by Lauren Rowe
Or maybe, just maybe, I’m so damned grateful Jonas applied to The Club (or else how would we have met?), thrilled by the masterful way he touches me and makes love to me like no one ever has, spellbound by his unquenchable quest to satisfy me, enraptured by his determination to do all things “excellently” that I’m now inclined to view heightened or avid sexual desire as a magnificent superpower rather than something to disparage or snub. Whatever the reason, whatever the journey, whatever the delusion, the bottom line is I’m feeling pretty nonjudgmental about Josh being a past member of The Club right about now.
But that doesn’t mean I’m not hella curious about it. Because I am.
I don’t mean I’m curious in some kind of winky-winky code, like “Hello, I’m a freak show who’s curious (wink, wink) about her boyfriend’s brother.” Ew. No. Not at all. What I mean is I’m intellectually curious to know the details about Josh’s (or anyone’s) successful club experience. After three months of reviewing applications on the front-end of the intake process, I still have no idea what happens on the back-end of it—that is, after a member receives his welcome package. And I admit, I really, really want to know.
What did The Club deliver to Josh during his membership period? Who were the women and what were they like? Did he see any of them repeatedly? Did he form emotional attachments to any of them? What the heck did they do to him/with him/for him that he felt he couldn’t get outside the clandestine walls of The Club? Did he ever suspect what was really going on—that these women were hired to say and do and be whatever he’d requested in his application—or did he buy the entire fantasy, hook-line-and-sinker? And if he did suspect the truth about these women, did he care?
And, of course, the granddaddy question of them all, the thing I’m dying to know more than anything else (though I’m not proud to admit it): What did Josh request in his frickin’ application in the first place? Color me curious, I gotta know.
My educated guess is that, given Josh’s good looks and penchant for exploring the world, he’s one of those world traveler/tycoon/professional-athlete types who joined The Club as a simple and expeditious means of finding good sex and compatible companionship wherever he happened to roam—as opposed to being a wack job looking for bukkake or for someone to poop on his face. But, hey, maybe Josh isn’t what he appears to be. Perhaps there’s something more wack jobby about him than initially meets the eye. I can’t help but wonder. And judging by the look on Kat’s face, she can’t help but wonder, either—oh my goodness, yes, it’s quite clear to me little miss Kitty Kat’s wondering herself into a frenzy right now.
I’m not surprised by that zealous twinkle in Kat’s eye, to be honest. From the moment Kat found out about my intake agent job, she’s tried relentlessly (though unsuccessfully) to pry every juicy detail out of me about every application I’ve processed. And it wasn’t my intake agent job that ignited Kat’s sexual curiosity—she’s always been this way.
As long as I’ve known her, Kat’s been the boy-crazy one of the two of us, sexually supercharged from an early age, for some reason not shackled by the usual hang-ups and inhibitions that seem to plague other girls, including me. Before Jonas came into my life, I used to watch Kat glide through her interactions with members of the opposite sex and marvel about her supernatural confidence and almost masculine libido. But now that Jonas has “unlocked” me, I have a totally different perspective. In fact, my post-Jonas self might even give Kitty Kat a run for her sexually supercharged money.
I glance at Kat—and when I see her flushed and tantalized face, I suddenly worry my facial expression matches hers. If that’s the case, if I look half as revved up as she does right now, then I’m going to hell in a handbasket. Intellectual curiosity or not, no matter how innocent or anthropological in nature my wonderings might be, I absolutely can’t be thinking about my boyfriend’s brother’s sex life. Period. I can’t indulge my sexual curiosity, intellectual or otherwise, with or about anyone besides my sweet Jonas—and least of all not regarding his twin brother. I just have to let it go. Some things are not meant to be known by me. Boom. Truth. But that doesn’t mean Kat has to let it go, not at all. And by the look on her face, she doesn’t plan to.
The next thing I observe during Jonas’ telling of his saga occurs to me precisely when he gets to the “and then it turned out Stacy was a fucking prostitute” part of his story. Whereas Jonas quite obviously feels acute humiliation and even suppressed rage all over again simply by talking about the fiasco, Josh on the other hand seems oddly calm about the whole thing. Amused, even. He’s certainly in no danger of escaping into the bathroom to process his emotions or punch a hole in the wall, that’s for sure.
“Huh,” Josh finally says when Jonas finishes talking. “Interesting.”
Jonas exhales with impatience. His jaw muscles pulse. Clearly, he was expecting something else from Josh.
“Wow,” Josh adds, shaking his head. He considers something for a moment. “I’m not sure, bro. I met some really great girls.”
Kat visibly scowls.
I can’t resist asking at least one, teeny-tiny question. “How long was your membership, Josh?”
“A month.”
I’m relieved. That means he’s probably not a total wack job. I steal a glance at Jonas. Oh man, he’s fuming. At me for asking the question? At himself for joining for a year? Or at Josh’s milk-toast reaction to the whole situation? I’m not sure about the source of Jonas’ ire—but I figure it couldn’t hurt for me to ask one more teensy-weensy question.
“And you... completed your entire membership period... successfully?”
“Oh, yeah. Definitely.” Josh smiles broadly. He thinks for a minute. “There’s no way all those girls were prostitutes. They were super cool, all of them.”
All those girls? All of them? How many women are we talking about here?
“They were all super cool, huh?” I say, even though I know I should shut the hell up. “Well, Julia Roberts was ‘super cool’ in Pretty Woman, too.”
Josh laughs. “True.”
Jonas’ eyes flash. What’s going on in that beautiful head of his? He looks like he’s on the verge of exploding.
“How many women could you possibly have gone through in a month?” Kat asks, swooping in to ask the precise thing I’m wondering myself.
Josh’s eyes latch onto Kat with laser sharpness.
“I mean . . .” Kat’s face turns red. But she can’t figure out how to make her question sound pertinent to anything other than her own salacious and highly personal desire to know.
Josh stares at Kat without apology for a very long beat. “A couple,” he finally answers slowly. But he’s not even trying to sound like he’s telling her the truth. He flashes her a broad smile.
Oh boy, he’s definitely a Faraday. No doubt about it.
Bam. Just like that, I have a sudden, disgusting thought.
“Josh, did you ever use your membership to meet a ‘super cool’ girl in the Seattle area?”
Josh’s smile droops with instant understanding. He nods slowly. “Once.”
Oh no. Please tell me Josh and Jonas didn’t both have sex with Stacy the Faker. My stomach churns at the thought.
Jonas’ mortified face tells me he gets my meaning, too. “Brunette. Piercing blue eyes—like the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen—fair skin.” It’s like he’s rattling off a grocery list. “C-cup. Perfect teeth. Smokin’ hot body—” He looks at me apologetically. “Sorry, baby.”
But there’s no need to apologize. Stacy does have a smokin’ hot body. And, frankly, I like that she does—the hotter the better. My hunkalicious man wanted me, sight unseen, based solely on my brains and personality, and he fantasized about me while screwing another woman—a woman with a smokin’ hot body. I’ve got no problem with that. In fact, the thought gets me going like a hungry dog on a ragged bone.
“It’s okay.” I wink at Jonas. Woof.
One side of his mouth curls up, and for one fleet
ing, delicious moment, I know we’re both thinking about our first phone conversation, the one that unexpectedly devolved into dirty phone sex.
Josh is visibly relieved. “No,” he says, exhaling “That doesn’t describe my Seattle girl. When I filled out my application, I requested only—” He stops mid-sentence. He looks at Kat and smashes his mouth into a hard line.
What? Oh my God. What? I’ve got to know! He requested only... what? Black women? Plus sized beauties? Asian women? A-cups? Men? Transgenders? I’m horrible, I admit it, depraved, perverted, going to hell, but I’m dying to know what was on the tip of Josh’s tongue. Damn!
But Josh obviously isn’t going to elaborate. “Thank God, bro,” Josh says. “That would have been just like having sex with you.” He mock-shudders, obviously highly amused.
Jonas isn’t amused at all. “We’re totally off track here,” he says, exasperated. “The only thing that matters is that these bastards have fucked with Sarah and Kat, and we have no way of knowing whether they’re done fucking with them or if they’re just getting started.”
Josh leans back on the couch. He sighs audibly. “I don’t know.”
Jonas lets out a loud puff of air. “What the fuck does that mean?” He stands. His jaw muscles are pulsing. “What the fuck don’t you know?”
There’s a beat as Josh tries to process Jonas’ sudden flash of anger.
“You don’t fucking know what?” Jonas booms. Oh man, he’s gone from zero to sixty in a heartbeat.
“Hey, man, calm down. Just... Jesus, Jonas. Sit down.”
Jonas’ entire body tenses. Every muscle bulges. “Fuck that! Fuck everything except ‘What do you need from me, Jonas?’ Fuck everything except ‘I’m with you, man, one hundred and ten percent!’ I’m not gonna sit around and wait to find out if these fuckers have something more planned for us. I’m taking them down.”
“Sit down, Jonas,” Josh says emphatically. “Let’s just talk about this for a minute, rationally.”
“Oh, you’re gonna tell me how to be rational? Mr. Buys-a-Lamborghini-on-a-Fucking-Whim-When-His-Girlfriend-Breaks-Up-With-Him is gonna tell me to be rational?”
Josh rolls his eyes. “I’m just saying I don’t know, that’s all. I’m not saying ‘I disagree.’ Big difference. Just sit the fuck down for a minute. Jesus, Jonas.”
“What the fuck don’t you know? There’s nothing to decide. I’m telling you they’ve fucked with my girl. That’s all you need to know! End of story.” He’s started prancing around the room like a boxer about to get into the ring.
“Jonas!” Josh yells.
Jonas’ eyes are blazing.
“Sit the fuck down. Come on.”
Jonas grabs his hair in frustration.
“Please.”
Jonas grumbles loudly, but he complies. His eyes are on fire. And so is the rest of him. Holy Baby Jesus in a wicker basket, he’s so frickin’ hot right now, I want to tie him up and make him beg me for mercy.
“Thank you,” Josh says politely. He exhales pointedly. “You get so riled up sometimes, man.” He shakes his head.
Jonas is trembling. And so am I, just watching him. Oh man, he’s a beast—a sexy frickin’ beast.
“Okay. Now take a deep breath for a second.”
Jonas glares at him.
“Do it.”
After a minute, Jonas begrudgingly makes a big show of breathing deeply, as requested, but it’s hard to tell if the exercise is calming him down or pissing him off.
“Good. Good. Thank you. I’m on your team, bro—I’m always on your team. No questions asked, no matter what. Always. One hundred ten percent.”
Jonas nods. He knows that. Of course, he does. Without a doubt.
I glance at Kat. She’s sitting on the edge of her seat in the corner, her eyes wide.
“Just take a second, man,” Josh continues. “Don’t fly off the handle. We’ll just talk about it, man to man, okay? Talking it through doesn’t mean we’re having a disagreement—we’re just talking it through to consider all angles.” Josh keeps his voice calm. Something tells me he’s talked Jonas off the ledge a time or two—and maybe even literally for all I know. There’s still so much I don’t know about Jonas and his demons.
“Don’t talk to me like I’m eight years old,” Jonas huffs. “I’ve read that stupid book, too, you know. ‘Talking about it doesn’t mean we’re disagreeing.’ Find a new bullshit line, man. That one’s stale.”
Josh laughs. “It’s all I’ve got—the only thing I remember from that stupid book. Don’t take away my one smart thing to say. Not everybody’s got a photographic memory like you, motherfucker.”
Jonas nods and exhales, regaining control of himself.
Interesting.
“Let’s just talk it through,” Josh continues. He smirks. “Talking about it doesn’t mean we’re disagreeing.”
Jonas rolls his eyes. “So I’ve heard. Repeatedly.”
Josh flashes a wide smile.
It seems they’ve reached some kind of common ground.
Kat and I exchange a “what the hell just happened?” glance. Neither of us speaks.
Josh breathes deeply, in through his nose and out through his mouth, obviously trying to lure Jonas into following suit—and Jonas does. It’s like Josh is some kind of gorilla-whisperer or something. And it’s working—I can see Jonas calming down with each breath. It’s fascinating to watch. And a total turn-on, too.
“Okay. Let’s think,” Josh says. “What’s the point in taking down the entire organization? I mean, really? Just think about it, logically. That sounds like an awfully big job—and maybe overkill. Think about it, Jonas. Yes, we’ve got to protect Sarah and Kat, of course . . .” He smiles at me and then at Kat. “Of course. And we will. I promise. But beyond that, why do we care what The Club does?”
I note Josh’s adoption of “we” rather than “you” in that last sentence. Very well done.
Jonas shifts in his seat. He’s considering.
“Why kill a fly with a sledgehammer when a flyswatter will do?”
A muscle in Jonas’ jaw pulses.
Josh barrels ahead. “The Club provides a service—and very well, I might add, speaking from experience. So, yeah, maybe things aren’t exactly as they appear, maybe they oversell the fantasy a bit—but so does Disneyland. I mean, you can go ride a rollercoaster anywhere, right?—but you pay ten times more to ride that same roller coaster at Disneyland. Why? Because it’s got Mickey Mouse’s face on it.” Josh nods, thoroughly convinced by his own logic.
Jonas huffs but doesn’t speak. His eyes are like granite.
“Maybe all these guys who join The Club want to ride a roller coaster with Mickey Mouse’s face on it—and they’re happy as clams to pay a shitload to do it. They don’t even want to know they could ride the same roller coaster without Mickey’s face on it for two bucks down the street.”
Jonas bursts out of his skin. “Jesus, Josh,” he says, jumping back up. “Really?” He’s barely suppressing his fury. “‘Live and let live?’ Is that it? Let these guys go on their merry way while I sit around and wonder night and day if they’re gonna come after my baby or not?” He’s roaring now, absolutely enraged. “No fucking way.”
I stand and put my hand on Jonas’ forearm, signaling him to let me speak. He jerks his arm away, fuming. “I expected you of all people to understand,” he seethes at Josh. “Fuck!”
I take a step back. He obviously doesn’t want me to meddle. And he’s right. I shouldn’t have butted into this brother-to-brother conversation. Not yet. Not now.
“I do understand. I’m just saying let’s narrow down exactly what we’re trying to accomplish here.”
There’s a long beat.
Jonas is incapable of coherent speech. He’s absolutely furious. After a long beat, he motions to me as if he’s giving me the floor.
“Josh,” I say. I feel the need to choose my words carefully. “Your premise is faulty. When you buy a ticket for Disneyland
, you know you’re signing up to ride a Mickey Mouse roller coaster. Not everyone signs up to ride a Mickey Mouse rollercoaster when they join The Club—but that’s what they give them, anyway.”
Josh looks genuinely confused.
I feel too stupid to say anything else. I sit back down on the couch, wishing I were invisible.
“What do you mean?” Josh asks me. He sounds remarkably sincere. The tone of his voice makes me look up at him. The expression on his face matches his voice.
Jonas exhales. “She means not everyone is totally fucked-up like you and me.” He clears his throat. “Or, at least, like me—you seem to have been cured of your fuckeduppedness by that stupid book.”
Josh can’t help but laugh at that.
“She means some people are, you know, normal,” Jonas continues. He sits down on the couch next to me and puts his arm around me. I guess that’s his way of apologizing for jerking away a moment ago. If so, I accept his apology.
“What the fuck does that even mean?” Josh finally says. “Normal?”
Jonas doesn’t answer.
“Okay, fine, let’s say there are normal people out there. Why the fuck would any normal person join The Club?” He seems genuinely confounded.
“To find love,” Jonas says quietly. “That’s what normal people want. That’s what The Club promises to the normal ones. And it’s a scam.”
Hearing Jonas adopt exactly what I’ve said to him, whether he believes it or not (I’m not completely sure he does) makes me tingle all over. He’s telling me he’s got my back along with the rest of my body parts.
Josh laughs derisively.
“It’s true,” I say, defending Jonas. Defending myself. Defending love, faith, hope, optimism—I don’t know what the hell I’m defending. Maybe I’m still hung up on seeing my little software engineer’s elated face when Stacy lied and said she only watched college basketball, just like him. Maybe I need to believe that love, and not just sex, is what truly what makes the world go around. Maybe I need to believe there’s someone for everyone, no matter how fucked up or depraved. Maybe I just need to believe there are men out there who are absolutely nothing like my father.
