by Melissa Jane
I spin to face her. “I do not look constipated when I hear from Shawn.”
“I think you’ll find you do. Pull out your compact next time he calls.”
Shawn’s words play over in my head. “Well, I won’t be hearing from him anytime soon. Not until he’s ready to come clean with his barrage of secrets.”
“I wanna know the recent developments, but I feel like a few bottles of wine and ice cream are needed prior and during.”
“I’m not upset anymore. I’m angry.”
“Boy fucked up.”
Yes, he did.
“I think I’m going to work from home for a few days. If either Samantha or Shawn come looking for me, tell them I’m out of town. And whatever you do, under no circumstances, give out my new address.”
“WHAT DO YOU THINK, TOBY?” I ask, as he stares wide-eyed from his comfy pillow on the bed. I study my reflection, happy with what I’ve been able to throw together at short notice since I decided only hours ago to make tonight the night I attend the secret society. Wearing a black off-the-shoulder Prada dress with an intricate lace trim around the neckline and arms, I top off the look with diamond earrings and red lipstick. Confident I’ll fit in with the crowd, I pull Toby into a cuddle and feel an immediate wave of guilt.
“I’m sorry for leaving. I won’t be gone long, I promise,” I say, kissing his head before taking him to the living room where I’ve made a bed for him next to his bowl and wee-pad. With pleading eyes watching my every move, I close the door behind me and feel a pull on my heartstrings. How could I love him with all my heart so soon? Kane knew exactly what I needed, and that little ball of fur was already on his way to mending my broken heart.
Glancing at my watch, I make a promise to myself to be home by eleven because Tobs and I have a date with Grey’s Anatomy.
THE CONFIDENCE I possessed earlier has well and truly left, flipping the bird on its way out. Standing outside the red door on Charlotte Street, I watch a couple walk up marble steps and knock. They wait as Samantha does every time she arrives until the brass flap opens and they speak quietly to whoever’s on the other side. The door opens moments later but no light shines through, offering zero indication of what to expect once I cross the threshold.
The street around me buzzes, but not the type of buzz you get typically in the clubbing district. There’s an air of wealth that wafts through this place. Money, sex, and most of all, secrets.
Inhaling sharply, I build the courage and step forward, my invitation in hand as I knock on the heavily lacquered red door. I wait, longer than I expect, and a voice in my head tells me to run while I still have the chance.
“Name?” an accented male voice asks as the brass flap opens. I squint, looking closer to see who I’m talking with, but all I see is a black void.
“Blythe Blakely.” I nervously wring my fingers as silence greets me from the other side.
“Watchword?” he finally asks.
“Ah… Prospero.”
The flap abruptly closes, and again I’m left standing on the marble step. Finally the door opens and I’m greeted with darkness. Tentatively, I step over the threshold but stop when I can’t see anything in front of me. A hand rests on my lower back and a voice murmurs close by, “Give it a few moments. Your eyes will adjust.”
I swallow hard, my heart pounding. It’s the only thing I can hear, no other noise giving anything away. I feel the man brush past me, and then see a small circle glow of an elevator button light up.
My eyes finally adjust, and I turn to the man trapped in the tight space with me. He’s tall and large, everything I’d expect a man guarding the front door to be. “My name is Nicholas,” he says. “I control who comes in and who goes out. You’re a guest here, Blythe Cooper, and we have rules we expect to be followed. Failure to do so will have you removed from the premises without explanation. I expect you’ve read them prior to arrival?”
“Yes.”
“Any questions?”
“No.”
“I need to search your purse.”
I pause for a moment before handing over my clutch. Nicholas takes it, and with a flashlight, searches through the contents. He retrieves my cell and slides it into his jacket pocket.
“Photography and communication to the outside world is strictly forbidden whilst inside, so you get this back when you leave. It’s not just you, it applies to everyone.”
“O-Okay,” I stammer, starting to feel overwhelmed and slightly embarrassed because the no cell rule was number one on the list. Reading the rules may have been an exaggeration—skimming is a more appropriate description.
The lift dings, a vintage green light signaling its arrival. Nicholas pulls open the ornate filigree elevator door and once again places his hand at the small of my back, ushering me forward.
“This is you,” he encourages. I step in and turn to face him. He notices my trepidation and his eyes soften. “This is your first time,” he cautions. “It’s an assault on the senses but don’t ever feel pressured.”
“Pressured?”
His brows crease together. “You’re a beautiful woman, Blythe, and you’re here for the first time, alone. You’ll be, for lack of a better word, a target.”
Blythe, you’re an idiot. What the fuck are you doing?
Without another word, Nicholas slides the doors shut, his eyes glued to mine as he hits the button once more. I’m rendered speechless and regret my decisions. The lift jolts into action and I travel down a good two floors when it comes to a stop. The glow from the lift light partly illuminates the space beyond, a small room dressed in deep red mahogany and patterned wallpaper. It reminds me of nineteen-twenties Gatsby for the rich and famous. A strikingly beautiful woman steps forward and hands me a glass of champagne, her alluring eyes traveling the length of my body. I do the same to her because her dress is truly exquisite. Floor-length and form-fitting, the fabric is covered in tiny, glittering jewels. Her breasts tantalize the eyes as they peek above, her neck wrapped in diamonds.
“Good evening, Ms. Blythe. Welcome to Tempest. My name is Khloe,” she greets, her voice like honey.
“Good evening,” I reply, accepting the much-needed drink. Why did I not lubricate my nerves beforehand?
“You’re quite the treat,” she says, pleased with what she sees. I fear I’ve entered a swingers club and don’t completely dismiss the idea knowing my traitorous sister works or frequents here.
“So are you,” I reply awkwardly because what else am I supposed to say.
A heavy velvet curtain separates us from what’s happening on the other side. I hear voices mixed with some deeply passionate opera music. The climactic type that gets you on the edge of your seat with anticipation.
Her smile is sweet and sultry as she considers me curiously. I feel like I’m wearing a sign around my neck which screams, ‘I don’t belong here.’ My discomfort level is obvious, so to blend in, I square my shoulders and smile confidently. She hooks an arm through mine and pulls back the heavy curtain to reveal a magical room. Instead of one chandelier in the middle, the entire ceiling is covered with hanging, glittering jewels illuminated enough to create a warm, sensual glow. The huge bar wall is stacked with the best bottles of liquor known to man, some illegal in the US, but between the bottles are two suspended beds. I watch in awe as two young women lie on top, creating a montage of sensual positions designed to whet appetites. Dressed in Arabian lingerie, and dripping with hanging jewels covering half their face, they present an exotic theatrical flavor. Movement to the right steals my focus, a completely naked trapeze couple attached to thick ribbons, twirl and dance through the air giving patrons an erotic show. Their bodies rub, grind, and connect in ways that mimic a passionate lust which sets the tone for the room.
As for the guests, they’re dressed in elegant designer dresses and suits, dripping with enough glittering jewels to rival the chandelier.
Crystal glasses flowing with champagne catch the light, twinkling as they’
re lifted to lips that only speak of money and riches.
“What is this place?” I murmur to myself.
Khloe inches closer until I smell her sweet perfume. “Welcome to rich men’s heaven.”
16
I’m left to my own devices, a lamb thrown to the wolves, my confidence quickly fading as curious eyes, both men’s and women’s, drink me in. Some linger longer than others, wanting to be caught, others more conservative in their approach. The room is large and decorated wall to ceiling with dark mahogany and luxury red wallpaper. Beautiful Renaissance paintings similar to those at Othello line the walls, the soft, voluptuous bodies of vulnerable women escaping the evil clutches of men, aptly adds another sordid layer to the room.
A server wearing a tux appears at my side, signaling for me to take a glass of champagne. I happily accept and down half the glass in one go, keen to ebb some of the nerves. I suspect it will take more than half a glass, but the night is still young and to say I’m uncomfortable in my surroundings is an understatement.
I watch while guests mingle. Like Othello, they seem very up close and personal with each other. To my relief, it doesn’t strike me as being anything swinger, yet I also can’t quite determine why such a venue is kept hushed, unless it’s simply to appease the minds of the rich knowing they can indulge in a privilege which excludes others less fortunate.
Despite feeling I’m being watched by those who appear as frequenters, I move around the lingering, flirtatious groups, smelling a combination of scents and admiring glittering jewels. They touch each other heartbeats too long, suggestive and enticing. When I move past, hands linger on my hips, faces touching mine until I ease myself away.
When I turn from a man who seems intent on making me aware of his presence, I come face to face with another. He appears different from the rest, and I deduce by his posture and stare that he is staff. He’s tall, a slender man with broad shoulders, deep red hair and a matching beard.
“An unfamiliar face, I see.” He smiles, but it isn’t genuine. He openly assesses me, making no secret of his scrutiny. I wonder if he does this to everyone, or if he’s like a dog and can smell my fear.
“Yes, first-timer.” I laugh in an attempt to hide my discomfort.
“Where are you from…?”
“Blythe,” I tell him my name and then answer his question. “Born and bred here.”
He smiles once more, but it still doesn’t reach his eyes. “Well then, Blythe, should you need anything, please don’t hesitate to find me. Tempest can become a little overwhelming at times, but I’ll be happy to assist. Simply ask for Joseph if you can’t find me.”
That’s never going to happen. He has the look of a masochist, the type who’d start with torture and ask questions later. “Thank you, Joseph. I appreciate that,” I lie.
“I trust Kenneth told you there are rules that need to be abided by?”
“I did my homework.”
Joseph turns deadly serious. “They’re easy, simple rules of propriety which should be followed. And only those who have registered and paid the bidding fee are allowed through that door.” He points behind him to another red door similar to the outside, but this one also has a heavy velvet curtain pulled to one side and security standing on the other.
A chill ripples over my skin, and I’m unable to take my eyes off the forbidden door. Joseph leans forward, lips grazing my ear, his predatory voice adding to the uneasy feeling settling in my gut. “It’s natural to be curious, Blythe. We’re all seduced by the illicit nature of man and his muse.” His fingers brush my skin as he smooths a lock of hair over my shoulder. “Some don’t realize their sexual urges until they see it for the first time. It’s the ones with more experience pleasing their demons you need to be careful of.” I feel him smile and I know it’s due to my discomfort. “They show no mercy, especially with a woman as exquisite as you.”
Joseph pulls away and I exhale heavily, shoulders tense from the unwanted interaction. I came here for a reason. There’s no need for me to stick my nose where it’s not wanted, especially if it involves men who cannot control their urges. That doesn’t stop his ‘words of wisdom’ from running rampant in my already hyperactive mind.
Bidding.
Propriety.
Illicit.
Urges.
While the room I’m standing in is relatively tame, clearly what lies beyond the guarded red door is not.
Downing the rest of my champagne, I exchange my glass with another and numbly study the room. Reminded of my objective, I look for a long-haired blonde with a similar appearance to mine. No one meets the criteria but one familiar face does stand out. I see him through the crowds, so I move into a better position until I can pinpoint where I know him from. I watch while he interacts with a woman in a deep blue dress, much younger than he.
And then it hits me.
That same situation I first saw him in when he was talking to Sam at Othello. The silver fox who she’d smiled and flirted with. The silver fox who had his hands indecently on her body given he’d only met her moments before. The silver fox she’d handed a business card to. A business card that most likely had the name Tempest gold-leafed on it.
Does my sister recruit men to attend these parties? Men with money and taboo sexual urges.
“Fresh blood has quite a scent to it.”
For goodness sake.
I sigh.
Rule Two: Respect.
“Old or new, blood is always pungent,” I say, opting not to be removed from the premises so soon. I turn to the man who’s sniffed me out. Handsome and with eyes who want only one thing.
“I’m a man who likes it raw.” His lips twitch and I feel an overwhelming urge to punch his smug face.
“Are you still talking about blood?”
His gaze travels the length of my body, his air of privilege nothing but revolting. “Both,” he says, thinking the sly wink he gives is enough to make me wet.
“I don’t appreciate raw meat and only like to be fucked raw by whom I choose and that will never be you.”
I’m aware I’m fast-tracking my exit, but his mere gaze on me is ruining my night. Turning away to prove my disinterest, I finally find what I’ve been looking for. The blonde hair shines under the warm glow of the lights, her laughter heard above the music and gentle chatter.
My heart pounds, and I’m once again torn with emotions.
Do I forgive and forget everything she’s done?
Can I still love her as a sister when she’s broken my heart?
“Ah, I see,” the man said, still imposing on my space. “I now see your preference. She’s a beauty, isn’t she? So ripe and ready. It’s a damn shame she’s not part of the act?”
It seems the pervert might have some use after all.
“The act?”
Pervert frowns at my naiveté. “The act is what goes on behind the big ol’ red door your pretty eyes have been glued to. Your crush is who I have to thank for introducing me to this place. She’s opened my eyes to a whole new world. A new world you’ll surely learn about.”
What the hell has Sam gotten herself into?
“Has she recruited most people here?”
“The men, yes.” He smirks, and I feel sick. “Let’s just say she has a rather convincing nature about herself.”
“And the women?”
He shrugs his shoulders indifferently. “Through invitation only by the men they know. I’m not sure about the ones through the door.”
“There’s more women through there?”
His smile dims as he backs away, suddenly uncomfortable with the conversation. “You have a good night, beautiful,” he says, feeling the need to distance himself. “Don’t bother about staying out of trouble because trouble will definitely find you.”
Pervert disappears, and I turn to see Joseph watching from the other side of the room. He seems cautious of me, suspicious as to why I’m here on my own. Had I known it would be an issue, I would have arranged
to come with Amanda’s contact. But that would be relinquishing his name to me, and he’s clearly a man with a career or life to protect.
I meet his scrutinous stare and slip behind a couple while maintaining distance between myself and Sam. She seems too caught up in the attention of others to notice me, but I watch and observe her every move. She’s animated when she talks, flirtatious with her eyes, and generous with her touch. Both men and women seem caught up in her presence, and I wonder if that’s how she’s captivated my husband.
To the right, I see Joseph exit the way I came in through the curtain, and to the left I watch a server take a hidden pathway that would curve around a wall of the forbidden room. I’m only scratching the surface as to why Sam is here, and decide throwing caution to the wind is my only chance for answers, so I follow the server while Joseph is temporarily elsewhere.
Satisfied that the fresh blood attention has faded, I slip by groups sharing saucy stories, and couples too caught up in false sexual promises to notice me make my way down what could be a service entry. I follow the hall which is more dimly lit than the main room, perhaps to keep it as non-intrusive as possible. There’s nothing exceptional about it, and when I see a fluorescent light in a room to the right, I suspect it to be the kitchen. I run, fearing someone rounding the corner, and pass the door at a sprint. I’m plunged back into semi-darkness on the other side and breathe a sigh of relief. I feel like a common outlaw and wonder if this is how Amanda felt at eight years of age stealing the connector pens. I’ve done so many questionable things of late I’d have my mother wondering if I’d been swapped at birth. Samantha is the reckless daughter, not me. I keep walking until I finally see an opening to the left which can only lead to one place.
I inhale and exhale, both excited and terrified.
It looks exactly like the hall I just came down, only mirror opposite. Stepping into the hall, I wait for my eyes to adjust to a virtually dark room. Murmurs ripple across the room so I know I’m not alone, murmurs belonging to both male and female. Anticipation is hanging thick in the air. I slide my hand along what feels like sandstone, and use it as a guide. Music begins, no vocals, just low and deep as voices grow more and more excited. I feel my heart pound to the same beat and wonder if I should run now before anyone finds me.