by JA Huss
“Sorry. I’ve just missed you.” Margaret stares up at me, hands clasped together in front of her, like I’m giving her a proud moment and she needs to soak it up. “Mr. Bricman and Mr. Baldwin are up in Mr. Baldwin’s bar.” Margaret shakes her head. “Both of you… back on the same day.”
“I’m here for lunch with Chella,” I say. “In the White Room.”
“Oh, she called a little while ago and said she’d be late. That’s why Mr. Baldwin is here, I suppose. And you know how he is about his privacy. Plus he brought a dog.” Margaret tsks her tongue. “Mr. Bricman was not happy about that. So lunch will be up in the Baldwin Bar.”
I turn around and look up, and sure enough, there’s Smith holding that little rat with the pink bow. He waves one of her paws at me, smiling.
I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to the dog-dad version of Smith.
I can’t see Bric from down here, but I guess I’m stuck seeing the whole thing through. I climb the stairs up to the second floor asking myself why I’m really mad at Bric. I believe him when he says he just gave Rochelle her options. So OK, he didn’t actually tell her to have an abortion. But the part where he keeps that little conversation to himself, even after she left and he knew I was devastated—well, I’m having more trouble with that.
He kept things from me. It’s on the verge of lying. Not quite, but very close. It was total betrayal. I don’t like lies. And I hate the feeling of betrayal even more. What we were doing was based on trust. And loyalty. He broke his oath with me.
Maybe he did mean to tell me about his conversation with Rochelle. But I don’t think so. I think he deliberately didn’t tell me she was pregnant because he didn’t want me to leave the game.
This, I decide, is the root of my problem.
Bric is selfish. Sure, he plays Mr. Philanthropist at Smith’s instructions. He looks generous and benevolent on the outside. Always in control, always ready with a big ol’ check to hand out just when people need it. But it’s not his money and it’s not his goal.
He’s like a paper-doll version of Smith. The mask Smith refuses to wear.
And I understand now—completely understand—that the reason he didn’t tell me about Rochelle being pregnant was because he didn’t want to make a change in his life.
His life.
Fuck her life and the problems she was facing. Fuck my life and the epiphany I was slowly realizing. If I knew about Rochelle’s pregnancy we’d both leave the game. And what would happen to Bric then?
Really, what would happen to him if he didn’t have Smith and me around? Keep him in check. That’s why we make such a good team. Smith and I keep him in check. The Club keeps him in check.
I’m not surprised that he’s selfish. I’ve always known that. So that’s not why I stopped hanging out here or stopped talking to him. I made the unconscious decision to distance myself from Elias Bricman a while back when I realized he was a dick.
I’m probably a dick at times. Smith is a dick almost all the time—except with Chella. But Bric—Bric is a dick because he doesn’t care. I think Smith cares about people. Why would he give all that money away if he didn’t? And I care about people. I’m not usually a dick. I had a few moments with Chella when she first showed up, but I think I was justified.
I’m the nice guy in this group. I like to make the girls happy, and not just sexually. I like to make them happy in life.
Smith played the game because he was into the concept of sharing. He wanted things, but they had to be offered. It made sense when he said it.
But Bric likes to make them bend to his will, even when they don’t want to. He likes this game because he can do all that dark shit he hides up in that head of his and call it playing.
When I get to the top of the stairs I turn right and head up the second, shorter set of stairs that lead into the private bar. Smith is in his usual seat, smiling down at his dumb dog. Bric is also sitting in his usual seat, across from Smith, but not on the balcony side of the table.
“Wassup,” Smith says, shaking a dog paw at me.
“Where’s Chella?” I ask, taking a seat next to Smith instead of my usual, on the other side of Bric. Bric looks at me. Gives me a slight nod of his head. Then snaps his fingers for the bartender to bring me a drink.
“She texted me twenty minutes ago and told me to come here. She’s running late,” Smith says.
Smith is wearing… sweats. At the Club. I almost can’t take this guy. I’ve only ever seen him wear sweats to bed. And this hoodie? I had no idea Smith Baldwin owned a hoodie. “What the fuck are you wearing?” I ask.
“I was at the gym down in Five Points,” Smith says. “I came right over.” He looks at his watch. “I can’t stay long because I’m boxing with some thugs in an hour.”
“They’re gonna kick your ass,” Bric mumbles down into his glass of whiskey.
“Probably,” Smith says. “But it’ll be fun.” He smiles into his drink as he takes a sip.
The bartender comes with my glass, offers me a smile and says, “Nice to see you, Mr. Foster.”
“Thanks,” I say, taking the drink. It’s a good whiskey. Better than the shit I drink with Robert on Friday nights.
“So what’ve you been up to?” Bric asks. I assume he’s talking to me, even though he’s still staring down at his glass.
“Same old shit,” I say. There’s an awkward silence after that, which I do not feel the need to fill. Hey, if these assholes want me here, they can provide the entertainment.
The three of us are shifting in our seats, unaccustomed to the new relationship we find ourselves in—or lack of one—when Chella comes running up the stairs.
She stops a few feet from the table, huffing. Like she ran across town to get here. She says nothing. Just stares at me. Her face is flushed and her heavy breathing makes her chest quickly rise and fall underneath her cream-colored silk blouse.
“What?” Smith asks. “What’s going on?”
She doesn’t look at Smith. She stares straight at me. And then she bursts into tears.
Smith and I both get up at the same time. We’re surrounding her a second later, Smith holding on to her shoulders, asking her over and over again. “What’s happening, Chella? What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
I don’t say anything, and I don’t touch her. Just hover like a third wheel. Not allowed to touch her, Quin. But I want to. And when she reaches for me instead of Smith, I let it happen. I pull her in and let her hug me tight.
“Chella?” I ask. “What’s going on?”
Smith is there too, the three of us pressed together tightly. It hurts. God, it hurts. I’ve missed her. I’ve missed him too, if I’m being honest. But mostly I’ve missed… this.
The us.
“I don’t know how to tell you this,” Chella says, leaning her head on my shoulder. “I have no idea how to tell you this.”
“Tell me what?” I ask.
“Just say it,” Smith urges. “Tell me what the fuck is happening.”
“Rochelle is back,” Chella says.
“Back where?” Smith growls. He goes from soft and caring to angry in the same moment.
“Here,” Chella says, still looking at me. “She called me. She called me, Quin. And even though I promised her I’d never say anything to you guys, the promise I made to you last year is way more important to me. I didn’t want to be the one who found her. I didn’t want to be the one who had to tell you anything.”
“Where is she?” Bric says. I’d almost forgotten about him. He didn’t rush over to Chella when she started to cry. And he’s not pressed up against her like Smith and I are.
Chella pulls away and I feel a sense of loss. God, if only Smith hadn’t fallen in love with her. We could still be playing the game. Maybe I’m not as into it as Bric, but I played it for more than a decade because I liked it. And I do miss it.
She turns to Smith and says, “She called me like thirty minutes ago and said she was passing through town. Di
d I want to have dinner tonight?”
“What’d you say?” I ask. But her words—passing through town—they stab me.
“I said yes, of course.” She takes a moment to wipe the tears off her cheeks and dab a fingertip at her eye makeup.
“Did she say anything else?” I ask, unsure how much I want to know.
Chella nods. “She said not to tell you guys.”
“Which guys?” I ask. “All of us? Or just me?”
Chella’s face crumples, so I get that answer even though she never answers.
I walk back over to the table and take a seat. They all wait to see if I’ll say anything, but I don’t. I just sit there and drink my whiskey.
Passing through town.
Don’t tell Quin.
Got it.
“I have her room number,” Chella says, coming over to sit next to me in Smith’s chair. “She’s at the Four Seasons.”
“The Four Seasons.” I laugh. “Of course she is. The fucking Four Seasons.” I raise my glass and yell, “One more for me, bartender. Because the girl I loved got pregnant, had an abortion, left town without telling me, and then decides to come back a year later, except she’s just passing through. And she’s staying at the motherfucking Four Seasons Hotel. That’s just fan-fucking-tastic.”
“Quin,” Chella says in a soft voice. “I have to tell you something else.”
“There’s more?” I chuckle, watching the bartender refill my glass. “Hit me, Chella. Might as well just plunge that knife in a little deeper.”
“She didn’t have an abortion.”
I choke on that whiskey. Almost spit it out. “What?” I croak, trying not to cough.
“There was a baby crying in the background. So I asked her about it. And she just… she just said she had a baby. Six months old. And did I want to come over while she was in town?”
“Right,” I whisper. “Do you want to meet my new baby, Chella? And don’t tell Quin I’m just passing through town.”
I stand up but Smith has my arm. “Nope,” he says. “You’re not going over there alone.”
“I’m not going over there at all, you dumbass.” I laugh. “Fuck her. Just fuck her.”
Bric is standing in front of me, like a goddamned wall. “Then where are you going?”
“Back to work,” I say, pushing him aside.
“No, Quin,” Chella says, tugging on my arm. “No. She’s here and we’re gonna have this out once and for all. If she’s only here one night, then this is your only chance to put it behind you.”
“Put it behind me?” I ask. “She had my baby, Chella. She got pregnant, took off in the middle of the night. Never bothered to call. And she had my baby.”
“You don’t know it’s yours,” Bric says.
I glare at him in disgust. “It’s mine.”
Bric puts his hands up, conceding to my anger. “Whatever.”
“We’re going,” Smith says. His no-nonsense voice doesn’t quite have the same power when he’s wearing sweats, not the way it does when he’s in a five-thousand-dollar suit. But it comes close. “We’re going over there. All four of us. And we’re getting to the bottom of this bullshit. Fuck her. She did this to us, OK? She fucked with us. I for one—I’m getting an answer. And the rest of you are coming with me.”
Smith hands the dog off to Chella, who hugs her tightly to her chest, and then he picks up his gym bag. “Meet us in the Four Seasons’ lobby. Come on, Chella.” He grabs her hand and tugs her down the stairs, leaving me alone with Bric.
I look at him, my eyes narrowed and angry.
“What do you want to do?” he asks.
“Did you know about this?” I ask.
“No,” he says, defensive. “How the fuck would I know about this?”
I don't believe him. I can’t put my finger on why, but I don’t believe him.
“I swear, Quin. I had no idea she was in town. But now that she’s here you should go talk to her. Say what you have to say. Set things right.”
“Set things right?” I ask. “In what way do you see me setting things right? I didn’t do anything. I didn’t leave her. I didn’t run away. I didn’t tell her to get an abortion. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I didn’t tell her to get an abortion, either,” Bric growls. “And now that you know she kept the baby, don’t you want to see her?”
“How do you know the baby’s a her?” I ask.
“Not the baby, asshole,” Bric says. “Her, as in Rochelle.”
Do I want to see Rochelle?
I can honestly say that up until this revelation, that answer was yes. So many yeses. No hesitation, no qualms, no conditions. Yes.
I thought I’d feel relief when Rochelle was found. We did look for her but Bric never had any luck. And every time he called with a report I’d have a little flutter of hope in my heart that he’d say he knew where she was. I’d imagine how I’d go to her. How we’d reunite and all the bad things would disappear. All the sadness and anger and confusion.
But now that this moment is real… I’m so fucking pissed off.
And she had my baby.
I missed it. I missed the pregnancy. Her belly getting big. The heartbeat. That picture thing the doctor takes that people post all over social media. The birth. What did she name it? What does it look like?
I missed everything. She took it all away from me and I don’t think I can ever forgive her for that.
“Quin.” Bric interrupts my thoughts. “Come on. You need to do this.”
“No,” I say, the anger melting away. “No. I’m not going.”
I turn to leave but Bric has my arm again. “You’re going, Quin. This shit is over now. You and Smith are my best friends and Rochelle tore us apart.”
“Exactly. So now it’s over, Bric. I’m done. I don’t even care what you did or didn’t do. We can be friends again.”
“We can’t,” he says. “It’s not the same. You know it’s not. You’re still pissed off at me about this shit and if we just go over there like Smith says, and have it out with her, it will be better. I know it.”
I just look at him, trying to figure out his angle. He always has an angle. “Why do you care?”
“Why?” He laughs. “Why? I’m playing the fucking game with Jordan Wells, Quin. He’s just not my type.”
I laugh. I can’t help myself.
Bric laughs too. “I’m totally fucking serious. I can’t, man. I can’t have sex with that guy two on one. He’s an asshole. It’s nothing like it was with you and Smith. And OK, Smith is out. Fine. But if you were still in… It’d be a whole lot better than me and Jordan Wells.”
I stop laughing but I’m still smiling, trying to picture Bric and Jordan trying to play with some random girl. I miss it, so there’s this little part of me that’s jealous. But mostly I find it comical.
“And the girls, man. Jesus Christ. We’ve been through three of them. This last one…” Bric rolls his eyes and lets out a long exhale. “Rochelle was so much better than these girls. Chella was great too, you know?”
I nod. “She really was. I kinda wish Chella and Smith were still playing. I think I’d have handled all this shit better if we were still in that relationship.”
“I think so too,” Bric says. “But you and me, man. We’re still good at this, you know? We could be friends again. Find a new girl.”
“With Jordan?” I ask, one eyebrow raised.
Bric shrugs. “I don’t care. He was always good enough down in the Club, you know?”
True. We have fucked girls with Jordan plenty of times. I don’t really like him, but Bric is right. He’s good enough when we’re the ones in control. The game was never meant to be played with just two guys. I imagine that makes everything off balance. You really need that third guy to keep the feelings away.
And even then…
“Or just the two of us,” Bric offers, his voice low, like he’s uncertain how I’d feel about it. “We could come up with a new game. Cha
nge things around a little.”
“Maybe,” I admit, sighing. “I do miss that, you know.”
“I do too,” Bric says. “But we can’t go forward until we deal with the past. Let’s just go over there, meet up with Smith, go up, and confront her. You say everything you want to say. Then we’ll leave.”
“And the baby?” I ask. “What do I do about the baby?”
Bric shrugs. “I dunno, man. You just gotta see what happens, I guess.”
I take my own car over to the Four Seasons. It’s only about eight blocks away from the Club, so not nearly enough time to process what’s happening. I pull into the valet, hand over my keys, and spy Bric, Chella, and Smith standing near the sleek, modern stairs, through the window of the lobby.
Chella walks towards me as I enter, holding the little rat called Precious. “Quin, are you sure you’re up to this? Don’t let them pressure you into anything you’re not ready for.”
“Come on,” I say. “I’m fine. I’m pissed off, but otherwise fine.”
“Just give her the benefit of the doubt, OK?”
“Why should I? What she did—”
“What she did,” Chella interrupts me, “was done in desperation.”
“How was she desperate? Huh? Explain that to me, please. Because I don’t get it.”
“She was pregnant, Quin. It’s a weird time for some women. I know you don’t understand that, but some don’t handle it well. They do crazy things. Overreact and become sad. I can’t explain it, because obviously, I’ve never been pregnant. But I was with her, remember? We were friends that whole time she was getting ready to leave. I told you she was sad. I told you something big was happening to her. So just… just be patient and be quiet.”
I sneer down at Chella.
“Just listen to her.”
“What if she has nothing to say?” I ask. “What if she blows us off and just says, ‘Fuck you guys?’”
“Then…” Chella shrugs. “Then walk out and don’t look back.”
“The baby, Chella.”
“Shit,” she says, biting her lip. “I forgot about that.”
“I might want to walk out on Rochelle, but not the baby.”
