And all eyes are on her indeed. As soon as the black AMG GT roars into the valet lane, Jenny exits the vehicle. Her alluring green eyes glisten in the light of the flashing cameras. Jenny Price, the woman who magazines hail as the most beautiful on Earth, has arrived. The one men want to spend the night with and who women envy. She does it so effortlessly, her minimalist all-black outfit matches the Benz she just pulled up in. No flashy gowns or fur coats over here, Jenny doesn't need any of that – she's just her.
This is her big night. She's here to show up, show off, and show out.
As cars whiz past on the main road beside her, a young valet steps forward. The young man doesn't know if he's starstruck or lovestruck, as he does his best to stop his jaw from dropping in the face of such beauty.
"Heyy! What's goin' on, boss lady?"
"Hey," Jenny says nonchalantly before handing the young man her keys without even making eye contact.
Can't let 'em get comfortable around you, especially the men. She has no time to entertain the help. She confidently struts inside the nightclub. The valet is taken aback.
"Nice to meet you too…"
Jenny walks in. The air inside is damp and stuffy from the heat and sweat of dancing bodies. The party is lit. Loud hip-hop music blasts from the PA system. The spotlight is on Jenny, literally and figuratively.
"Put your hands together for Ms. Jenny Price!!!" The DJ shouts over his microphone. He rewinds the song he was playing when she first walked in and plays it again. Jenny cracks a smile. As she steps deeper into the club, a visibly drunk woman and her two friends approach her.
"Oh my god!" one of them says, staggering and slurring her words. "The Jenny PRIIIICEE! The woman of the hour, the day, the… fuckin… week. Everything."
"Oh…" Jenny says, startled and a bit uncomfortable. "Hey!"
The woman walks closer to Jenny, wanting to breathe the same air as her. This is her idol.
"I just want to say," the woman says, tears streaming down her face. "I look up to you so much. You inspire me soo much… like I think you're fuckin awesome!"
Jenny is genuinely touched. Not because of her ego. But because someone actually looks up to her. Whether they are sober enough to be telling the truth or not. Jenny is used to being feared, revered, respected, maybe even admired – but to be someone's role model? To inspire someone? "If only she knew me in real life."
"And this club is… awesome… This is gonnna be ouurr new spot!"
"Aww," Jenny says, flattered. "Thank you sis!" She gives the woman — sweaty and drunk — a quick hug, hiding her discomfort behind a smile.
"Thank you for coming to Scandalous! Hey, just for your support, drinks are on me! I'll let the bartenders know."
No one says anything for a beat. Not that they need any more drinks anyway, but it's the thought that counts.
"Just for you and your friends though. If you come back, they'll be on me again!"
"Holy shit!" one of the girl's friends says, the only sober one of the three.
"Ayye!" the other one shrieks.
"Thank you so much!" the girl finally says, hugging Jenny again and sloppily running towards her friends. Jenny heads toward the upstairs balcony.
The crowd parts for Jenny like the Red Sea did for Moses. Fans, sycophants, socialites – they clamor for a glimpse, a smile, a selfie. But Jenny's not here to mingle. Not really. Her main priority is running the club. She runs her employees at Scandalous the same way she runs PriceCorp, but with the patrons? She schmoozes, she charms. Time to play the role of a club owner. She does the rounds with the grace of royalty, air-kissing cheeks, exchanging vapid pleasantries, nodding through compliments she's heard a thousand times before.
This is her club. Her money. Her spotlight.
Her eyes scan the room behind veiled lashes. Everyone's having the time of their lives.
Jenny steps onto the top floor balcony, her eyes sweep down over the crowded dance floor below. The bass thumps through the floorboards, but up here the atmosphere is different – velvet walls, moody lighting, and private bottles glowing under dim spotlights. Jenny cracks a smile. This is her domain, her spot.
Or so she thinks.
She turns sharply as a red figure walks up the steps, after stealthily hiding amongst the crowd, before making it to the top.
There stands Mai Kimura.
The Japanese-American woman is flanked by two imposing bodyguards. Clad head to toe in crimson – from a silk dress to matching heels, with a luxurious red fur coat draped over her shoulders – Mai exudes effortless power and mystery. Dark tattoos peek from beneath her collar.
Jenny's shock flickers briefly before she masks it with calm confidence.
"Well, well," Mai says in a sharp, mocking tone. "If it isn't LA's princess. At least, that's what these damn blogs say."
She looks at Jenny with utter contempt.
"I cringe every time I read these articles about how sexy you supposedly are, and how you're richer than me – about your stupid company and its shitty phones – and these cocksuckers eat it all up."
A beat. Jenny is cool and confident as always. Mai's words bounce off of her like rubber.
"But the queen has arrived," Mai declares, voice cool but commanding.
"Now bow the fuck down."
Jenny laughs, low and sharp.
"First of all, Mai, you aren't the queen of shit."
Mai's eyes narrow, irritation flashing in their depths. Mai's very essence has been disturbed. It's a feeling she cannot really explain.
Jenny smiles, unfazed. "And second... what the hell are you doing here? Don't you have your own clubs to run?"
Mai glances around the club, clearly unimpressed.
"You know none of this is impressive," she says casually. "My main spot gets a crowd like this every night. Let's see how 'lit' this dump is gonna be a week from now."
Mai steps closer, just a few inches away from Jenny. She's here because she has an issue that needs to be pressed.
"But still," she says, voice dropping. "I made it abundantly fucking clear to you Jenny – Downtown LA is Mai Kimura's territory."
Jenny laughs, sharp and amused.
"Who the hell do you think you are? El Chapo?"
Jenny's very existence irritates Mai, and her annoying fucking laugh just makes Mai want to punch her in the mouth.
"Come on!" Jenny says, still laughing. "Queen Mai can handle a little competition, can't she? There's nightclubs everywhere out here. Why are you so pressed about mine?"
Mai's jaw tightens. She steps closer to Jenny, right in her face.
"Because I own all of them," she says. "And since you're not interested in a partnership, I've got a problem with you being here."
Jenny shrugs, cool as ever.
"Your problems are your problems, Mai. Not mine."
Mai's eyes blaze with something fierce.
"You think you're better than me, don't you? Always trying to one-up me! You think I don't fucking see it?!?! Since when did you run nightclubs, anyway?"
Jenny chuckles.
"Mai, I deadass don't think about you. Like, at all."
"Oh really?" Mai challenges, lips twitching as she loses her patience.
"Nah," Jenny says with arrogance dripping from her teeth, "Not at all. And I don't need your permission to open a damn nightclub. You really need to give up this queen fantasy, Mai. It's giving desperation… It's giving… obsessed, paranoi—"
Before Jenny can finish, Mai's hand shoots out and grabs her by the neck.
"You little fucking bitch!" Mai seethes with venom, her hand gripping Jenny's neck. "I'm tired of your fucking mouth!"
Jenny mushes her palm into Mai's face in a lightning-like motion, pushing her back. Mai snaps forward – lightning fast – her right hook slamming into Jenny's lip.
The princess has been bloodied.
Jenny staggers, then strikes back with a right hook of her own. She drops into a kickboxing stance.
The two women launch into a flurry of sharp strikes and rapid footwork – trained hands clashing with ruthless precision. But Mai eventually gains the upper hand against Jenny – wrestling her to the floor and choking her. This is no ordinary street brawl; this is a clash of two alpha women with everything to prove.
Jenny struggles for release, clawing at Mai's face. Bottles topple, furniture shifts – but the pounding music downstairs keeps the crowd oblivious. Mai's bodyguards stand around keeping watch.
Suddenly, two security guards sprint onto the balcony, shouting as they try to break up the fight.
"Alright, break it up!" They yell in unison.
One guard grabs Mai, pulling her off of Jenny, but not before Mai gets a stomp in. Mai's bodyguards then step forward, unbuttoning their coats just enough to reveal holstered pistols at their hips. The guard holding Mai lets go of her and backs away toward Jenny. The other guard helps Jenny to her feet.
Mai laughs, amused and winded. She grabs her shoes.
"Hey guys," Mai says sarcastically to Jenny's security guards, while gesturing her bodyguards to put their guns away. "Easy, easy. We don't wanna hurt anybody."
Mai turns back to Jenny.
"We're leaving."
Mai's mouth is bloodied, but her mocking smile remains.
Her unflinching gaze remains on Jenny, her smile turning to disgust.
"Aww, the little princess takes kickboxing lessons! I guess you finally realized Daddy isn't here to protect you anymore. Not that it means anything because you still got your ass kicked!"
Jenny spits back, furious.
"Fuck you Kimura!"
She lunges forward, but the security guards restrain her.
Before vanishing down the stairs, Mai glances back. "This city's not big enough for both of us Jenny — and trust me, I'm not the one getting pushed out!"
Mai continues down the stairs, bloodied and victorious. The message has been sent: Neither the princess nor her club are welcome in Downtown LA. Jenny's shoes have fallen off, so she picks them up. The straps on both of her brand new high heels broke and she's pissed.
"Not the Calvin Kleins!" she thinks, her rage burning her up inside. "Now it's personal. Fuck that bitch!" Jenny awkwardly slips them on, hoping no one would notice.
Mai doesn't look back again.
Jenny steps back to the balcony watches her go, chest heaving, jaw clenched – damaged heels. Jenny licks the blood from her lip. The guards try to tend to her, but she waves them away in annoyance and frustration.
"What the hell took you two so long?" she snaps angrily. "And didn't I tell you dickheads at the opening rally last night not to ever let that bitch in here?"
"We're sorry Miss Price," says one guard.
Jenny gives them the same look she once gave an intern at the office who fumbled a billion-dollar deal.
"Like, I showed you a picture of her and everything! What the hell happened?"
"She must've come in through the back," one guard says nervously. "Somebody must have let her in!"
She licks the cut on her mouth, still fuming. The two guards' hearts begin racing, not knowing what is about to come out of her mouth next.
"I'm hiring more security," she mutters. "Every other door but the entrance needs to be locked during normal operations. I mean, jeez – what if she was a mass shooter or some shit?"
The guards nod quickly, falling over themselves to apologize again.
"We're sorry, Miss Price. Won't happen again."
"It better not," Jenny says coldly, her fierce eyes piercing through their souls. "For your sakes."
Jenny walks back downstairs into her office in order to cool down, locking the door. She goes underneath her desk, where she finds a pair of black Steve Madden leather open-toe sandals that she always has with her just for events like this. She screams, and angrily picks up her high heels and throws them in the trash. She needs a minute, but then she decides that she needs a drink too. She heads straight for the bar, taking a seat.
"Let me get a shot of Jack Daniels," she tells the bartender. "Leave the bottle too."
The music surges again as Jenny downs the first shot, pain burning through her mouth and throat. She pours another. And another. The crowd dances on, unaware that something seismic just happened upstairs.
Jenny stays at the bar, alone in the empire she built – buzzed, bloodied, and boiling. Then she looks to her left: It's the three ladies she spoke to earlier. The three of them let out a laugh that rises above the music.
Jenny stares at them and smiles. She nods her head.
She pours another shot.
Scandalous isn't going anywhere.