The Club

by Lauren Rowe

  I realize Kat’s been talking.

  “What?” I ask. “I’m sorry, I zoned out for a minute.”

  “I’m just trying to figure out where he’s taking you.”

  “I have no idea,” I say. “Where in the tropical world does a girl need hiking boots with extra-thick tread?”

  She grimaces. “Maybe he’s going to hurl you into a volcano.”

  “God, I hope not. Getting chucked into a gurgling pit of lava would not be my preferred ending to this story.”

  She giggles. “That would definitely be anti-climactic.”

  I grin. That was a funny choice of words right there.

  We both pause to sip our beers.

  “So, what did he say about your chat with Georgia?” she asks.

  My stomach drops. “I haven’t told him about it yet.” I blush. “When I talked to him last night, it didn’t feel like the right time to tell him about it.”

  Jonas and I had a heart-racing conversation last night about how much we missed each other and couldn’t wait for our trip. He was effusive, and explicit, in telling me just how much he missed me and wanted to see me. Well, and touch me. And kiss me. And taste me. And make love to me. It just didn’t feel like the right moment to tell him about my conversation with Georgia.

  Kat looks at me skeptically.

  “He seemed like he was under a lot of stress to get his deal done before leaving on our trip. I figured it’d be better to tell him about it tomorrow, in person.”

  Kat pointedly takes a long swig of her beer.

  I sigh, exasperated. “And, yes, I’m a little bit worried maybe he’s going to be upset with me for going to talk to her.”

  Kat rolls her eyes. “Why on earth would he be upset?”

  I sigh, collecting my thoughts. No, that’s not it, either. “I don’t know. My conversation with Georgia just felt so game changing. It made me ... My attraction just went to a whole new level, that’s all. And I’d rather talk to him about it in person.” I blush.

  Kat squeals. “Oh, girl, you’re a goner.”

  I sigh. “Yeah, I’m freaking out just a wee bit.”

  “Oh, Sarah, don’t overthink it. Just enjoy it. He’s obviously—”

  I gasp and grab Kat’s forearm. She instantly stops talking.

  The software engineer just bellied up to the bar on the other side of Kat.

  I crick my neck toward him, but I’m not sure Kat understands what I’m trying to communicate.

  The guy takes a seat on the stool next to Kat and acknowledges her with a friendly, “Hi.” She replies in kind. Apparently, I’m invisible, but that’s okay, seeing as how I’d like to crawl under a rock right about now, anyway.

  Wow, he’s got quite a spring in his step tonight. He looks nothing like the lonely fellow I saw leaving his building to grab a sandwich all by himself. The man’s downright bursting with hopeful anticipation.

  I bang my knee into Kat’s knee. When she looks at me, I silently mouth the words, “That’s him.”

  Her eyes go wide, and she inhales sharply.

  “Are you rooting for Kentucky or Connecticut?” the software engineer asks Kat, motioning to a basketball game on one of the television screens above the bar. As he does, I can plainly see the yellow bracelet on his wrist.

  “Uh. Neither. I don’t follow basketball,” Kat answers. She drinks down the last few drops of her beer.

  “Can I buy you another one?” he asks.

  Wait just a cotton-pickin’ minute. Does he not understand the rules of The Club? Kat’s not wearing a yellow bracelet. Why is he hitting on her? Even if she were in The Club, which she’s not, it would be up to her to decide whether or not to approach him.

  “Sure,” Kat answers. “Thanks.”

  I practically slap my forehead in disbelief. Why did Kat say yes to him? I bang Kat’s knee under the bar again, but what I really want to do is smack her upside the head. She turns to me and shrugs innocently. That’s Kat for you. Ted Bundy could offer her a free mojito and she’d gladly accept.

  “And for you, too, of course,” the software engineer says, grinning at me. “Hi.”

  I guess I’m not invisible after all. I try to smile back and nod, but I’m freaking out. What the hell is going on here? He shouldn’t be talking to us right now. A woman specifically matched to him—a woman who is uncannily compatible with him and his sexual preferences and fantasies and romantic hopes—is going to walk through the door any minute. And she’s coming here just to meet him. Heck, she might already be here, watching him right this very second, trying to decide if she wants to slip her yellow bracelet onto her wrist and identify herself or turn on her heel and flee.

  I make a big point of checking my watch so Mr. Yellow can see that I am not—emphatically not—wearing a yellow bracelet right now.

  “Kat,” I say. “I think my watch died. What time is it right now?” I stretch out my wrist, yet again, for the benefit of my software engineer. See? No bracelet. I’m hoping Kat will get a clue and display her bare wrist, too.

  But before Kat can even process my question, the guy looks at his watch. “Seven-oh-five,” he says.

  The bartender puts two tall beers in front of us.

  “Thank you so much,” Kat says, raising her glass to Mr. Yellow. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers,” he replies enthusiastically.

  I try to squeak out a polite “thank you,” but nothing comes out of my moving lips. I’m really anxious.

  Everyone takes a sip but me.

  I glance around. Is his Miss Yellow here? I look around the bar for a loner-ish, normal-ish, sweet-looking woman—perhaps a nurse or patent lawyer or dentist or computer programmer?—who’s intently watching him from a corner of the bar. Nope. I don’t see a single woman in this entire bar paying him any attention whatsoever.

  He tilts his head toward Kat like he’s about to tell her a secret. “So, I’m crossing my fingers and toes right now that you’re in The Club?” His face is awash in hope and excitement.

  Oh God, did he really just ask her that? Did he not read a word of the instructions in his welcome package? How could he not understand the way this works? He’s a goddamned software engineer! How hard can this be? Does he seriously think every knockout at this bar is here specifically for him? I’m not trying to be cruel here, but come on. The Club matches people up—that’s the whole point—and Kat is a frickin’ ten. A flaming, raging, unquestionable ten. Every man on planet earth wants a woman like Kat. There is no person alive, no standard of beauty in any culture, that wouldn’t view Kat as an ideal manifestation of perfect beauty. And this guy is sweet. Unassuming. Normal. But you know, a four, if he’s lucky. Well, maybe a five on a good day. And unless he runs a publishing empire or invented the Internet or runs a global organization dedicated to eradicating human trafficking or discovered Justin Timberlake or belongs to Doctors Without Borders, his chances with Kat are slim to none. The Club might boast the ability to make a guy’s dreams a reality, but it can’t turn water into wine, people. Wow, I’m getting kind of riled up here.

  Kat shifts in her chair and turns her head to look at me. Her expression is one of utter befuddlement.

  “No,” she says softly. “Just here to grab a beer with my friend. Thank you again for supporting the cause.” She raises her beer in salute to him. Her tone is gracious. This is not a cruel kiss-off. This is a kind kiss-off.

  But he looks totally deflated nonetheless. “Oh.”

  Poor thing. But what did he expect? That he’d be Charlie and The Club would be his own personal Chocolate Factory come to life? Come on.

  There’s an awkward pause.

  “Well,” I say, trying to alleviate the discomfort. And I’m about to say something more—something lame and not helpful, I’m sure—when I’m interrupted.

  “Hi there,” says a voice from the other side of Mr. Yellow. He turns to look at the source of the greeting, and so do I. And much to my shock and horror and total dismay and confusion, the
woman standing on the other side of my little software engineer, the woman who just said hello to him, the woman who’s smiling at him and batting her eyelashes—and blatantly displaying a goddamned yellow bracelet on her wrist—is none other than Miss Purple from the other night. Stacy. Stacy the Faker. The totally hot woman Jonas fucked mere days ago, wishing she were me.

  I quickly look down at my hands on the bar. Oh my God, Jonas’ penis was inside that woman. I cringe. And his tongue touched her ... I can’t finish the thought. I want to barf.

  “Hi,” my software engineer says, his voice spiking with excitement. “Please, have a seat.”

  “Well, I don’t want to interrupt anything,” Stacy says, glaring at Kat. She touches her hair and makes a big show of flashing her yellow bracelet again. “But I was hoping to talk to you for a bit.” She shoots daggers at Kat again.

  “No, please,” Kat says, motioning for Stacy to take a seat. “He’s all yours. I’m just here with my friend.”

  Stacy’s eyes lock onto me and then dart back to Kat. And just that fast, her eyes flash with unmistakable recognition.

  “Yes, please, have a seat,” my little software engineer says. He holds up his yellow bracelet right next to hers. “I’ve been waiting for you.” His head is turned away from me, looking at Stacy, but based on Stacy’s wide smile, I’d guess he’s smiling broadly at her, too. “I’m Rob,” he says, putting out his hand. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Nice to meet you, Rob,” Stacy says, her tone flirty. “I’m Cassandra.”

  Cassandra? What the hell?

  “Do you like basketball?” my little software engineer—Rob—asks, motioning to the TVs.

  “I love it.” Stacy grins. “Especially college ball. I don’t really follow the NBA—until play-offs, of course.”

  “Same here!” Rob says, elated. “Exactly what I always say.”

  “You wanna go sit?” Stacy asks, motioning to a corner booth. Her eyes wander ever so briefly to me and flash, just for a nanosecond, with undisguised contempt.

  “Absolutely.”

  The two lovebirds get up and move toward the corner of the bar.

  “Well, nice talking to you,” Kat says sarcastically to Rob’s back when he’s out of earshot. She turns to me, her face awash in disgust. “Holy shitballs,” Kat says. “What the hell is she doing here?”

  I shake my head, thoroughly confused. I open my mouth to speak, but close it again. I have no idea what she’s doing here.

  “Sarah, she’s wearing a yellow bracelet,” Kat whispers urgently, as if I hadn’t noticed. “I thought she was purple?”

  Now my mouth is hanging open. I don’t even know what to say. Even if Stacy were, theoretically, assigned two different compatibility colors (which, based on my understanding, is impossible), how on earth could she possibly be a match for both Jonas and the software engineer—two men who are polar opposites in every way? That’d be like saying, “I like incorrigible man-whores and virginal boy-next-door types. I like savage fuck machines and guys who love rainbows and baby chicks. I like men with raging God complexes and indefatigable hard-ons and mendicants sworn to a vow of poverty, chastity and obedience.” You couldn’t even say Jonas and Mr. Yellow are two sides to the same coin—they’re a frickin’ Euro and a nickel. Does not compute.

  “I thought the colors don’t mix. Purples get matched with purples, yellows with yellows.”

  “Right. A purple can’t even see a yellow’s check-ins. It’s all separated by color-code.”

  “Well, then, how did that woman show up to meet both Jonas and Mr. Software Engineer, too?”

  Exactly what I’m wondering.

  A guy sits next to Kat at the bar. Wow, he’s really cute.

  “Hey,” he says. “I’m Cameron.” Oh boy, he’s just her type. Dark, athletic. Gleaming white teeth.

  “Hi,” Kat replies, instantly distracted from the conundrum of why Stacy is here to meet Mr. Yellow. “Kat.” She puts out her hand and he shakes it.

  “Cat? Like meow?”

  She laughs. Oh, she’s already in full flirt mode. “Yeah, but with a ‘K.’ Katherine. But call me Kat.”

  “Nice to meet you, Kat. Can I call you Kitty Kat?”

  Kat giggles. “Absolutely not—at least not yet. You’ve got to earn the privilege.”

  It takes all my restraint not to roll my eyes. Oh, Kat.

  “I’m going to the ladies’ room,” I mumble, getting up from my stool.

  Kat peels her eyes off her new admirer just long enough to nod her acknowledgment of my departure.

  I steal a glance at my little software engineer—Rob. He’s sitting at a table, smiling broadly, deep in conversation with Stacy. Or Cassandra. Or whatever her name is. His face is glowing with excitement. Oh, it’s hard to watch—his heart is on his sleeve. I feel sick to my stomach. I can’t figure this out. But whatever’s going on, it can’t be good for him. He came here for love tonight—I know he did—and something tells me he’s going to be sorely disappointed. If not crushed.

  In the bathroom, my head is spinning. I’m so confused.

  Just as I’m drying my hands with a paper towel, the door opens and Stacy bursts in.

  She beelines right to me. She’s not even pretending she came in here to pee. She bends over to check for feet in the two stalls. Finding none, she whips back up and leans into me.

  “I saw you and your friend at the check-in with the hottie, and now, gee, what a coincidence, here you are again, both of you, at this check-in with the nerd. What the fuck?”

  I’m speechless. My mind isn’t processing fast enough to come up with an explanation for our presence at both locations. But why is she on the offense? What the hell was she doing at both check-ins?

  “Did the agency send you?” she barks at me. It feels like more of an accusation than a question.

  I open my mouth to speak.

  “They don’t think I can handle this guy on my own, is that it? They think he needs some additional options, just in case I’m not acceptable to him? That’s bullshit.” She’s seething. “I don’t need backups. I’ve never once not closed a guy. Not once. And this one’s already slobbering all over me, like they all do.”

  I shake my head. “No, I . . .”

  “This is my territory,” she fumes, taking a menacing step closer to me. “They think they’ve gotta send not one but two other girls to back me up?”

  “Nobody sent us. It’s just a coincidence,” I finally manage.

  “Ha! Fuck you,” she seethes, her nostrils flaring. “You tell the agency—was it Oksana who sent you?—you tell Oksana this is my account, my territory, my score—and I don’t need anybody checking up on me or making a play for my sloppy seconds.” She leans right into my face, her eyes narrowed to slits. “Don’t fuck with me, bitch.” With that, she turns on her heel and marches out of the bathroom, leaving me standing with my mouth agape.

  I steal a glance at my alarm clock. 3:20 a.m. My alarm is set to go off in ten minutes, so I lean over and turn it off with a groan. Jonas is going to be here to pick me up for the airport in just over an hour, and I haven’t gotten a wink of sleep all night long. Ever since I laid my head down on my pillow at midnight, I’ve been tossing and turning, my mind racing, thinking about my horrific encounter with Stacy in the bathroom, and the horrific implications of what she said to me. Worst of all, the thing that’s kept me awake above all else, is wondering how I’m going to tell Jonas about all of it. I’ve been such an idiot working for this disgusting organization. No wonder the women in The Club are so perfectly compatible with the men. They’re paid to be. Stacy, or whatever her name is, is a frickin’ prostitute, plain and simple. For the right fee, she’ll be anybody’s perfect match. For hours, I’ve lain here in my bed, staring at the ceiling, the full weight of the situation dawning on me.

  I head into the bathroom and brush my teeth. I’ve got a headache.

  I work for an online whorehouse. A global brothel. That’s bad enough. But the
men buying these women’s services don’t even know what they’re buying. That poor software engineer joined The Club to find love—I’m sure of it. He thought this was a high-priced, exclusive dating service; he really, really did. And even someone like Jonas, who clearly didn’t sign up to find his soul mate, at least craved honesty with his partners.

  He’s going to be furious. Probably humiliated. Most certainly disgusted. I just don’t know him well enough to know how he’ll react. It makes me physically sick to think about breaking this news to him. I didn’t want to do it over the phone when I got home last night, so I waited—but I certainly don’t want to ambush him with the news during our trip, either. Maybe I should have called him with the news the minute I got home? But, no, it just didn’t feel right to tell him over the phone.

  I hop in the shower, my mind reeling like it’s been all night.

  When I first got home from the sports bar, I was beside myself, trying to figure out what to do. After a while, I texted Jonas, just to see if he was still awake, perhaps hoping he’d call me and make my decision easy about whether or not to tell him over the phone. He texted back right away to say he couldn’t wait to see me, that he was going crazy missing me, that it felt like a month since he’d laid his hands on me.

  “Only a few more hours!” he texted. But he didn’t call.

  “See you soon!” I texted back.

  “I’ve got something big to tell you!” he replied. “Bwahahahahaaaa!”

  My stomach lurched with anxiety. So do I, I thought. But what I texted back was, “Can’t wait.”

  Chapter 22

  Jonas

  I didn’t think it was possible, but I’ve forgotten just how beautiful she is during the three days we’ve been apart. When she opens the door to her apartment, I feel like I’m being reunited with the girl who waited for me to come home from fighting a brutal war. I can’t help taking her face into my hands and kissing her deeply. She tastes good. Minty.