by Ford, Brynn
I chuckled and it sounded as malicious as it felt. As soon as it came out, I wished I’d swallowed it down.
“You’re right, babe,” I said, “You don’t owe me anything.”
She glared at me and moments of silence passed as we stared each other down. I stomped toward her again, quickly invading her space before she could back away, pulling her into my arms. My lips came down on hers, pressing hard, begging hers to open, to give me something, anything at all.
She gave me nothing.
I swiped a hand across my face in frustration and released her.
“Fine. Hope you have a good night. Enjoy your fucking dinner.”
Chapter 6
Desi
It was becoming more and more obvious that conflict and confusion were defining hallmarks of our marriage. I was livid, heartbroken, ashamed, and guilty all at once. We had both let our emotions get the best of us, let them overwhelm us. My sudden, and admittedly bizarre, apprehension to get physical met his rising frustration from our lack of connection. The feelings had swirled between us, mixed in a tornado of emotional destruction that caused me to implode in numbness as his anger exploded in force.
I cried when he left, sure that he was gone for good, sure that he was finally fed up with me and my emotional bullshit. I wouldn’t have blamed him for leaving me. I would’ve left me by now if I were him. I broke into sobs, sitting on the chair, alone in our dining room. I nearly went to bed then, desperate to shut off my feelings the only way I knew how.
Sleep.
But then I received a text.
LAW: Looking forward to seeing you tonight, Blue.
I bit the side of my thumb and remembered how good it had felt to talk to Law earlier. The way he listened without judgment, the way he understood what had happened with Lucy and knew what needed to be said. Or rather, what didn’t need to be said. He was comforting, welcoming, easy. I wanted to talk to him now. I wanted his positive energy to infect me. I wanted a distraction from the heartache. So I curled my hair, put on my makeup and left to meet him.
I arrived at Black Ties a little after eight feeling outwardly beautiful and inwardly disgusting.
Why did I come here?
What am I doing?
I didn’t know what the fuck was wrong with me, but it was clear that there was something seriously fucking wrong with me.
I stopped in front of the entrance, hesitant, knowing that if I went inside things would change. I could feel it in my bones that whatever I was going to see tonight with Law would have a significant impact on me. I didn’t know what or how, but I could just feel it.
Then something stronger pulled from deep within my chest as my hand automatically darted inside my purse, digging for my cell phone. I needed to hear his voice, I needed Vaughn to tell me everything was okay, that I should come home, that he would keep loving me through my grief-fueled, bullshit emotional instability.
I pulled my phone from my bag and tapped to call Vaughn. It didn’t even ring, just went straight to voicemail. I waited two minutes, pacing on the sidewalk in front of Black Ties, before dialing again.
Straight to voicemail.
Agitation and anxious energy were building and I felt my breath hitch in preparation for tears to take hold of me. I tried one more time and again, straight to voicemail. He’d shut off his phone. He never did that.
My heart ached, my chest was tightening, fear threatened to grip me. I couldn’t let it, I didn’t want it to. I reacted without thinking and my feet moved beneath me. My hand landed on the large handle of the heavy wooden door and pulled. I stepped inside Black Ties and left my burdening feelings to fester without me on the sidewalk.
I went straight to the bar, as Law had instructed, hoping for the unknown to distract me from my self-loathing and my crumbling marriage. The bartender was expecting me and greeted me as if he knew who I was. He probably did know me well as the person serving me all those drinks last night.
I followed him around toward the end of the bar and he led me through a swinging door into a dimly lit alcove. Swirled script carved from black metal lettering adorned the walls above three adjacent doorways, indicating them as Transition Rooms 1, 2, and 3.
“There’s a dress for you in transition room three, locker nine," the bartender said, “Law had them use your name as the 4-digit code. If you become a member, we can change the code later if you want.”
“So everyone really does call him, Law, huh?”
He nodded, “Of course.”
I turned to face the bartender, who looked to be maybe just a couple of years older than me, “Okay, so, I change into this dress, meet him at the bar, and then what? What happens in the mysterious members only area? What am I getting myself into here, Joe?”
“My name's Justin.”
I sighed, striving to be lighthearted in this dark place, “Justin, Joe, I took a shot. Half the bartenders I know are named Joe. So what am I getting myself into here?”
“You really don’t know?”
I could’ve guessed, but would’ve felt really stupid if I’d been wrong, “I don’t know, Joe.”
“It’s Justin,” he felt the need to repeat.
“I know, but I really think Joe suits you. Law didn’t tell me anything.”
He smiled, “Well, I hope you have an adventurous spirit.”
“I do. Hopefully adventurous enough. I guess I’ll see you back at the bar,” I stepped nervously toward the third room.
Justin Joe gave a polite, “See ya,” then left me alone in the small room of doors.
I took a deep breath and stepped inside transition room three. I had to let myself forget about everything else that was happening in my life and let the rush of a new experience take hold of me to be able to cross that threshold. I needed to do that. The weight of Vaughn not answering my calls was too heavy to carry with me into this place.
The light was bright in the room and it took me a few seconds to adjust. Scanning the space quickly, I could only describe what I saw as a locker room for billionaires. Everything was rich mahogany wood, updated fixtures, and modern décor. There was a sitting area toward the back with a couch and fluffy chairs that begged to be sat in.
Stepping forward, my eyes fell on what Justin Joe had referred to as lockers, though they were far from lockers in the traditional sense. The space was lined with pristine wooden pantries, all adorned with keypad locks. Locker numbers were engraved on round, gold metal plates in the same swirled script seen above the transition room doors in the alcove. I found locker nine and typed in the four letters of my first name, anxious to see what was inside.
D-E-S-I.
A red light blinked at me, indicating it wasn’t the correct entry. I tried again.
D-E-S-I.
Another red light. I was about to head back out to the bar to ask for help when I realized the name Law had been calling me.
B-L-U-E.
The light flashed green and I pulled, opening the door.
There was a long, black garment bag hanging inside and I was suddenly thrilled, itching to get my hands on it and see what beautiful item of clothing was inside it. Beneath it, on the locker floor, was a pair of modest, but elegant, silver peek-a-boo pumps. They reminded me of the shoes I wore at my wedding, all that was missing was a strap around the ankle adorned at the clasp with the layered petals of silver and ivory flowers.
Go home.
Wait for Vaughn.
You shouldn’t be here, Desi.
Seeing the shoes reminded me of Vaughn and how I’d chosen to come be the arm candy of another man that I hardly knew. Half my heart wanted me to leave, to run out of the room and straight home to wait for my husband to come back so I could apologize. The other half urged me to stay, to put on the dress, and see what Law thought he had to offer me in the members only area. It was the classic angel and devil on my shoulders and the devil was succeeding in dragging me down into sin. It was far easier to keep falling deeper into hell than to grow t
hrough my grief and try to be better, to try to rise up to be worthy of Vaughn’s love.
And he ignored your calls.
He doesn’t want to talk to you, Desi.
I swallowed my sadness and reached forward, unzipping the garment bag. Inside was a sleek, navy blue evening gown that went all the way to the floor. It was silky smooth satin that just begged to be touched. I pulled it from the garment bag and held it up in the light to admire the tasteful, simple design. I wasn’t much for embellishments or unnecessary accessories. It surprised me pleasantly that Law, or rather, Law’s assistant, had chosen so well. It even looked like the right size.
I couldn’t wait to see it on, so I quickly undressed, tossing my street clothes and sneakers haphazardly into the locker. Though the gown had elegant off the shoulder sleeves that draped gracefully across my upper arms, the dress was held up in much the same way as a strapless gown. I had to take off my bra to wear it.
Adjusting the dress on my figure, I felt equally bare and covered. The gown was slim, but it skimmed my curves lightly, in a flattering manner. It didn’t cling to my skin. It floated down over my body stylishly.
I grabbed the silver heels from the locker and closed it, making sure it locked, and trotted to the sitting area. I sat in one of the oversized chairs and slipped the shoes onto my feet. I’ll never know how Law’s assistant had gotten the perfect fit. I stood slowly, getting my sea legs, since the last time I wore heels was at our wedding. An expansive, full-length mirror within the sitting room, caught my eye and I walked carefully to stand in front of it.
The woman I saw in the mirror was stunning. Her hair was curled softly into long, chestnut waves. Her make-up was done with precision to highlight her best features. She filled out the dress with curves that hadn’t existed until life had grown in her belly.
This dress shouldn’t fit.
My belly should be too big.
My baby should still be inside me.
My eyes grew warm and damp. Turning sideways, my hand skimmed over my stomach that still held some of the weight of pregnancy, serving as nothing more than a reminder of what I’d lost. I should be pleased with how beautiful I looked, but the melancholy was overwhelming. My profile in the mirror should have shown a new mother with a swollen belly, glowing before a night out dancing with her husband. Instead, it showed an empty vessel ready to destroy everything good in her life out of sheer desperation to feel something good again.
Fuck, stop thinking.
You can’t feel the heartache if you don’t think about it.
I shook my head and forced my feet to move. I always had to run as soon as the painful emotions found me. They’d surround me like spirits with ill-intent, holding me still, keeping me inside their wispy cocoon, one that I would never be able to emerge from. If the painful emotions caught me, there would be no transformation, no metamorphosis. It would just be a webbing of heartache that I could never escape.
I reached the Transition Room door, ready to run and hide from the pain of my life and get this strange night started. As I reached to pull open the door, my gaze was stolen by a curious sign posted inside a traditional gold frame on the wall.
Leaving the Transition Room
Remember to shed your inhibitions along with your street clothes and don your best apparel. Let your formal wear transform you, let it give you confidence, let it bring you to life. Show us your best self. Tempt your fellows with the desire to strip you bare and see what lies beneath.
Whatever your dark tastes may be, this is where you transition from your tattered and stained and mundane life into Black Ties, our underground world of pain and pleasure, dominance and submission.
Welcome to Black Ties.
-Law
Owner/Operator
I hesitated at the door.
Oh, boy.
My heart was suddenly racing, thumping loudly in my chest.
My curiosity was peaked.
My nerves were on fire.
Reading that sign alone should have been enough for me to justify leaving. It forced me to see the line I seemed to be chasing and that should have been it for me. It would have been smart to walk away. But my soul, desperate to carry on with this intrigue that masked my sorrow, committed me to discovery.
I came back through the swinging door and scooted behind a group toasting with champagne. I took the same bar seat I’d occupied last night and was able to look out into the room and observe the people there. Black Ties was lively with an odd, but eager energy.
After a minute, I saw Law peek his head out from around a couple he was speaking to. He looked killer in his sharp suit. It was the same navy blue he’d been wearing earlier, only he’d buttoned his shirt to the collar and added a coordinating tie. It was held in place with a gold tie clip that matched his cufflinks. I gave him a small wave and a smile and he returned it in kind, excusing himself and making his way over to me.
He held out his hand as he approached, “Stand up, do a twirl, let me take a look at you.”
I took his hand and stood gracefully from my seat, stepping out to the side for more space. I let go of him to do a quick spin, then skimmed my hand down my side as if presenting myself.
“Well, what do you think? Do I meet your very particular dress code requirements?”
“Yes,” he nodded with a bright smile, “You look absolutely stunning, Blue.”
“Well, thanks,” I said as he leaned forward to kiss me on the cheek in a friendly gesture.
His warmth and kindness had the same effect on me now as it had earlier when we met for coffee. It was exactly what I needed right now.
Law’s skin was warm and soft against mine as he grazed my cheek. He didn’t linger too long or take any liberties. It was nice. His touch felt familiar. Taking a seat at the stool next to mine, he gestured for me to sit, and I did.
“I can’t tell you how glad I am that you came tonight. I’ll admit, I was a little nervous you’d block my number and disappear for good.”
I laughed, “Why would you think that? I had a good time talking with you.”
“So did I,” he grinned, “In any case, I’m glad to see you here,” he tilted his wine glass toward me with a nod before taking a sip, “You need a drink. What would you like? Wine? Champagne?”
I shrugged, “You choose for me?”
His left brow raised subtly with an appraising sort of half smile, “It’d be my pleasure to make decisions on your behalf, Blue.”
Damnit.
There it was. An immediate confirmation in my gut that he really did want more from me than he put on. I didn’t know exactly what, but I couldn’t ignore it now, not after reading the sign in the Transition Room. The words “dominance" and "submission” popped right back into my mind and I knew then what he wanted to show me.
But knowing didn’t satisfy my curiosity. Not yet. I needed to see the members only area for myself and only Law could get me there. So I shrugged it off and ignored it as Law asked Justin Joe to get me a glass of champagne and the paperwork.
The paperwork?
“So,” I said turning my attention back to Law, “I’m here. I’m dressed like royalty. You’re being awfully secretive and intentionally cryptic, yes? What the hell have I gotten myself into?”
He swirled his wine glass, smiling as he looked down at the spinning liquid like a damn fine connoisseur, “Probably more than you bargained for.”
Justin Joe handed me a glass of champagne and I thanked him. He set down a shiny, black folder in front of Law, who gave him a nod. Then, he lifted his glass.
"To new experiences.”
I lifted my glass to his in a toast, “To Awkwardville.”
He chuckled, “Yes, indeed.”
Chapter 7
Desi
I drank the entire glass of champagne quickly, not bothering to savor the delicious flavor or the tickle of the bubbles. I could feel Law’s eyes on me and when I glanced at him, I could see him holding something back. I set my
empty glass down and Justin Joe returned with another just moments later. I reached for it but was halted with Law’s large hand on mine. I let go, eyeing him warily, and he pushed the glass away from me.
His blue eyes dug into mine intently, “You’re not mine, so I can’t tell you what to do, but –”
That was enough for me to interrupt him with a narrowed stare and a snippy tone, asserting my independence, “Oh, you’re so very right about that. So be careful where you go with this train of thought.”
He smiled, but it was strained as he took a deep breath and continued anyway, “– but we don’t allow members downstairs if they’re drunk. So you can throw back however many drinks you want, but if you’re too wasted to consent, then going downstairs tonight is a no-go. You drank that awfully fast, so I would suggest you take the next one slow.”
I glared at him, waiting for his politeness to return.
Finally, he added as an afterthought, “Please, Blue.”
I pursed my lips at him in consideration, then softened, “Fine. I’ll take it slow.”
“Thank you,” he exhaled, huffing out whatever exasperation he’d suddenly held against me.
“So,” he began, “Obviously, you’ll be a guest of mine this evening. As you’ve figured out, only members are allowed downstairs.”
I joked, trying to bring back the lighter hearted mood from before, “You mean it’s members only in the members only area?”
“Imagine that,” his tone was playful again, as was his smile, “Members can bring guests, but there is some paperwork that has to be completed.
“Like?” I questioned.
He opened the black folder on the bar in front of him and shuffled through the pages, pulling them out one by one as he stated what each was for, “To be specific, a non-disclosure agreement, our rules and regulations statement, and the common safeword and consent policy.”
I didn’t have words, so I stared at him, waiting for him to continue.
