Turning Point Club Box Set

by JA Huss

  I feel sorry for that family who lost this house. I really do. Because at least they treated it like a home. At least it was loved.

  I don’t love it.

  I kick off my shoes as I enter the office and pour myself four fingers of bourbon. I sit on the couch, facing the window that faces the front yard—visible because of the fancy landscape lighting—and think about the game that just ended.

  Sometimes people ask me why I do this. Why I make up these games. Why I fuck with so many lives. And I say, Why not?

  I take a sip of my drink, still staring out the window, and ask myself that question now.

  I don’t reply.

  Days pass and there’s no more communication with Augustine. But Alexander shows up at my office—dutifully—every day at lunch to give it another try.

  I drop the blinds on the windows that face the hallway and I kiss him. We try to get used to it, to each other, but…

  “I don’t think this is gonna work.”

  That’s what he says now.

  “Me either,” I say, placing my hand on his cheek and slipping my tongue into his mouth.

  He’s getting better at kissing at least. For her pleasure, not mine.

  He gets me hard every day. Every time we do this, he gets me hard. Because even though I’m not gay, I do enjoy men. Not typically alone, without a woman, but the reach for me isn’t as far as it is for him.

  “We should tell her,” he says, still kissing me back.

  “So tell her,” I say, placing my hand on his. He squeezes my cock a little harder. His breath quickens. I have a moment of hope that maybe… just maybe he’s coming around to the idea.

  But he’s not. Because he backs away, shaking his head. “I can’t. Not like this.”

  “Not like… what?”

  “Just… fuck, I don’t know what we’re even doing.”

  “Well…” I laugh. But then I decide. I’m tired of it too. So I shrug. I knew it would never work. And say, “Fine.”

  “That’s it? Just fine?”

  “What should I say? I can’t fucking make you enjoy me. She can’t make you either. This whole fucking deal is stupid.”

  “Then why are you doing it?”

  “You know why. I want that building, Alexander. All you gotta do is let me buy it from you and I’ll go away. I swear on my fucking father’s life, I’ll disappear. I’ll never talk to her again. Hell, I don’t want this any more than you do.”

  “But you’d take her,” he says. Not a question.

  “Sure.” I shrug. “I still love her. But she’s married to you, so… that’s the end of that.”

  “She’s going to divorce me,” he says. “There’s no way we make it past this… bullshit. So this…” He pans his hands wide. “This arrangement is the only way I keep her.”

  “Dude, what do you want me to say? I’m not gonna steal her from you. I’m not that guy anymore.”

  “But you’ll take her after I’m gone, won’t you?”

  “I don’t—”

  “Fuck you,” Alexander says. “Fuck you. Don’t lie.”

  “She doesn’t want me either. She wants us both. I can’t give her you. You can’t give her me. So just sell me the fucking building and make it all go away.”

  He inhales. Exhales. “It’s not in my name or I would’ve.”

  Figures.

  I walk over to the credenza in front of my office window, pour myself a drink—I do not offer one to Alexander—and say, “So… see you tomorrow?”

  He pauses. Takes a moment to think about tomorrow. I sip my drink and wait him out.

  None of this is the point.

  He leaves without answering.

  Dreams are unreliable things.

  That’s how I got here.

  I had a dream.

  It involves a building with a revolving door. Which I have always thought clever and ironic because you had to walk through a dose of reality to enter the dream inside the club.

  It involves a bar called the Black Room and a restaurant called the White Room and a grand lobby that hides the elevators to the basement behind the stairs to the second-floor landing. And up there is another elevator that takes you up into another world. And off to the side of that landing, there is another, smaller, even more private bar that looks out onto the grand lobby and bar down below.

  I want to own this place. This dream world. This haven from the stress and expectations of the outside world. I want to go back there, but you know what they say.

  You can’t ever go home again.

  What does that mean, anyway? Like… yeah. You can. Unless the fucking apocalypse happened and your home was blown up or taken over by zombies, you can definitely go back there. It might not be the same place it was when you left, but it’s still home.

  I could make it work.

  I could get all the members back together.

  There could be parties down in the basement again. There could be drinks in the bar again. There could be rooms upstairs again.

  I could be happy.

  If Augustine would just sell me the building I could get all this back.

  I could.

  Two weeks ago. That’s when I found out she and Alexander owned the building the club used to be in. Two weeks ago I was ready to fuck her over. Ready to do anything, everything, to get what I wanted.

  So I called Alexander. Not her, him. And not because I’m sexist and I think the man is in charge of shit like this, either. I just didn’t want to talk to her.

  And I asked him stuff. Like… “Hey, what’s going on with the building? What are you gonna turn it into? Ever think about selling it?”

  And he said, “I’ll have Augustine call you.”

  So she did.

  And that conversation was something I’d imagined in the past and was not what I wanted to hear now, in the present.

  It went like this.

  “I hear you’re interested in purchasing the Turning Point building.”

  “Yes. Sell it to me. You’re not doing anything with it. It’s been sitting empty for over a year now. Let me have it. I’ll pay you. Cash. Fair market value.”

  “I don’t need money. Alexander is wealthy, we have more money than we need.”

  Right then I knew. Because people who don’t need money want things you don’t typically want to give up.

  “Then what’s the price?” I asked.

  “You.”

  Because of course it is.

  “The life I’ve built—we’ve built—” which is a dig at me, because that we means him, “=--is dying, Jordan,” she said. “It’s dead, actually.”

  “So?”

  “I’d like to revive it. We had something good once. Better than good, ya know?”

  “I mean, what do you want me to say? It’s not me. I’m not the problem here. You two are the problem. Just sell me the building and you can have what you want.”

  “But… it’s not what I want. Well, I do want this. OK? I do. But not like this. Not like this. I need you, Jordan.”

  “I think that defeats the purpose of being married, Augustine.”

  “No, you misunderstand,” she said. “It’s just so complicated now. It didn’t used to be like that, remember? I don’t just need him. Or you. I need you both.”

  And there it was. The price I’d have to pay.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Two weeks ago that same day, I first called Alexander and have my first sit down with them.

  “So what do you think about all this?”

  This is my first question to Alexander.

  And it’s funny, ya know. When I first found out they owned the building I was ready to play dirty with these two to get what I want, but this… it isn’t the kind of dirty I’ve been imagining.

  Alexander is sitting across from me. Actually, both of them are sitting across from me. It’s a small, round table on the Tea Room patio. They are facing the street and I am facing my building. Because Turning Point is right next
door.

  My friend Chella owns the Tea Room. She’s not here. Still on maternity leave after having her first child with Smith Baldwin, who, along with Elias Bricman and Quin Foster, was one of the former Turning Point owners.

  I should’ve bought it back then. Why the fuck didn’t I buy it back then?

  Alexander looks at his wife. Smiles. It’s a small smile. And says, “I’ll do anything for her.”

  I want to roll my eyes. The thing no one ever understood about what happened between us almost eight years ago now was that Augustine was just as guilty as anyone. Yeah, I was the asshole. I’ll take that responsibility. But she wanted all of it. She wanted everything I was doing. And this meeting right now just proves it.

  “So…” I start. But what do you say when a married couple comes to you with something like this?

  “So I want us to try, Jordan,” Augustine says. “Just… give it a try. Like the old days.”

  “It didn’t work.” I laugh. “We did try. And it didn’t work.”

  “We’re different now,” Augustine says. “More mature. We’ve tried things, learned things about ourselves, and…” She falters for words. Almost sighs with resignation. “And we love each other.”

  I raise one eyebrow at Alexander. “He doesn’t love me.”

  “He could,” Augustine insists.

  “I don’t love him,” I say. “I’m not sure I even like him.”

  Augustine purses her lips. “Since when do you need to like someone to fuck them?”

  “OK,” I say. “So this is a temporary fantasy? You want a game? Is that what I’m hearing? You want me to arrange a game for you, only I’m one of the players?”

  “Not a game,” she corrects, eyes darting quickly over to Alexander, then just as quickly back at me. Like she didn’t want me to see that. “I want us to try to make something real. Something that might last.”

  “Last?” She’s crazy. “He’s not into it, Augustine. All three of us know this. He’s. Not. Interested.”

  Augustine looks at her husband. He’s already looking at her. He says, “I’m interested.”

  “You’re lying,” I say. “Just tell her, Alexander. Just tell her no, for fuck’s sake. Just sell me the building and I’ll go away. It’s that fucking simple. And hey,” I say, directing my gaze to Augustine now. “I’ll play your game for a while too. I don’t care. I’ll fuck you both. How long do you need to get it out of your system? A week? Two? A month? I can do that. I’ll show up and give you both a good time. Just sell me the fucking building.”

  “Why do you need that building?” she snaps.

  “Why do you need me to save your marriage?” I snap back.

  “Keep your voices down,” Alexander says, glaring at us both. “We’re in public, for fuck’s sake.”

  “We’re at the Tea Room,” I growl at him. “Which is pretty much filled with ex-club members right now. And you know why we all hang out at the goddamned Tea Room? It’s because we all want the fucking club back. So we come here to see Chella. Maybe get a glimpse of Smith, or Bric, or Quin. Stare at that fucking revolving door that never revolves anymore, and wonder if we’ll ever find another place that feels like home again. So don’t get self-righteous on me, Alexander. We’re here having this conversation because you’re too weak to tell your wife no.”

  Augustine pushes a piece of long, dark hair away from her eyes and tucks it behind her ear. “This is my offer. You need something from me? Well, I need something from you too. It’s up to you now.”

  She stands up, places her paper napkin on top of her uneaten cupcake, turns on her heel, and walks away.

  I watch her hail a cab—and isn’t that her luck? That one is passing by right at this moment?—get in and disappear.

  Then I turn back to Alexander and say, “Just let her leave you. Why do you put up with this shit?”

  He doesn’t answer me. Just sits there and sips his coffee. A waitress comes by and he taps her arm as she passes, asking for a take-out container. She returns a few minutes later—neither of us have spoken in that silence—and he carefully places Augustine’s cupcake inside the yellow box and ties the little black ribbon around it.

  Then he stands, forces a smile, and says, “Let me know what time you have lunch tomorrow. I’ll stop by and see if we can make this work.”

  I just stare at him as he leaves. He doesn’t take a cab. His Land Rover is parked at the curb. He just drives away.

  And that’s what we’ve been doing for the past two weeks.

  He didn’t even want to touch me that first day. In fact, it took him four days to touch me, and then it was just a hand on my arm. Feeling the muscles underneath my button-down shirt. But he couldn’t look at me.

  And look, maybe we weren’t great back in LA when we did this the first time. But it was a helluva lot better than this. At least he was sorta into it before.

  Now, he’s only here for his wife.

  The next day I took off my shirt as he watched. This is all happening in my office, by the way. People outside. My fucking father down the hall. But Alexander didn’t want to go to a hotel room. Or their house. Or my house. So… whatever.

  This dude is never going to let me fuck him, because this whole lunchtime sexy shit? It’s kinda hot, right? Like… people are even just a little bit into someone find this exciting and… dangerous. So yeah. This is never gonna work.

  Today is Saturday. The first Saturday I figured we’d take the day off—regroup—meet back up on Monday. But he called me that morning and said he’d be at my office for lunch. But when I got to the lobby, I saw both of them waiting for me.

  I raised my eyebrows at Augustine and she just said, “I want to watch.”

  So that’s what’s she’s been doing. Not every day. But twice a week so far.

  Yesterday went better than usual, so maybe she figures today is our day?

  She’s dreaming. Alexander just isn’t into it.

  “We’re going somewhere,” Augustine says as I approach them in the lobby. “You don’t really have to work today, do you?”

  “I guess not,” I say, glancing at Alexander. He’s wearing board shorts, a white t-shirt, and sneakers.

  “You’ll need to go home and change,” Alexander says, eyeballing me eyeballing him.

  “We’ll follow you. Alexander can drive us.”

  “Follow me?” I’m not following.

  “To your house,” Augustine says. “To change.”

  I stew about this turn of events the whole way over to my place. How she just assumes control over us. And yeah, I’ve been in plenty of threesomes where I’m dude number two and take orders, but I’ve never taken orders from the woman.

  Sexist? Maybe. But I’m not one of those submissive guys.

  Maybe Alexander is. Maybe he’s OK putting up with her dominance. But I’m not. And right now—as I wait for the gate of my ridiculous seven-million-dollar monstrosity to open, glancing back at them in my rear-view mirror—I’m kinda pissed off.

  I pull forward when the gate is fully open, park in my usual spot in front of the carriage house, and get out just as Alexander turns off his engine.

  Augustine is already getting out, looking up at the house with wide eyes. “You live here?”

  I nod. “Yup.”

  “Why?” She laughs.

  “Because I liquidated all my assets to buy my fucking club back.” It comes out like venom. I’m not proud of that because I hate letting people in on my feelings, but she’s pissing me off.

  “Show me around,” Augustine says, pretending that everything is cool.

  “No,” I say, walking around to the front door. I don’t know why I always enter at the front door since I park in back, but I do. Maybe because the office is near the front door and I just want to pretend the rest of the house doesn’t exist.

  “Holy shit,” Augustine says as we enter into the two-story foyer. “That’s some chandelier.”

  I look up at it, probably for the first t
ime in months, and notice there’s still a camera bulb up there from when I made Ixion play a game here with Evangeline Rolaine.

  Augustine walks forward into the long hallway that runs the length of the house. But I say, “There’s nothing to see here. The place is empty except for the office.”

  She doesn’t seem to care. Because she disappears around a corner, her fingertips tracing the wall as the last thing to fade away as she goes off to explore.

  “So where are we going?” I ask Alexander. He’s walked into the ballroom and is looking up at the intricate design on the coffered ceiling. “So I know what to wear,” I add, when he doesn’t answer me.

  “Wear what I’m wearing,” he replies back. Like it’s an afterthought.

  “I don’t own cargo shorts,” I say.

  “Wear whatever the fuck you want,” he snaps.

  OK.

  I go into the office, start rummaging through the portable clothes rack that holds about a hundred and fifty thousand dollars in suits, and find a t-shirt.

  It’s plain, dark blue, and brand new with tags. Which I rip off with my teeth and spit into the trash can by the desk.

  I take off my suit coat, unbutton my shirt, take it off, and when I turn around, arms already in the sleeves of the t-shirt, Alexander is watching me.

  I smile at him. “You can watch if you want. I don’t care.”

  He looks away, wanders out of view, and I go rummage though the built-in drawers that now hold all my foldable clothes instead of office supplies.

  I have a pair of sweat shorts that I usually wear to the gym. They’ll do, so I slip those on.

  This time when I turn around, Augustine is watching me. She smiles. “What is this place?”

  “My house,” I deadpan.

  “Why are you living like this?”

  “I told you, I’m liquidating. So I can pay you cash for the building when you finally sell it to me. No bank is gonna give me a loan to open a sex club.”

  “Why don’t you have furniture?”

  “Because it’s dumb.”

  She laughs. “You know, you were always a weird guy, Jordan. But this… this is a whole new level of strange. Just live at the Four Seasons.”