“Um, hello,” came a female voice. “To whom am I speaking?”
“They call me Scooter ’cause I move fast.”
Pause. “Aren’t scooters typically used by kindergartners?” the woman asked.
Paco fell into hysterics. “You got pwned, bro!”
Felix motioned angrily to Scooter: Give it. He recognized the voice on the phone, and so did his dick.
“Not the way I ride ’em—” Scooter managed to get out before being interrupted.
“Okay, Scooter, is Felix available? You can tell him it’s Mrs. Fredericksson calling. Unless of course he can already hear me.”
“Hi, Mrs. F.” Felix snatched the phone from Scooter and tapped the speaker function off.
“Ahh, that’s better. Do you remember me?” she said. “We met the other day?”
“Yeah, of course. Sorry about my roommate.”
“No problem. I had a roommate like that once.”
“How are you? What can I do for you?”
She got right to the point. “Do you own a suit?”
“Of course, a bunch of ’em.” Why do I keep saying “of course”?
“A nice one? Fits you well?”
“Definitely.”
“Want to see the club tonight?”
“Yes.” He might not be able to move out yet, but he could escape for the night.
“Meet me at five and I’ll walk you in.”
“Seriously? Thank you.”
“It’s a good suit, right? Because if not, I can bring you one,” she said.
“No, it’s good, it’s good. I’ll see you soon. Thanks again.”
He turned off his phone and victoriously spiked it on the carpet. “Yes. Yes! See, douchebags? I’m going to Club Motherfucking Deception tonight. For free. The internship was all worth it. This is where it starts, vatos.”
“Can you stop at Whole Foods on the way back?” asked his cousin. “Rocky loves their coconut marshmallows.” Rocky was the wild raccoon that sometimes crawled through the broken living room window at night. They hadn’t seen him in a while and were worried something had happened. “Maybe we can lure him back if you put some of that coco-marsh out by the screen.”
“I don’t think I’ll have time for that,” said Felix. “Yo, anyone got a suit I could borrow?”
* * *
Felix arrived at four forty-five, and the valet guys were still setting up. Claire didn’t show until ten minutes after, but she was worth the wait in a high-slit, sleeveless black dress that looked painted on. He savored watching her walk toward him in spiked heels. Strangely, she had a men’s tie draped over her arm, and she didn’t bother greeting Felix before popping his collar and undoing the knot in the tie he wore: a skinny seersucker in a bright check pattern.
“You look nice.” She removed the offending item, looped it around her own neck for safekeeping, and replaced it with a muted pink-and-gray-striped Armani. Her hands lingered briefly, smoothing the silk material down his chest. She stepped back and admired her handiwork. “Now you look nicer.”
She lifted the skinny tie off her neck and tossed it in the trash bin by the entrance.
Startled, he laughed. “That’s my roommate’s.”
“Scooter won’t miss it. I did you both a favor.”
“It’s Jamie’s, actually—”
“Whoever’s it is, it’s not right for you. Don’t you want to make a good impression your first time here?” she asked.
He bowed. “Yes, ma’am.”
She squinted at him. “You are over twenty-one, right?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“Good. Tonight the bar serves nothing but whiskey. Hope you’re into that.”
“No milk?”
“Excuse me?”
He looked away. Real smooth, Felix. His callback to their first meeting meant nothing to her. She hasn’t spent the last week reliving it the way you have, he reprimanded himself. “Sorry, nothing.”
After Claire gave the password at the door, Felix followed her inside. It was still light out, but the club plunged him into darkness, as though he’d left the real world behind for a fantasy. He inhaled the cool air and smiled. Finally!
Claire spread out her arms. “Well, here we are. Tuesdays are a bit slow until the lecture at six.”
Via a full-length mirror on the wall, they watched themselves advance toward the elevator. She smiled at their images as they passed. They looked good together, like a real couple. Her legs were smooth and endless, and he was happy to note that even though she wore killer heels, he was still taller. Perhaps it was their elegant attire, the low lighting, or the atmosphere of enchantment, but he felt as though anything was possible tonight. He touched her bare back with his fingertips as the elevator doors closed.
“Your tab follows you from room to room, but I’d keep it to two drinks for the night so you don’t get sloppy,” Claire said.
The doors opened and they stepped out into the main room. Felix’s eyes widened as he took in the spectacle of hanging lithographs, a seemingly freestanding staircase, and alcoves embedded in the walls.
“M. C. Escher must’ve designed this place,” he muttered.
A thin man stood by himself in a darkened corner, glaring daggers at Claire. Felix frowned. “What’s his problem?”
Claire cocked her head. “Who?”
“That flaco creeper at two o’clock.”
She subtly shifted her gaze. “Oh. Him. I exposed one of his tricks the other night.” She chuckled. “He’ll get over it.” She gave Felix’s new tie a final straightening and patted him on the chest. “Have fun.”
“Aren’t you coming with me?”
She seemed surprised. “Do you want me to?”
He didn’t need to look around to know she was the only woman he wanted to spend time with tonight.
“Where’s Jonathan?” he asked.
“Backstage, I imagine. He’s introducing the lecture if you want to say hello. You have about ten minutes before it starts.”
“Okay, cool. Walk me there?”
She hesitated. “All right. How’s your Zarrow coming along?”
She remembered! “Still pretty rough.”
“Try angling them a bit more. If the top card buckles, you’re doing it wrong.”
“Show me?”
Again she looked surprised. “If you like.”
They found a quiet table under a portrait of The Mysterious Dante. (Real name: Harry August Jansen.)
“Cards?” she asked.
He handed her his deck and she went over the move with him a few times. His back was to the wall, and her back was to anyone who might see them. Why is she shy about her card handling? She has no reason to be.
“What’s on your mind?” Claire asked.
He placed his hands on the table, leaned forward. “I want to intern with you instead.”
She coughed. “Oh, no…”
“Just hear me out. Please? I’ve been doing his errands for weeks now, and getting his sh—his clothes dry-cleaned, and he hasn’t taught me one thing about—and you’re the one who got me in tonight, and—”
She was already shaking her head. “Not going to happen.”
“Why not?”
“Because I can’t do anything for you. He’s the magician.”
“But…”
“My advice? Get out before he turns you mean.”
“Is that what he’s done to you?” Felix asked quietly. “Turned you mean?”
She stared at him and then stood up from the table. “I think it’s time we went our separate ways.” She pointed to a hallway on the left-hand side. “Third door on the right, just past the theater doors. It’ll be marked PERFORMERS ONLY. He’s in there if you want to quit. Or grovel. Your choice.”
Flustered and uncertain, Felix left their table and followed her instructions. He pushed the door open with his arm.
In the corner of the greenroom, Jonathan sat on a sagging couch, some chola in his lap, kissing h
is neck. Felix’s heart pounded fiercely against his chest, and blood roared in his ears.
Claire is right outside. Claire with the perfect Zarrow Shuffle and painted-on dress, and instead of walking her through the club and treating her like the prize she is, Jonathan’s hiding out here, humiliating her.
He burst back through the door, fists clenched, and nearly ran into Claire.
“I thought I’d better come with,” she said. “Explain how you got in the club, in case he was angry—”
“Don’t go in there.” He pleaded with his eyes.
“Why, what’s wrong?” Claire asked.
“Because…I…”
“Is he with a girl?” she asked.
His shoulders drooped. “How’d you know?”
“Did anyone else see?”
“Just me.”
“That’s good, at least.” She sighed.
He couldn’t stop moving, pacing, flexing his fingers. “Can I punch him? I really want to punch him.”
She looked alarmed. “No. Leave it alone.”
“But—”
“Don’t do anything; he’s about to go on.”
“I could wait outside and jump him when he leaves tonight—”
She tugged on his hand, led him away from the door. “Not smart. He’s litigious. He once sued another magician for copying one of his jokes. And it wasn’t even one of his jokes.”
“No one deserves that kind of disrespect,” he whispered heatedly. “Especially you.”
“I appreciate the concern, but it’s not your fight.”
Adrenaline and anger surging through him, Felix swayed from side to side like a boxer warming up. “Why aren’t you mad? Why don’t you want to do something about it?”
She frowned. “Who said I don’t want to do something about it?”
Just then Jonathan’s deep, overly enunciated voice could be heard over the intercom like a late-night radio host: “Good evening, my fellow mages. If you’ll move to theater two, our Tuesday-night business lecture is about to begin. Tonight’s topic is strolling magic etiquette, with special guest Brent Wilson all the way from Louisville.”
The theater doors opened and a group of people made their way through the hall. Claire flattened her back against the wall to let them pass. Felix instinctually moved in front of her, to protect her. Magicians pushed past them, pinning them together. She spread her legs just wide enough for Felix to press one of his thighs between them. Their movements hidden from view, she rocked almost imperceptibly against him.
He didn’t dare breathe.
“Have you been doing your finger exercises?” she said into his ear.
He couldn’t speak, resorted to nodding.
“Prove it,” she said, and guided his hand under her dress and up her thigh.
* * *
He rolled through three stop signs on the way to her house, but still she beat him there. When he arrived she stood on the porch, fumbling with the house key.
As he approached her, she dropped the keys and Felix took her face in his hands so he could kiss her at last.
She hadn’t been drinking but she tasted like champagne, like success, heightened and saturated. She was the parts of Los Angeles he only saw on postcards even though he lived there. The parts that felt dream-like and glamorous instead of day-to-day.
He didn’t know how to impress her. His career in baseball meant nothing to her, and he couldn’t astound her as a magician; even if she weren’t married to Jonathan, she was surrounded by dozens of other award-winning professionals, and she knew more about the art than he would learn in a decade.
That left him with sex. He would find out what she liked and master it. He wanted to fuck the sadness out of her, at least for a little while, and then maybe she’d agree to see him again, and then maybe she’d agree to mentor him…
“Lights off,” Claire said once they entered the house.
“No.” He switched the dimmer back up. “I want to look at you.”
“My house, my rules.”
Darkness fell on them again. He lifted her up and set her smoothly down on the couch. The leather squeaked a little as they settled in. Claire’s fumbling at the door had evolved into certainty; she removed his tie with nimble hands, and this time it stayed off.
He shed his suit jacket and undid the buttons on his stiff cotton dress shirt.
“I’m older than you…” she began.
He kissed her neck, her throat, her jaw. “I don’t care.”
“I’ve only been with two other men. Does that bother you?”
He kissed her deeply and threaded his fingers through her impossibly soft golden hair. He wondered how those tresses would feel brushing against his chest, his abs, lower, lower…but not tonight. Tonight was all about her. “They were lucky,” he assured her, “and so am I.”
“It feels like more than that because I have a, um, rich inner life.”
“Okay…?”
The confusion must have shown on his face, because she felt the need to translate, bluntly: “I think about other people when I screw my husband.”
She lay back on the couch, her hair splayed above her on the cushions like she was underwater. Her legs remained trapped together by the tight material of her dress. She looked like a beautiful, otherworldly mermaid.
He remembered the breathy gasp she’d made in the darkened hallway of the club when he penetrated her with his finger. The way her tongue darted out to wet her lips. Every nerve ending in his body urged him to finish what he’d started, but instead he sat back on his knees and removed the thin buckles of her high-heeled shoes. Repositioned himself and pulled her feet into his lap.
He pressed both his thumbs into the smooth arch of her right foot. Her left foot wrapped around the bulge in his pants. Even her feet were sexy. He’d never understood that particular fetish until now. But any part of her body he was allowed to touch tonight, he was going to touch.
“And he gives foot massages.” She sighed with appreciation.
He leaned over to kiss her, and she arched up to meet him.
“I know you can find a better use for that tongue,” she said after a few minutes of back-and-forth.
He dove lower. She yanked her dress up her thighs as high as it could go. He slid off her lacy thong and positioned his face in the perfect spot to write c-l-a-r-e with his tongue.
Her throaty laughter interrupted his thoughts.
“What? What’s the matter?”
“You spelled my name wrong.”
“I did?”
“Stick to the alphabet. You know the alphabet, right?” The twinkle in her eyes told him not to be offended. Plus he was intoxicated by the taste and feel of her skin.
“Yes, I know the alphabet.” But when he started again, he didn’t write the letter A. Instead, he used his tongue to spell M-r-s-F-r-e-d-e-r-i-c-k-s—
“Oh, God, don’t stop,” she pleaded. “Right there. Don’t stop. Two s’s. Two…s’s…”
Claire’s body tensed, and she scraped her nails down his strong, tattooed back.
Just as his tongue rounded the curve on the final s—
The door opened, and light flooded the room.
“What the hell is this?” boomed a voice. Jonathan stood in the doorway, livid.
“Dammit, Jonathan, I was so close,” Claire wailed, pounding her fists on Felix’s back. “What are you doing here?”
She fell against the cushions and tugged her dress back down her thighs. Felix hid his erection with a pillow.
“I introduced the lecture and came home. To find his car in our driveway and his face in your—”
“You don’t have a leg to stand on,” Claire said dangerously.
Jonathan traversed the room surprisingly fast and stabbed the air in front of Felix’s face with his finger. “You’re fired.”
“Oh, for crying out loud,” snapped Claire, sitting up and tucking her feet underneath her. “Fired from what? Walking Doctor Faustus? Picking up your V
itaminwater? Big loss.”
“Get out.” Jonathan gripped Felix by the arm and attempted to jerk him to his feet.
Felix broke Jonathan’s hold and shoved the other man away. Jonathan stumbled backward, knocking into the armchair opposite the couch. He glared at the thwarted lovers, apparently coming to terms with the fact that Felix wouldn’t simply be tossed out.
“You made your point,” he said to Claire. “So I’m supposed to what, call ahead? And then what? Play the happy cuckold? Watch you from the closet?”
“I don’t care what you do. The house is fair game now, according to you and Becca.”
Becca must be the chica at the club, Felix thought.
“Don’t you realize that if I thought for even a second you were still interested in me, I would stop? I always would have.”
Claire made a sound between a snort and a guffaw.
Jonathan looked at Felix for corroboration. “Have you ever, in all the weeks you’ve been coming here, seen her show an ounce of affection for me?”
“Oh, because you’re a paragon of warmth and devotion,” Claire retorted.
Felix sank down into the couch. They were putting each other on trial, and for some insane reason he was forced to be the judge.
Jonathan’s eyes were tiny pinpricks of rage, though his voice remained calm. “You know what your problem is, Claire?”
She brushed at something invisible on the armrest of the couch. “I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
“It’s not the women. It’s not how many weeks of the year I spend traveling—earning money for all of us, by the way. You think you married the wrong person. You think if you’d just married Cal everything would be perfect.”
Felix’s jaw dropped. “Calum Clarke? You know him? That is so cool.”
“Not now,” she hissed.
“But that’s the guy, right? With the TV show? Everyone at the store is obsessed with him.”
“Get out of my house,” Jonathan barked.
“Now you’ve done it.” Claire smirked. “That’s worse than him catching us, bringing up Cal’s TV show.”
“I’m not leaving until I know Mrs. Fredericksson is safe,” Felix announced. He stood up and the pillow on his lap fell to the wooden floor. Thankfully, his boner had subsided by then.
Club Deception Page 11
