Turning Point Club Box Set

by JA Huss

  “You should slow down,” I say.

  “Why? So I can die bored?” He smiles at his joke.

  “Take a vacation,” I say. “Go somewhere nice.”

  “I’ve been everywhere nice.”

  “Then go somewhere shitty.”

  “Son, I’ve seen what I’ve needed to see. Now I just want to do what I was meant to do.”

  Which means work. Being a lawyer was always a calling for him. Like the priesthood. No, that’s a bad example. Like… a soldier. Yeah. Like a soldier. He’s part of the army of justice.

  I think he’s actually used that metaphor.

  Law was never my calling, it was just my inheritance. He wanted me to be a lawyer so I became a lawyer. I don’t hate it. I don’t wish I’d chosen something else. Not really. What else would I do?

  I’m just… “I hear you,” I say, replying to his statement. “Sometimes I feel like that too. And I’m only thirty-one.”

  “You are the one who should take some time off to see things. I never spent so much time stateside when I was your age. I was always off doing things.”

  By things he means Peace Corps and shit like that. Volunteer things. Good works.

  “In fact, by the time you were born your mother and I were tired of traveling. Which is why we didn’t take you many places when you were young. I think that’s why you don’t have an interest in it now.”

  That’s not why. But I don’t say that. I never followed in his humanitarian footsteps because… well, I’m selfish. I grew up in the Country Club neighborhood surrounded by other Country Club brats, went to Country Club private schools, and played on Country Club sports teams.

  “I saw Chella Walcott the other day,” my father says.

  Just hearing her name come out of his mouth kinda startles me. “She’s Baldwin now,” I say, just out of habit. “She got married to Smith Baldwin.”

  My father nods, like he knew this but can’t quite get the name right. “Now that girl, she did things as a youngster. Her parents took her all over the world.”

  I almost laugh. Because yeah, she did do all kinds of good works as a child. And it fucked with her head so bad, she ended up in a quad relationship with Smith, Bric, and Quin at Turning Point Club trying to put it behind her.

  “So sad about her father. Did they ever figure out what happened to him?”

  “They found his body up in the mountains,” I say. Without emotion. Which should make me pause and reflect on what kind of man I am, because I was the one who had him killed. But it doesn’t. Senator Walcott was a truly evil motherfucker. Taking him down was the least I could do for Chella.

  And that reminds me of the check Smith slipped me. He gave me a million dollars.

  One. Million. Dollars.

  I didn’t cash it. I’m not going to cash it. I don’t even know how to begin explaining that money to my accountant. Besides, I didn’t have the senator killed because I wanted to profit from it. He just needed to die.

  That thought makes me look at my own father. Who is still talking about Chella.

  He doesn’t need to die. I don’t want him to die. He’s one of the good ones. He’s someone who came into this life with more than he should and used it to make a difference. He’s kinda like Smith, I decide. Ironic as that is.

  And I am nothing at all like either of them.

  “So…” My father starts to change the subject. I wince a little, wondering what he’s going to say. Maybe something about the games I’m playing. Maybe something about how distracted I’ve been lately. Maybe something about—

  “Alexander Bartos,” he says.

  “What?” I wasn’t ready for that.

  “He comes to see you often. What’s going on with him? Is he in trouble?”

  “Sorta,” I say, sighing. “He and his wife are…” I shrug. Not that I’d tell him the truth, but I don’t even have it in me to lie right now.

  “Another divorce?” My father is frowning right now.

  “What?” I ask again.

  “That couple you had in your office about a month back. You were doing a divorce for them?”

  “Oh,” I say, remembering my lie about Lawton Ayers and Oaklee Ryan. “No, those two are actually back together.”

  “I knew they would be,” my father says, little gleam in his eye. “So… what’s going on with this Bartos man?”

  “Just a favor. That’s all. Nothing important.”

  “Are you thinking of going into marital law?” he asks.

  I actually laugh out loud at that. “Absolutely not. It’s just a favor.”

  “Are they divorcing?”

  “They’re not sure yet. I’m just…” What the fuck am I doing? “I’m just, you know, filling him in on all his options. That’s all.”

  “Well, I’m very happy you had time to have lunch with me today.”

  “Of course, Dad.” I smile at him. “Alexander Bartos can fuck off. I always have time for you.”

  I mean that. Like there’s no word strong enough to stress how much I mean that.

  “I went to the doctors last week.”

  “Oh?” I say. And suddenly my heart is beating too fast.

  “Yes… there’s… a small problem.”

  “What kind of problem?” I ask.

  “We don’t know yet. I go in for more tests tomorrow.”

  My world is suddenly small. Sound stops. I look at him as my vision becomes like a tunnel and everything else fades to black around the edges.

  When I get home after work Augustine’s car is parked on the street in front of my stupid mansion. I ignore her as I wait for the gate to open and pull in the driveway. But she pulls in after me.

  We get out of our cars at the same time. Staring at each other.

  This morning all I was thinking about was winning their stupid game.

  But tonight… all I want to do is forget.

  So I say, “Wanna come inside?”

  And she says, “Yes, thank you.”

  I wave her into the foyer. We don’t even get three steps inside—we barely manage to close the front door—before we are tugging on each other’s clothes.

  She wants to be fucked.

  I want to forget this day ever happened.

  Turns out fucking is a good way to do that.

  She’s on her knees. I bend her over the couch. I press her back up against the window again. I fuck her on the stairs, and in the office bathroom, and then again in the bed.

  I don’t make her leave this time. We fall asleep holding each other. Her dreaming about… I don’t know. Saving her marriage, I guess.

  Me having a nightmare about what the world will look like without my father in it.

  In the morning she’s already gone when I wake up. And the surprising thing about that moment, the one when I realize I’m in bed alone when I didn’t go to sleep that way… isn’t that I’m alone.

  It’s that I slept at all.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I spend the morning trying to convince myself everything is fine. I watch my father leave for his doctor’s appointment around ten-thirty, then take clients, then wait.

  I’m just not sure what I’m waiting for.

  My father? To come back from the doctor’s?

  He won’t have any news. It’s just tests. They don’t tell you anything when you have tests.

  But at noon—exactly noon—Eileen buzzes my phone. “Mr. Bartos is here to see you, Jordan.”

  “Send him in,” I say, pressing the intercom button and then releasing it.

  He knocks on the closed door, then enters, like he took a lesson from my father. He’s wearing a very nice charcoal-gray suit with a silver tie. His sandy blond hair is just the right amount of messy and his jaw is unshaven.

  He looks like every bit the part he’s playing. Successful, handsome, deviant.

  “Come on in,” I say, leaning back in my chair to appear casual. But the truth is… I have no interest in this game they’re playing right now.
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  Alexander leaves the door open, unbuttons his suit coat as he walks across my office, and takes a seat in the left-hand chair in front of my desk. He steeples his fingers under his chin, staring at me. Our eyes meet, hold there, then both of us look away at the same moment.

  “What do you want?” I ask.

  “Augustine didn’t come home last night.”

  “No shit. She was at my house.”

  “Ah,” he says, playing coy.

  “You knew that,” I say. Irritated. Suddenly everything about him irritates me. And not in the usual way, either. “So just stop playing.”

  “She wants me to invite you to dinner tonight.”

  “I don’t think so, Alexander.” Then I sigh. “I’m tired, OK? I’m just gonna go home tonight and do nothing.”

  “It’s at our house,” he adds. “She wants you to come to the house.”

  I don’t even know where they live and the thought of fighting traffic tonight just annoys me further. Especially when I know how it’s gonna end. They’re gonna do something weird, I’m gonna decide I’ve had enough, and then I’m gonna walk out. And that’s probably all going to happen before we eat, so I won’t even make it to dinner. Then I’ll have to stop somewhere to pick up food, or order delivery, or go hungry—and honestly, I’m just not up to it.

  “My answer is still no,” I say. “I’m just tired. Just tell her I’m tired.”

  “She wants you to come to dinner,” Alexander repeats.

  I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose, sighing. Why can’t they just go away? Why can’t they just leave me alone?

  “It’s just so much bullshit,” I say. Eyes still closed.

  “What is?” Alexander asks.

  “You two,” I say, opening my eyes back up to look him in the eyes. “Both of you. You’re more trouble than you’re worth right now. I’ve got… I’ve got things on my mind.”

  “What things?”

  “Things that are none of your goddamned business.”

  He leans back in the chair, places one foot on the opposite knee like he’s settling in for a long conversation, and says, “She wants you to come to dinner.”

  “No,” I say. “I’m not coming. I left this shit behind me years ago. I’m sorry I made such a mess of things when I left LA. I’m sorry for lying. I’m sorry for setting Ixion up like that. I’m sorry for hurting her, and you… and me, to be quite honest. I was young, and selfish, and stupid, and I’m not that guy anymore. You two bring out the worst in me. You two… you two make me someone else. Some guy I don’t really like, Alexander. I’m done with the games, OK? I don’t want to play. I don’t even want your building. I don’t know what I want, but I know what I don’t want. And I don’t want… that.” I shake my head. “I can’t deal with it right now.” I didn’t expect to say that about the building. And as it was coming out of my mouth I knew it was a lie. But now it’s not anymore. It’s not a lie. It’s true. So I repeat it. “I don’t want it.”

  He stares at me for a long moment. Like he’s giving my little speech all his thoughtful consideration.

  Such an actor.

  I stand up, shuffling papers on my desk, pick them up and tap them on the table top to force them into a neat stack, then place them back on the desk. “I’ve gotta go. I have court,” I lie.

  I lie a lot, I realize. Pretty much all the time about everything.

  He stands as I come around the desk to make my escape. But his arm extends as I try to move past him and then he’s pulling me close to him. One hand slips inside my suit coat and wraps around my waist. Grips me. While the other is on my shoulder. I turn my head in his direction, startled. “What—”

  And then he kisses me. Like a real kiss. His mouth is soft, and I can feel the stubble on his jaw rub against the stubble on mine. I hesitate for a moment, startled, unsure, and fully aware that my office door is wide open.

  The hand that was inside my suit drops to the waist of my pants, tugs my belt for just a moment, then slips down to find my cock semi-hard.

  I feel his mouth form a smile against my lips.

  And then I kiss him back.

  The second I do that he pulls away. Releases me and takes two steps back. “She wants you to come to dinner tonight.”

  And then he tugs on his suit coat, buttons it, turns around, and walks out.

  I don’t go to lunch and I don’t have court today, so after Alexander leaves I have Eileen order me a sandwich from a place down the street, then sit in my office alone and just stare at it.

  I think about his kiss. His offer. What it means. How much I want them to go away right now and just leave me alone.

  But I also think about how much fun we had back in LA. Before I got jealous, and weird, and fucked it all up.

  Are they here to get even? Or are they really here to start something new?

  I’m having a hard time seeing things clearly. It surprises me because I’m so detached when I deal with people who play the game. But then again, I’m not surprised at all because this isn’t my game.

  I think that’s the problem.

  I’m not running any of this. I don’t have Darrel and Finn running interference. They’re not keeping tabs on shit, making sure it goes off without a hitch. I’m personally involved with the outcome.

  That is definitely my problem.

  At three o’clock my father returns to the office. He’s smiling and his gregarious laughter fills the reception area. I can hear it all the way back in my office.

  I track his voice as he makes his way down the hall towards me. Imagine him stopping to place a hand on someone’s shoulder as he answers questions people ask him.

  Then the knock. He enters, smiling.

  “How did it go?” I ask.

  “Fine,” he says. “Just fine. Don’t worry. I’m not worried.”

  “Well… what’s the issue?” I ask. “Like what do they think is wrong?” He never told me last night.

  My father shakes his head, still smiling. “Let’s talk about that when we have to. If we have to. There’s no point in getting upset over something that’s not happening.”

  “Dad—”

  “No,” he says, putting up a hand to stop me. “I’m fine, Jordan. Just… we’ll see what the tests say.”

  At four o’clock my phone buzzes a text. I’ve been sitting in my office staring at my closed door for the past hour, wondering what’s wrong with my father. He’s been in a good mood since he came back. I can hear him right now. Laughing down the hallway in the conference room. There’s a deposition, but it hasn’t started yet, so he’s just chatting with opposing counsel.

  I feel a little better that he’s in good spirits, but not much.

  I glance down at my phone screen to log the incoming text. It’s an address. Augustine and Alexander’s address, I can only presume.

  Then… Dinner is at 6 pops up underneath the address and it’s confirmed.

  I don’t answer and there are no more texts.

  I just sit at my desk and stare at my door.

  But at five-thirty Eileen buzzes my desk phone. “Jordan? I’m leaving. Do you need anything?”

  Eileen is a nice woman and a competent assistant. About thirty-five, I guess. I never asked her. Short dark hair that hangs alongside her heart-shaped face and ends at her shoulders. Curvy, pretty, and smart.

  I wonder what she thinks about me? She has to know I’m running these games. I mean it’s not really a secret. Plenty of people know. Enough that I get regular inquiries. And my father knows. I told him. He said just keep it legal and I have.

  Mostly.

  But the illegal parts are only there to keep people safe.

  I press the speaker button on the phone and say, “No, I’m good, Eileen. Thanks. See you tomorrow.”

  She sighs on the other end. “Is everything OK?”

  “Yup,” I lie. Because really? What am I going to say to my assistant? We’re not that kind of co-workers, ya know? Some people have an a
ssistant as their right-hand man. Or woman. But Eileen isn’t that kind of assistant. Darrel is that kind of assistant. And Darrel and Finn are off doing other things right now. Besides, none of what’s happening to me right now is the kind of thing you discuss with an assistant like Darrel either. “I’m fine, really,” I say. “See you tomorrow.”

  “OK. Have a good night.”

  “You too.” And then I press the speaker button again.

  What would a good night look like for me?

  The question pops into my mind unexpectedly.

  When was the last time I had a good night?

  Jesus, probably back when the Club was still open. Since then I’ve been biding my time with these games, my friendship with Chella, and my legal career.

  I don’t even remember the last time I was on a date. Like a real date. Not meeting a game client, or law client, or a business associate.

  Which makes me pick up my phone and open the message Augustine sent. The address is linked to my map app, so I press it, telling myself I’m just curious to see where they live.

  Hmmm. Nice area. Right on Cheeseman Park. In fact, it’s so close to my house I can walk there in a matter of minutes if I cut through the Botanic Gardens.

  I decide to go home.

  When I get to my house it’s ten minutes to six.

  Ten minutes and I can forget all about this invitation.

  Ten minutes and I can….

  What? What will I do in ten minutes? Sit here and drink some Scotch? Sit here and order food? Sit here and think about my father?

  What will I do in ten minutes?

  Eight minutes later I’m standing in front of their building looking up. It’s a modern fifteen-story structure that looks like Frank Lloyd Wright’s version of a high-rise, if he’d made the Price Tower look like Falling Water instead of Price Tower.

  In a word, nice.

  I go inside, get in the elevator, take it up to the top floor, and exit into a small hallway with only one set of massive double doors.

  At exactly six o’clock I press the doorbell. It chimes the deep, classic half-note ding-dong and sounds like church bells.