Read The Donzerly Light for Free Online Page B

answering phones, greeting visitors, and generally putting a pretty face on a...well, just putting on a pretty face. She did well at ignoring the elevators that always seemed to stop on her floor, their doors sliding open to reveal one man, two, maybe five or six, none of whom would exit. And often no one would get on. Someone would simply keep a finger on the DOOR OPEN button until her eyes came up and casually signaled that the show was over. Yes, Christine Mellinger had become a regular stop on the otherwise mundane ride.
    “God Almighty,” Bunker said, staring openly and nearly drooling as the woman of his dreams made her way through the club, her own eyes sampling the action on the stage. “To be crushed between those thighs.”
    “Here-fucking-here,” Steve agreed. Most definitely.
    Jay didn’t add any commentary. He just let his drunken eyes follow Christine Mellinger as she skirted the stage, her black mini riding high. Every step she took, every wiggle that shimmied through her body, was both an invitation and a slap back to reality. It said: You want me, but wanting is all you can do.
    “What is she doing here?” Bunker asked, tempting whatever benevolent god had brought her to them this night. “She’s never come before.”
    “What the fuck does it matter?” Jude responded. He was the only one not looking, seeming more than disinterested. There was disgust in there as well.
    “It matters ‘cause she is here , man,” Bunker explained.
    “Fucking A, Jesus,” Steve exclaimed with calm and total awe. “Would you look at her. If those are real, I believe in Creation. I swear.”
    “Yeah, well, you can just check your boners at the door, boys,” Jude told them. “She only fucks big green.”
    “You’re an authority on this?” Bunker asked.
    “Jude’s an authority on everything,” Jay ribbed, and they all chuckled. All but Jude.
    “I know,” Jude assured them.
    “How do you know?” Bunker pressed, unwilling to let his dream die so quickly, so completely.
    “Research, research, research,” Jude said, smirking at the tabletop as he borrowed the cardinal rule by which all Stanley & Mitchell brokers were supposed to live when making their decisions on which stocks to buy, and which to avoid. Research, research, research, a blatant and intended rip-off of the real estate mantra of location, location, location, meant simply that hunches, gut feelings, or whatever non-definable indicators that might exist did not, in fact, exist for anyone who worked at the firm of Stanley & Mitchell. You crunched the numbers, you read reports, you learned about the companies behind the stocks. That was how you made decisions at S&M. Either that, or Old Man Mitchell’s driver and bodyguard Alonzo would be showing you the door.
    “What the fuck are you talking about?” Bunker practically demanded, sneering at his cryptically roundabout friend.
    “It comes from reliable sources on eleven,” Jude explained.
    “You and your fucking sources,” Bunker said. It seemed that for every point of fact that Jude Duffault might throw at you, he had a source. Shit, he probably even knew Deep Throat guy from Watergate. Probably called him ‘Deep’, Bunker mused sometimes. On a first name basis with all his ‘sources’.
    Still, sources or not, Jude did tend to be right about most things, and nothing bothered the hell out of Bunker Wallace more than that sad reality right then. “So are you saying I don’t make enough green for that...goddess to share her womanly pleasures with me?”
    “That’s not what I’m saying, Bunk. That’s just the way it is.”
    “You just don’t like her tits,” Steve said. Something he thought was an impossibility as he watched her sit, her back arching and heaving those magnificent mounds up and out, baby, up and way out .
    “Anything more—”
    “—than a mouthful is a waste,” Steve said, finishing Jude’s mammary mantra. Staring at Christine Mellinger he said, “Whatever