The Client: A Playing Dirty Novel

by Pamela DuMond

  My handsome boyfriend looked up from his computer and eyed me with a funny look. “Babe, you’re not wearing that to the party tonight, are you?”

  I glanced down at my simple, floral print sundress that fell just above the knees. “Yes. It’s new. It’s cute.”

  “It’s too revealing,” he said. “It shows too much of your breasts.”

  I peered down again and saw a hint of cleavage. “No, it doesn’t.”

  “Yes, it does. It’s practically see-through. Did you get it online?”

  “No.” I fingered the skirt’s fabric. It felt normal. I eyed it a little closer. Was it really see-through? I spotted the faint outline of my bare knees through the skirt. Maybe he was right. “I got it on sale at Montgomery’s Department Store.”

  “They’ve been going downhill for years. No one shops there anymore.” He stared at his laptop, absorbed in Excel spreadsheets.

  He might know a lot about sales but he was wrong about this. Montgomery’s had been around Madison for forty years. It was a household name. “I know a lot of people who shop there.”

  “People have moved on. I heard it’s going out of business. I think a sporting goods store is taking over the space.”

  “Like Madison needs more sporting goods stores.” I said, tugging my bodice up a little higher on my chest.

  “Hah, you’re right.” He patted his thigh. Come here.”

  I walked the few steps toward him. He took my hand, pulled me onto his lap, and kissed me. “Look, Babe. We’re attending the annual summer picnic at the Yacht Club tonight. You need to fit in with the crowd. Look respectable.”

  “Right,” I said, feeling a perplexing mix of confusion and shame.

  Ryan probably knew more about this community, their dress code, and all the social mores than I did. The Kesslers were well known in Maple Bluff and had had a membership at the Yacht Club for decades.

  “I didn’t say anything before because everything was casual. The parties, us,” Ryan said.

  “What do you mean ‘casual’?” My stomach flip-flopped. The past week I’d felt like there was something off with Ryan and me but I couldn’t put my finger on it. “Are you saying we’re ‘casual’? Do you not want us to be exclusive?”

  “No Babe, we’re definitely exclusive. I meant earlier in the relationship. Before we knew that we worked.”

  “Oh,” I said. But my brain was churning, feeling like I was still missing a piece of a bigger puzzle. I stood up. “Was there was a problem with my clothing, you know, before today?”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t want to mention it. Stop worrying. You’ll wear something classier tonight. More appropriate. You’ll fit in just fine. Now go!” He slapped me on the ass, and turned back to his computer.

  “I’ve probably got something else in the closet.”

  “Good girl. Hurry it up so we won’t be late.”

  “Right,” I said, turning and walking out of the room. I felt confused, uneasy, and my stomach churned. “Of course.”

  Chapter Ten

  Joe

  Trendy burger joints in the Rush Street area were a dime a dozen but I’d hit this one before and it actually served decent food. Daniel had rustled up his usual crew of sycophants and hangers-on but there were a few non suck ups in tonight’s crowd. Rock n roll classics played in the background. We grabbed a table in the back, ordered beer, and a few trays of sliders.

  “Staying in town for Christmas?” Daniel asked, craning his neck toward the front door. He broke into a smile and waved at a group of girls making their way to our table.

  “Yes. Grandma likes the holidays.”

  “Hire a jet, pop her on board, and visit us in Aspen,” he said.

  “She likes the holidays here.”

  “You’ve got to get out and live one of these days, buddy.” He stood, pulled one beauty toward him and kissed her square on the lips. “Joe, this is Sienna.”

  “The reclusive Joe Delacroix. Heard all about you,” she said. “My friends Cindy and Robin are in town for the holidays.”

  The cute girls were interchangeable. “Nice meeting you ladies. Help yourself to beer and burgers.”

  An hour and a half passed and I couldn’t have been more brain dead if I’d been lobotomized. The women chattered about parties, TV shows streaming this month, and politics. The guys threw down with football, investments, and the best black diamond ski runs.

  I glanced at my watch. “I’m calling it a night.”

  “Don’t,” Daniel said. “The short one has had her eye on you the entire time.”

  “They’re both sitting on bar stools. Which is the short one?”

  “The chick with the sparkly top. She looks at you like she’s hungry.”

  “I think she actually is hungry. She hasn’t touched a burger even though she keeps staring at them.”

  “She’s staring at you. She’s craving a different kind of meat—if you know what I mean.”

  I stood up. “I’m hitting the head and going home.”

  “Stop living in the past, Joe.”

  “I like the past.” I walked away from the table down the hallway and pushed open the bathroom door.

  Chapter Eleven

  Charlotte

  I caught the “L” train back home after my run with Violet. I fed Benedict, showered, changed, and headed back north to meet the White Glove crew at a Double D Burgers and Brewery Rush Street joint. Now we sat at a high-top tucked into the front corner of the bar. A few games were being played out on the flat screen TVs hung high on the walls. Platters of mini-burgers, fries, and tall pilsner glasses of beer covered our table.

  Ian grabbed a handful of fries. “How’s it coming with the mafia princess?” he asked.

  “Don’t call Violet that. She’s a great girl. Quite the catch, really.” I tipped back a glass of pale ale.

  “I can’t believe she didn’t like any of the guys you matched her with,” Hailey said. “Did you get a better idea of who or what she might be looking for?”

  “What about Tyler Gentry?” Ian asked.

  “No,” I said. “Tyler’s sweet, but he’s not her type.”

  “He’s my type.” Hailey chugged her beer. “Pick me! Pick me!”

  “Another round, yes?” Ian lifted his hand in the air. “Waitress!”

  I slid my glass back and forth on the table between my hands. “I think Violet wants a guy who’s funny, hot, and a wordsmith. Maybe a writer or an actor. But for some reason she’s got a push/pull with these kinds of men.”

  Laugher pealed from a table in the corner. I turned and spotted a guy getting up from his stool. I could only see the back of him but he was very tall, with a broad back. He had dark brown hair with a hint of a wave. It was Hot Waiter.

  My Joe.

  Not working tonight, obviously. Out on the town with some friends.

  Chills flooded my arms, making their way up my neck, then did a 180 and zipped down my spine, toward the vee between my legs. I was tempted to wave, holler “Hey!” and race over there. But all I could do was stare. My tongue was heavy and useless in my mouth.

  “Are you dreaming about Christmas, Charlotte?” Ian asked.

  “No,” Hailey said. “She’s dreaming about the tall drink of water in the far corner of the bar. Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t he the guy who spilled scotch on you at the Biltenhouse wedding?”

  “Yeah,” I said, not turning away, my fingers drumming the table of their own accord.

  Ian craned his neck. “Meow. He’s smoking. Go over and say something to him. I insist.”

  “I can’t move. I’m paralyzed.”

  Ian grabbed my arm and shook it. “If you don’t, I will. I’ll tell him a gorgeous virgin has cast her beautiful eyes on him.”

  “Huh? That ship sailed a while ago.”

  “All our ships have sailed. We could join forces and be an armada. He’d be a fool not to come back to our table and take his chances at winning the maiden’s heart.” He waggled his eyeb
rows. “Or maybe he bats for my team?”

  “No!” I slapped his hand away. “He’s mine.”

  At that moment, Joe stood up and walked down the hallway toward the bathroom. As he passed the bar, a pretty, twenty-something brunette, swiveled her head so fast in his direction, her hair swished over her shoulders like a model in a shampoo commercial. She high-fived the girl sitting next to her, smoothed her micro-mini down her thighs, and tossed back her drink. Then she walked down the hall, to the bathroom and followed him inside. She shut the door firmly behind her and closed it definitively.

  My heart plummeted into my stomach.

  “Damn, that was fast,” Ian said.

  I reached inside my wallet, pulled out a couple of bills and slapped them on the table. “I’m out.”

  Hailey squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry, Charlotte.”

  “It might not be what you think it is,” Ian said. “She could be his sister.”

  “Because sisters wearing mini-skirts follow their brothers into bathrooms?”

  “Okay that was a stretch.”

  I shrugged on my coat. “Love you all. See you Monday. Got places to go and people to see.” I walked out of the place, my head down, feeling like I’d lost something that technically wasn’t mine to lose.

  Chapter Twelve

  Joe

  I zipped up, turned, and came face-to-face with a chick in the bathroom.

  She and I were the only ones in the small facility. She had one hand on her hip and her skirt skimmed her thighs. Her cleavage was practically popping out of her low-cut top. “Happy holidays,” she said with a toothy smile.

  I am not one to judge. Been there, done that, tapped it.

  “Happy holidays to you too,” I said, moving to walk around her.

  But she leaned back against the door, blocking my exit. “Joe, it’s me.”

  “Right,” I said, racking my brain for her name, silently counting how many drinks I’d had tonight. Not that many. “Hello… you.”

  “Barbara,” she said. “From the Halloween party at Chet and Amanda’s place.”

  “Of course. A night I’ll never forget.”

  She licked her lips. “So much fun.”

  “Best party of the year.”

  “You were dressed as a ‘Ghostbuster’ and carried a proton gun.”

  “Hah. That was funny. And you were the… pretty princess?”

  “I was the sexy cop.”

  And now I remembered all the misbehaving that had played out in a bathroom on the third floor of Chet and Amanda’s DePaul neighborhood brick townhouse.

  She undid two buttons, revealing a lacy bra. She squeezed her arms together next to her chest and thrust her tits toward me, like a bonus prize inside the cereal box. “You never called me,” she said, pulling my face close to hers. She jammed her lips against mine, sticking her tongue inside my mouth.

  I should have been turned on.

  I should have been getting ready for a quickie in a semi-public place.

  I couldn’t have been less interested.

  I pulled away from her. “Barbara, I was just on my way out. Why don’t we catch up some other time?”

  She fondled my large but frankly soft package from the outside of my pants. “Let’s catch up now. I could make the holidays come early tonight,” she purred.

  “Not in the mood tonight. Tired.”

  In a slick move, she unzipped my jeans, and reached for my dick. “Since when have you been tired when it comes to getting laid?”

  “Since right now.” I pulled away and zipped up my pants. I unlocked the bathroom door and squeezed out, leaving her with a surprised look on her face.

  I walked back to the table without even a hint of a hard-on and grabbed my jacket. “Happy holidays, all. I’ve got an early day.”

  “Old man,” Daniel said. “I’ll text you if things get interesting.”

  I held up my phone and powered it off. “Off grid. Nothing’s interesting tonight.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Charlotte

  I stood outside watching the Rush Street bar hoppers pass me by. It was 10:30 p.m. Too late to pretend I’d never gone out. Too old to cry. Too sober to wipe the memory of the brunette in the CFMPs following Joe into the bathroom. My phone buzzed. I picked up, looking down for a matchmaking dilemma, or a message from mom.

  It was Ryan.

  Ryan: Yacht Club Christmas party. Miss U Char. Coming home for holidays?

  Ugh. I thought I’d blocked him. Oh right—that was on Instagram. Crap. Note to self: block Ryan on everything. I was not going home yet. If I was lucky I would never go home again. I’d get mom and Callie to visit me here in Chicago. They’d done that once about six months ago.

  Now I walked for blocks in the cold city streets, not sure what to do or where to go. Thoughts swirled through my head, but they turned back to Joe. I was so bummed some other girl got to be with him. Got to stare up into his beautiful eyes. Talk with him. Hear the sound of his voice. Did he flirt with her too? Probably. He was probably one of those sexy actor guys who flirted with everyone.

  But then I remembered how Joe had looked in the cramped elevator at The Delacroix, his soft, gray cotton T-shirt clinging to the planes of his muscular chest. The warmth that had emanated from his hand when he’d pulled off my hat and run his fingers through my hair. The shivers that had raced up and down the backs of my arms and how my breath had caught in my throat when I’d thought—no—had been convinced he was going to kiss me. But he hadn’t.

  Get real, Charlotte. It’s not like we’d even been on a date. We’d shared two sexy, sweet, chance encounters. He had every right to bang some random girl wherever and whenever.

  Speaking of The Delacroix, it loomed in front of me. Okay—technically it didn’t loom because it was gorgeous. Rather, it beckoned like a best friend you hadn’t talked to in a bit, or an auntie who loved you no matter what. I wasn’t going to run into Joe there tonight. He was too busy fucking the bimbo in the bathroom. What would it hurt to stop in and use the spa? A quick steam and a refreshing shower might cheer me up.

  I turned and walked back to the hotel—bent not broken.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Joe

  Three years ago

  How was it possible that five months ago I was a man whore?

  Gleefully sliding my hand under skirts up the long, lean legs of the many and very willing University of Wisconsin women. Happily spending late nights in college dive bars seducing girls that I doubted got half of my jokes, but who enthusiastically slept with me because they were drawn to my physicality, decent face, and for those in the know—my sizeable bank account.

  But now I was completely happy with one woman. Zoey Clark.

  How was that fucking possible?

  Six weeks after Zoey promised to save me from the goat and gave me a second chance, we were a couple. The new college year kicked off and we adapted to our schedules. Zoey was getting her master’s in Developmental Ed at U of W. She planned on working with special needs kids like Peter someday, helping them learn motor skills and improve verbal and communication abilities.

  I was lucky that my family had enough money to allow me to attend post-grad without toiling at a part-time job. Zoey, on the other hand, waitressed at Suze’s Steak House three nights a week in Middleton, a suburb of Madison.

  After two months of dating we’d already fallen into a routine. She’d cook two nights and I’d reciprocate. We’d order in on Friday and go out on Saturday. On Sundays we blocked out time for dinner with her family. If we survived that drama, we’d take Peter out on excursions: Pixar movies, small town fairs, and autumn festivals.

  Acceptance letters from law schools began arriving: Stanford, University of Chicago, Duke, Harvard. Zoey would clap her hands every time I’d open an envelope and pull out another acceptance letter. She’d snatch the papers from my hands, race to the opposite side of her apartment and stand on a step stool. Then she’d wave one arm in the air dra
matically and read the letter back to me like she was on Broadway.

  At the end of each performance she’d finish with, “And this, Joe Delacroix, is yet another chapter in the story that ends with your Happily Ever After!” She’d jump up off the stool and jog around the small apartment in a victory lap. She’d raise her arms over her head like Sylvester Stallone, and hum the theme from “Rocky.” Then she’d high five me, and I’d sling her over my shoulder and carry her, giggling, into the bedroom.

  Afterward, we’d sit outside on the wooden porch sipping beers and enjoy the rest of Indian Summer and the colors that turned from green to yellow to orange. The occasional animal would forage in the brush surrounding the woods on the far side of the property. My life was perfect. Our life together was a miracle. I wanted to introduce Zoey to my family.

  I brought Zoey to Chicago the weekend my family came to town to celebrate Marte’s 80th birthday. We stayed in our own suite at the Delacroix. Grandma’s actual birthday party was held on an elegant party yacht cruising up and down Lake Michigan.

  We dined at five star restaurants, attended the symphony, and hit some hot clubs. My skin was on fire. My heart was bursting out of my chest. It felt like after all these years of waiting, life had finally opened up for me like a bump on the horizon of one of those flat Midwestern states.

  A thought wormed its way into my brain. Unlike my parents, I realized I could embrace being a Delacroix. Maybe I wouldn’t have to hide in an RV moving from state to state in order to escape the spotlight. Maybe I could fall in love and live a big life being exactly who I was: a Delacroix.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Charlotte

  I’d lucked out and run into the Delacroix ladies again. Apparently, Friday night at the spa was a regular gig for them. This time we weren’t relaxing in the steam room, but soaking in the mineral waters section. The room had a small, cold dipping pool, a larger mineral bath with steam wafting off the water’s surface, and a smaller round tub with a metal handrail sloping down its steps. We occupied the last, and with the exception of a few stray women in the locker room, once again we had the place to ourselves.