by Lucy Wild
“It’s not about what’s illegal,” Waterman snapped back. “It’s about immorality. The bloody Honey Trap is a cesspit and we need to get it shut down. Would you want your sons and daughters going there? Getting chained up and whipped? Cynthia, would you want that?”
Cynthia shook her head, all the colour draining from her cheeks. Her daughter was twenty-five and quietly living with two other women, not that Waterman knew that. He didn’t need to know.
As his special advisor, I knew a lot more than him about everyone round the table. There were more skeletons in closets in there than in the town cemetery. But they weren’t what mattered. What mattered to Waterman was what mattered to us. Getting re-elected. He’d got his mind set on closing The Honey Trap and no one would dissuade him from his goal.
“They must be doing something illegal in there,” he continued. “I just know they are.”
“You could raid them,” Gary suggested.”
“Think of the scandal,” Waterman replied, shaking his head. “What we need is proof that they’re breaking the law.”
I glanced at my watch before raising my hand. “We better move on if we want to be finished before ten, Mr Waterman.” I gave him the nod. He frowned back at me before flicking through the papers in front of him.
“Right, we’ll come back to that next time. Now, the graffiti in the bus shelter is getting worse. Mike, you’ve been looking into this. What have you got?”
The rest of the meeting went by fairly quickly, the other points on the agenda rattled through in under an hour. At the end, Waterman bid good night to the rest of them, turning back to me once we were alone. “Well?” he asked, folding his arms as he leaned against the wall behind him.
“I have an idea,” I said, glancing across to make sure the door was closed.
“Go on.”
“What if the best way to prove The Honey Trap was acting illegally was to send someone in to find evidence. Undercover, so to speak.”
“I like it,” he said, a smile spreading across his face. “Hire a private eye? What about that guy we used to shut that journalist up?”
I shook my head. “Something like this, I’d keep in house if I were you. Find someone willing to go in quietly, someone you can trust.”
“What about you?”
“What?” I blinked, not sure what he was suggesting. “You want me to find someone?”
“I want you to do it.”
“You’re not serious?”
“I can’t think of anyone I trust more than my special advisor. You’ve worked for me for five years, Nate.”
“And you think I’m the kind of person who’d blend in amongst all the whips and chains?”
“You’re in politics. You already know how to act.”
“I’m not sure, Mr Waterman.”
“Look, Nate, it’s not that big a deal. You go in, find something that I can use to get them shut down, then get out.”
I looked at him, seeing the ways his eyes were darting about the place. “What’s this really about, Ernest?”
“Moral impropriety.”
“Yeah, yeah. I get all that. But why now? Why so adamant about this?”
He unfolded his arms and crossed to the nearest chair, sitting and not saying anything for a moment before glancing across at me. “My daughter’s taken a job there.”
“What? Oh, Ernest, I’m so sorry. She’s-”
“Not one of those, before you ask. It’s in the bar at the front.”
“Well, that’s not too bad.”
“No? What if word gets out? Ernest Waterman lets his daughter work at BDSM club? How could I take the moral high ground then? I’d be a laughing stock? I need you to do this for me, Nate. Get in there, find something, find anything. Help me get the place shut down before she gets corrupted by them.”
“All right,” I said, not liking the note of panic in his voice. “I’ll see what I can do. But if I do this, I want a raise.”
“You do this and I’ll double your pay, Nate. If I can stand up and say I got the Honey Trap shut down, the voters will love me.”
“Apart from the ones who like the place.”
“Fuck ‘em.”
“What, all of them? I’m not sure I’ve got the stamina.”
“Don’t make jokes, Nate. This is serious. It’s a slippery slope. She works in the bar one night and before you know it, she’s a junkie whore in an asylum somewhere.”
“Save it for the voters, Ernest,” I said, shaking my head. “They’ll lap that shit up.”
“Look, I need to get going,” he replied. “Dig out their licence, find some loophole, something that we can use. Don’t let me down, Nate, I’m counting on you to do this.”
I mock saluted. “Yes, Sir.”
As I left the meeting, my insides began to churn. I never thought when I signed on with the party that I’d end up sneaking undercover into a BDSM club. But then at least it was a chance to see Kathryn again. I’d only met her a couple of times and had managed to make a fool of myself in front of her on both occasions. I don’t know what it was about her but my erudition vanished, I just blurted out words that made no sense whilst trying to appear sophisticated and cool at the same time. Maybe if she was behind the bar and I got a few drinks inside me, I might be able to say something that made sense, something like, “I know you’re the daughter of my employer and twelve years younger than me but I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life and I’d very much like to take you out for dinner sometime.” Yeah, right. Like it was that simple.
The life of a special advisor was toughest in that regard. I could have any woman I wanted, and I’d had more than a few. But Kathryn was out of bounds. Maybe that was why I wanted her so much. Maybe that was why I smiling as I climbed into my car and drove home that night. I might not be able to have her in my life as an advisor. But as an undercover BDSM fan, well, that was something different entirely.
THREE
I was surprised by how well the interview went. It only lasted five minutes and consisted of three questions. Across from me was Mickey Trent, owner of the place, at least fifty, white haired, leather jacket, one gold hooped earring.
“Are you old enough to serve alcohol?” he asked before I’d even sat down.
“I’m eighteen, nearly nineteen,” I replied, taking the stool opposite his.
“That’d cost you the job in America, lucky you’re here in the UK,” he said, breaking into a smile. “Now, can you prove it?”
I handed over my driving licence. “That good enough?”
“It’ll do,” he said. “Now, last question. When can you start?”
“That’s it?”
He nodded. “I’m a busy man, sweetheart.”
Another ten minutes and I was driving home. I had a job, I had a new job. My soaring heart sank when I realised I was going to have to try and tell my father again. It was one thing to go to the interview, it was another to actually get the thing.
I was sat at the dinner table when I decided to go for it. He’d come home from work in time for dinner for the second time in a week, wonders never ceased. I looked across at him, steeling myself to do it.
“How was work?” I asked.
“Hmmm,” he replied, swiping his hand across his phone. “Good, good. That’ll play well with the floating voters.”
“I got a job,” I said, watching to see how he reacted. I doubt he even heard me.
“Hmmm.”
I raised my voice. “I said I got a job.”
“Don’t shout,” he said, eyes still glued to his phone.
I shrugged. One more try and then I’d give up. “I got a job today, I start on Saturday night.”
“Sorry, sweetie,” he said, looking up at me for the first time. “What was that?”
“I said I got a job.”
“Oh, I see.” He blinked, taking in what I’d said for the first time. “A job? Why do you want a job?”
“I don’t know,�
� I said, fiddling with my knife. “For the money?”
“But I give you an allowance. Is this your way of asking for more?”
“No, Dad. It’s nothing like that. I want to work, is that so bad? You spend half your ads talking about people getting up and working instead of lazing around.”
“Yeah, but I don’t mean you. I mean-”
“You mean poor people, right, I get it. But the thing is, Dad, I don’t want to rely on you all my life.”
“Why not? Do I not provide for you?”
“Of course you do but I want to look after myself. I’m not a kid anymore.”
He rubbed his eyes as his phone beeped. I saw the strain on his face as he forced himself not to look at it. “Well, what job is it?” he asked.
“Working at a bar.”
“What?”
The eruption was brief but explosive. It began with rumblings of anger at the thought of me in a bar and when I told him what bar it ended with an explosion that rattled the windows and made my ears sing. I sat and took it, waiting until he was finished. Once he finally got the rant off his chest, it was my turn.
“I am working there and whether you like it or not is beside the point,” I said, leaning back in my seat. “I am an adult and I am capable of making my own decisions.”
“But think of the damage it might do to me, to this family, what if people found out you were working for minimum wage, what would that say about me?”
“That I was striving for better like you wanted, remember? We’re all in this together.”
“Don’t use my words against me. This isn’t an advert. You are my daughter.”
“When it suits you.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you want me smiling and happy when there’s a photo to be taken for the paper but the rest of the time, you barely remember I exist.”
“That’s not true.”
“It was my birthday last week, Dad.”
“I…I know it was. I…your present hasn’t arrived, that’s all.”
I got up and walked across to the door.
“Where are you going?” he asked, looking lost. I almost felt sorry for him. But even as I went to reply, his eyes were already on his phone as it beeped again. “Goddamit,” he snapped, tapping furiously at the screen.
I left him to it. I’d told him. He’d tried to stop me and I’d stood up for myself for the first time in what? In a lifetime? Maybe it was. It felt good. Good enough to make me wonder why I’d not done it before.
He didn’t disturb me again. I heard him head out for his meeting an hour later and when he was gone, I rang Jessica, giving her a potted version of both the interview and the argument that had ensued afterwards. She sympathised, as best friends do, and by the time I went to sleep that night, I felt pretty good. I was growing up, I was finding my feet. It was all going to be all right. As long as my father left things alone.
I didn’t see him at all on Friday, he was off doing some tour of a factory or something. He was on the evening news, shaking hands with people he’d never see again, more warmth in his face than he’d ever shown me. He really could fake it for the cameras. Maybe that was why the people liked him.
I thought he might try and stop me going on Saturday night but he didn’t. He just called me into his study as I was getting ready to leave. “You’ve made your mind up then?” he said and I nodded in response. “Well, be careful,” he added before turning back to his computer.
“I will,” I said, walking out to my car. When I got to the bar, I parked up and headed inside. Mickey appeared out of nowhere before I even had time to take my jacket off.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said, putting his arm round my shoulder, guiding me between the tables towards a door in the back wall. “Maybe you’re not best off behind the bar. Pretty girl like you, your face should be on show.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, my suspicion barely held in check.
“I don’t know how much you know about my place but I’ve a feeling you’d be better suited behind here.” With that, he pushed open the door and took me through to another world, one I’d never seen before.
FOUR
She wasn’t behind the bar. I waited patiently for half an hour but she didn’t show. I was just starting to think my source had been wrong when the door in the back wall opened and there she was, shaking her head as she came through. “That’s him,” the bar man said, pointing past me. “Over there.”
“Thanks,” I replied, getting to my feet. I’d told him I wanted to see the boss of the place, hoping the cut of my suit would be enough to stop him asking too many questions.
I headed across the room in time to hear the two of them bickering. Kathryn looked as hot as the last time I saw her, only she was clearly flustered, her face red. I paused a couple of tables away, listening.
“It’s not like I’m forcing you to do it,” the owner was saying. “If you don’t like the look of it, you’re welcome to leave.”
“I will leave,” Kathryn replied, making no efforts to move.
“You’ve said that three times now and I don’t see you going anywhere.”
“But-”
“Listen,” he interrupted. “I’ve told you what I think, I can tell you want to, you’re just waiting for someone to give you the nudge. I’m nudging you, Kathryn, right back through the door. Be a sub. It’s who you are.”
“You don’t know that, you don’t know me.”
“I know you better than you think. There’s two doors open to you, the one to the Honey Trap and the one to the street. It’s up to you which one you pick.” He glanced across at me, frowning as he realised I was watching. She still hadn’t seen me. “I tell you what,” he continued. “Take five minutes to decide while I deal with whatever the hell this is.”
He left her standing there with her back to me and walked over. “Yes, mate?” he said to me. “Can I help you? If it’s a stag night you’re planning, you’re out of luck. We don’t do ‘em no more.”
I shook my head, holding out my hand and waiting until he took it. “Joshua Rollins,” I said. “I was hoping to have a word with you about membership.”
“Oh, yes? Membership of what?”
“The Honey Trap of course.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’re a bar, mate, that’s all.”
“Don’t bullshit me, I came a long way to join.”
“Listen,” he said, his eyes narrowing, his teeth gritted together as he stood too close to me. “It’s invitation only and you aint invited.”
“I’ll give you a thousand for a week’s membership.”
A smile was on his lips in under a second as he slipped his arm over my shoulder. “Why didn’t you say so? Come into my office and we’ll talk.”
We weaved through the tables until he reached the edge of the bar. A black door marked ‘Staff Only’ blocked the way. He dug out a key and turned it in the lock, pushing the door open and beckoning for me to follow him through.
On the other side of the door was a tiny office that smelt of stale beer. “Above the cellar,” he said when he saw my nose wrinkling. “Take a seat.”
I had to lift a pile of flyers for the bar off the battered chair to sit down. He squeezed round the other side of his desk before tossing me a piece of paper. “Fill that in.”
“What is it?”
“Membership form. Oh, and you’ll want this.” He slid open the desk drawer and pulled out a black mask. “Everyone’s anonymous in there. No faces on display, ever. Got it?”
“Anything else?”
“No sex, we’re not that kind of place. You want to bang, you go hire a hooker.”
“Right.”
“No cutting, no pissing, no shitting.”
“Jesus, do you even need to say that?”
“You’d be surprised what people have tried in the past. All done? Great. Put the mask on and in you go. Did you read the small print?
”
I shook my head.
“No one ever does. Look, Mr Rollins, it’s pretty simple. The subs wander round until a Dom claims them for the night. Once you’re set up, you can head into one of the private rooms. What happens in there is between the two of you as long as you stick with the main rule. What’s the main rule?”
“No sex.”
“Exactly.”
“Is there a reason?”
“Licensing, innit. We’d be shut down and I’d be out of a job along with everyone else who works here.” He pointed a finger at me. “I don’t know you and I don’t need to know you. You pay up front and you’re in. One week, that’s all your money gets you. Then you either make a deal with me or you head off to pastures new, got it?”
I nodded. “Got it.” I dug into my wallet and pulled out the wad of fifties that Waterman had given me. He counted each one twice as I watched. “It’s all there.”
He grinned, folding my contract before sliding it into his drawer. “Course it is. Welcome to the Honey Trap, Mr Rollins.” He passed me a business card, laminated with H.T in flowing script on the front. “Membership card. Don’t lose it. Now go enjoy yourself.”
“I intend to,” I replied, getting up and heading out of the office, the card tucked into my inside pocket. I took a deep breath when I was back in the bar, the air fresh in comparison to the office. Then I stood in front of the entrance, pausing to slip the mask over my face. Would she recognise my voice? I would just have to see. Besides, she might not be in there. She might have made the decision not to stay in which case my job was both easier and harder. Easier because without her working here, Waterman might not be so obsessed with shutting the place down. Harder because as soon as I walked through the door into the Honey Trap, I had no intention of leaving any time soon. It was like I’d come home after a long time away. I just hadn’t even realised that this was where I belonged.
FIVE
I had made my token display of resistance. I had pretended to be shocked by the sight of a room filled with Doms and Subs, some of them wearing so little, I was surprised it was legal. But then, maybe it wasn’t. It was a private club after all. Who was going to know what went on in here?
