by JA Huss
“Me.” I laugh. “Everyone who used to be a member.”
“OK,” Augustine says.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask.
“We want to understand,” Alexander says.
“We want to know why it’s so important to you,” Augustine adds.
I shrug. “It’s just a place where I can… be me.”
“You can be you lots of places,” Augustine says.
“Not really,” I say, wishing this was all real and not some fake setup to trap me in this game they’re playing. I get up and go over to the bar without saying anything, grab a highball glass off the shelf, and take down the bottle of Hennessy.
“When did you clean it all up?” I ask, pouring my drink.
“Been working on it for the last few weeks,” Augustine says.
I turn to face them, walk round to the other side of the bar, then lean back on it as I sip my drink. “I broke in here about two months ago and it was a fucking mess.”
“Yes, we know,” Alexander says, standing up, then offering his hand to Augustine. “That’s how we knew you were ready.” He holds her hand as he leads her over to me. Places her on my left, then goes behind the bar and, as I tilt my body towards Augustine, I see him reach for two more glasses and pour each of them their own Hennessy.
“Ready?” I laugh. “For what?”
“For us,” Augustine says.
“I’m ready for all this to go back to the way it was,” I say.
Alexander returns to stand in between us, hands his wife her drink, then raises his glass. “To the way it was,” he says, making a toast.
Augustine clinks his glass, but I don’t. I just drink down my cognac.
“So what’s so special about it?” Augustine asks. “This could be any restaurant and bar.”
“It’s not,” I say.
“Then show us,” Alexander says. “Show us what you want, Jordan. What you need.”
“Why? So you can convince me I don’t need it?”
“So we can give it to you,” August offers.
But I don’t think I can. I really don’t think I can. “I don’t want to see this place empty. It’s… sad.”
“Then tell us about it,” Alexander says. “Tell what you liked. Tell us what you need, Jordan.”
I look around, my eyes darting to the stairs that lead up to the second floor elevators. “That,” I say, pointing to the landing with my glass. “That’s how you get upstairs to the upper floors. And that,” I say, pointing up to Smith’s balcony. “That’s the bar where Smith used to sit and watch.”
I glance at Alexander. He’s nodding his head.
“And over there,” I say, pointing to the White Room. “That was the public face of the Club. The White Room restaurant. Anyone could come here to eat in the White Room. But this place, the Black Room bar, it was strictly for members. Before I was a member I’d come to the White Room and watch them.”
God, it fucking hurts to picture it. Because it was exciting, and fun, and real.
“I was so close back then.”
“So close to what?” Augustine asks.
“Being invited in, of course.” I smile as I down the rest of my drink. Remembering back that night of Lucinda’s birthday was my very first private party. “And over there, behind the stairs, there’s elevators back there. They take you to the basement. That’s where all the fun stuff happened.”
“Take us down there,” Augustine says, picking up my hand to hold it. “Take us down there and show us what you need, Jordan.”
For a moment I wonder… do they have people down there? Is there a party happening and I just don’t know it yet? Is this some kind of surprise?
But no. There’s not.
“You own it,” I say. “You’ve been down there so you know exactly what it look like.”
“We don’t care what it looks like,” Alexander says. “We want to know what it feels like.”
I hesitate. Unsure if I can. Will it make everything worse? Or will it bring me relief?
“I dunno,” I say. “Maybe I should just go.”
But that thought barely makes it past my lips. Because Alexander’s mouth is on mine. Kissing me as Augustine moves in, pressing her body against mine. Her lips coming up to join us.
I close my eyes and pretend.
Pretend this is real, even though I know it isn’t.
Pretend that I will go downstairs with them and there will be people waiting. Women, naked. Some marked up with fluorescent paint, letting me know they’re into plurality. Letting me know I’m welcome to join in.
And Augustine would be painted up like that too, if this was real. She’d be naked, and Alexander and I would stay dressed in our black and white tuxes all fucking night. Our zippers down, cocks sticking out, as the night morphs from the mundane into a carnal delight.
“Come on,” Augustine says. “Show us what you need.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The elevators in the back of the grand lobby are how you enter the real Turning Point Club. These elevators only go down one level. There’s stairs somewhere. Fire regulations say there have to be stairs. And I’m pretty sure there’s a service elevator for staff and whatever.
But guests use these elevators.
The same black and white marble floor tiles carry over from the lobby. The cab front is one-of-a-kind art deco metal etching with sharp, zigzagged lines that criss and cross each other as they climb up the silver plate and expand into a geometric sunburst at the top.
It’s erotic in its own right and just stepping inside—just hearing the tap, tap, tap of our shoes on the chevron-pattern floor—is enough to make me feel better.
Just a little bit.
The doors close and the three of us stare at each other in the soft white light from the two wall sconces.
And then the doors open and we step out…
The strobing black lights make the white paint glow on her body. Her black mask hides her face from us, revealing only the desire in her eyes. The music is pounding, pulsing, and the place is packed, moans and screams of pleasure in progress weaving their way past bodies and echoing through the hallways.
Everywhere there are men in tuxedos. Fully dressed with zippers down, cocks spilling out of their pants and into hands, or mouths, or whatever. All the women are naked. Some with white paint to signal they want more than a one-on-one, some not, indicating they’re there only for their husbands.
The room where we belong is off to my left. A smallish space with three walls so people can watch us as we take her. There’s a white vinyl bed with a cage underneath it and when we lead her over to it, she climbs onto the mattress and crawls towards the top with her ass in the air.
Bric smiles at Quin, and Quin smiles at me, and—
It’s empty and quiet. The black walls look garish and stupid with the overhead lights on. The white vinyl chairs and couches look aged and overused. The tiled marble floor is scuffed, and the magic is gone. Faded away or left behind, I’m not sure.
“Let’s go,” I say, backing away, then turning on my heel to head back into the elevator.
“No,” Augustine says, grabbing a hold of my arm. “Tell us, Jordan. Tell us why you need this place.”
“It’s not the same,” I say. “Let’s just go.”
“Then tell us what’s missing.”
“I can’t,” I say, suddenly angry. “I can’t, OK? It’s stupid. It’s fucking pointless. There aren’t enough words in the English language to compare these empty hallways and silent rooms to what it was.”
“Why are you so upset?” she asks.
I glance at Alexander, but apparently he’s sitting this discussion out. Because he just stares back at me and keeps quiet.
“I’m upset,” I say, trying to figure it out as I talk. “I’m upset because this place was fucking perfect. And I’m sorry I came down here with you because it ruins all the memories of what it was.”
“Why was it perfect?” Augus
tine prods.
I just shake my head in response.
“Why can’t you just admit it?”
“Admit what?” I say, too loudly.
“That you need more than one person to love, Jordan. Jesus, are you that clueless?”
“I don’t need to love anyone. Nothing that happened down here for me had anything to do with love. It was sex. That’s it. Just dirty sex.”
Alexander wanders down the hallway, peeking into the various scene rooms, leaving Augustine and I to our argument. I watch him stop at a set of stairs that lead up to a party space. A place for people to congregate on white couches and peer down into the scene room below through the glass floor.
“Dirty sex. And that’s it?”
“That’s it,” I say, still watching Alexander, who moves on, away from the stairs, not curious enough to go up there. Or maybe he knows. Hell, they’ve owned this place for a long time now. There’s no way they never came down here to check it out.
“So it had nothing to do with you hating who you are?”
A laugh bursts out unexpectedly. “Hating… fuck off, August. I don’t hate myself.”
“No?” she asks. “Are you sure about that?”
“Look, I’m not having this discussion with you. I’m not—”
“You’re just going to run away? Again? Like you always do?”
“When did I ever run away?”
She shrugs, then leans back against the wall. I glance down the hallway, but Alexander is gone. Slipped into a room or another hallway while I wasn’t looking. “You left Colorado for California when you were eighteen.”
“I went to Stanford. That’s not running away.”
“And you didn’t come back for law school,” she continues, like she didn’t hear me.
“Because UCLA is a great fucking school.”
“And Ixion was there.”
“So?”
“So you loved him, and you followed him, and then…” She gives me a small, weak smile. “And then you met me. And it was all set for you, wasn’t it, Jordan?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Him. And me. And Alexander. And you. You,” she says, “are a deviant. And you never wanted to admit it. So you just followed him. The boy you fell in love with as a young man.”
“I don’t fucking love him that way.”
“Not anymore,” Augustine says. “But that’s only because you’re not his type. That woman he loves now? Evangeline? She’s his type. He’s never going to share her with you.”
I want to yell at her. Tell her to shut up. Fucking wrap my hands around her neck and choke her into silence.
“And you always knew that. He was never into you that way. Oh, he loved you, but not the way you loved him. That’s why Ixion saved your ass, then walked away and never looked back.”
“In case you didn’t notice, that’s what I did as well.”
“No,” she says. “You got stuck in the past. You want something you never had, Jordan. Him. That’s the only explanation for why you’re being so difficult about this offer we’re making you.”
“You want me to moderate your husband’s dark side, Augustine. That’s it.”
“That’s it?” she says. “And you know this how? Because you asked us what we wanted and we told you? Or because you’re making it up as you pine for this fantasy club? This place didn’t make you happy. The people you shared it with made you happy.”
“Yeah,” I say. “That’s true. And you two weren’t there.”
“No. We came first.”
She and I stare at each other for a few seconds.
“Hey,” Alexander says, peeking his head out of one of the scene rooms. “Come down here.”
“Fuck that, I’m leaving.”
“Fuck you, Jordan,” Augustine spits. “Fuck you if you walk out again!”
I step back, stunned by her sudden venom and anger.
“We’re tired of this shit. We came here in good faith to try to get you back—”
“You came here so I could help you—”
“Just fucking listen to me!” She screams it. “Just shut your fucking mouth and listen to me for once! Can’t you see what’s happening? How can you be so clueless?”
I huff out a laugh. “Enlighten me, then, Augustine. Tell me what I’m missing.”
She glares at me. Points her finger in my face. “You’re missing everything. You see nothing but lies. You see nothing but your made-up past, and you project that onto us like we’re the ones responsible.”
I swat her hand away, sick and tired of all the drama and bullshit that comes off these two like a sick, thick fog. “I’m not responsible for your happiness, Augustine. I’m not your cure, or your Band-Aid, or your fucking scapegoat. What you two have—the good, the bad, all of it—has nothing to do with me. This is a fucking business decision. This is a fucking contract. This is a fucking…” I stumble for words, unable to find another analogy.
“A fucking game,” she spits. “You’ve been playing games your whole life. That’s all you know how to do. That’s all you are. One long game. That’s all you’ve ever been and ever will be, because you’re too goddamned afraid to see the truth standing right in front of you.”
“The truth in front of me?” I laugh. “The truth in front of me is one sad, lost woman who chose the wrong man years ago and now she regrets it and wants a second chance.”
Oh, yeah. Even I feel that burn.
Augustine stands still. Silent. Her eyes welling up like she might start crying.
I turn away, done with this shit. Ready to get the fuck away from her. From both of them.
“If you walk out on us one more time, Jordan,” Alexander says, “don’t ever fucking come back. Because you know what? I’m tired of you treating my wife like she’s some piece of shit under your shoe.” He steps fully into the hallway now. Jaw set and clenched. Eyes locked on mine. Mouth even and without any hint of affection. “She never did anything to you. She wasn’t the one who lied and manipulated people. She wasn’t the one who ruined everything. She’s here to save us, yeah. OK. Fine. But she’s here to save you too.”
“Save me?” I laugh so loud I almost startle myself. The guffaw is unexpectedly real. “What a fucking joke. I don’t need saving. Like… what fucking world do you two live in? What fucking reality? I didn’t ask you to come here. I didn’t ask you to give me another chance. I didn’t do any of this. I walked away and left you two alone. Just like you wanted. And now that I’m happy, and things are going great—”
“Going great?” Alexander belts out an incredulous laugh.
“—you two want to steal my satisfaction. Like fucking leeches. Like blood-sucking vampires.”
“Is that what you think?” he asks. His words a soft, angry whisper as he slowly walks towards me. Stops directly in front of me. “How did you get this far?”
“What?”
“In life, Jordan. I mean… it’s sad, man. Fucking sad.”
“Stop it, Alexander. Leave him alone.”
I glance over at Augustine. Narrowing my eyes at her. Something… something is happening here and I’m not sure what.
“No,” Alexander says. “No,” he says again. “I’m done playing his game. Jordan needs to know.”
“Know what?” I ask. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Then Augustine is in between us. Her hands on my arms. Her body pressing into me. Face tilted up as I glance down at her, eyes wide and begging. “Can you just… just trust me for once?”
I redirect my stare back to Alexander. “What do I need to know?”
“That we love you,” Augustine says quickly. Almost urgently.
Which is so funny—but sad at the same time. So I don’t bother laughing.
“We love you, Jordan. That’s why we’re here. We were young back in LA. We were messing around with sex, and feelings, and there were a lot of emotions involved. It wasn’t you who did that, ya know? It wasn’t
you.”
“No?” I ask. “Who was it then?”
“It was the sick fuck living inside you,” Alexander growls.
“Stop it!” Augustine says, whirling around to face him. Her back presses against my chest now. Like she’s a shield trying to protect me. “Just stop it, Alexander. You’re making things worse.”
“Am I?” he asks. And it doesn’t come off as sarcastic or anything. Just like a real question.
“Don’t walk away,” Augustine says. “Please. Just show us what you need. What you want. What makes you…” She shrugs. “Happy. And all you’ve been talking about—the only reason you’re doing this with us—is this place. This stupid building is what makes you happy. So help us give you that.”
“You could give me that by selling me the fucking building,” I say. It’s mean. I know it’s mean. She’s being real, and emotional, and putting herself out there and I’m being sarcastic, and shallow, and self-absorbed. But it’s true, isn’t it? If all she wants is to make me happy, then sell me the fucking building and stop this game. “This isn’t my game,” I say, trying to explain. “You guys started this. How did you even know that I wanted this building? Like… how did you even come to own it?”
They share a nervous glance. But it’s quick. Too quick for me to decipher it properly.
“It’s the darkness,” Alexander says.
Which redirects my attention. “What?”
“Inside you. That’s the draw of this place. It’s not the building. It’s the darkness you keep collared and leashed. This place is just a symbol, Jordan. Where you felt safe. Where you could let it out of the cage.”
Is it, I wonder? Is that why I have all these thoughts and feelings about Turning Point Club?
“At least you can admit it,” Augustine says. And then she shrugs. “That’s a really good first step.”
I start thinking about that one game I organized with Finn and his girl, Issy. How I tricked her into thinking she wasn’t playing a game, but of course, she was. It just wasn’t her game. She had a pretty specific sex club fantasy of being watched by strangers. But then I turned the whole thing upside down and yeah. I had other things in mind for that game and she was just the vehicle I used to get where I needed to go.
