Hotel Heiress: Nashville


The plot and action to this episode follows the episode entitled HOTEL HEIRESS NEW ORLEANS. If you’ve been following this series, Valerie Masters is a pretty super model and soap actress in her 20’s, the daughter of a wealthy hotel mogul family. She is constantly getting herself in and out of sticky situations and dangerous ones, and has many adventures in her search for fame. The series is written as memoirs with her voice as narrator. In Hotel Heiress New Orleans, Valerie sought the dangerous woman who kidnapped her photographer to bring her to justice, risking her life in the process. Now, we return to where the story left off, in New Orleans, where Valerie is waiting for her best female friends to come for her. For those of you who just read these stories for sex scenes, I have marked it as SEX SCENE.

New Orleans Louis Armstrong International Airport, 8am.

Wearing a tight skirt, dark sunglasses, a pink scarf, and stylish wrap around my head, I looked across the terminal to see if my dearest friends Gina and Crystal were among the group of people who had just dismounted the plane.

To my joy, I saw that it was them after all. They were wearing vintage clothes. It was still winter but it was a pleasant, warm Southern winter and in fact, a lot warmer than even California winters I could remember. They were dressed in colorful couture: Gina’s black skin showcased in the tint of a tangerine blouse and skirt accessorized by a shiny black belt and black boots and Crystal’s fair white legs and arms came out nicely in her little black dress. They definitely stood out from among the crowds. There was no mistaking that they were supermodels and they even walked in a distinctive manner, strutting their stuff as they approached me in the terminal.

“Girl, you look like you’ve seen the Devil,” said Gina, surveying my eyes.

“What do you mean?” I said to her, trying to look as if I was alright.

“Your eyes are so red, have you been able to sleep in this city at all?”

Damn, I thought, did it actually show that I had experienced a terrifying near-death ordeal in the swamp that day? I know I would never forget losing Byron to that alligator and having almost lost my life at the hands of Alma’s henchmen but I hadn’t figured it would show.

“I’m alright, Gina,” I replied, conjuring up a big smile, “of course it’s hard to sleep during Mardis Gras. As if I was the only one. It gets so crazy.”

“Did you get crazy?” Crystal inquired in her curiosity, her green eyes lighting up.

“I guess I did. But let’s not talk about it. I’m so glad you came. I was beginning to get lonely. But Mardis Gras is over so we’ll have to come up with something else to do to pass the time.”

“Where are you staying? What hotel?” Gina said.

“A small boutique hotel outside the city. Come on, let’s go. We have lots to talk about.

* * * *

They didn’t like the hotel.

They stared at the little room like it was the smallest thing they had ever seen in their whole life, like they had stepped into a closet instead of a room. I figured they had recently been spoiled by their trip to Europe where they most likely stayed at five-star luxury hotels. I know I was spoiled too, and spoiled since childhood, but truth is I actually liked the little room. It was quaint and pretty. It made me feel like I had slept in a historic room. Gina and Crystal sat on the bed looking at me as I got my things together and packed them into my luggage

“So what are we going to do? I don’t really want to stay in this town,” Crystal remarked, “it has this weird vibe. It’s like a city but it’s like no other city I’ve been to. Everyone speaks so slow and with an accent and everyone is so laid back, more so than Californians. And everyone is so polite and yet sneaky.”

“I haven’t had time to socialize with anybody,” I said, “but so far I’ve been treated nicely.”

“Do they know who you are?”

“No, I haven’t run into anyone who knows me, not even from my soap opera.”

“That’s gotta suck.”

“So anyways, what are we going to do?”

“Well there is no way of getting out of the South since we’re already here,” said Gina, finally saying something wise, “so why don’t we just make the best of it?”

We were silent for what seemed like a long time. Gina and Crystal had bored expressions on their faces, and these faces they made were exactly the same as the faces they used to make as bored little girls. I finished packing and then sat my round, heart-shaped butt on the bed, with my hand under my chin.

“I know!” said Crystal, as if a glorious idea had just struck her, “let’s go to Nashville.”

“What’s there?” I said.

“There’s lots to do. It’s not redneck central as much anymore. It’s like the South’s Hollywood. They have lots of nice places. Great restaurants, fine food, fine people, great hotels, great nightlife.”

“I hear it’s where country music singers go to do their work,” said Gina, “and they probably do everything in style, too, so yeah it’s probably like Hollywood.”

“It’s a very cool place. I haven’t ankara escort bayan

told you guys this but my parents are from Nashville. They divorced about three years ago and only my dad lives there now. I could meet him and he can help guide us through the city. Come on what do you girls think?”


Heck, we had very little choice.

* * * *

It was Crystal’s idea to take a road trip to Nashville and it was Crystal’s car that would take us there.

Crystal drove a red convertible and because we were traveling light, we managed to fit everything into the car. It was not a car fit for long distance travel but it was all we had. It would be a long way to Nashville from New Orleans.

More than likely, we would have to stop to fill up the car with gas often and we would have to stay at whatever inns and motels we could find. Gina and Crystal were on a tight budget. They had spent a lot of their own money on the trip to Europe and although they had modeled and had been paid, they had no desire to spend too much money on a trip to Nashville. It was not worth it. In fact, I suspected Crystal’s idea of going to Nashville would involve making money somehow. She had not said anything about her agenda, but I could smell a trick.

I often felt like I knew Crystal so well because we were so much alike. We had gone to ballet classes together as little girls; we had fought over boyfriends but had always made peace each time. We were very close, like sisters. And indeed it was just that, because I had no sisters or brothers as an only child. And neither did she.

Off we went and we went north toward the Louisiana/Mississippi border. Louisiana was beautiful, I had to admit. I had already seen some of Louisiana when I had been in Cajun Country as prisoner of that criminal Alma. I had seen first-hand the beauty and savage terror of the bayous. But northern Louisiana was breath-taking.

We went through miles of country woods and hills. We would find little wonders here and there such as deer and possums, and the occasional bear, just wondering about, seemingly undisturbed by modern civilization.

There was always music playing, faintly, in the distance, Cajun music, beyond our eyesight but not beyond our hearing. Fast fingers strummed banjos and fiddles dueled as rowdy dance music floated into the twilight, intoxicating even us California girls. We knew somewhere someone was having a party where they danced barefoot. Not our type of party, but still, the spell of the music had worked its magic on us, and served as a sort of soundtrack to our road trip. And it was just as well because Crystal’s car radio was not functional.

We drove through numerous towns and met with friendly folks. We stopped at diners where tough-talking but generally sweet waitresses served us coffee and warm meals. It was not long before we were in Mississippi. Although I found Mississippi to be similar to Louisiana, I quickly found that I was wrong. The area was heavily forested and there were time when we were completely isolated in the spaces between towns.

It was very frightening at times, especially as it got dark, considering the fact we were three young women all alone. The darkness here was greater, since we were out in the woods, and only the headlights to the car were the only visible lights, with the exception of a few electric lights on tall poles connected by cables that dotted some of the country roads.

The interstate was long and dull and soon, just as I suspected would happen, we began to argue. Everyone was tired, everyone was bored, and everyone just wanted the trip to come to an end. We were God knows where in Mississippi. We hardly took notice of the billboards with their advertisements and the road signs with the names of the towns.

Well, ok, I did look up at the billboards but only to see if my face was on any of them since I had modeled for billboard ads. I had modeled for Virginia Slims cigarettes and I had been told that some of these shots were to be posted on billboards across the country. I had also modeled for perfume ads wine ads which had also been posted on billboards throughout the U.S. But to my dismay, there were no ads with my face on them.

“When are we going to get there, already,” said Gina, “this is so frustrating. It’s dangerous to drive down these country roads. Suppose the car breaks down and some nut job comes along and –”

“Shut up, Gina,” I said, “don’t even talk about it. It’s not going to happen. We are going to make it. Besides, it wasn’t my idea to take a damn road trip.”

“Oh, excuse me for wanting to be economical!” shouted Crystal, “if we want to get famous and really rich, we have to think about saving money too.”

“It’s not like I don’t know that,” is said, “my dad has always been frugal.”

“That’s a big word for you, frugal, isn’t it?” said Crystal, provoking me, at the same time pushing me slightly.

“Shut up,” I retorted.

“Why don’t you both shut the hell up,” said Gina, “look, why don’t we just find a nice motel and escort bayan spend the night there instead of driving all night.”

“If only your radio was working.”

“I don’t see any motels around. I hate this. This was the stupidest vacation we ever took. Crystal, just what were you thinking? A road trip, please.”

“Listen all of you,” Crystal said, “my hope is once we get to Nashville we can make some money. We have talked about making money to get into Hollywood movies right?”

I knew it, I thought. See, I knew her like I knew myself.

“And just how do you propose we do that?”

“Well, we can do some modeling in Nashville if we find the right people. If not, well, Valerie, I’ve heard you sing. You have a beautiful voice. Maybe we can get you to record a country music album.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I hate country music.”

“It will work, trust me. Today’s country music scene has changed. You don’t have to sing like Dolly Parton or anything. They have a rock influence now or a pop music influence in the songs. You can do it, Valerie. And with the money you make we can go to Hollywood, get ourselves a top agent, get ourselves into many movies and there you go.”

No one wanted to argue with Crystal’s logic so we remained quiet. Truth is, it wasn’t such a bad idea. Gina looked tense, however, and worried.

“Girl, you know we’re out of money,” she said, “Europe cost us an arm and a leg. And Valerie, you don’t seem to have much money on you. So this is going to be very difficult.”

We drove into the next town in silence.

* * * *

We spent the night at an ugly old motel where apparently we were about the only people under fifty there. The elderly men who were still up and walking about stared at us like we were meat. Gina and Crystal were dead tired and ready for sleep, but I was still strangely awake. It must have been just after midnight. I had no idea where we were so I decided I should make some chit-chat with someone who could help us. As the girls retired to bed, I stayed behind and purchased milk and donuts. Yeah, they were donuts, but who cared. It was late anyways and I had the munchies. It was not something I normally did anyways.

“You new around here, girlie?” said a haggle-toothed old man offering me a seat next to him.

“Yes and I wish I knew where I was,” I replied, “can you tell me the name of this town.”

“This here’s Starkville,” he replied, “it’s a hell of a town. You came to the right place if you’re tourists. This is the town where Johnny Cash was famously arrested back in the 60’s.”

He then began to sing to himself, which annoyed me. Again, these people had all the time in the world and time moved far too slowly, day or night.

“They’re bound to get you,

Cause they got a curfew,

And you go to the Starkville city jail”

“Yeah, this town is wonderful. It’s like a lesser known Las Vegas.”

“My friends and I are trying to get to Nashville. We didn’t come to Mississippi to stay here.”

“You’re still quite a long ways from Nashville,” he said, “but you should be able to just take the interstate and then upstate in Tennessee.”

“My friends and I are also out of money,” I said, coming to the point, her eyes fixed on him.

The old man’s eyes moved up and down my body and this made me uncomfortable. He grinned. He then retrieved something from his jacket. It was a tiny card and he gave it to me. It was in tiny but visible print and read:

Booberella on Franklin Avenue, open 24 hours, 7 days a week, Conrad Vickers, owner.

“I love that place and go there as often as I can,” he said, “it’s a strip club. Your friends all girls like you?”


“Then y’all should do fine. You don’t need to do it for long. Just for as long as you need to raise the money to get to Nashville.”

I know, I know. It was wrong. It was sick. It was the last thing I had ever imagined I’d do to raise money. But maybe this hideous old man had a point. We were beautiful, we were exotic (to Southerners) and they would pay top dollar to see us take off our clothes and dance around. We’d have the money we need to get to Nashville sooner than we would expect. It was fast, easy money. Besides, I had heard that even University girls stripped to pay for their tuition. So what was wrong with a little stripping for money? It was only stripping and not sex with customers.

I braced myself as I went up to the room in the motel to tell the girls….

* * * *

The strip club named Booberella s turned out to be Starkville’s most popular strip club. It was pretty small, a building that shared the same street as a warehouse, a 99 cent store and various office buildings. It was late night when we first got to the club. The way we figured, we’d raise the money in a single night. There were three of us and we were ready. I had never stripped before and I was certain Gina and Crystal hadn’t stripped before either, but how hard could it be, right? It was just a matter of gyrating the hips provocatively, making “orgasm facial expressions” escort ankara and writhing and jiggling.

I’m sure there was an art to it but I didn’t care for that. I just wanted to make money, too.

We were escorted into the club by the owner himself, Conrad Vickers. He was a middle-aged guy in a white cowboy hat and jeans. He had a Southern drawl and a big mustache and smelled of beer. The inside of the strip club was designed to look like a spaceship, which I found very odd. Perhaps this was attention-grabbing. It was very dark, and at times it resembled a dark room where photographs were developed.

But continuously, dazzling blue, yellow, red, white, green and purple lights would appear. The floor looked metallic, cold and grey, and the waitresses serving drinks were dressed in skimpy “Barbarella” space outfits. The stage was triangular and big, probably mimicking a sci-fi movie starship. Poles were situated at the three corners of the triangle and three girls would simultaneously emerge from beaded curtains to do their dance.

“So, ladies, whenever you’re ready just give me a buzz, I’ll be in my office,” said Conrad, “you three girls will come on at the same time after these girls finish up. We have very little space so you three girls will have to share a dressing room, right over there. The only other girl in there is our very own Darlene who does a solo.”

I imagined that particular girl was the star stripper of the place. We headed down a narrow hallway and into our dressing room. Inside, an assortment of stripper outfits and costumes were lined up in racks against the pastel pink walls. A large mirror with light bulbs on the frame stood directly in sight.

The stripper inside was a girl with dyed blonde hair and boobs so big that they were obviously fake. I had no idea that women got their breasts enhanced even small towns like this one. I suppose it figured. She was the star stripper of Starkville. Her outfit was the one Jane Fonda wore for that god awful B movie “Barbarella” in which she played a warrior from outer space trying to save the galaxy.

“Who in the hell are you?” Darlene said, surprised and bothered by our presence.

She was applying lipstick and straightening her boobs.

“I’m Valerie Masters,” I said, lifting up my chin, “and these are my friends Gina and Crystal.”

“Yeah? So fuck off. I wasn’t told I’d have company. I dance solo.”

Her attitude really got on our nerves.

“I know, Conrad told us,” said Gina, “but girl, we aren’t going to be an inconvenience for you or anything. We’re here to strip too and we’re on right after the three girls that are out there are done.”

“I’m the big finale,” she said, “so you three bitches from out of nowhere better not try anything stupid like trying to be better than me or anything.”

Poor thing, I thought, to actually believe this line of work was worth fighting for, to think that she was proud of her work and that this was her only claim to fame. I smiled. No, I grinned at her.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart” I said coolly,” I don’t especially care to succeed in this business like you do.”……….

Anticipation had been built up. Conrad, always the clever businessman, had told his male audience, who were binging on booze, that we were from California, that we were Hollywood supermodels who were treading on virgin territory – stripping.

Every man out there was excited with the idea of seeing us. The lights were on again and a hypnotic, pulsating music without any words( except for what sounded like a woman’s sexual moans) filled the air. We held hands and took a deep breath.

“Ready, set, go,” said Gina.

There we were, on that campy spaceship stage. Gina was the one with the least amount of clothes on her. It was Conrad’s idea. He had said he wanted “the black girl” to do a “jungle girl” bit. I thought it sounded racist, and I’m sure that Gina thought so too, and it was still very fitting for a redneck strip club owner to say that. Gina did not care. The thought of making a lot of money was more important. She was in a golden thong, and her breasts were covered in two little coconuts. She was in golden high heels. Around her neck was a snake. It was a real one too but it had been trained so well and it was harmless. Gina had no problem dancing with it. She headed for the triangle to the far left corner.

Crystal took the corner to the left. Crystal was in a “blue diamonds” outfit. It was a skimpy sequin piece of material that looked as if she was actually wearing diamonds. On her neck were pearls. She had on a white thong. As for me, I was in pink, by far my best color. It was a little outfit with pink ostrich feathers. I had no difficulty walking in heels but I was certain I’d have trouble dancing in them. I took center stage, at the tip of the triangular stage.

From this stance, I was able to see into the faces of the men. Boy, were some of them ugly – older, big-bellied, hairy, slimy looking men. Some of them didn’t even hide the fact they were married and their wedding rings glistened in the intermittent lights. Some of the men looked younger and professional, wearing well-tailored suits and smoking Cuban cigars. These men were a mixed group of white, black and Hispanic men. They ogled me as I began to do my strip act.

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