by Piper Malone
“Elliot! What the hell are you doing?”
My arch back to check the hallway has lingered for too long and the venomous eyes of my prying colleagues have caught me mid daydream.
“Oh, I uh…”
The conference room door swings open with a force that would knock over a grown man. The Dragon Lady has entered. She’s ten minutes late but anyone who has noticed is smart enough to not say anything. The busy chatter is silenced as she stands at the head of the table and surveys her minions. I am grateful for being saved from explaining my awkward stare by the one person who encompasses numerous personal fantasies and scares the everloving shit out of me.
“Okay, we need stories, people. Who has ideas?” Miss Alison snaps. She would look good in leather…with a whip…
Everyone stares at the Dragon Lady, afraid to speak first. I see her rolling her jaw, which I am entirely certain she has the ability to unhinge and eat someone whole. She’s picking her victim. Two colleagues offer minor, worthless stories. The Dragon looks more and more pissed.
“I have an assignment,” the Dragon sighs after a moment, “it’s going to be more of an in-depth job. Our funders want us to take on some newer, longer term stories. Who’s up for it?”
Again, no one answers.
“Fine. No one wants it?” She begins to pace the conference room, heels clicking against the floor. “I don’t think I’m being clear here, kids. There’s a job that needs doing. The bigwigs are coming down on us to make some serious cash in the next year, so that means you need to get your asses out there and find some stories. Who has done that lately?” She stares down each one of us. “Have you?” She points to Victor. “Or you?” Sam flinches under her pointed finger as if she’s sent a bolt of lightning through him. “No one has come up with anything of consequence, so we need to go after what they want or it’s the unemployment line.”
Silence hangs in the room like a heavy cloak. The Dragon has won no awards for her motivational skills. Maybe she was a drill instructor in a past life, or hell, this life…
“What’s the job?” I take the bait and immediately regret the step out of line. She turns toward me and glares. It’s official. I’m going to die.
“There is a club or some kind of social hall in New York that is gathering underground chatter. I want you to go there, find out what it is all about, come back and we’ll see what you’ve got.”
I have to travel to New York for an underground club. Seriously?
“We’ll pay for your expenses over there and get you a suite close to the club. I think you’ll be there for about six months. What’s required is an in-depth monthly post telling about how you infiltrate the club, the culture, and the staff. I want you to get in close with the people who run the place and share them with the world via our site. This place is gaining momentum and I want to know about it. I want us to break it open. The operation is heavily guarded. Their people don’t talk too much, but from what I hear, they put on a hell of a show.”
“What’s the show?”
“It depends on the night. It’s mostly a DJ club but I’ve heard they have an eclectic style. It has been running for some time and they have the same clientele at most shows. It’s run by someone named Diesel. Apparently he’s a guy who always wanted big in the entertainment industry, but, that’s all we know. You will find out the rest. Get in with Diesel and figure out what he’s all about. You leave on Monday.”
“And if I can’t get in?”
She squints her eyes at me with a devilish delight. “You don’t come back.” The Dragon doesn’t flinch when the audible gasps of Kim and Sarah mingle with the uncomfortable shifting of some of the guys. There’s no change in her at all, she only continues to bore through me with her stare.
“Any other questions?” I shake my head. “Good. Then we’re done.” She pushes out of the room.
I wonder if this is what sex with her is like. She ravages you so severely, you have no idea she’s done with you until she’s gone.
I exhale and look around the room at my colleagues, nodding lightly before pushing away from the table.
I guess I’m going to New York.
*
Back at my desk, I rifle through some papers, attempting to organize my mess of a cubicle.
“Elliot, here’s the stuff for your assignment.” Megan, the Dragon’s number one assistant, drops a thin folder on my desk. “It’s some background information on Eden and directions to the hotel where you’ll be staying.”
“Eden? What is that?” I pick up the folder, thumbing through the scant pages.
“The club, Elliot,” she huffs in irritation. “In New York. Your plane ticket will be at the airport.”
“I don’t need a plane ticket; I can ride down on my bike. Can you guys just ship my stuff instead?” The spring weather has me eager to get my Superlow out of storage and on the road. It would also be practical to have my own means of transportation back to Boston.
She looks at me with a vapid stare that can only mean fuck off. “Yeah,” she huffs, “we can do that.”
“Thanks.” I try to offer her a placating smile before she turns on her heel and stomps out the door. I look at the information she’s given me.
This place is called Eden? Like…paradise?
*
I call my father in London and friends around town to tell them about my assignment out of the state. During my last few days in the office, I try to do some research with the background information Megan shoved my way. Unfortunately, it’s a dead end. There’s really nothing out there about Eden, only a nondescript, odd Facebook page. Eden has thousands of Likes and pictures partygoers have posted, but there is nothing about Diesel. No website. No “About Us” or “Contact” page. Nothing at all.
The profile picture is a black background with white lettering that holds a single word:
When I look through the pictures posted by fans, it rivals that of an orgy. People kissing, sweaty bodies writhing together on the dance floor, girls on suspended catwalks frozen in unmistakably stripper-esque movements. What the hell is this place?
Before I leave, I make sure to stop the mail and clean out the fridge. One last night of debauchery before I leave is all I can really muster. Sunday is more of a recoup day, truly a day of rest.
Monday I drop my essentials at FedEx for shipping, load my pack, and head south to New York.
Diesel is available at Amazon
About the Author
Piper Malone is an award-winning author who writes stories about dynamic women and their swoon-worthy heroes. Her novels enchant readers with deeply romantic tales infused with passion, friendship, and laughter.
She is a reader of all things and a big fan of dark chocolate, adventures, and pet adoption. Piper has a strong devotion to face masks, curling ribbon, and stationary.
Piper is a wife, mother, and teacher with a deep passion for car karaoke, Harry Potter, buttercream icing, and her dog, Swiss.
