The Club

by Tara Brown writing as Sophie Starr

It’s actually a bit depressing to see all the single businessmen hang out after work. It’s a complete sausage fest with the odd woman sitting alone. She only ever lasts a few seconds before being attacked by the rabid hounds. I can see that tonight that is me. I have to assume the bags under my eyes and blank stare on my face is what is keeping them from coming over tonight.

  Tapping my finger against the table, munching on the nachos we always order, my brain is wracked wondering where the heck Bec is.

  Just as I think it, she finally strolls in, throwing her briefcase down. As always, she looks like a scattered hot mess. The sweat on her brow suggests she might have actually run here. Her clothes are disheveled and she is panting. “Sorry I’m late! There was no parking so I ran two blocks. I need to start working out.” She holds her chest as she downs the martini I ordered for her.

  “You need to stop driving so much. Your parking bills are a family’s grocery bill, be honest. Who in New York drives?”

  She flips her dark shiny hair. “I’m from Brooklyn, we drive. How was the rest of your day?” she asks through her drink glass as she tips it back, finishing it, and holding her hand in the air for another.

  “Evan and Daisy are having a baby.” I blurt out, looking down.

  “Holy crap! Seriously?” She grips my arm, clenching her jaw tight and looking at me wide eyed.

  “Yes.” I whimper, guzzling my drink back and pointing at her. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore—I signed the papers today. I just wanted to say it out loud once, just to hear how it sounded.”

  “You need to get laid.”

  The comment makes me laugh. “Yeah, and then maybe I can tell them my sob story.” I glance around the bar. “I think I'd be in good company in here, maybe we can swap sad stories.”

  “No, you need to get nasty fucked, like really dirty sex with a complete stranger. None of the suits in here.”

  I almost reach for her face to shut her up before the skeezy singles hear her comment. “No!”

  She cocks a perfect eyebrow at me. “You are only thirty-five and your tits look twenty. You do yoga and run every friggin’ day like a psycho. You are way hotter than dipshit Daisy. You have the softest, silky blond hair and those natural curls are like winning the hair lottery. You have green eyes—who even has those for real? Honestly. You are a total package. You can’t let that go to waste. You’re beautiful and successful and funny and you deserve to moan and groan a little.”

  I roll my eyes. “Oh my God, what does that even have to do with them being pregnant?”

  “You need to get back out there while you’re still sexy and young.”

  Her comment is similar to Lance’s. “Thirty-five isn’t ancient.”

  “How long has it been, Han?” She tilts her head, ready for a horrid answer.

  There is a small moment I contemplate lying—it’s fleeting and instantly shot down by the fact she will know I’m lying, which has the potential to look more pathetic than just telling the truth. “A year and a half.” I cover my face and wait for her to freak out at me.

  “What? A year and half, Hannah?” she shouts, looking flabbergasted and somehow making me feel even worse. It’s as if her shouting it out makes the time somehow longer. Like she shouted decades and my vagina has become a dusty old cave.

  I am about to freak out as she fails to recover from the shock. I grab her arm, gritting my teeth together. “Keep your voice down.”

  “Girl, a year and half!” She attempts to lower her voice, scanning the area to see if anyone heard her. Thankfully, it’s too noisy in here. “You gotta fix that. Just pick the cutest guy in here and go home with him. Let him fuck your brains out and then move on. You might be a virgin again for all you know.”

  I sigh. “Stop. I’m not doing that. I was serious about sex when I said I do to Evan. I never took it lightly before I got married and I wont now.”

  “Hannah, you can’t let this go. You’ll forget how to do it. This isn’t the fucking nineties anymore. Bitches are doing some real circus shit out there trying to get a man. These girls are whores. They take it in the ass and stick their fingers in his ass, and it’s a whole lot of ass play anyway.”

  The nachos sort of land in my stomach with a thud. Ass play?

  When she sees my expression she starts to rant and her Brooklyn ’tude takes over. “You know what you need? I know what you need. I know someone who went to this thing for singles and got that looked after, if you know what I mean. It was Jenny from work. She got separated three years ago. It rocked her world. She was a mess. After the first year her lawyer gave her this card—a black card that had a code on it. All she had to do was text this code with her name and someone would pick her up and take her somewhere. It’s crazy hush-hush. She never told me the details of it, but the next time I saw her she was rocking stilettos, a tight-ass pencil skirt, red lipstick, and a sheer blouse. She was confident again. And if you knew Jenny before, you were blown away. I mean, Jenny, she was a nerd, a crazy dorky nerd and she wore long skirts to work and no make-up. She had these big, old thick coke-bottle glasses. Her hubby left her for some younger woman and Jenny went a bit crazy. She cried every day in the bathroom for the year they were separated. When she got the divorce her lawyer was a lady who had been through the same shit. Said this singles thingy saved her life. She was ready to commit herself before she went. Jenny too. Hell, we were going to commit her. She was a wreck. After, total hottie and she married a surgeon a year later. He is fine, younger, and totally successful.” She leans in, being so serious. “She said she has never forgotten the experience and that it was badass and totally what she needed to feel like a woman again.”

  The waiter places our new drinks down, taking the old ones. I sip mine, thinking about the singles thingy. “I don’t know. That sounds weird. And I don't cry in the bathroom every day. That’s not what I want. I just can’t see going to some singles swinger party to get laid.”

  “Just think about it, okay? Maybe the swinger party will bring you back to life. Shit, if you decide you wanna go, I wanna come too,” she says giving me that look again. It’s the one where she thinks she’s hiding the pity look with humor. But I can still see all that pity.

  The pity is the same face Evan had when he told me about the baby. I gulp back my drink, shaking my head. “I just need to focus on work and get ahead. It’ll be easier to get the next promotion if I’m working all the time.”

  She rolls her dark eyes at me. “You already do that, and how happy are you?”

  “Very happy.” I eat my olive, hearing her words over and over. I swallow hard. “How would I get ahold of the swinger party? I’m new to the whole dating and sex with strangers thing, and I don't believe in paying for sex. Water and sex, two things that should be free in this world.”

  She bites her lower lip, contemplating something or looking incredibly guilty. I can’t even be sure which until she speaks. “Well, I may have done something bad. I was talking with Jenny and told her about you and the whole divorcée thing and one thing lead to another . . . anyway she gave me her card. She said she didn’t need it anymore, and to text that number on the back with your name and wait for a sign or something like that . . . I think anyway.” She furrows her brow with a look of confusion as she pulls the card from her purse.

  “You did what?”

  She nods, sliding it across the wooden table, until it’s under my hand like the dirty little secret it is. “Just take it in case.”

  “No.”

  “Evan is fucking some young piece of ass he’s gotten pregnant. He’s happy and having a blast and you are broken, Han. You are devastated and you are slowly going to withdraw now that the divorce is over. You were already bad, and him having a kid and remarrying isn’t going to make you feel better. Do something drastic, trust me. Break out of this rut.”

  I swallow hard again as I take the small card, putting it in my purse. “This is a bad idea. I am an analytical consultant for a Fortune 500 company and
my reputation is key to my success. If anyone ever found out I went to some weird swinger party, I would be fucked. In more than one way.”

  “You’ve gone through a shit year and any type of change is good. I would try it once just to say you did it and move on, like Jenny. She never went back. She went once and met her husband shortly afterward. She’s so happy it’s ridiculous.”

  “Why did she still have the card?”

  “She held onto it just in case.”

  “I’ll think about it.” I lie, biting at my lip while fighting the nerves eating away at my stomach. “But if I were to do it and it’s some fucked-up pervert fest, I may kill you for it, ok?”

  “Deal, but you have to tell me how it was if it’s not a perv fest. Actually, fuck it. If it’s crazy I doubly want to know.” She gushes and claps getting a little too excited.

  “Fine! Just no more talking about it. I don't even want to think about any of this shit. Tell me how your week was. I’m over myself.”

  She sighs, rolling her gorgeous dark eyes at me while pushing a stray piece of her dark hair out of her face. Rebecca is gorgeous. She’s close to my age and not married but she’s seeing a lawyer from work. She is happy being in the dating stage with him. Whenever he tries to push the relationship she backs off. It’s a vicious cycle, but after being married I can’t say I blame her. I can’t see myself doing it again.

  We drink several drinks as she regales me with tales of sexcapades with Andy, her man. She laughs and shakes her head, telling me about her Santa-costume sex. It’s disturbing but funny. Andy is her match in life—perverted and doesn't want kids, no matter what.

  I am blinking through the haze of my vision and trying to focus my eyes when she leans in, grinning from ear to ear. “Just try it out. Text it now and see what happens,” she says animatedly.

  I am about to say no when the song from my wedding comes on. Rebecca sits back, pointing at the ceiling. “It’s a sign. No respectable bar plays Spend My Life With You. Who even chooses Eric Benét for their wedding song? It’s cheesy.”

  I gulp back nachos and heartbreak as I pull the card out.

  The song brings with it memories, painful ones. Evan’s hands are on my back, pressing me into him. If I close my eyes I can see his face, smiling down on me. He looked so excited and happy. It’s the same face he gave Daisy earlier. The thought of that makes me gag. I nod. “Okay.” I pull my cell out, and nervously enter the number to text with my name in the dialogue box. I press send and watch as it delivers to another iPhone. My insides instantly light up with regret and anxiety.

  “Did you do it?” She grabs my cell, checking to see.

  “Yes, I did!” I snatch my cell phone back and put both the card and it back into my purse.

  “Hannah, this is going to be good for you.” She smiles but I don't think she’s right. I actually feel all my drinks and my nachos coming back up with the regret.

  Of course when I get home, alone, I curl up in my bed after my hot shower and promise myself I won’t do the stupid swinger party thing. I don't need it. I just need to move on. This day just has to end for me. It was a rough day but it’s over now and Bec is right, I need to move on.

  Chapter Three

  A week later

  “I swear, I’ve not gotten anything.” I pause, waiting for her disbelief to filter through in her tone.

  “Just tell me you didn't delete it, I’ll be so mad.” Even over Facetime I can see she is completely convinced I deleted it.

  “Honestly, no text, no one ringing my doorbell, nothing. I swear!” I grit my teeth, hating that I actually feel let down by the fact I wasn't invited for an orgy with singles from the city. I just pray she doesn't see the disappointment on me.

  “Really? Well, this sucks, Han. I was really hoping you would hear something by now. I wanna know about the all-night orgies the swingers have. It felt like being part of a naughty secret.” She sighs, clearly frustrated. I don't want her to know I am.

  “I’m going to just throw the card in the garbage unless you want to give it back to Jenny and tell her thanks for trying.”

  She shakes her head. “I’m coming over. We’re going out.” Her sentence is almost cut off because she hangs up so quickly. I don't change or even attempt getting ready. I don't even want her to come over if I’m being honest but that would hurt her feelings. She is the antichrist of my wallowing.

  The moment the door opens, I hold the card out to her, waiting for her to take it but she looks at it like it’s a poisoned apple and I’m a decrepit old bag lady. “What?”

  I shake it at her. “Take it.”

  “I can’t take it back. That is what Jenny said—once Jenny has given it to a person she deems worthy, she can’t get it back. She has had her chance with it and now it’s your turn.”

  I cock an eyebrow. “What does that even mean, she can’t take it back?”

  She shrugs. “One of the rules, I guess.” She seems nonchalant about the fact there are rules.

  “Rules? What kind of orgy has rules? I don't want to do this. This is crazy.”

  “Should I play your wedding song again and braid your hair like Daisy’s surely is?” She narrows her gaze, giving me a hateful stare.

  “That was mean,” I point out, but when she doesn't relent on her hatefulness, I lift my hands in the air. “Okay fine. It can stay in my purse and rot. Maybe I’ll find some poor girl who has had the same shitty experience I have but maybe they’ll actually call her.”

  “Don’t be so bitter and cynical, Hannah.” She takes my hand and drags me from the apartment. We end up at the pub she likes, mainly because she likes to ogle the wait staff. I don't even realize she’s nattering on as I’m staring out the window until she pinches me. “Eat your wrap! You’re looking hungry these days, all skinny and wasting away to nothing.”

  I sneer back. “I am working a lot right now.” I take the wrap and shove it in my mouth, making sure she sees me chomp on every bite like a savage. She turns her nose up when pieces start to fall from my lips. I wash it down with my beer, moving my head like a snake to get it all down.

  “You’re an animal.”

  I nod. “I know.”

  When lunch is over and I’m walking back home, I realize I’m more depressed with her being gone than I was before. I was fine wallowing before she made me stop and look. Now I feel like shit and I know part of it is that I hate that the stupid swinger club hasn't called me. I have a terrible feeling I’m too old or I am not their type.

  I walk in the door, startled by the greeting from George, my doorman, “Evening Ms. Edwards.” He smiles softly as he opens the door for me.

  I try hard to smile back, realizing he’s called me ms. He is aware I am divorced. He used to call me mrs. “Thank you, George.” I walk through the door like I am in a haze but he taps my arm gently. “Ms. Edwards, I almost forgot, there’s a package that arrived for you today while you were out.”

  “What kind of package?” I ask as he walks to the desk to grab it for me. It must be my divorce papers. I don't actually want those for anything other than to burn.

  “A man in a suit came and dropped it off. I didn't recognize him as any of the other couriers and his suit was awfully fine.” He shrugs.

  “It’s probably just some paperwork.” I walk to his desk, taking what appears to be more of a dress box than anything else. It doesn't look like paperwork at all and smells of expensive perfume. The white box is wrapped with expensive ribbon. I shake my head, trailing my fingers along it. “Hmm . . .” I truly don't have anything else to add to the mystery of the box.

  “Looks awfully expensive. Maybe it’s a gift from Mr. Markson. Perhaps he wants to reconcile. Only high-end shops wrap this way.”

  The idea that Evan wants to reconcile is almost amusing. “Thank you and have a good evening, George.” I nod, turning and practically running for the elevator.

  When I get inside, I glance down at the white box as ideas and thoughts run through my head
. Who would send me a dress box?

  “Shit!”

  The idea of who starts to make me nervous. What if this is from the orgy people and they want me to orgy tonight? Is that a verb? What if they want me to swing with them? Maybe I am worthy, they just didn't have an event planned out until tonight.

  “Oh my God.”

  My stomach drops a little as the elevator door finally opens to my floor. Gripping to the pretty box too tightly, I make a beeline for my apartment, basically kicking my door open and slamming it shut behind me.

  The box becomes bigger there, with just the two of us in the room. Suddenly it is linked to hopes and dreams inside of me, this strange little box. I don't even know why I want it but I do. Maybe it’s because someone might want me.

  I take gulping breaths, still pinning my back against the door but slowly sliding down it as I place the box on the floor and stare at it. The smell of the perfume is intoxicating.

  Carefully, taciturnly, I open it up—pulling the lilac tissue paper away to find an envelope and a pink mask embellished with jewels and sequins. The black lace trimming the edges blends into whatever is in the bottom of the box. I place the mask and envelope on the lid of the box and start pulling more paper away revealing a dress.

  I lift it up and hold it in the air, gazing at the beautiful dark-pink fabric and noticing there isn’t much to it. It couldn't be shorter. It’s not dress—it’s something hookers wear and not the thirty-five-year-old ones.

  I set it down and open the envelope, reading it carefully.

  Dear Ms. Edwards,

  Please join us for an evening you will never forget, one where your dreams will come true and all your fantasies will be fulfilled.

  There will a lady to pick you up at 9:00 pm sharp, no later. Be ready for her when she comes. She will explain everything to you.

  Sincerely,

  LB

  Who is LB? Could it be a woman or a man? Would that make it better?

  Nerves eat at me as my brain mutters softly from the recesses of its darkest parts. “How bad can it be?”