by Angela Price
His eyes get wide. “You don’t think you can trust me?” He says it with just a hint of irony. “But I’m asking you to accompany me everywhere, Sadie, as my girlfriend. You’ll move in with me, travel with me. I’ll change everything for you.”
“Lucas, I think you just like fucking me. It’s new. It’ll wear off, just like your relationship with Gabrielle. You like her, but you’re not settled down. End quote. Remember? So you’re going to cool off, but I’ll just be heating up. I can’t take that in my life right now. I don’t have the energy.” Or the self-confidence.
“Sadie, I love fucking you. I can’t dispute that. And fucking you feels different than anything else – than any other woman. But you aren’t even giving this a chance.” he whispers. He closes his eyes. He looks hurt.
I pull away.
“Look, let’s just part amicably. I’ll help you get your things. Come on, Lucas. Get dressed.”
It’s 6:35AM when he gets into the lift, looking slightly dazed. He looks dead into my eyes. “I think you’re taking the easy way out. Sadie, look at me. Don’t you see how I feel about you? Tell me you don’t feel it, too.”
“Lucas, I see that you like a woman who’s outside of your circle of friends. I’m sure there’s a reason for that. I’ll probably see you at the atelier on Tuesday, if you come with your father.”
I step back from the elevator.
The doors move to shut. “Sadie, I think I…” They close with finality.
I walk back to the apartment, every muscle protesting.
I sniffle for an hour, and then pull myself together. I have to get ready for work. The dinner with Peter’s group is tonight. I get under the showerhead, turn the water on scalding hot, and try to give myself ten reasons to go to the house of Rosenstein. They aren’t good ones, but work has never let me down. Not even one time. So I get ready, like it’s any other day.
I make up a kick-ass outfit, and an even better one for tonight, and head off into the day, a vial of eye drops in my purse. They get the red out, right? God, I hope so.
I realize its December 10th, just two weeks until Christmas Eve.
Christmas without Lucas. The thought itself is depressing.
Chapter Seventeen
“What Were We Thinking”
Joss Stone, Introducing Joss Stone
Work goes by quickly today. It’s weird; somehow being back with my colleagues makes me forget all the craziness of the past week. I can just compartmentalize it, lock it away for later. I stay busy helping customers, and rack up several five hundred dollar-plus sales in the lingerie gallery. Our male customers are so funny. They want to know exactly what to call everything, and ask us with no guile whatsoever what we’d like, if we were getting lingerie. I find myself feeling much more confident, more womanly even, giving answers.
Yeah, now that you’ve had sex, my brain says. Whoo. All of what, three times?
What exactly is sexy? I guess it’s different things to different people. But I heap on some realistic advice, and the customers seem relieved and grateful. I pass by a mirror and look to see if I look any different, after being had so completely by Lucas.
I don’t. But my brain is different. I know things, now. Know what it feels like to be filled up by a man, to meet each other in ecstasy at the same time. I know how beautiful two people can look, enjoined; how gorgeous those body parts are together. Now you know why cavemen did all those drawings. Sex, if done right, is exquisite. Not dirty or shameful at all, the way I used to think about it. Not mean or spiteful. Just…wonderful. Necessary; I can see that now.
Maybe more necessary to some people than others; but, yes, compelling. The men want the visual part, the nakedness, the power and the fucking. The women want the connection part, the caring, and the touching. If you do it right, I guess both sides get what they want. And that’s a revelation to me.
I’m musing on all this when my cell phone vibrates in my apron. I pull it out away from customer view. It’s a local number. I accept the call.
“Hello?”
“Sadie! It’s Peter Emery.” I can tell he’s smiling; really smiling.
“Oh, hi Peter. I forgot to program your number in my phone; I wasn’t sure who this was. Are we still on for tonight?”
“You bet”, he says with a laugh. “We’re meeting at six-thirty tonight at the home of one of our members. May I pick you up?”
“That sounds good. I’ll have quite a few fabric samples with me, and printed instructions on how to take accurate lingerie measurements. I could use a hand carrying everything.”
“All right, I’ll pick you up at the shop at six on the dot. Not everyone knows you’re coming yet, so they’re going to be pleasantly surprised. I really appreciate this, Sadie.”
We ring off. I like Peter, I do. I don’t feel any weird vibes emanating from him at all. I’m curious who he’s dating or if he’s married, but I figure I’ll find that out later tonight.
I set Peter’s number in my phone with his name, and continue working. Before I know it, it’s five-thirty and Anna, Lottie and the crew are packing it in for the day. I explain to Anna what I’m doing tonight, just so someone will know where I am. I’m not worried that something will happen to me; I just like insurance that at least one person knows my whereabouts. Of course, I can’t tell her exactly where I’m going, since I don’t know myself. But telling her does feel comforting.
“Hmmm” Anna mutters. “Sadie, are you sure you know enough about these people to get involved with them?”
“I’m not sure, Anna. I mean, Violet’s brother is the one who asked me about the meeting. He seems normal enough. I didn’t think he was going to tie me up and take me away or anything like that. He was more excited than sinister.”
“Okay. But call me if anything goes south. I mean it. Oh, and take some order forms!” She laughs out loud, and I do too.
Peter knocks on the locked door of the atelier at exactly six o’clock. I like that he’s punctual. He has on a grey blazer with black wool pants, and there’s an orange scarf around his neck. He looks so handsome through the window that I almost stare, but I look down and smile instead, and open the door to let him in.
He steps inside and immediately asks how he can help me. I point to a pile of items on the cash wrap; two heavy books of fabric samples and lots of paper items I’ve prepared. There’s a bag of lingerie samples, also. He picks up the heaviest of the items, and I grab the rest after pulling on my coat. I’m wearing a black crepe pantsuit, with heavy frills down the lapel made of satin. I have on a sheer lace camisole underneath, just peeping out of the neckline. I wore my tallest suede boots, to give myself a little more height. My hair is up, with plenty of tendrils escaping, and I just re-applied my makeup. I feel confident. Ready. Pretty, even.
We step outside and Peter loads up the fabric books and papers while I set the alarm and lock up. The street is busy for early evening – people rushing to get to family dinners, or to the grocery or to pick up a few presents before heading home. I love the way the city looks, in its early darkness. It always seems happy and bustling to me. I love that. The town car waits for us and we both get inside, out of the brisk wind.
“Brr!” I laugh. “The temperature is dropping.” I rub my hands together, wishing I had thought to bring along a pair of gloves.
“Not where we’re going” Peter laughs. He turns sideways in the car to look at me. “Tell me more about you, Sadie. I realized just now the only thing I really know about you is where you work.”
I explain about moving to New York from D.C., about my father’s diner and how I still work there occasionally, and about scoring a job with Anna after fashion school graduation. He has to ask. “So, you aren’t in a relationship? I’m surprised.”
“Well, I got so busy trying to make my work dreams happen; I sort of let my personal life go to the dogs. It wasn’t intentional, Peter. And I was seeing someone a little, but we ended it. Not enough in common. So, I’m just trying to get
through the holidays, and then I can figure out what I’m doing next.”
“Don’t you ever, um, need a little companionship, Sadie? I mean, you’re really lovely. You remind me of someone. You may even get to meet her tonight; Sidney Poole. You two favor very closely. But anyway – you’re too pretty to just sit on the sidelines.”
I blush. “Thanks, Peter. I really value your opinion. But that last person I was seeing…I’m still working through everything.”
“You may meet someone tonight that you’ll like. There are a lot of available men. I know some of them might be a little, how shall we say, specialized in their bedroom interests; but almost all of them are financially comfortable. And many of them are single, and looking.”
“Are you married, Peter? Or in a relationship?”
“No, I’ve never married. I think I like my freedom too much. I just love women, Sadie. I like everything about them, and unfortunately I can’t seem to stop meeting them. So women who want to settle down with me eventually get disappointed. And, bitter.” He laughs at his last sentence. “Plus, I have my own personal needs, specialized ones, again. And that part of me doesn’t attract women who want to have kids and a mortgage.”
“I understand. How do you find people to date?”
“I mostly meet them at these dinners. And Sadie, we’re not exactly dating, if you get what I mean. Sex is easy to come by in this group. We all want the same thing, or a close version of it. I don’t lack for company.”
Hmmm. I bet you don’t, my brain whispers.
“That reminds me” he says. “I have to ask you to sign this.” He hands me a document printed on legal-sized paper, and clicks on the dome light so I can look it over. It’s a waiver.
There are several paragraphs, but the gist is that I agree to not disclose the club’s meeting locations, member’s names, or anything that happens at the gatherings. Upon penalty of litigation, I promise to uphold the secrecy of the group. And in the small print, I see there’s a six-digit fine for snitching to the paparazzi or alerting them to anything involving the club, and a disclaimer that I’m free of all venereal diseases, both curable and incurable.
I smile, thinking about my limited sexual history. This one’s a piece of cake. Peter hands me a pen, and I quickly scrawl my signature on the bottom of the page. He thanks me, and pockets the document.
“I promise you, I don’t make it a habit of compromising my customers’ private information. You can trust me, Peter.” He nods, and looks understanding.
“Look, we’re here” Peter exclaims, and we pull up to the curb. We’re on the Upper East Side, in front of a four-story building. There’s a doorman outside, waiting to help us in. We retrieve the fabric samples and other items, and are buzzed to the uppermost floor. I try to not gape at the original oil paintings in the elevator, focusing instead on the soft chamber music playing over the sound system.
The elevator opens out directly into a gorgeous space, all low light, antiques and Persian rugs. It must be all of 10,000 square feet, and that’s just what I can see. There are a lot of people here already. Most are dressed like they’re attending a very nice cocktail party. Women have on short and long dressy dresses. I’m the only female I see wearing pants, which is perfectly okay with me; I’m here to work. The men are all mostly in suits or sport coats; like they came directly from their jobs. There are a few male artistic types, with longer hair or beards, but most of the men have short hair. They look cultured.
After I’ve had a minute to set everything down at a long table on the far end of the room, I take a closer look at the women. Every one of them is classically pretty, or striking. I don’t really see any average-looking women here at all. That must be part of the mystique of these clubs: there are an inordinate amount of pretty women who want sex. Probably weird, fetish-y, hot sex. Yikes. And there are men here, attractive men, who want to have it with them. I wonder if any money changes hands, but then think better of it. These people have too much money to pay for cheap sex. They can barter for it, with trips and clothes and jewels and apartments. Sure they can. Or maybe everyone’s just getting it on with no strings.
Peter glides over the carpet with a lovely redhead on his arm. “Sadie! I told you I would introduce you to Sidney tonight!” He stops short, bringing me face to face with a woman about three years older than me. She’s prettier than I am, and thinner. But she smiles into my eyes and I smile back at her. “I’m Sadie Graves”, I say, extending my hand. “I’m Sidney Poole. I’ve read about you, in the magazines.”
That makes me laugh. “I daresay, you’ve read about Anna’s lingerie. And I owe her a lot for letting me bring out the designs. Are you going to be a customer?”
She grins. “For your specialized line, I certainly am.” She looks at me closely. “Peter thinks we look alike, and then he said Lucas Sutton discovered your line. That intrigued me.”
“How so? Lucas actually just walked into the shop and discovered the line by accident. Violet Emery is modeling one of Anna’s dresses on the cover of Cosmo next month. He was with her for the fitting.”
Peter looks sideways at Sidney. “Now, don’t go stirring anything up, Sid. Our Lucas isn’t all that cruel or weird, is he?” He laughs, a little uncomfortably.
“No, he isn’t. Just a creature of habit. Listen Sadie, don’t mind me. I’m so pleased to make your acquaintance, and I hope to see a lot more of you. With your clothes on, of course.” Her laugh sounds like a little bell. She pats my hand, turns and drifts off. The black seams of her stockings are visible as she walks away.
“Now there’s a lioness for you, darling.” Peter whistles low under his breath.
“What was all that about?” I ask. He looks pensive. “Lucas and she were married, for less than a year. They were back and forth with each other for six years or more, through the tail end of prep school and through college. After they married, she discovered this club. It ended their marriage, and sent her on what I like to think of as a personal quest. She is the most highly sought out woman in the city, and very likely the world, for her, um, preferences. She unmanned him, Sadie. Lucas has never been the same since.”
I listen without interrupting. So, that was it. I feel vindicated, almost. I understand now what it was Lucas was after.
He just wanted Sidney the whole time. I was like…a surrogate. A virginal one –that must have been a power trip for him. Great. But now that I know, I can really let the whole thing go. I did the right thing, this morning. I did. My heart stings a little, and my stomach flips over when I remember him with my nipple in his mouth, sucking and groaning, thrusting into me. Oh. Nobody unmanned that one. He’s doing just fine without his redhead. Take it from me.
I turn my attention back to Peter. “Interesting...but, none of my business whatsoever. Let me get everything laid out, and then you can tell me what to do next, okay?” He nods, and I start unpacking swatches of lace and satin, strips of durable synthetic material and batches of completely sheer gauze. There are braids and ribbon samples, too. And I brought a bag full of every design currently in production, so anyone can see how things are made and I can point out features and benefits.
There’s a large crowd at the manned bar, and the volume in the place has gone up somewhat. I estimate the crowd has swelled to over one hundred people, but I don’t have time to do a hard count. There’s a buffet against one wall that smells fabulous, and prospective couples are talking in line. There are five or six round tables for eight set up, and some of the seats are filled with people eating. It’s festive, and the Christmas lights around the room make it beautiful. I’m glad I came. No one is acting weird or suggestive.
Peter walks to the middle of the space and rings a bell. Its chimes go on for several seconds, and then quiet descends on the room. They’ve obviously used the bell before, I think.
“Good evening! And welcome. I’d like to start the evening by thanking our host, Lucas Sutton, for a lovely party.”
My mouth goes dry.
This is Lucas’ apartment? I suddenly feel sick. I’m not ready to see him yet. And here I am, at a party in his home. I eye scores of pretty women, and realize he may have been with every one of them. Oh. My breath hitches in my throat. I think back to the waiver, and hope the venereal disease clause holds true.
There’s a little cheer from the crowd, and Peter resumes his speech. “As a surprise, I invited the lovely and talented Miss Sadie Graves to join us this evening. You may have seen her lingerie designs lately from the house of Anna Rosenstein.” There’s an ooh sound from the ladies, and a collective groan from the men. A happy groan. I smile, involuntarily.
“Sadie has agreed to design customized pieces for our group, provided those of you who are interested give her specific details about what you’d like, and provide measurements. She will be here for a while, talking with you and getting ideas. You’ll have to prepay for anything she designs for you. But…” he laughs, and then continues, “You scoundrels will get exactly what you want. So be nice to lovely Sadie, don’t shock her with any stories that will scare her away, and place your orders quickly. I can’t guarantee you that she’ll be back!”
He steps down, the crowd applauds laughingly, and I prepare to meet partygoers.
They come in waves, with questions and requests that sound almost preposterous to me. Hands bound behind the back, in something almost like a corset, so the breasts jut out. Breast and crotch cut-outs, and soft materials that won’t rub harshly against the man’s private parts if the lingerie stays on during sex. Sheer crotches. Soft straps to restrain hands, feet, or knees for long periods of time, in relative comfort. Sheer things that can be worn underwater. And latex. Oh, Lord. Do they ever want latex. And nurse and schoolgirl outfits – something I can’t promise right now, but I agree to get back with individuals about.
I’ve been talking for about three hours when a hand slips to the small of my back. It’s Lucas, of course. He is followed by a server, bringing me a glass of red wine, and a tall glass of ice water. “Forgive my staff for not being perceptive enough to bring you something to drink.” He addresses me without looking at my face.