Club Deception

by Sarah Skilton

  When the show airs, women all over the country, maybe even the world, will see him and want him for themselves, but they can’t have him, Jessica thought. It was a massive turn-on and she intended to collect on it later tonight, maybe even on the car ride home.

  As the teaser clips played on, she and Cal moved to the back of the room.

  “It’s hard to come here and not drink,” he confided. “It’s such a part of the ambience. That’s another reason I haven’t escorted you here as much as I should have. Ordering juice, or water, or club soda depresses me more than it should. And I look around at everyone here, who can stop at one or two or three drinks, who can just decide to stop, and I envy them. I can’t even have a sip of champagne at my own party. It’s pathetic.”

  “I understand,” she told him. “We don’t have to stay.”

  “Good, because I don’t think I can.” He tugged anxiously at his necktie.

  “After this, we’ll take off.”

  But the guests had other plans for Cal, and they couldn’t escape as easily as they’d hoped. His friends and admirers wanted to chat, and he was engulfed by well-wishers immediately following the show. He shot Jessica a hangdog look before turning to them with a practiced smile.

  Claire emerged from the crowd, wearing a floor-length gown. She held two flutes of champagne. “He might not be able to, but you still can,” she told Jessica, discreetly pressing one of the glasses into her hand.

  Jessica felt guilty because she did want one. What was a celebration without bubbly? But she couldn’t very well stand there drinking when Cal couldn’t. Of course, if he didn’t see her, maybe it didn’t count…

  “Thanks,” she said, and took a large sip. Get it down quick…

  “I’ll block you,” Claire offered. She slipped the fingers of her free hand through Jessica’s and led her toward the screening room’s exit. Claire’s thumb caressed the side of her hand, just once, but the swipe gave Jessica a little electric jolt. It turned into the happy flicker she got whenever someone took care of her.

  She mentally added it to her list of times Claire had touched her.

  Once they were safely ensconced in a corner, Claire let go. Claire’s makeup was subtle, her dress modest and almost conservative; it didn’t show an inch of her legs. Jessica chose to believe it was a considerate choice; she hadn’t wanted to draw attention away from the Clarkes on their big night. Because who could ignore those legs?

  “There’s a lot of overlap in the crowd from Saturday,” Claire said quietly. It took Jessica a moment to interpret what Claire was saying. “You don’t want people to think you only have one going-out dress,” she added.

  “But it’s kind of true,” Jessica said. “And I love this dress.”

  “It was true for me, too, not that long ago. So space it out more, add some different accessories. I know, that’s what we’ll focus on during our next shopping trip.”

  She hadn’t dared hope for a repeat shopping trip. Insides warm from champagne and the idea of more excursions, she smiled at Claire and wondered idly if she’d worn too much lip gloss again. Maybe she should have done it on purpose, to keep their little game—whatever it was—going that much longer.

  Jessica downed the last drops of her champagne and looked around for the waitress. She was either going to give her back the empty and leave it at that, or sneak another glass while Cal was otherwise engaged. But the decision became moot when Jonathan Fredericksson showed up and all hell broke loose.

  Felix

  Outside Club Deception, there was a line to get in. Which wasn’t the image the club wanted for itself. First, it alerted people to the club’s existence. Second, it implied there was a way to get inside if one waited there long enough, which simply wasn’t true. Some celebrity must have tweeted about it and now random jerks were hoping to catch a glimpse of the place.

  Felix was ushered inside ahead of everyone in line.

  Downstairs was packed for Calum Clarke’s TV premiere party. Felix had first read about the show last year, when he was barely making a living hawking gimmicks at Merlin’s Wonderporium. Since then, he’d become involved with the wife of the club president, wiped the floor with his former idols at a major competition, and become a coveted member of an underground club he hadn’t thought he’d ever see the inside of, let alone join.

  This can’t be my real life.

  But it is. Act like you own it.

  He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Jonathan in the corner, speaking to the flaco creeper who’d eyeballed Claire the first time he’d come. Jonathan and the pale, skinny guy (who was inexplicably eating a pink-frosted cupcake) laughed together like they were old buddies.

  “I’m not disagreeing with you,” he heard Jonathan say. “She’s an ice queen.”

  They’re ragging on Claire, he thought angrily. Fighting his urge to confront Jonathan, he ducked into the screening room to find her.

  He scanned the room and saw her hand Cal’s wife a glass of champagne. Was Claire chaperoning her? Or trying to get her into trouble?

  He tried to be casual as he sidled up to Claire.

  “Jessica, Felix. Felix, Jessica.” She didn’t look at him. “Keep walking.”

  Taking her cue and looking anywhere but at her, as though they were in a spy movie, he whispered, “I need to talk to you.”

  “What’s wrong?” she whispered back.

  “Your husband is stalking me—”

  “He’s not my husband anymore—”

  “He showed up at the shop, I just saw him here now, and—oh, God, incoming—”

  As though summoned from hell, Jonathan materialized at the entrance of the screening room.

  He was more than a little drunk.

  Felix braced himself for Round Two of The Frederickssons Go Batshit.

  “There’s the rat-faced thief,” he roared, pointing at Felix, who instinctually stepped away from Claire. “This guy stole my routine. He’s been screwing my wife, and she gave it to him.” Jonathan wheeled around theatrically to include anyone in the vicinity. “Did you all know that?”

  “I’m surprised to see you here,” Claire countered loudly. “Considering you told me about a dozen times you wouldn’t be ca-caught dead at Cal’s premiere.”

  Jonathan seemed pleased by her loss of finesse.

  Felix’s fist clenched.

  “Schrödinger’s Cat is mine,” Jonathan asserted. “And I can prove it.” From his suit pocket he fumbled to retrieve a piece of paper. “I patented the trick. Look! See that?”

  Claire’s eyes widened, and she reached for the paper. “Give me that—”

  He yanked it tauntingly out of reach. “Filed it months ago.”

  “What? Why would—why on earth would you have scrapped it, then?” Claire asked. “If the trick was yours, why wouldn’t you have gone through with it? The award-winning trick—Felix’s trick—if it was yours, why wouldn’t you have…this makes no sense, you haven’t got a leg to stand on,” she sputtered.

  “You gave him my trick and you thought I wouldn’t notice?”

  Her voice lowered abruptly to such a degree Felix almost couldn’t hear her. “It’s not your trick, Jonathan,” she hissed.

  “I’ve already launched an official inquiry with the board.” He regarded Felix coldly. “You’re done. I am going to ruin you.”

  “Everyone who saw me last night knows I’m the real thing,” Felix replied, oozing ice back. “What are you good for, besides stepping out on Claire and coming in second every year?” He shoved Jonathan roughly back.

  He wanted to do a lot more than that but he doubted Claire would approve.

  Jonathan straightened his lapels and swiveled to face Claire again. “And you—as of next week, the house is up for sale. You have until the weekend to vacate the premises.”

  The people around them had either crept out of the room in horror or inched closer to find out what was happening.

  Claire seemed to be reeling from the unexpec
ted threat of homelessness, and Felix felt his stomach lurch on her behalf as well as his. The evening was spiraling out of control.

  Jonathan suddenly noticed Calum Clarke’s wife. “Hello. You look fun. Freshen your Jell-O shot?” he quipped.

  “Leave her alone,” Cal said. He stepped between Jonathan and Jessica and took off his suit jacket, tossing it onto one of the chairs.

  Jonathan grinned like a shark. “Interesting. Who is she?”

  The young woman struck a defiant pose. “I’m Jessica Clarke. Which you should know considering he introduced me up there.”

  “Sorry, just arrived,” he demurred. “This is killing you, isn’t it?” he asked Claire. “She’s hardly older than Eden.”

  “I have no opinion about it,” she replied.

  Jonathan sidestepped Cal and leaned in close to Jessica. “You know, you have to watch out for your husband and Claire.”

  “That’s enough,” Cal warned.

  Jonathan was slurring his words now. “Let me explain something to you.” He cocked a thumb in Claire’s direction. “This one doesn’t know how to love anybody. That’s why she’s always a third wheel.”

  “The term you’re looking for is fifth wheel. A third wheel serves a function, of balance,” Claire said.

  “Oh, shut up, Claire. You don’t speak for me anymore.”

  “A fifth wheel is unnecessary. Isn’t that what you’re trying to say? That I’m not anything on my own?”

  “She latches on to other people’s lives and leeches off them, and she thinks because she’s smart, she’s immune to any fallout. And Cal’s just as bad,” Jonathan boomed, “never letting her move on.” He wobbled even closer to Cal’s wife, as close as he could get. “Although maybe I should be thanking him. He broke her in for me. Sexually. Like a horse.” He poked Cal on the shoulder. “Want me to return the favor?”

  Bam.

  Cal felled Jonathan with a single, lightning-fast punch, right in the face, and Jonathan tumbled backward. Jessica screamed.

  Felix wished he’d been the one to do it.

  Jessica worriedly examined Cal’s hand. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she said. “Are you okay?”

  “She’s right,” said Jonathan from the floor. Everyone stared down at him, surprised. The blow had been strong enough to knock him unconscious. His mouth was bloody and he looked slightly deranged. “You shouldn’t have done that. I’m suing you for assault. I’ll alert the press about it tomorrow before your show airs.”

  Cal looked like he wanted to kick Jonathan over and over until he turned to mush. “You mardy tosser…” he seethed.

  Felix had no idea what that meant but agreed with the sentiment behind it.

  “You can’t sue your way out of everything,” Claire added.

  A few older men—board members, Felix assumed—finally intervened, flanking Jonathan and helping him to his feet. “Let’s get you washed up and get you home,” one of them said.

  * * *

  Half an hour later, standing outside the valet line waiting for their cars to arrive, Felix and Claire spoke in low tones. She looked shaken.

  “What are we going to do?” he asked.

  “I’ll take care of it,” she snapped. Seeing his startled expression, she lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry. This isn’t your fault.”

  He’d envisioned their first post-show meet-up many times since Saturday. It usually involved carnal acrobatics. Right now that seemed about as likely as snow falling on their heads at this very moment.

  “How?” he asked. “How will you take care of it?”

  “I’ll speak to him tomorrow when he’s calmer, explain to him why forcing an inquiry with the board will backfire. Because it will. Because it’s not his trick.”

  It’s not mine, either, he thought.

  Her plan was too vague. It couldn’t possibly work. Talking things out? Really? “What if they take the money back? What if he does ruin me?”

  Her eyes flashed. “I’ll see him dead before that happens.”

  “What was he talking about back there, anyway?” Felix asked.

  She sighed. “Which part?”

  “The part about how you, like, ‘latch on’ to other people?”

  “Oh, in his version of our narrative, he rescued me from Cal. Gave me back my self-respect. And I bought into it for a long time, but the truth is, Felix, I never lost my self-respect. Anyway.” She paused. “Give me twenty-four hours. Don’t try to get in touch, don’t text or call, don’t do anything. Just let me handle this.”

  She was using her best class-is-in-session voice and it would be such a relief to follow her lead and let her make the decisions, the way he usually did. “I don’t know. I don’t like this.”

  She touched his arm, gave him a beseeching look. It took all his willpower not to pull her into his arms, keep her from going off tomorrow to deal with Jonathan on her own. What if she made him even angrier? What if she put herself in harm’s way? What if she cost Felix everything?

  “Come over tomorrow night after Cal’s show,” she said. “We still have some celebrating to do.” She looked suddenly shy. “I mean, if you want to.”

  He did want to—but anxiety and adrenaline had overtaken him the moment she’d uttered the words, “I’ll see him dead before that happens.”

  What if, for once, he took care of something for her? After all, he and Jonathan were staying at the same hotel tonight. He’d see Jonathan before Claire would. He kept this thought to himself and bid her good night.

  Claire

  Alone on the couch twenty-four hours later, Claire watched TV as though from a distance, or under water. Her mind lay elsewhere, trapped.

  When she’d seen Jonathan that afternoon at Ca’Del Sole, he’d agreed to lay off Cal, whom he’d admitted to provoking. (Although Claire believed his real reason for backing away from alerting the press about their fight had more to do with the fact that he’d lost the scuffle.) But in regard to everything else, he’d doubled down on his threats: She’d be homeless by the weekend, and Felix’s burgeoning career would be destroyed. Claire’s lawyer assured her it wasn’t possible for him to kick her out of the house that easily; in a no-fault state like California, it would take six months for the divorce to be finalized, and even if infidelity on both sides could be proven, it was irrelevant. Still, he was the one who’d paid the mortgage; her name wasn’t anywhere on it, and she worried all the same.

  Where Felix and the prize money were concerned, she felt a white-hot rage that smoldered in her veins. The money was hers. The award was hers. He would not take it from her.

  She’d noticed something gross and exaggerated about his behavior; it marred the surface of him, like a used Band-Aid or a sticky ice cream wrapper in the sand of an otherwise clean beach. Why was he being so petty?

  She’d reminded him he hadn’t wanted to do the trick, that he’d been the one to end their marriage; if he’d toughed it out a few more weeks, he’d have been crowned Magician of the Year, not Felix, and they could’ve gone their separate ways afterward, as was her original intention.

  Then she told him she’d scheduled her own meeting with the board, in which she intended to reveal that he’d been embezzling from the club ever since being elected president three years ago. It wasn’t true—probably—but it could have been, and it would at least buy her some time and call Jonathan’s character into question, which in turn might derail his claims that Felix had stolen from him. She’d also be sure to mention how he’d been exploiting the interns for years now, using the club’s reputation to secure them.

  And if none of that worked, she told him, she’d use the nuclear option, full exposure—tell the board that all of Jonathan’s prior placements in the competition were due to Claire, and that when she’d offered her expertise to someone else, he couldn’t handle it. He had no more right to sue Felix for copyright infringement than Claire had to sue Jonathan for using her work in the past. Lawsuits among magicians were messy and made everyon
e look bad. They would want it covered up as much as Claire did. Jonathan might even be stripped of his presidency for such a hypocritical abuse of power, and his standing in the magic community would plummet.

  Jonathan didn’t believe her. He said the board wouldn’t, either. He practically guffawed in her face.

  “You’ll choke up just speaking to them around that long table. And you expect them to believe you came up with all my routines? When you can barely spit out a sentence if people are—” Here he gave a sarcastic gasp. “—staring at you?”

  She’d wanted to slap the triumphant look off his face. Forever. But she couldn’t draw attention to their argument at a public restaurant. The only way to shut him down permanently would be—

  The sound of the doorbell interrupted her train of thought. The credits on Cal’s show were already rolling, and even though she’d watched the entire, hour-long special as it aired, she couldn’t recall a single minute of it.

  The doorbell rang again.

  Oh.

  Right.

  I invited him.

  When she opened the door, Felix stood on the porch in jeans, a T-shirt, and a baseball cap. He looked as yummy and boyish as he had the first time he came over for a lesson. The difference was, this time he seemed one hundred percent sure of himself.

  In his left hand, he held the trophy for Magician of the Year. It hadn’t yet been engraved with his name.

  Dangling off his forefinger was a fiendishly small gold nightie.

  “I’m not sure that’ll fit,” she said.

  “You won’t be wearing it for long,” he replied.

  * * *

  “Tell me I was good, that I did everything the way you wanted,” he demanded softly once they were in her bedroom. “Tell me I did everything right.”

  “You were good,” she assured him. “You did everything right.” For some reason she felt tears gathering at the edges of her eyes.