(http://i674.photobucket.com/albums/vv110/jelly_beanjlw/s003crop.jpg)<br/><br/>Excitement rushed through her when she got the call from Nicole. Not that she was overly excited about the prospect of fucking a completely stranger ... she wasn’t that big of a whore. She was excited over the prospect of being able to pay her bills for the next few months off of one night’s work. And she’d seen Joel Ridzel before, he was a decent looking guy. The way she figured it, things could be a lot worse.<br/><br/>With her directions for the evening (including her meeting with Nicole the following morning), Caroline walked straight out of her job. She had been, until that very moment, a hostess at an upscale Beverly Hills restaurant and lounge. Now, as she dropped her apron at the hostess station, she wasn’t. It was a fantastic feeling, to know she wouldn’t have to put up with this bullshit or the tacky black pants and shirt.<br/><br/>At a few minutes until nine, she was pulling her rattling Honda up to the door of the South Que Hotel. She handed it off to the valet, expecting a questioning glance or two. She didn’t get it, apparently cute little blonds dressed to kill always showed up in shitty cars. He took her ride, handed her a card (which she stuck in her wallet) and was off. She’d have to come back and tip him when she actually had cash on her. It was embarrassing, but fair. She knew what it was like to live off of tips.<br/><br/>In high school she’d been the cheer captain and homecoming queen. Possibly the most popular girl in school. Voted her senior class’ Most Likely to Succeed. So she’d taken that to Hollywood and got ... nowhere with it. A rat trap apartment in a horrible neighborhood, a beat up Honda she’d had since high school, and a resume of men she’d fucked or sucked and got nowhere because of it. Now maybe, she’d get somewhere. She wasn’t sure if she’d make a career out of this, like Nicole had ... but it was worth a shot. And the pay was definitely better.<br/><br/>She was in her mid twenties, relatively short which led to the six inch black spike heels she wore. She was a curvy woman, with a tiny waste, always had been. Where a woman like Nicole worked out with frequency to keep herself lean and toned, Nicole didn’t. Her body was naturally womanlike. Her waist was small and her stomach flat, the classic hour glass figure. At this point, she’d never had any complaints. She liked her body, it was sexy without being over the top. Unlike Nicole, the only plastic surgery she could boast of was a nose job in her teens to remove a hump.<br/><br/>She wore a short, black dress, that flared past her hips to give a girlie sway when she moved. Not that the dress mattered, it was what she wore under the dress that mattered. She’d taken Nicole’s advice and splurged a bit on lingerie. Black silk thongs and a black and white silk and lace bra. Pricey, but incredibly sexy. Already the bra pushed her ample cleavage from the top of her dress.<br/><br/>At the door to room 969, she knocked tentatively.<br/><br/>“It’s Caroline, a friend of Nicole’s.”