by Karen Ferry
“Answer,” Rowan commands. She wets her lips.
“Of course, Sir. I only wish to please your friend.” Her voice is low, pleasant, and it grates on my nerves even when it shouldn’t.
“There.” Rowan looks at me again, his dilated pupils devoid of emotion.
I shake my head and walk away from the trio.
“Suit yourself!” he calls out after me, his maniacal laugh following me all the way home.
Something has to be done. Soon. Or his death will be inevitable.
I refuse to let another person I care for die.
It’s been a quiet morning. I’ve been lounging around, being lazy. Garrett was home when I woke up, but went out with Rufus. They haven’t returned from their walk yet even though it’s been a couple of hours now. I feel more refreshed than yesterday, and while I really only want to keep being lazy and lose myself in a romance novel all day, I should probably head out soon.
I curse the shopaholic in me for going completely crazy when I first came to the city. Instead of buying designer clothes, shoes, and bags, I should have been more careful with my money. Those things may look beautiful, but that’s all they are – things. Inanimate objects that aren’t really good for anything in the long run.
Except for when I go out with Morgan or Safiro, that is.
Nevertheless, I vow to become more sensible with my finances in the future.
I decide to stop dragging my feet and take my last sip of coffee. As I stand up, the front door opens, and Rufus bounds inside, leash in his teeth. I offer Garrett a friendly smile when he enters the room.
I open my mouth to greet him, but no sound follows, because he abruptly stops and stares at me, nostrils flaring.
I frown at him.
“What?” I ask him. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
He closes his eyes briefly and then shakes his head before opening them again. He doesn’t answer my question, though. I’m just about to repeat it when a text pings from the iPhone in my hand.
I look down and swipe the screen to read it.
Morgan: I may have found a job for you.
I quickly type a response.
Me: You have? What’s the job? And where?
I turn to walk to the bathroom, Garrett’s strange behaviour completely forgotten.
Her answer follows swiftly.
Morgan: It’s a bartending job at a club called The Vault. The owner’s a friend of mine: Rowan Mitchell. You interested?
I frown. The Vault? What kind of name is that? I mentally slap myself, because that’s not important.
I close the door to the bathroom and type a reply back.
Me: Of course I am, if the salary isn’t too horrible.
I place my phone on the vanity and turn on the shower. Remembering that I haven’t locked the door yet, I quickly turn and flip the key, satisfied when I hear the click. I doubt that Garrett would disturb me while here, but you never know.
My phone pings soon after.
Morgan: Trust me, the salary is way better than the usual. The question is if you’ll be comfortable there. It’s a club that caters to…various tastes.
“What the fuck does that mean?” I whisper, a bit apprehensive now.
The screen lights up with another text before I can ask her more questions.
Morgan: I wouldn’t tell you about this job if I didn’t think you could handle it, Suzy. But it’s up to you. I just know that they’re hiring staff, and I know you’re struggling right now. That’s all.
Blowing out my cheeks, I hold my breath, quickly typing a response.
Me: What’s the address, and when is this friend of yours available?
Morgan: I’ll send you his phone number and then you can call him and set up a meeting.
Resolutely, I nod, determined to take this as a positive sign. Besides, it’s not as if I have a real choice, now is it?
Me: Perfect. Thank you. xoxo
Morgan: No problem. xoxo
I sigh deeply before putting down the phone again. I look in the mirror above the sink and curse when I see my reflection.
Note to self: white, cotton nighties are not a good idea to wear when you live with the opposite sex!
My cheeks burn with mortification as I take in how see-through the nightie looks. No wonder Garrett stared! I bet it was even worse with the light coming in from the windows behind me.
“That’s it. I need to buy some frumpy PJ’s,” I mumble.
Resolutely, I remove the offending clothing and turn to the shower. I step inside and let the hot water attempt to wash away my embarrassment.
I stand outside the black door with swirling white letters on a sign hanging above.
The Vault.
A shiver runs down my spine, but I ignore the unease I feel and then ring the bell. I don’t have to wait long before it opens and a huge, Neanderthal-looking, muscled, bald man comes into view.
When he gives me a bored look, I smile and say, “Hi. I have an appointment with Rowan Mitchell?”
The man opens the door wider for me and steps out, waving an arm at me to step inside.
“Thank you.”
I straighten my back and walk inside, but quickly stop to let my eyes adjust to the darkness. Feeling the slight pressure of a hand on my lower back, I jump, and I hear a sarcastic chuckle behind me. Deciding to ignore it, I start walking down the dimly lit narrow hallway, and we don’t have to walk far before it opens to a huge room with a massive bar further in front of me. I scan it closely, and take in the stairwells to either side of me; looking up, I notice a rail with a walking passage and several shut doors. I wonder what’s behind them.
Everything seems to be either black or silver, giving the interior a sleek and polished look; but there’s no real warmth here.
“Miss?” the man behind me murmurs. I step into the room. I don’t see a dance floor, but maybe there isn’t one. There are plenty of leather chairs and lounges situated here and there alongside the bar, but no tables.
How odd.
I frown and slow my steps. I guess the guy becomes impatient because he walks past me, leaving me to follow him as he turns behind the bar and goes through a black, velvet curtain hanging on rails. As I pull aside the curtain, I’m in another another dark corridor, lanterns hanging on the walls, and the guy – probably security – stops and waits for me in front of a closed door at the end. When I stop beside him, I notice a sign that says Office, and I take another fortifying breath to settle my nerves.
Despite my misgivings about the place, I need to go through with it.
The guy knocks briefly on the door, and a faint voice yells, “Come in”.
I follow the bald guy inside and vow to myself that I will get this job.
A sense of relief mingled with trepidation fills me as I’m back outside half an hour later. It almost seemed too easy, but I don’t want to worry about it much. A steady income for the next three months is the only thing that matters, and I hope I don’t blow it.
Smiling, I turn to my left, deciding to find out if Safiro’s free for lunch. I text him and then stop, raising my head to the sky, taking in the sun warming my face. I don’t get to bask in it for long, though, as my phone rings. Thinking it’s Safiro, I don’t check the screen before I answer it.
“Good lord, chica, why don’t you just text me back?” I grumble good-naturedly.
“I’ve been called many things in my life, but never chica.”
I stop dead in my tracks when I hear Garrett’s voice.
Oh, my god. His voice is even better on the phone.
I gulp. “I’m so sorry, I thought it was my friend who called,” I babble, my cheeks heating up with embarrassment.
“Morgan?” he asks me curtly, and I frown at the change of his tone.
“No. Someone else.”
“I see,” he mumbles.
I wait for him to say more.
Silence. Why am I not surprised?
“Was there something you w
anted?” I ask him on a huff as I pick up my stride.
“Right, yes, actually. I have to go to work today so do you mind dog-sitting again tonight?”
“Oh.” Thinking of Rufus, I can’t keep my smile hidden. “I’d love to.”
It seems Garrett’s good mood is back, because I can hear the amusement in his voice once more.
“That dog has you wrapped about his paws already, doesn’t he?”
I blush, thankful that he can’t see me.
“What can I say? His eyes have bewitched me. And he likes to cuddle. Always a major plus in a guy.” I bite my lip and curse when I let that slip. “I mean, dog, of course…”
“Hmm. Cuddles, you say? That’s important?”
“I..I..well, yes, of course,” I stammer.
“I see. Right. Thanks for helping me out,” he says, voice thoughtful. As usual, he confuses me.
And then he’s gone.
“You’re welcome,” I murmur into the thin air as I start walking slowly to the nearest subway. Soon after, a text message pings and I swipe the screen to see it’s from Garrett.
“What now?”
Garrett: Please try to keep him off the furniture. Especially my bed.
“How the hell does he know this?” I exclaim, and then apologise to a woman walking beside me. She shakes her head and moves further away from me, and I want to poke my tongue out at her back, but I stop myself in time.
I type a quick reply.
Me: Fine, Master.
A reply comes through swiftly.
Garrett: DON’T call me that. Smart-ass.
Mouth agape, I have no clever comeback for that one and I don’t bother texting him a reply. Instead, I call Safiro.
He picks up almost immediately, and I blurt out, “I just got a job at this really weird club, and I’m kind of freaking out because of that, but remember the guy who owns my apartment – you know, the one who came home early, leaving me with an unwanted roommate? I also think that I have a crush on him!” I finally take a deep breath, my heart hammering away in my chest.
“Holy crap, sugar! You’ve been busy, haven’t you? I need more, but meet me at Sweet Dina’s Diner, and then you can give me all the deets.”
“Okay, I’ll be there soon,” I reply, breath heaving. I’m starting to feel a bit light-headed.
“Don’t worry, girl. Aunt Safiro will help you,” he replies calmly. “See you soon.”
After telling him goodbye, I rush in the direction of the café he suggested.
I guess he’s right. I have been busy.
I need help sorting out my head. Stat.
SAFIRO GLIDES GRACEFULLY INTO the seat beside me in the café, and I smile, relieved to see him. He’s clean-shaven, as usual, and is wearing pink tights and a tight, yellow T-shirt that says, ‘Yes, I’m fabulous!’ Perfect.
“I don’t know what I want to hear about more, the job or the crush.” He sighs and then holds up his hand dramatically. “Oh, wait, maybe I do: the meat first. Ready? Go.”
I laugh and then proceed to tell him about everything that’s happened since I saw him a couple of days ago.
“Oooh. He has a dog?” He claps his hands and sighs dreamily. “I want a dog. No, wait, I want a real man who owns a dog. How romantic.”
“Safiro!” I nudge my shoulder against his. “Yes, the dog’s cute, but please focus here.”
“Right, right. I need food before I tell you to jump this guy and get it over with. Oops! Did I just say that?” He moves his eyebrows up and down at me, and I gasp.
“Oh, my gosh! Yes, you did. In front of everyone else here,” I whisper while glancing at the other guests around us.
“Puh-lease, girl. They don’t mind.” Nevertheless, his voice goes down a notch. “Listen, I really do need some fuel, so let’s order, and while we wait, you tell me about the job.”
A waitress comes over to our table, and I scan the menu in front of me.
Smiling at her, I order a club sandwich, and Safiro’s choice is a sub with chicken and fries.
Wrinkling his nose, he sighs at me.
“I demand that you order some fries as well,” he tells me. Without giving me time to answer, he looks up at the waitress.
“My girl here wants fries, too. And please bring us some cokes as well.”
The waitress puts her pen and paper away and reaches for our menus.
“Sure thing. I’ll bring some ketchup, too.”
“Oh, and some mayo, too, please,” I interject, gaining a small, puzzled smile from her.
“Sure.”
After she walks away, I give Safiro my best shot at The Look: narrowed eyes, mouth turned downward, as I cross my arms. He returns it, and I curse under my breath. He’s so much better at it than me.
“Don’t give me that, Suzy,” he says. “You need more meat on your bones, and you know it.”
I sigh and nod, because he’s right.
“Yeah, I know. I just don’t seem to have much appetite lately.”
“Well, a big, hunky guy with a massive dick will help,” he teases me. I just chuckle and shake my head.
“Speaking of which, how’s Dex?” I bat my eyes at him, and he smiles widely at me.
“Aaaaah, he’s marvellous, darling. I’m smitten, and I’m not afraid to admit it.”
I place my hand over his and squeeze it.
“That makes me happy, honey. I can’t wait to meet him.”
He blushes and looks down, a bit shy for once.
“It might be a while before you get the chance, but we’ll see how it goes.”
The waitress comes back with our drinks, and we each take a sip.
“Now, tell me about the job,” Safiro urges me as he places his arm around me, his body leaning towards mine.
Unease settles within me again.
“Okay. It’s at this club called The Vault.” His eyes widen, and I scrutinise his face. “Have you heard of it?”
“Girl, indeed I have. But only on the down-low. I hear it’s for…errm…people who like kinky shit. Is that true?” he whispers, eyes wide.
I shrug. “The owner, Rowan Mitchell, did give me more details, but my contract stipulates that I can’t give any information to the outside.” I make quotation marks in the air and snort. “I don’t know what the big deal is. We live in a modern world.”
Safiro leans closer to me. “Then why are you frowning? Come on, out with it.”
I hesitate and bite my lip, but I have to tell someone about my misgivings, and who better than Safiro?
I lean my head closer to his and glance quickly around me; no one seems to be eavesdropping, though.
“Okay, so the job is tending the bar, and I’ll never be alone behind it. It sounded as if Rowan was very protective of his female staff, and there’ll be a bouncer assigned to us whenever we’re on a shift. That’s not why I’m worried.”
“Then what is?” he asks before he takes another sip of his drink.
“First of all, I get the impression that there’s a lot of dealing with drugs, and I don’t feel comfortable with that. Secondly, the outfit we have to wear? That’s a bit…off-putting, I guess.”
When I don’t tell him more right away, he rolls his eyes at me, and I take a large gulp of my drink.
“Black corset, silver stilettos, and fishnet stockings,” I tell him. His mouth bobs open and closed, making him look like a fish out of water.
“Wow,” he finally says and leans back in his seat, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “Hang on. Actually, that’s not bad, but a bit unusual for a bartending job.”
“You know I’m not a prude, Safiro, far from it. But it just rubs me the wrong way a bit to be put on display like that.” I shrug.
“You have some serious issues with your body, hon,” Safiro gripes. “How many times do I have to tell you this? You’re gorgeous!”
I open my mouth to answer, but am interrupted when the waitress returns to our table once more, this time with our food.
“Enjo
y,” she says as she walks away. We dig in, famished.
“How much is the pay?” Safiro asks me between bites. When I tell him the amount, he hoots loudly.
“Girl, you’ve hit the jackpot!” he whisper-shouts as I shush him.
I chuckle. “I know, it’s a whole lot more than I hoped for. Plus, I get two weekly days off, though not the weekends, obviously, so there’s that to consider as well.”
“Please tell me you’ll take it, hon.” He looks like a puppy dog right now as he tilts his head and bats his eyelashes at me.
“Oh, I already have. I know I’m lucky to find employment given the fact that I’ll be leaving New York in a few months.” I take a fry and dip it in mayo while Safiro wrinkles his nose at me.
I chuckle. “What? We do this in Denmark all the time.”
“Ugh. It’s a disgusting habit.” He shudders and takes a bite of his sub. Dabbing his lips with a napkin, he holds up a hand and covers his mouth with the other. “Anyway, let’s not talk about you leaving, please. I’m determined to keep you here with me forever.”
I blow him a kiss. “As wonderful as that sounds, I have to go home. You know that.”
He kisses my cheek. “Not if I can help it. Now, eat up. And then I’ll tell you why I think you should violate Garrett sexually, asap.”
Laughing like a maniac, I shake my head, and we resume eating. For a while, I’m able to forget my worries, and I settle in to listen to Safiro’s fantastic dating advice.
After having said goodbye to Safiro, I head to my favourite spot: Central Park. It seems like such a cliché, or a scene from a chick-flick, but I love to come here, find a bench, and read or merely people watch for a while. Safiro’s opinion about Garrett and how I should just act on my attraction to him didn’t exactly make me change my mind about trying to keep my distance, but he did manage to make me laugh, and I’m grateful for that.
The anonymity that New York provides me with is comforting somehow. No one knows me or where I’m from. I can pretend to be anyone I want to be. A French tourist, perhaps – well, if my accent wasn’t so horrible, that is; or a famous film star from Sweden. Anyone or anything to avoid the people who seem hell-bent on picking up conversations with strangers. I don’t come here at night, of course. That would be too foolish of me.