by A. J. Wynter
Lenny was interrupted as the metal plate in the door slid to the side.
“Lenny Spinks and guest,” he said to the dark eyes.
The door creaked open and I followed Lenny into the dim light of the foyer. It was painted the same royal blue as the door and leather bench seating ran the length of the hallway. Several raincoats were already hung on hooks along the wall.
As I pulled off my Gore-Tex shell and Lenny hung his trench coat, he continued, “Where was I?” He didn’t wait for me to respond. “Prohibition was basically the reason the AFC was started, and it was the place to be. Booze, showgirls, you name it, it happened here. They still did charity work, but it was just for show.
In the 1970s, a few people started to get a little bored with just drinking and charity, so we had a few groups splinter off to do their own thing.”
I held my breath. This was what I needed. If Lenny spilled the beans now, I would be able to leave and stop Lucy from making a terrible mistake.
“What else is there, drugs?” I prodded.
“Of course,” he chuckled, then turned to me and whispered, “but we also have these little games and competitions between us. As you can imagine, as time has gone on, the intensity and stakes have increased.”
“Like the million-dollar prize you mentioned earlier?”
“Exactly,” Lenny said. “The buy-in for that one was big, and that means a big payout.”
“I’ve heard rumors about this club, but I thought that they were just old urban legends.”
“That’s how we want it to stay. Listen, Mick. I mean Michael…” he corrected himself.
“Mick is fine,” I muttered. I needed him to feel comfortable to keep him rambling off at the mouth.
He smiled and slapped me on the back. “You have to be introduced by a member, have a net worth of at least ten million, and be able to keep your mouth shut,” he said.
“And what happens if you don’t?” I was genuinely curious.
Lenny turned to face me with a sinister look in his eye. He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again as if second-guessing himself. “Let’s just say that hasn’t happened yet. We are very careful with who we let in.”
“How did you get in?” I asked.
“My great uncle was one of the prohibition era guys. You could say that this is a family thing. Mick, don’t worry about getting in. You’ve got the status and the money, and I’ve got your back,” he said, slapping me on the shoulder.
I took a deep breath - this could get dangerous.
“What if someone wants out?”
“Nobody wants out,” Lenny said matter-of-factly. He dumped another bump of coke onto the back of his bony hand and snorted it. “Let’s go.”
He opened the next blue door and I followed him into a room the size of an Olympic pool, with soaring three-story ceilings. A huge crystal chandelier hung high over our heads, cigar smoke swirling in its crystalline rainbows. All eyes in the room turned to face us. Lenny put his hand on my back and guided me into the room like a fifties housewife, introducing me to various men. I recognized about half the guys in the room. When I saw George Antsley, an executive from one of the big publishing houses, I smiled to myself. If a slimy men’s club had a poster boy, it would be him. Some of the others surprised me though, like Martin, the CFO of Children’s Weekend, a non-profit that provided underprivileged children with sports equipment. Martin was a family man, his perfect wife and children always smiling in their ribbon cutting ceremonies.
I wondered when the funny hats with horns would come out. When they’d all start laughing and regaling me with stories of hunting game in Africa, or hunting virgins in the city…
Lenny left me to go and mingle. A waiter came around with a silver platter of crystal glasses filled with single malt scotch. I might as well make this as pleasurable as possible, I thought to myself as I took one of the heavy glasses.
“Michael Brady, I was wondering when you were going to join us.”
I turned to face George, the fat publisher. He grinned at me, his tell-tale alcoholic cheeks veiny and flushed. “Frankly, I’m surprised you never asked me.”
“Bahaha,” Roger guffawed and slapped me on the back. “I don’t invite anyone. If you ask me, this club is getting a little too big for its britches,” he said pointing toward Martin. “Looks like they’ll let anyone in these days…” I heard him mutter the word ‘pussy,’ under his breath.
Roger was wavering on his feet and I knew that he was drunk. I decided to play into his obvious distaste for Martin. “I was surprised to see him in here too.” I leaned in close like I was confiding in him. “Does he ever win the competitions?”
Roger stepped back and looked at me warily. “There are no competitions here, sir. I think you have us confused with some other organization.”
I was losing him. I grasped him by his thick forearm and pulled him in close. “If this is just a bunch of men playing Illuminati, I’m not interested. I am willing to invest in the right organization. Looks like this isn’t it. I want women who are willing to do anything. I want to be able to pick up the phone and get a virgin delivered to me, whenever I feel like it. I want to be able to run any new business out of town with the help of my social club.”
Roger was slow to turn back to me, but he did. I wasn’t sure if his delayed response was due to his intoxication, or if he was busy formulating his response.
“Looks like you’re in the wrong place,” he growled again. He narrowed his eyes at me and waddled over to the bar where Lenny was laughing with several of the younger members. I watched as he grabbed Lenny and pulled him aside, I could see the spittle from the side of his mouth and it looked like he was giving Lenny a good berating. Had Lenny slipped too many details to his new best bud, me?
My view of the confrontation was blocked as Martin stepped into view. “Michael Brady, Martin Hawoodly, pleasure to meet you,” he said. I shook his hand and looked into his eyes, a habit I had perfected over the years. I could usually tell at that moment, connected by hand and eyes, if a person was genuine - and Martin’s eyes shone with kindness. Could I be losing my touch?
“Are you thinking about joining our club?” he asked.
“I’m considering it. I’m not sure if it’s the right fit though.” If I couldn’t get answers from a drunken bastard, I might as well try to get them from a social do-gooder.
“There are all kinds here,” he smiled and took a sip of his scotch.
“I see that,” I said looking around the room of white men. The only diversity I could see in the room was age…
“When did you become a member?” I asked in an attempt to keep our conversation flowing whilst spying on Lenny and Roger’s interaction over his shoulder. When I saw Lenny standing alone at the end of the bar, I was disappointed but able to fully concentrate on my conversation with Martin.
“Oh, I’m a fairly new pledge here,” he said. “I only come out once a month to network. I was spending so much time with my family, I thought that I might be missing out on some valuable business connections. We are trying to expand our hockey program into the south, and that means we are going to need to build ice rinks, which aren’t cheap. The donations that the club members can get could easily fund our next project.”
He was a good guy.
“That’s it? That’s why you’re here?” I nudged him in the side. He smiled at me.
“I do like the scotch, and it’s nice to get out and be on my own every once in a while.”
“What does your wife think?” I asked.
“Oh, she’s happy to get me out of her hair for the night. Although she makes me shower the second I get home, you know, the smoke smell and all.”
“I’ve heard rumors about this club, I guess they aren’t true,” I mused.
“I’ve heard them too, and I’m not naïve, Michael. You can make this club into whatever you need. I need connections and a night out. That’s all. If some of the men here need to do other things
, they do them. I don’t concern myself with any of that.”
So, there was something else.
“I don’t know if I can risk my name being associated with something like that,” I said, sitting on the arm of a leather club chair.
“And I can? I run a children’s charity, Mr. Brady. This is a social club. That’s it. Full stop. There is nothing wrong with being affiliated with the Ames Founder’s Club. If there are unsavory things going on, and I’m not saying that there are, it’s not a representation of what we do here.”
“What if I want something more, you know, like the rumors.” I knew that I was pushing it, but I was confused by all the conflicting information.
“Good day, Mr. Brady,” Martin turned on his heels and walked away from me, shaking his head.
What the hell was going on here? Was Martin afraid to say something? Or, was there really nothing unsavory going on? The only person who had let anything slip was Lenny. He was my best shot at getting the real story.
I grabbed two more glasses of scotch and wove my way through the crowd of men, intent on finding Lenny and getting what I needed. I had imagined naked women, orgies, all sorts of weird sex acts, but so far all I had seen were the who’s who of Seattle mingling and drinking expensive booze.
“Lenny,” I said, handing him the rocks glass. “Cheers,” I held up my glass.
Lenny smiled and me and clinked his crystal glass to mine.
“Thank you for your invite, but I don’t think that this is the organization for me.” I took a sip of my scotch and watched as Lenny’s eyes went wide.
“No, Mick, you have to stay.”
“Nah., I think I’m good,” I said, setting my glass down at the bar. “I have more money than everyone in this room combined. I don’t need another networking group.”
Lenny glanced over to Roger, then put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me in tightly, “Come with me,” he whispered in my ear.
Chapter 25 – Lucy
When Lawrence drove past the exit to the university, I looked over at him, confused, “Where are we going?”
All I wanted to do was close my dorm room curtains and crawl under my duvet for a few days. I used to like staying at Lawrence’s house, waking up to the smell of coffee wafting through the mansion at exactly 6:45 am every day; the beauty of a well-paid staff. The morning cook, Karen, made me the best the best poached eggs, and since her daughter was a track athlete, we had great conversations too.
The shower at Lawrence’s house was nicer than any hotel I had ever stayed in, complete with steam options, a rain head, and about 20 additional shower heads recessed in the marble walls. I lingered in his shower in the mornings, delighted that I didn’t have to walk down the dingy dorm hallway in my flip flops carrying my shower caddy.
I thought back to the first time that I stayed over at Lawrence’s house. It was like I had stepped into another world. I thought it was odd that his parents weren’t home, but as it turns out they were away more than they were home and I still hadn’t met them. Alanna thought that this was odd, but at the time, I thought that she was just being an over-protective big sister who didn’t understand Lawrence’s life.
“I thought that you would want to relax in luxury after your little cabin ordeal,” he said, without taking his eyes off the road.
“Actually, could you take me to the hospital?”
He snapped to face me, “I thought the medic said that you were ok.”
“I am okay. I’d like to visit Alanna.”
Lawrence sighed and paused for a moment, “Sure, Luce,” he said, and signaled to exit the highway.
When we pulled into the parking lot, Lawrence shut off the car and stretched back in his seat.
“You can just drop me off. I’ll catch the bus after my visit,” I said to him.
“Nah, babe. I’ll just wait here until you’re done,” he said, scrolling through his phone.
“But I don’t know how long I’ll be,” I protested. I didn’t want to rush my visit with Alanna. Besides, I really just wanted to go back to the dorm and be by myself. I really had to think about my next move. Breaking off the engagement with Lawrence was going to be social suicide, and after what I had witnessed today, I worried that Lawrence might be a very vindictive man. He was clearly a liar. Should I rock the boat, or just try to keep the peace until Alanna’s treatment is done?
Could I really be entertaining the idea of staying with him? Could growing up poor have clouded my judgment? It’s true that Lawrence was considered the best catch at the University, he was good-looking, had a rock-hard Brad Pitt circa Thelma and Louise-era body, and he was rich.
“Just go see Alanna, come back, and I’ll take you home,” Lawrence said, turning up the music.
I didn’t have the energy to argue with him, so I slid out of the car. As I was about to shut the door, Lawrence grabbed my hand. My heart jumped when I thought that he was pulling me toward him for a kiss, but he simply said, “Twenty minutes Luce. Twenty.”
What a fucking asshole. “Twenty,” I murmured and slammed the door.
As I trudged through the city’s drizzle to the hospital, my mind raced. If I only had myself to think about, I would have broken it off with Lawrence the moment I realized that I was in love with Mick. Love. How does love happen in such a short time? But I needed to think of Alanna. Could I put up with a cold, unloving relationship with Lawrence if it meant that my sister would have the care that she needed? If I ran away to the mountains with Mick who would take care of her? How would we afford her prescriptions?
I rounded the corner into my sister’s room and Alanna’s blue eyes sparkled in their hollow sockets as they met mine. I rushed to her and pulled her emaciated body to mine. I felt the tears well up in my eyes. I knew that if I married Lawrence, I would be able to afford world-class care for her. I held her tightly, hoping that she wouldn’t feel the trembling of my body as I tried to hold in my tears. Her backbone a serrated bread knife under my hands.
She pulled back and held me by my biceps, “What’s wrong?”
I couldn’t hold it in any longer and my tears broke free. It was the ugly kind of crying where you stop breathing and can’t get any words out.
Alanna smiled at me and rubbed my arms. “Lucy, the results from my last appointment look promising.”
We had been through years of the news going from bad to worse with every doctor’s appointment: a mole had turned suspicious, then it was melanoma that probably wouldn’t spread, then it spread. I don’t know what would’ve been better, knowing from day one that Alanna had a 50 percent chance of living, or drawing out the prognosis over years – like slowly and painfully peeling off a band-aid.
“Really?” I sniveled. Alanna passed me a tissue.
“I mean, it’s not good news, but it’s not bad news either.” Alanna smiled. “The tumor hasn’t shrunk, but it hasn’t grown either.
“Oh, Alanna. I’ll take it,” I cried and pulled her in for another hug.
“I think I’m the one that should be worried. You can’t just text me ‘I’m ok – talk soon’ after I’ve just seen your photo on the news.
I was shocked. I hadn’t wanted to worry Alanna and had just texted her that I had been snowed in. I left out the accident and my stay at Mick’s cabin. I also left out Mick. Mick. Just the thought of his name gripped my stomach into a fluttery knot.
“Lawrence must’ve been worried sick,” Alanna said.
I sighed. “I don’t think Lawrence is who I thought he was,” I picked at my fingernails.
“Oh, thank god.”
I jerked my head up. “What?”
Alanna patted her hand on the side of her hospital bed, an invitation to sit. “Tell me what you mean by that.”
“No. YOU tell me what you meant with that response about Lawrence,” I countered.
“You can’t talk to a cancer patient like that,” Alanna said wryly. “Now spill.”
We were interrupted as the nurse came in with
Alanna’s plastic lunch tray. “Yummy,” I said, taking in the bland unidentifiable meat covered in pale gravy and watched errant peas roll outside of their partitioned quadrant.
“It’s not so bad,” she smiled and took a bite to prove it.
I kicked myself for not bringing her something to eat from the health food store down the street.
“So. Lawrence. Are you two still engaged?” she asked, trying to mask a gag with her hand. She dabbed her lips with her napkin.
Watching my sister attempt to keep the food down tore me up inside. I knew that she was putting on a show so that I wouldn’t worry about her. She rarely had an appetite, so I couldn’t imagine that the grey sludge was even close to appetizing.
“Yes. Yes, we are still engaged,” I hesitated, twisting my engagement ring around my finger.
Alanna pursed her lips and gave me a knowing look, “Tell me about this snowstorm.”
“Well, Lawrence paid for me to go away for the weekend with a bunch of his friends’ girlfriends.”
“Ooh. Stimulating.” She took a bite of Jell-O.
“They’re not so bad. Well, I mean one of them could talk about something other than eyebrow extensions.”
“I can’t see you hanging out with girls like that.”
“Well, we didn’t have the chance to hang out. We never made it to the spa. The car spun out and went into the ditch.” I minimized the seriousness of the accident.
“Ditch, huh. That was some ditch they showed on the news.”
Busted.
“Oh, they showed the accident scene?”
“Yep,” she said, taking a bite of her fluorescent Jell-O.
“Ok. So, we rolled over a few times down a steep embankment.”
“That’s better. You don’t need to sugar-coat things for me. You’re sitting in front of me and I can see that you’re in one piece – I want the truth.”
My mind raced as I tried to figure out which details to omit, but then I decided to tell her the whole truth. I spilled everything about the amazing days Mick and I spent together after he rescued me: cooking together; embracing in his kitchen; learning how to snowshoe and ride a snowmobile; the way it felt when he kissed me…
