by Cole, Tillie
I held up my glass of wine like a warrior leader giving her speech before a major battle. “Tonight, I want to shake my shimmy like my ass working for tips and, preferably, drag a hottie into the bathroom to rehydrate the stark desert my poor little vagina has become. And I want to make so many bad decisions I’ll have my priest rolling out of his confessional booth on Sunday from sinful exhaustion.” I brought my glass to my lips. “Cheers, hookers! Let’s get wasted!”
As we stepped out of the apartment building, I breathed in deeply. New York was firmly in spring; the blistering cold of winter a distant memory. I smiled as the warm breeze kissed my face. Sage threw his muscular arm over my shoulders and pulled me in the direction of the club. As we walked down the streets of Brooklyn, I asked, “So, Sagey-baby, any news on your love life?”
Sage sighed. “I’ve exhausted the many fuckboys on Grindr and my Prince Charming hasn’t found me yet, so that would be a huge fat zero on love-life news.” I patted Sage’s arm and laid my head on his shoulder. When Amelia and I had moved into our Brooklyn apartment two years earlier, Sage had quickly become our honorary roommate. He lived in the apartment opposite us. He’d come over for drinks one night and had been our third musketeer ever since.
“He’s out there. I know he is,” I said and kissed his cheek. Sage was eternally hopeful that his soulmate was out in the world just waiting to meet him.
Ten minutes later we were in the club and walking into the main room. I loved this place. We did clubbing two ways: down and Brooklyn dirty, as we called it, or bougie and boogie. Tonight was the latter. The music was epic, as were the drink prices. But we had that solved.
Tapping the bar, the bartender nudged his chin my way. “Hey, gorgeous,” he said, licking his lips as he scanned me from head to foot. It was a nice try. He looked about twelve, and babyfaces just didn’t float my boat.
“Barkeep!” I called. “We’ll have four of your best Diet Cokes.”
“Diet Cokes?” The bartender frowned. “That’s it?”
I firmly nodded my head. “And make sure it’s the good stuff.” Babyface walked away and I cast my gaze around the club. Smoke filled the air like the fog over London, green laser beams cut through the dance floor like peridot blades, and the highly expensive DJ spun his tunes, the clubbers surrounding him like rats to the pied piper. I glanced up, seeing the darkened VIP balcony starting to fill with people. We’d never been up there, of course. It was for the rich Manhattan types who slummed it down in Brooklyn a few nights a month.
“Four Diet Cokes,” the bartender said behind me. I handed him the cash. “Keep the change.” I winked, feeling like a baller, and walked back to my friends, who had bagged us a table at the back. It was strategic. This wasn’t our first bougie rodeo.
“Drinks!” I said and placed them on the table.
Amelia checked to see that the coast was clear. “Now,” she said hurriedly and I reached into the top of my dress.
My friends watched me as I felt along my breasts, along the side seams of my bra, until… “Gotcha!” With a wide smile, I unscrewed the secret spout in the bra, pulled one breast from my dress, and began pouring.
“It may have been expensive, Faith. But that bra is paying for itself!” Novah took a large sip of her Diet Coke, now mixed with the vodka I’d smuggled into the club.
“You’re telling me. But shit, I feel for women like you, Nove. These things weigh a ton. I can feel my spine bending irreparably as we speak.”
“I know. You may think I look good now, but come to me when I’m fifty and I’ll be answering the door like Quasimodo, nipples dragging along the floor. But instead of repeating the bells, the bells, it’ll be my tits, my tits!”
Laughing, I aimed for my drink, squeezing the hidden pouch lining my bra for the vodka that had gathered at the base. Someone tapped me on my shoulder, scaring the living shit out of me. I spun, still squeezing my tit, and shot a squirt of vodka straight into some poor guy’s eye.
“What the fuck!” he said, wiping the liquid from his face. I quickly fumbled with the bra’s pouch and tucked myself back in. “What the hell was that?” he asked, face reddening with disgust.
“She’s lactating, asshole,” Amelia said. “What do you think it was?” As I met her eyes, she grimaced and shrugged, mouthing, I didn’t know what else to say!
“Then why the fuck does it taste like vodka? Oh god!” he said, face paling. “I got it in my mouth!”
As he spat at the floor, Novah leaned forward over the table, affronted. “Listen, pal, you try raising a baby without alcohol. Don’t you dare judge a mother for doing the best she can!”
“Fuck this,” the guy said, walking away. “Bunch of freaks.”
“Oh my god!” Sage said and burst out laughing.
“Lactating?!” I said to Amelia.
“I panicked!” she said. “I’m not loud and feisty like you. I had to think on my feet! I didn’t want us to get thrown out!”
I was laughing so hard tears filled my eyes. “And Novah. Don’t judge a mother for doing the best she can! What the—?”
“He fucked off, didn’t he? Nothing like a whiff of eau de commitment to scare off the boys!”
I fixed the genius that was my vodka-smuggling bra, and we clanked our drinks and downed half our glasses.
“Shall we have this dance?” I asked my best friends. We moved to the dance floor, and I got lost in the pounding music. The beat pulsed in time with my heartbeat, my skin heated from the bodies swirling around us, brushing against my limbs, and I felt the day’s awful events slipping away.
A tall blond guy came toward me. He was good looking, and I smiled in encouragement. He would do nicely. It’d been a while since I’d lost myself dancing with a man, and even longer since I’d had a night between the sheets. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and our hips ground to the beat. Turning my back to his chest, I felt his hardness press against my ass.
Song after song rolled on, and the night was looking ever more promising. I lifted my hands in the air and placed them behind my partner’s neck; then I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise. It was as though someone was watching me. I looked up, my eyes immediately seeking the VIP balcony…and my gaze crashed into a familiar blue stare.
The heat infusing my muscles instantly cooled. My body froze. The guy I’d been dancing with tried to keep me moving with his hands on my hips, but when I didn’t move, he walked away.
“Faith?” Amelia asked, pulling on my arm. “You okay?”
“Shit!” I said, my gaze still fixed on the balcony. “It’s Harry Sinclair.”
“What?” Amelia asked, confused.
“He’s here.”
Immediately all of my friends looked up at what held my attention. Harry rose from leaning on the balcony. He never moved his eyes off me, but without any form of greeting, he turned away and disappeared into the depths of the VIP area.
“Damn!” Sage said. “That guy is…” I glared at my friend, warning him with my laser eyes not to be complimentary. Sage shrugged. “Sorry, baby girl, but that guy is hot as fuck!”
“Ugh!” I said. “One night. I needed this one night to dance my problems away.” Feeling irritated beyond measure, I combed my fingers through my hair. “I’m going to the bathroom.”
“I’ll come,” Novah offered.
“No, it’s fine. I won’t be long. You guys keep dancing.” I weaved my way through the packed dance floor, heading for the bathrooms. I cut down the back hallway, turned right, and then smashed right into someone’s chest. “For fuck’s sake!” I screamed, stumbling backward and, in my quintessentially clumsy way, I landed firmly on my ass.
I stared at the ground and prayed a hole would cave under the tiles and swallow me right up. In my drunken state, I smacked the floor with my palm. “Come on, kraken! I’m waiting! You have a willing victim! And I’m juicy. Particularly my ass!”
Suddenly, a hand hovered in front of my face. Realizing nothing was coming to eat me
, thus saving me, I grabbed onto it and was hoisted to my feet. Another hand steadied me by holding my arm. The vodka I’d consumed was well and truly in my bloodstream now. The room swayed from side to side.
“I am pretty sure a kraken is a mythological creature from the sea. If you wanted something from the earth, you could maybe try summoning a balrog, or something of its ilk.”
The room quickly righted itself into a steady focus, and I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to look up. I knew that voice. I knew that accent.
Eventually, I opened my eyes and met the stupidly stunning face of Harry Sinclair. “Miss Parisi.” His lips were tight and his eyes shrewd. He wore no hint of a smile. Did the guy have a perpetual pissed-off stare?
“Viscount Sinclair,” I slurred back, victory soaring through my blood when I saw his eyes narrow at my use of the title. I’d hit a nerve. Good to know. My eyes dropped to his attire. He wore dark jeans with a crisply ironed white shirt, open at the collar, and a navy blazer. And, lo and behold, a silver silk handkerchief sitting offensively in his blazer pocket. He looked good. Goddamn it, he looked so fucking good. Why did his unstyled dark, wavy hair have to fall so perfectly? Why?
“WHY!” I gasped for breath when I realized I’d screamed the last word aloud, my shrill voice cutting through the echo of the music from the main dance floor. Harry frowned at my outburst, viewing me as if I had just escaped an asylum. I challenged him, with a tilt of my chin, to say something. He kept his mouth shut.
Harry’s gaze fell to my clothes. I stood proud, knowing I rocked this dress. I might be the clumsiest, most accident-prone woman in all of New York, but I knew how to dress to accentuate my curves. I waited for the begrudging compliment Harry would have to give me. I would relish it, knowing it would cause him nothing but discomfort and would wound his pride. But when he finally opened his mouth, he said, “Miss Parisi, it appears your breasts are leaking.”
My eyes widened and I glanced down at my dress. The impressive bust that I had been sporting had burst and deflated, leaving me with my usual C-cups and two rings of wetness dripping vodka onto the floor. “Perfect,” I said and forced a strained smile. “You got a glass?” I flicked my soggy breasts. “Drinks are on me.”
“I think I’ll pass,” he said, his eyes boring into mine. He tucked his hands into his pockets and his mouth twisted. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here right now. “You make this a habit?” he asked, looking down his nose at me like only the upper class seemed to be able to do. I was sure they taught it in those fancy-ass schools they all went to—How to Be a Pretentious Bastard 101. “This is the second time you have collided with me while being intoxicated.” He shook his head, as if in censure. “Though thankfully the first time your drink was in your hand and not dripping from your undergarments.”
Harry glanced down to his blazer, jaw clenching. He took his handkerchief from his pocket with regal ease. I had to hold back my laugh when he started pressing it to the expensive fabric and I realized the vodka from my bra had also stained his clothes.
The dirty look he threw me only heightened my amusement. “Send me the dry-cleaning bill,” I said and held my hand against my mouth. I had no idea why seeing the usually pristine Harry Sinclair trying in vain to wipe vodka from his blazer caused me such amusement.
“No need. I have plenty more,” he said, beginning to fold his handkerchief back into its perfect little square. He tucked it precisely back into his pocket.
“Ball park figure, how many of those do you own?” I pointed to his handkerchief. “You seem to have quite the collection.”
“I couldn’t possibly say.” His cheek twitched, I presumed in annoyance at my question. He regarded me suspiciously. “Are you mocking me, Miss Parisi?”
“Me!” I said, placing my hand on my sodden chest. “Never. I think they’re just…spiffing!” Balancing—or trying to—on my heels, I said, “Alas, I must bid you a fond farewell, my viscount, the powder room waits for no lady.” I brushed past Harry as quickly as I could, stumbling to the bathroom, no doubt looking like Bambi on ice. As soon as the door was shut, I exhaled and shut my eyes. Why me? Why do these things always happen to me?
When I opened them again, I walked to the sink and stared at myself in the mirror. Two large round wet stains greeted me. I moved to the hand dryer and began drying my dress. My thoughts immediately went to Harry Sinclair. He didn’t seem the type to be in a club. I wondered who he was with. Then I chastised myself for even caring.
The door was smashed open, and two women came barreling in. “He was, by far, the hottest guy I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“And he had an accent.” These women were both blond and pretty. “If I’m not under him tonight, then I may as well go back home to Oklahoma and marry Jimmy Burns. That guy out there was the reason I came to New York. I bet he’s amazing in bed. The quiet ones always are.”
Harry. Of course they were talking about Harry.
I snorted a laugh. The one who had been talking gave me the side eye, seeing me dipped into a limbo position under the hand dryer blowing on my breasts. She curled her lip. I rolled my eyes, dipping back as far as I could, widening my smile. Shaking their heads, they left, and I hoped to god she collared him. Lord knew the viscount needed a good fuck. Maybe then he’d learn how to crack a smile for once in his life and maybe loosen up at work. Hell, in life!
Once my dress was dry enough and appeared to not be a total write-off, I walked back into the hallway, sighing in relief when it was empty. Instead of going back to my friends, I headed straight to the bar. I was buying us a bottle of prosecco, whatever I could afford. I had my credit card with me, and I was seizing the day and using it.
The bartender sighed as he saw me coming. “More sodas?”
“Au contraire!” I said smugly. “A bottle of prosecco.” I handed him my card. He winked as he took it. I quickly grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks. “But make it the cheapest you have.” He shook his head in exasperation.
“Make that a bottle of Cristal. On me.” An arm reached over me, and the bartender nodded. He handed the stranger my card. When I turned, a blond man with gray eyes smiled down at me. He read the name on my credit card. “Faith Parisi. I believe this is yours.”
He was a handsome bastard, and when he smiled, my breath caught in my throat. “And you are?” I asked.
The bartender came back with the Cristal and four glasses. “On my tab,” the mystery guy said. I waited for him to give me his name, but instead he pulled a black business card from his pocket and handed it to me. “If you’re ever feeling adventurous,” he said, pointing to the card, “don’t lose this. It’s your golden ticket to the chocolate factory, Charlie.” Then, kissing the back of my hand, he moved away through the crowd like a ghost. I lost sight of him as he disappeared into the mass of bodies and smoke. I glanced down at the card, all kinds of confused. A phone number was on the back, and a code of some kind. When I flipped the card over, one word was spelled out in richly embossed silver: NOX.
The breath left my lungs, and my mouth dropped open. I turned and grabbed my champagne; then I made my way back to our table as fast as my shaking legs would carry me. My friends were already there when I returned.
“There you are! I was about to gather a search party!” Amelia lifted her brows in surprise when she saw the Cristal. “What’s all this? Did you win the lottery and not tell us or something?”
“Long story. But I was bought this.” I then held out the card to Novah.
Within seconds she looked at me and whispered, “You lucky bitch.”
“What is it?” Sage said and took it from Novah. His eyes widened. “Faith. Forget the lottery. You’ve just hit the jackpot with this.”
“What is it?” Amelia asked. She read the card. “What the hell is NOX?”
“It’s a sex club,” I said, still stunned with disbelief.
“A what?” Amelia choked.
“A sex club. A sex club, she says!” Novah
said dramatically. “It’s not merely a sex club, it’s the sex club! The sex club of the elite. The rich and famous. All kinds of high-powered people go there. It’s a damn fortress. People pay a fortune to get a membership there, that or—”
“You get invited,” Sage said, looking at me like I was a damn mythical creature who’d just stepped into this world on the back of a pink unicorn. “To be invited is more than rare. But if you do, you get a free membership.”
Novah started jumping up and down. “Fuck, Faith, you just got invited to NOX!” Novah grabbed the champagne. “Wait, who invited you? Did he buy you this too? What the hell happened when you went to the bathroom?”
“Some hot blond guy approached me at the bar.”
“Wait, wait, wait!” Amelia said, making a slicing motion at her neck. She stood in front of me. “Faith. Firstly, what the hell? And secondly, you’re not thinking of going are you? A sex club, Faith? A sex club?”
“I like sex,” I said and shrugged. It was true. I did. I wasn’t a shy little wallflower. I had a healthy sexual appetite and made no apologies for it. I was a single woman in New York; I both worked and played hard. But then I snapped my eyes to Novah. “My feature.” I felt breathless at the sudden excitement soaring through me. “Sally said to go to her with a feature that my readers would want to read. What better feature for a sex advice columnist to write than about the most infamous and mysterious sex club in all of New York, if not the world?”
“Shit, Faith.” Novah nodded so fast she resembled a bobblehead. She quickly poured the champagne into the glasses. “You’re right. This is it. This is it!”
“It’s a sex club, Faith. You’ll have to do things. Really fucked-up things,” Amelia said, trying to bring the rest of us back to Earth.
“Sounds like heaven to me,” Sage said, throwing me a high five. I met his hand and saw his excitement for me shining in his gorgeous face.
