”
The four of us went to a Mexican restaurant in Long Beach. I was very nervous. At that point in my life, I hardly even knew how to function around real women. I just had no game at all.
“Tell Karla about what you do, Jesse,” Mike prompted me.
“I’m . . . I’m on the road a lot. With bands,” I stammered.
“Jesse’s friends with all these famous dudes,” Mike said, talking me up. “He’s in security. Keeps everyone safe and sound.”
“Sounds like a real mental workout,” Karla said, smiling. She was so pretty, she looked even more amazing in clothes than she did in the club. Her skin was tan and her hair blond. Every inch of her was confident and impeccable.
“Are you . . . making fun of me?” I asked, reaching for a handful of tortilla chips and stuffing them in my mouth, embarrassed.
“No way,” Karla said, smiling even bigger. “Why would I do that?”
Over the course of dinner and our subsequent conversation, I realized that Karla was mature and well-spoken. She was a dancer, sure, but she obviously had her shit in line, and knew who she was. With a tingle of excitement, I thought to myself, Jesse James, you’re officially on a date with an older woman.
I ended up dropping Mike and Kelly off first. Then I took Karla to her apartment in Huntington Beach.
“Do you have roommates?” I asked.
“Nope,” she said. “I live by myself.”
“I guess you have your own wheels, too, huh?”
“Brand-new Mustang,” Karla said. Proudly, she pointed to her car in the lot. “Well, Jesse?”
“What?”
“Aren’t you at least going to come up and take a look at my place?”
I smiled, embarrassed. “I was sort of waiting for you to ask.”
We made out rather drunkenly for a few minutes at her place, but it was very late, and another tour was beginning for me early the next morning.
“I better go,” I said regretfully.
“Too bad,” Karla said, smiling. “I was just beginning to like you.”
“Do you . . . want to hang out when I get home from Europe?”
“Maybe,” she said, smiling slyly. “I’ll consider it.”
“All right,” I said. “What’s your number?”
She scribbled it down on a piece of paper and handed it to me. “Are you really going to keep this?”
“Sure,” I said. “Just ask for Karessa, right?”
She socked me in the arm. “That’s so funny.”
We kissed a final time, and then I made for the door.