[The Turning 01.0] Taking Turns

by JA Huss

  I have to look up for this. “And?”

  Bric lets out a deep breath. “She’s been seeing Lucinda for seven years.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s complicated. And I don’t know the whole story, but I’m gonna assume it was based on the sexual guilt and sense of shame that her mother instilled in her as a child and growing up.”

  I look back down at my hands. “I want to kill that man. I keep hearing Chella’s words in my head. What they did her. What almost happened to her…”

  “Lucinda didn’t tell me everything, but she did say this was the final stage in Chella letting go of it. I think that outburst on the street was something of a catharsis.”

  I think about our dinner with her father. How she reacted—or didn’t react—to all those nasty things he said. How she just took it, then closed herself off to be sad alone. Then pretended it never happened the next day.

  I think about the nightmares and the sleepwalking. How it’s probably all connected.

  And then I just… hate myself for not seeing her more clearly.

  “We talked,” Bric continues. “She’s feeling better.”

  “Does she hate me?” I look up at him again. “For bringing her into this game?”

  “No,” he says. “I’m pretty sure it was her idea. Like I said, Lucinda can’t tell me everything. But she hinted that Rochelle and Chella set this up together. First, so Rochelle could leave and have someone take her place. Probably for Quin’s sake. And second, I think this was Chella’s fantasy. I didn’t get the feeling she was coerced. She came on her own. And stayed on her own, too, Smith.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” I admit. “I’m always the cool one, you know. The guy in control. The guy with everything figured out. And here I am, so fucking lost. I don’t even have a house,” I say, looking up again.

  “What?” Bric asks, his brow furrowed.

  “A house. Or a job. I’m playing by all these rules, you know. Rules I just make up whenever things go wrong so I can try to find a logical way past the problem instead of dealing with it.”

  “You do good things, Smith. Don’t ever think you don’t.”

  But I’m not sure about that. Money, yeah. I have a lot of it. And I give it all away. It felt good for years to do that. To have that kind of power over people. Corporations.

  But now it just feels… very self-righteous. Self-indulgent, if I’m being honest.

  “I think I’m going about this all wrong,” I say, standing up.

  “How do you figure?” Bric asks.

  But I don’t answer. I just walk out. I need to rethink things. Everything.

  Chapter Forty-Two - Quin

  “Rochelle?” I say into the phone after the beep. She still has voicemail picking up this number, so I’m hoping it’s still one she checks. “I’m sorry. I just found out about… about the abortion. And I’m so fucking sorry. I wish I would’ve been there for you. I really…”

  I don’t know what else to say. What can I say? How the hell do you fix something like this?

  “I just want to see you again. I’d beg if I thought it would do me any good, but I know you better. You told me once that everyone thinks you’re flighty and stupid because you’re easy-going. But you’re really very decisive, and once you make up your mind and commit to something, you stick it out no matter what.”

  I guess that’s why we lasted so long. She was just trying to stick it out. She did, after all, go to Bric with her problem. Not me.

  Not me.

  “But I just want you to know… I lo—”

  Beep. “The voice mailbox you’re trying to reach is full.”

  I just look at the phone. Really? This is how it ends? Really?

  I throw it across the room and yell.

  Chapter Forty-Three - Chella

  I sit out on my back courtyard on New Year’s Eve, my hands tucked into my coat pockets, and watch the snow falling down. It’s so thick, it looks like a curtain.

  I came home yesterday and found this here. Sitting out in the middle of the snow, covered in flakes, like it’s always been there.

  The two ballet children from Matisse’s exhibit.

  There was a note attached from Smith.

  Dear Chella,

  I think this is a better Christmas present for you. I never had the childhood I imagined either, but it was perfect compared to yours. So when you look at this sculpture, think of better times.

  Think of us.

  Love,

  Smith

  I’m not sure what to think about it, to be honest. I love the sculpture. A lot. I check my watch and it’s three minutes till midnight. Three minutes and another year is over. But the gift just isn’t enough for me anymore.

  I have been considering my options all week and I finally called Bric last night to help me make a decision.

  So I sent Smith a note back this morning.

  I smile, thinking about my note.

  And then I laugh.

  “Hey,” Smith says from behind me.

  I turn my head to find him standing in my patio doorway, half in, half out, of the house.

  “Hey,” I say back.

  “I got your note,” he says, holding up the linen napkin from the Club. “And I have to say, Marcella Walcott, you have made me very curious. Again.”

  I nod, trying to stop my smile. But then why should I? He’s here and that makes me happy. “I figured out what I wanted to put in the box.”

  He holds the napkin up. “I know. You said this in the note.” He steps out into the courtyard. He’s wearing a dark winter coat and a nice suit. His thousand-dollar shoes drop six inches into the snow, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “Is that it?” he asks, motioning to the blue Tiffany box I pick up off a table. “You only get one anything present, Chella. I hope it’s really what you want.”

  “It is,” I say, waiting for him to join me on the bench.

  I cleared off a spot for him when I came out here twenty minutes ago, but snow is already piling up. He doesn’t care about that either. He just sits down.

  “Do you like it?” he asks, pointing to the sculpture.

  “You know I do. But I like this present better,” I say, shaking the box.

  “Are you going to tell me what it is?”

  “Eventually,” I say. But then I pull another box out of my coat pocket. This one is long and thin, about the size of an envelope. “But I need to give you your present first. You gave me two already and I never even gave you one.”

  “I don’t need presents,” he says, wrapping his warm hand around my cold one.

  “Right. I know that. But I think you’re wrong. And I think you gave me a hint that very first night we became friends.”

  “Friends?” He raises one eyebrow.

  “Lovers?” I ask back.

  “Both?” he says.

  We laugh.

  “Open it,” I say, handing him the box. His box is white with a black ribbon. I will never see black and white quite the same way after my experience at the Club. But it reminds me of happiness. Of all the things that made a difference to me. One month, that’s all I had with them. Just one month. And it was enough to change me forever.

  “You know, people have been giving me daily presents for more than a decade. Shoes, and a place to crash. A car to drive me around.”

  “Those are all good gifts, Smith,” I say, squeezing his hand. “But a present is something different. A present is something you don’t need, but want. So open it.”

  I catch him grinning that one-sided dimpled smile as he reaches for the white ribbon and pulls the bow apart. He lifts the lid off the box and stares at what’s inside. “What?” He laughs.

  “I took a big risk with this. Don’t laugh.”

  “What is this?” he says, taking the papers out of the envelope to hold them up to the light. “We’re going to Finland?”

  “I like the way you say we, Mr. Baldwin.”

  He looks through the itinerary.
“What did you do?” he asks, shaking his head.

  “Your dream. Remember? That first night. A puppy and a trip to the Arctic to see the Northern Lights. We have to wait on the puppy. I didn’t think it was fair to choose your puppy for you.”

  “We?”

  I bite my lip and smile as I pick up my box and take the lid off. He looks inside and laughs. Loud. He holds up the linen napkin and reads it. “Us.”

  “I put us in the box, Mr. Baldwin. So if you really want to be true to your word, you will get on that plane with me tomorrow afternoon and fifteen hours later we’ll be lounging on a big bed, in a glass igloo, somewhere near Helsinki, in a town I can’t pronounce or spell, looking up at the Northern Lights. Or… at least one of us will. I guess it depends on who takes the bottom.”

  He shakes his head, smiling so big, I see a whole different person underneath.

  “I already told Lucinda I’m not a missionary kind of girl, so—”

  “Hey,” he says, his fingers coming up to take my face and turn it towards him. He kisses me, soft and sweet. “There’s always reverse cowgirl.”

  “I missed you this week.” I whisper in his mouth.

  “I won’t let it happen again. From now on, I get you every night. Every day and every night.”

  “Which brings me back to the other thing I put in the box.”

  “There’s more?” he asks. “Are you getting greedy, Miss Walcott?”

  “Yes,” I say, kissing him again. “So very, very greedy. I think we need more greed in our lives, Smith Baldwin. I think we’re done giving to others for a little bit. Nine days and ten nights, to be exact. So let’s throw caution to the wind.” I reach in to the box, pull out a little notebook and hold it up.

  “The Rules,” he says, reading the cover. “You have rules?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” I say. “Open it up and read them.”

  He opens it and chuckles. “There are no rules.”

  “That’s right,” I say. “There are no rules.”

  Epilogue - Bric

  The year has flown by and today is the first day of my summer vacation. We close the Club for the summer. Starting June first, I am a free man until the Labor Day weekend party.

  I like June first. It’s empty here. Everything is covered with white sheets to keep the dust at bay and the only bar with booze is Smith’s.

  Which really isn’t Smith’s anymore, since he moved out in January. Every once in a while, he brings Chella to the White Room for dinner. But only Monday through Thursday. He’s not even a member anymore, so it’s public days only for them.

  The Club phone rings down at the valet station. I ignore it and take another sip of brandy. I’m heading to the airport in about twenty minutes. A long trip around the world. Ten countries, two full months of travel. And a new girl I found a few months ago. She’s nothing special, they never are. But everyone needs company when they go out in public.

  The ringing stops and I lean back in my chair, going through the year in my head.

  It’s been a good year so far. Quin doesn’t talk to me much. But he’s still a member. We decided not to get another girl since Smith was out. The threesome thing—it’s just not the same as a quad.

  Besides, he’s still pretty pissed at me. We looked for Rochelle but there was no trace. And I did my best with Lucinda. Either she doesn’t know where she went, or she’s never saying. They’re traveling too. So Quin and I decided to drop it until Lucinda gets back in September. Maybe we’ll give it another try then. Maybe we won’t.

  I’m hoping for won’t.

  I finish my drink and set the glass in the sink, then hop down the stairs to the front of the lobby, so I can turn around and look up.

  I always do this before I leave for the summer.

  I love this Club.

  The phone rings again, and since I’m standing near the valet desk, I reach over and pick it up. “Turning Point, how can I help you?”

  Silence.

  “Hello?” I ask.

  There’s a shuffling noise and then some heavy breathing.

  “OK, perverts. Give it a rest, will ya? You’re creeping out my wait staff.” We’ve been getting these prank calls for weeks now, and I’m tired of it.

  I’m just about to hang up when I hear a voice.

  “Bric?”

  I bring the phone back to my ear. “Rochelle?” Silence. “Rochelle? Is that you?”

  And then I hear a baby cry.

  “Rochelle?” I ask, more insistent. “Rochelle, talk to me. Is that you? Are you OK?”

  “I’m sorry,” she says. The baby cries again and she makes a little shushing sound. “Just tell him I’m sorry.”

  And then the line goes dead.

  GET BOOK TWO HERE

  END OF BOOK SHIT

  Welcome to the End of Book Shit. I write these in place of an author’s note at the end of each book just to let out my thoughts about the story. Sometimes I really have a lot to say. Sometimes I’m worried about certain topics in the book and I feel the need to write about them. But oddly, I have nothing controversial to say about this ménage thing at all.

  I really don’t think this book is all that controversial. It’s just a love story. I tried telling this to Jana Aston. She likes straight contemporary romances and, as you know, I really don’t write those. But I thought I had in this one. I really did. Until she read it and messaged me something along the lines of “What the fuckity-fuck, fuck was that?”

  I was like, “What? What’s wrong?”

  “That wasn’t a straight love story. My mind is spinning.”

  I’m paraphrasing. Let me just get a screenshot of this message stream.

  Please hold.

  OK. I forgot that most of the conversation happened on the phone. In the paperback version of the EOBS I used the screenshots. It’s 100% different and you can read them. It’s fucking funny.. But trying to format images on the ebook is kinds of a nightmare. So I’m going to skip it for the ebook version. But let’s just say - the fuckity-fuck reference from Jana was pretty close.

  I don’t think this book is that twisted. Like at all. I think this book is probably more contemporary romance than anything I’ve written. So it has quad ménage? There were no guns, people. Not even a mention.

  Wait. Wait. I take it back. Fucking Chella had to go and pull a gun on Smith when he broke into her house. Dammit. I really thought I left the guns out this time.

  But no one died! Ha. And the mother three years does not count. So there. This is the JA Huss version of contemporary romance.

  The weirdest thing about this story is where it came from. Straight out of The Forbidden City episode in Seinfeld. That’s right people, you see how contemporary this romance is? Came from Seinfeld.

  Well, the concept did. Underground Sex Club. For some reason in my head it was set in Montreal, that’s why I have all these French names. But I’ve only been there once and the thought of trying to do research on a city—a French speaking city at that—was just a big no. Write what you know. And I know Denver. So… yeah.

  I remember back in like 2014 someone wrote a review and it said something like - “I had no idea Denver was such a hot spot for erotic modeling?” It was snarky and she was making fun of me, I think. But I thought it was funny.

  So that’s how this started. Just your everyday, underground, forbidden city, sex club.

  That was a while ago. I got this idea like two years ago and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. Trying to piece it together and have it make sense for each of the characters. Trying to flesh out the world inside Turning Point Club.. By the time I actually sat down to write it (started this book on December 5th - finished it on December 31) everything had changed. I didn’t want a seedy underground club. I wanted something stable, and luxurious, and filled with people from The Great Gatsby - minus the killing, mind you.

  And I wanted it to be highly structured. The idea for the game came long after the rules, which is kinda funny. The rules c
ame from the premise of how each man would fill a need for Chella.

  Quin was the easygoing friends with benefits.

  Bric was a date for public events and parties.

  And Smith was the one she’d fall in love with.

  It’s just a peek. That was the very first thing I wrote for this series. I built the whole story around a girl who liked the dark side a little more than she was comfortable with and had a lot of bottled up shame. And I’m really happy with the characters. I think if you were going to do something like this, you couldn’t find a better trio of men to take care of you than Quin, Bric, and Smith. :)

  Rochelle was a huge part of the initial story. And it always started with her missing and Chella taking her place in the bed. I wanted to keep Rochelle as part of this story too because I always knew she’d have to face the music eventually. And that’s book two, which is already out. It’s called Turning Back and now that you’ve read the end of Taking Turns, I’m sure you can see where this is headed. There will probably be four books in this series, but each story is it’s own. Especially the last one. That book is probably more like a spin-off because Turning Point Club kind of intrigues me. So many, many possibilities for stories in that place.

  The next book coming in 2017 is Anarchy Missing. And it’s weird, because I came up with the concept for that series around the same time as Turning Series. Only Anarchy is all about having sex with supervillains. Lol. Well, falling in love with them too. So that’s going to come out next.

  The audiobook for The Turning Series was picked up by Podium Publishing (as was Anarchy Series) and they are in production. Should be out soon.

  If you haven’t read 321 yet, I recommend you pick that up ASAP. It’s a lot like this book, and nothing at all like this book. You can find it here

  If you enjoyed Taking Turns please consider leaving me a review where you purchased it. I’d really appreciate that. And you don’t have to write anything earth shattering. Just a few lines with your thoughts is just fine. :)