Fireworks

Madame Mavelle's brothel had a reputation for being the most extravagant in Nevada. It was aggressively marketed to old fortune brats, the kinds who already had more money then they could spend without ever having to work, and so would have the time and means to indulge in its pleasures. It was not the kind of brothel you briefly stop off at for a quickie. Madame Mavelle offered packages which lasted the entire day, with elaborate breakfast buffets, full spa treatment and afternoon activities all with a lovely lady at your side to give your day a suitable climax. It was the perfect establishment for Barry to pitch his business idea.

He was sitting in a grand leather chaise outside of Madame Mavelle's office, waiting for her secretary to give him the signal that he could enter. He couldn't help but admire the work that had gone into the place. It looked more like a luxury hotel than a brothel. Were it not for all the scantily clad women walking about the main lobby and the fact that the clientele in the bar room seemed to consist of almost exclusively middle-aged men, it could easily have passed for a Club Med.

One of Barry's legs was restlessly bouncing up and down. He was anxious to get in there and pitch his idea. He couldn't believe he had secured the meeting. He had never been a part of this world. He wasn't even completely sure how to go about securing a prostitute in his home town. Clearly, Madame Mavelle must not often be approached with these kinds of pitches and must have agreed to meet him out of sheer curiosity.

Eventually the secretary told him he could go inside so he picked up his briefcase and headed into the office.

And what an office it was. It must have been twenty paces from the door to the desk at the end of the room. The back wall was a massive window with a breathtaking view of the Mojave dessert. The whole thing was darkly tinted, presumably to avoid the glare of the sun having a magnifying glass effect on the desk in front of it. And sitting at this desk was Madame Mavelle.

“Hello, Barry.” Her deep voice was imbued with a quiet authority. “Have a seat.”

As Barry approached her desk he couldn't help but be in awe of the formidable presence of the woman in front of him. All of a sudden, this entire establishment made sense to him. Only someone like her could build something so extravagant in the middle of the dessert. Barry took a seat in front of her, hoping his nerves wouldn't show. “What have you come to present me with, then?” Barry swallowed. “Right, so...I am here to pitch you, the ultimate package...or rather, the ultimate finisher to your package.” Madame Lavelle furrowed her eyebrows slightly. Barry sensed he was losing her so he cut to the chase. “So look, right now, the most expensive package you offer ends with a night of hot passion in your penthouse suite with an endless view of the Mojave dessert to gaze at. What if we made that bit even better?”

“And how exactly do you want to make the act of making love with a beautiful woman in a luxurious Queen size bed with soft silk sheets...better?”

This was it. It was do or die time. Barry took a small, one-second long dramatic pause before saying:

“Fireworks.”

There was a silence. Madame Lavelle looked confused.

“...fireworks?”

“Fireworks.”

“You mean, the intense erotic feeling of making love kind of fireworks?”

“No, I mean literal fireworks.”

Madame Lavelle furrowed her eyebrows harder and Barry could start to see anger in her eyes. She thought him a fool. She thought he was playing her. He had to bring this home.

“Let me explain. What you do, is you give your customer this.” Barry reached open his suitcase, reached inside and pulled out a digital wrist sensor. “You ask them to wear it and it monitors their vital signs and biochemistry. So now, the customer is getting it on right? Beautiful bed, beautiful woman, massive window with a gorgeous night view of the Mojave desert and right as he's about to have an orgasm, the sensor on his wrist sends a signal to a battery of automated fireworks you have waiting in the dessert outside. The signal sets the fireworks off so when the guy climaxes, what does he see outside? An explosion of glorious fireworks, his ecstasy reflected in the sky itself. He'll feel as if he's ejaculated onto the entire state. He will feel like a God.”

Barry realised he had gotten out of his seat about halfway through his seat.

“Madame Lavelle, your luxury brothel prides itself on its extravagance, on its luxury and on the care and attention it lavishes on its clientele. This package will make you go down in history as the woman who turned whoring into an art.”

Ok, he didn't quite stick the landing but Barry felt he had delivered the pitch the best way that he could. All he could was await Madame Lavelle's reaction.

At first she said nothing.

Then, she said nothing.

For fifteen minutes she sat unmoving. Barry didn't budge. He was going to get an answer from her. Another ten minutes passed and then, finally:

“Deal.”