by JA Huss
“What the fuck did you do?”
I gather the papers on my desk that I’m working on and shove them in a folder, attempting to straighten up my desk before I take two days off for New Year’s. “What are you talking about?”
“Nadia,” he seethes, like this explains everything.
“What about her?” I ask.
“She’s changed her fucking phone number.”
“Huh. Why’d she do that?”
“You tell me. What the fuck did you say to her yesterday?”
“I didn’t say shit.” That’s not entirely true. I said a lot. But I was only trying to protect him. And she gave it right back. “She ate, we talked, I took her home. We were barely there thirty minutes after you left.”
“What do you mean after I left? That was Thursday night. It’s Saturday, you dumbass. I left you a message Thursday night and told you to show up for lunch on Friday. Play with her a little. She was expecting one of us to show up, for fuck’s sake.”
“Oh, yeah.” I laugh. “Ooops.”
“Ooops?” Jordan is pissed. “I told you I liked her. I told you not to fuck with her. I told you—”
“You know what you didn’t really tell me?” I say, interrupting his rant. “Why the fuck I’m even involved.”
Jordan lets off an incredulous huff that is not a laugh. “I thought we had something good going here, Bric. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe you don’t want to play. Maybe you’d like to find some other guy to share with? Maybe this is over now?”
I take a few moments to think about this. Am I done playing?
No. No, I’m not. And I definitely don’t want to find a new player to share with. Jordan is good enough. He’s really great at some things. We fuck together pretty well. I like the way he holds their legs open for me sometimes. Like he’s offering them to me. It’s hot.
“No,” I say. “It’s not over. I just spaced it, OK? Just… tell her I’m sorry, it wasn’t on purpose—”
“I can’t, Bric. I don’t have time this weekend. I have a client in a lot of trouble. I just got him released from county this morning. The charges are serious, OK? I have to take care of this shit because we’ve got an eight AM hearing on Tuesday. You need to take care of Nadia. Call her up—no, just go over there and—”
“It’s Saturday night, Jordan. She probably has plans. And they’re definitely not with me.”
“Just go over there and be nice to her. You don’t have to fuck her or anything. Take her some flowers.”
“Flowers?” I say. “That’s lame.” There’s mumbling on his side of the phone. Like he’s got his hand over it so I can’t hear some other conversation he’s having.
“I gotta go,” he says. “Go over there. And get her new goddamned number while you’re at it. I’ll call you later.”
I get hang-up beeps.
“Dammit,” I hiss. I was gonna go down to the basement tonight. Fuck, some women who actually like it when I take control. And if Jordan thinks I’m baby-sitting this bitch all weekend… fuck that. Tomorrow night is New Year’s Eve. I will not be missing that party.
I fume about my new responsibility as I grab the phone on my desk and press the button for the lobby.
“Yes, Mr. Bricman?” Margaret says when she answers.
“Get my car ready, please. I’ll be down in a minute.”
“On it,” she says, and hangs up.
I look out the window as I wonder what this night will bring. Maybe I can make Nadia slap me?
That makes me chuckle.
It’s not busy outside. Everyone is ready for tomorrow night. Parties and drinking and celebrations in the street. I have never understood people who want to stand outside in the cold waiting for midnight. Just… no.
Then I turn and go downstairs. Margaret smiles at me as I descend into the lobby. The coat check woman has my coat and Margaret helps me into it. “What are you doing this weekend?” I ask her. She never comes to the New Year’s parties. It’s straight-up fucking on every floor, including this one.
“Hanging out with the grandkids.”
“Stop lying, Margaret. You’re not old enough for grandkids.”
She gives me a smirk. “My daughter and worthless son-in-law are off to the Bahamas tonight. So I’m leaving in about an hour and I won’t be back until all your festivities are over.”
Margaret was the very first employee I ever hired here at Turning Point. She was younger then. Just one grandkid. Now they are big and she is older. We’re all older.
She had just divorced her worthless husband and was looking for meaning in her life. I was looking for… well, not a mother. I have that already. But someone like a mother. Someone who cared and always told the truth.
Her son-in-law isn’t worthless—he’s the vice-president of a bank here in Denver. And her ex-husband isn’t worthless either. He’s the president of said bank.
She’s got more money than she knows what to do with and when she came to me all those years ago, it was with the intention of giving it all away. She’d heard about Smith and was interested in partaking in his little social experiment. She’s contributed millions of dollars to our little help-the-world fund over the years.
For a long time, I thought she came to work for me just to piss the ex-husband off after the divorce. And maybe she did. He might not be worthless, but he is an asshole. We circulate in the same world of big money, so I see him often. But he never says a word to me.
She’s my friend, I realize. Someone who has stood by me from the beginning. And she appreciated the fact that I didn’t try to talk her out of giving that money away. I recall long nights of the two of us talking. What I wanted from this place. What she wanted from the job.
And I guess we got those things because we’re still here.
“Happy New Year, Margaret,” I say, looking down at her with a smile. Her hair isn’t gray. She’s not the going-gray type. And her clothes are well-tailored and impeccable. She’s the epitome of class.
“Happy New Year, Elias,” she says, straightening out the collar of my suit and tucking it under my coat. “Stay out of trouble.”
“I always do,” I say, turning to walk out.
“I know,” she calls after me. But then I enter the revolving door that leads outside and she doesn’t have a chance to say anything else. It’s cold out, but not snowing. My car is only steps away and the valet has the door open on the driver’s side. I slip him a hundred-dollar bill as I get in the car, then close the door and enjoy the heat blasting from the dash.
I always do.
Maybe that’s the problem with me these days?
I pull away from the curb and into the street, weaving my way through the light traffic towards Nadia’s apartment building a few blocks away.
I’m not exactly bored. Not really. But I feel boring making its way into my life. Like a snake slipping in under a door, unseen until it’s upon you.
What are Smith and Quin doing this weekend? “Command,” I say to the car. “Call—”
What the fuck am I doing?
“I’m sorry,” my car says in an unassuming female voice. “I didn’t understand your command.”
No, I think to myself. I don’t understand my command either. I’m pretty sure Quin is hanging out with Rochelle and Adley this weekend. Probably Smith and Chella too. They are having dinner right now. Going to see a play. Or maybe they’re just kicking back at their respective homes, content to be with themselves.
“Why?” I ask the cold night. “Why did you leave me?”
But I know why.
Nadia’s building comes into view too quick. I have an urge to keep driving, but I have nowhere else to go. Just the Club. Just the basement. Just the meaningless sex-filled rooms that might’ve stolen my youth.
And even though it’s a powerful pull… I don’t want to be there tonight. Not without them.
Of course, I’ll go back later. I always do.
I pull into the valet and they rush to my car. �
��Keep it here for me,” I say. “I’ll only be a minute.”
“Yes, sir,” the young man replies.
But I barely hear him. I’m already on my way inside. I walk across the lobby towards the elevator, press the button, then step back in surprise as the doors open and Nadia and I almost collide.
“What are you doing here?” she asks me.
She’s dressed up. A long, black coat covers her clothes, but I can see the fuck-me shoes on her feet, the make-up on her face, and the careful attention she gave to her hair.
She’s going out. To have fun, I suppose.
“I…” I sigh. “I’m sorry I didn’t call yesterday. Apparently, I was supposed to. Jordan is busy this weekend with a client. He says you changed your number so…”
“So he sent you to rein me in?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, apology accepted. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere to be.”
“Where?” I ask her.
“None of your business.”
“Nadia, don’t play with me, OK?”
She places one hand firmly against my chest to push me back, and then skirts around my body acting like a blockade.
I follow her. Not because I’m intrigued. “Nadia,” I say, catching up to her and grabbing hold of her arm.
She spins, fake smile in place. “Let go of me,” she hisses under her breath.
“I’ll drive you.”
“No, thank you.”
“I’m driving you,” I say, leading her towards the lobby door.
She acquiesces, allowing me to take her outside. And even though I can feel the rage boiling up inside her, she stays quiet when I open the passenger door to my car and motion with my head for her to get in.
I close the door, hand the valet a ten, and get in my side.
“What do you want?” she asks, looking through her small purse for something.
“Where are you going?”
“Out.”
“A party?” I ask, pulling away from the curb.
“Does it matter?” she asks.
“Are you meeting a date there?” I ask, stopping at a light on Speer Boulevard.
“Several, actually.”
I look at her from the corner of my eye. “You’re not allowed to date.”
She simply shrugs. “Drop me off here.”
“Where?” I ask, pulling forward for the green light.
“Here, on the corner.”
“Please,” I huff. And then I turn right, up Speer, towards the freeway, because I have the feeling if I stop at another light she might get out.
“Where the fuck are you going?” she asks.
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
She shuffles in her seat, looking back over her shoulder at downtown as I ease into the light traffic on I-25 south. “Take me back downtown.”
“Give the car an address,” I say, motioning to the on-screen display on the dash. “And I will.”
“Fuck you. I’m late already.”
“Well, you’re going to be a whole lot later if you don’t tell me where to go. Give me,” I say, my voice solid, commanding, “a fucking address.”
“So you can come ruin my night?” she huffs. But I’ve made her angry. Perhaps I’ll get that slap after all.
“Maybe I’ll make your night better?”
She shakes her head. But a few seconds later she says, “The old tire company warehouse.”
“Why?” I ask. The building is kind of iconic. Old-school, cool logo painted on the fading brown brick. And not far from downtown. It’s been empty for a long time. They’re tearing it down next week to build condos.
“Why do you think?”
“Hmmm,” I say, getting off the freeway to turn left onto Colfax. “Sex club?” I laugh, because I’m kidding.
But Nadia says, “Ding. Ding. Ding.”
“You’re going to a fucking sex club tonight? Nadia, what the fuck? And a transient one, at that? Just what the fuck?”
“I like to play in the dark just as much as you, Elias. I like the transient ones. Keeps it all mysterious and anonymous.”
I reach for her coat and pull it open. She’s wearing fucking lingerie underneath. “Who runs this club?” I ask.
“Someone you know,” she says. Coyly.
“Who?” I ask. OK, I’m there. I’m intrigued. “Not Smith.”
“Baldwin? That boring jerk? Hardly.”
“Not Quin.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
So I shrug. “Doesn’t matter then. Are you meeting men there? Even after our deal? I thought you had fun the other night?”
“You’re playing a game with me. I know what you did.”
“You liked it.”
“I know what you did.”
There’s a little hint of double meaning in her voice. Something dark and ominous in her tone.
“Are you meeting men there?” I ask again, enunciating each word.
“Mr. Bricman,” she says, turning in her seat. “I don’t waste my breath with lies. I said yes. Several.”
“Several.” I say the word. Process it. “Is this the whole hoods, and chains, and sucking cocks you were talking about the other day?”
“Yes,” she says, then smiles so big as she gazes out the window. Fucking Cheshire cat is back.
“Can I come?” I ask. I realize it’s not a command. I could’ve said, I’m coming with you. But I asked instead. A question she has to answer is so much better. And I know it will make her think.
After a few moments of nothing but the sound of heat blaring at us from the dash, she says, “If you don’t interfere.”
“You’re going to fuck them?” I ask. “I won’t let you fuck them.”
“I told you I don’t fuck them.”
“I won’t let you suck them off, either.”
“You don’t get to decide, Elias.”
So… we’re back to Elias. “I do, Nadia.” I say it honestly. Meaning it. And she knows this just from my tone. “I’m with you tonight whether you like it or not. So I do get to decide. I’ll take you there. I’ll take you in. I’ll stay with you every moment. But you touch no one but me. You leave there with me.”
“And what if I say no?” she asks.
“You won’t say no because if you do then the game we’re playing is over. You like the game. You like Jordan. You might not like me, but you like what I’m offering or else you’d never have given it a chance. You’d never have wasted your time playing with me on the phone the other night. You’d never have wasted your time with Jordan if submitting wasn’t turning you on. You like to slap him, but you also like what comes after. When he gets you alone.”
She glances at me, but catches herself a second later and stares back through the window.
“No,” I say, answering her unasked question. “He hasn’t told me what you two do. But I’m not a beginner at this, Nadia. I’m a professional. I know what comes next.”
Ball in her court.
“I don’t…” But she stops.
“You don’t what?” My question is harsh.
“You can watch, then.” she says. “But that’s it. If I follow your rules, you follow mine.”
“That’s your only rule? Watch, but don’t interfere?”
She turns her head to look at me. Opens her mouth. Pauses. “Yes.” It comes out soft. Not what I was expecting. It makes me hard, the way she just gave in like that.
“Are you lying?” I ask. “I get that this is a power play. I like it, OK? I do, or I wouldn’t be here. But I need honesty, Nadia. Or it won’t work. It won’t be fun. If you’re lying—”
“I’m not,” she says. “I like things my way. Tonight it’s my way.”
“And tomorrow?” I ask, hint of a grin on my face.
“Tomorrow we can do it your way.”
I squeeze the leather-clad steering wheel and imagine taking her to New Year’s Eve. “Tomorrow I get to play my way and you can’t interfere.
”
“You can’t fuck them, either. If I can’t, you can’t.”
“Why would I need to fuck them when I have you, Nadia?”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t interfere.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I say. “I can’t wait to see you in action.”
Her grin is twisted.
But I’m not worried. Twisted is my default setting.
The parking at the old tire factory is disorderly and comes with no instructions. In my head I’m thinking, Don’t leave your car here. When you come back it will be on blocks, tires gone, parts stripped.
But it’s either this or turn back, and I’m not turning back. I never turn back. So I park the car on the street, the thumping of music already in my ears, even though we’re two blocks away.
I look around as we start walking towards the party. Nadia’s hand is there, so I grab it. Partly to make her feel safe in this run-down, dangerous neighborhood. But mostly to make her feel owned.
She’s mine. No matter what happens tonight, she’s mine. It’s not a claim, just the facts. Cold as they are.
There are some people walking up to the impromptu club with us, but not many. A few more lingering at the massive garage door that’s acting as an entrance.
I’m curious more than anything. What is this place? What kind of people come here? What do they do? How will the night end?
I crane my neck a little as we approach. There is no one taking names or stamping the backs of hands. No bouncer, no authority.
So different than Turning Point Club where the door is always open but access is usually denied.
We pass through the door of the industrial version of my own secret sex palace and find the party.
The dance floor—though it’s not a real one, just bare concrete—is filled with half-naked bodies glistening with sweat, even though it’s a cold night. We came with coats, but I don’t see a coat check. The thought almost makes me laugh. This place is so far away from coat checks, it might as well be Mars.
Nadia’s body begins to sway with the music as she heads towards a table on the far side of the warehouse, leading me, since I’m still holding her hand. We get to a booth upholstered in green or tan crushed velvet. It’s hard to tell in the blinking multicolored strobe lights. There are a lot of booths, mostly empty, all lined up against the back wall like a restaurant, but not. How they got here, and who is paying for all this, is beyond my comprehension.
