Inside the Storm

by Michael James

  “And how do you front the business? I want it to be classy,” I said.

  “We’d need to make some changes when we move here, but we could do that.”

  “I’d need creative license in those decisions.”

  “Well…” the egg-shaped weasel started to interject.

  “That would be non-negotiable,” I added, cutting him off.

  Randy made no attempt to hide his annoyance, but he said nothing.

  “Well, let me think some more on it and you do the same. John will be in touch if we are interested, and you can let us know your thoughts then. Tell me, Randy, what is the name of your club again?” I asked.

  “Leather Shots.”

  I did my very best not to cringe. I wasn’t going to tell him the name needed to change now. I’d pushed hard enough for a first meeting.

  “I appreciate your time,” I said, shaking his cold, sweaty hand. “Let John know if you have any questions.”

  With that, I jumped back in my car and picked a place for lunch. I always met my brother for lunch on Saturdays, and he would be a perfect sounding board for both my conundrum with Rochelle and my thoughts on this club. Talking about a kink club was right up Jason’s alley.

  The morning sun is shining right on my face. My sheer curtain does nothing to stop the sun from coming into my studio apartment, but I am happy to see that the storm has blown over and the sun is out. I sure hope that means I can recover from last night. Ugh - last night. I don’t even want to think about it. I have to focus on moving forward, so that means there is no room to dwell on things I cannot change.

  I get out of bed and go to my kitchen that is only about six feet from my bedroom. I got out the coffee can from the refrigerator and grabbed my last filter from the package. I’ll have to remember to get more today.

  After I got my coffee brewing, I brushed my teeth in the bathroom sink, which is basically in my kitchen. My apartment is probably smaller than a motel room, but it’s a roof over my head. I don’t need a lot of space. After all, it’s just me here. I don’t ever have company coming over so it really doesn’t matter that I don’t live in a huge apartment.

  When the coffee is ready, I make a cup with my favorite sweet creamer and add a little sugar. I took it over with me to my bed and sat it on the end table. I folded up my blankets, then folded my bed so it converted back into a couch. I arranged the cushions, then sat to enjoy my morning coffee while it was still hot. There are days that I don’t bother with making the bed back into a couch, but today I am feeling like I just want to chill and be comfy.

  I hear my cell phone ringing. Where the hell did I put my purse when I came in last night? I bend to look over the arm of the couch and spot my purse on the floor. My phone stops ringing before I can get it out. I need to see who it was. I need the money, so I am hoping that it was Randy asking me to come to work earlier than I was scheduled.

  When I go to get my phone out of my purse, there is a note sitting on top of it. I unfold the paper to read it.

  ‘Rochelle - I don’t know what scared you off so quickly tonight, but I sincerely hope it wasn’t me. There’s something about you that I know I won’t soon forget, and I would love a chance to get to know you, and for you to get to know me. Please call me if you would be willing to give me a chance in a slightly less off-putting environment. This is way outside my comfort zone, but I hope to hear from you soon.

  -Blake’

  I don’t even know what to think right now. Why would a guy like him be interested in a girl like me? Did he take one look at the fancy dress and sees someone I am not? I looked at his handwritten note again. I wonder what he means by out of his comfort zone. A guy like him seems pretty damn confident. I bit my fingernail. Should I take the leap and call him? I don’t really have anything to lose, right?

  Hell with it, I picked up my phone and dialed his number. My heart is beating a mile a minute as I wait for him to answer.

  “Blake Hargreaves,” he answers.

  “Hi, Blake, it’s Rochelle. Is this a bad time?”

  “Not at all. I’m so glad you called,” he says, his voice rising in a way that makes me think he is truly happy to hear from me. “To be honest, I didn’t think that you would. I was afraid I’d done something to offend you last night.”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong. I know this sounds cliché, but it was me, not you.” God, I sounded so stupid.

  I hear him exhale as he says, “That’s a relief. You really made an impact on me, and I know that might sound very forward, or even strange, but I would very much like to see you again. Is there any chance I could take you out for dinner tonight?”

  I bite my nails, at a loss for words. “I would like that, but I have to work tonight until nine.”

  “I was thinking about doing some work of my own tonight so that would actually be perfect. I would have absolutely put it on hold if earlier had been better, but if you don’t think it’s too late, I would love to take you out for a late dinner, or just dessert if you’ve already eaten. Anywhere we can just sit and chat. I don’t know anything about you, and I hope we can change that.”

  “There's a coffee shop around the corner from where I live. If it isn’t out of your way and too late, we can meet there at 9:30.”

  “That sounds perfect,” he replies. “Just text me the name of the shop and I’ll be there. I have no plans for tomorrow and probably would have just spent the evening in my lonely booth again tonight, so this is perfect.”

  “Your booth, huh? Does it have your name on it?” I joke with a little giggle in my voice.

  “Not the booth, but the deed to the club does, so I feel like I can call it mine,” he replies with a little sarcasm in his voice, but with a tone that tells me he isn’t kidding.

  Wow! He owns the country club! Who in the hell is this man? I feel so stupid - my joke was so lame.

  “I guess you have every right to call it yours then. I have to go to work in a few minutes. I’ll text you the name of the coffee shop once we hang up.”

  “I will see you there,” he responds, a cool calm to his voice, but still with a hint of excitement. “Here’s hoping I get to see you for a little longer this time.”

  “I hope I don’t disappoint you, Blake. See you later.”

  “Not possible,” he responds immediately. “See you then.”

  I hang up the phone and fall face-first into the couch cushion. What the hell did I just do?! Have I lost my goddamn mind? I scream at the top of my lungs, the cushion muffling the sound, but the outburst does nothing to subside my anxiety. This guy owns a country club and I live in a studio apartment that is probably the size of his closet. I am in over my head, I just know it. Why did I call him? He is going to sit and chat with me over coffee. He’ll learn that we have nothing in common and move on. He’ll realize soon enough that our worlds don’t mesh. I laugh, imagining what it would be like to bring a rich guy to my place. He’d take one look around and hightail it out of here. My hand covers my mouth as I look around the small space that I call mine. Thank God I am not bringing him here. He might think that I am after his money and not him. I am not a gold digger, but he wouldn’t know that.

  I sent Blake a text with the coffee shop's name. If he is smart he’ll google it, see that I don’t live in the best neighborhood, and spare himself the trouble of showing up tonight. Honestly, I wouldn’t blame him if he did stand me up.

  I picked up my coffee, which is now cold, and took it to the kitchen area to dump it out in the sink. I decided to make a fresh cup before I called Randy. I need a lot more hours this week. I need to get that sign removed from my door as soon as possible or I may become homeless.

  I glance at the clock above the bar for what feels like the hundredth time. It’s almost seven. Randy agreed to give me extra hours today, but only waiting tables. Even though I am not being someone’s ultimate fantasy, I still had to dress in this slutty, leather outfit with fishnet stockings. I am a bit frustrated that Randy only l
et me waitress today. I just don’t make anywhere near the money as a waitress that I would make as the submissive little sex toy. Money is money, so I should be grateful. I look at the clock again. Of course, it hasn’t moved. Two more hours of wearing these degrading clothes. I long for the day that I don’t have to dress like this ever again.

  “Rochelle, I need you to clean up the corner booth. I have a very important potential business partner coming in about ten minutes.”

  “You got it, Randy.” I roll my eyes.

  Yeah, I'm sure it’s some big shot! Randy always thinks he’s going to get a business partner to bail him out of his debt and turn this place around. If Randy would pay his bills instead of just blowing all his money, he wouldn’t need a partner at all.

  I clean the table as asked, then yell to Randy, “I am taking a break. I’m going out for a smoke.”

  “No more than fifteen minutes. You are on the clock.”

  I flip him the middle finger behind his back and go out the side door. Leaning against a wall, I light my cigarette and rub the back of my neck. I am starting to get butterflies in my belly. I am getting really nervous about meeting Blake. I like him. He seems like a super nice guy. And he smells so damn good. There is this huge part of me that wants him to like me. I am terrified feeling that way. Plus, I don't want him to think I am after his money. That is so not the case.

  The door swings open and Renee peeks her head outside, disturbing my thoughts.

  “Hey, Randy wants you inside. He wants you to wait on his table.”

  Ugh - it’s only been a few minutes. I haven’t even finished my smoke.

  Although I am irritated, I butt my cigarette out and go back inside. I walk over toward the corner booth, picking up a tray on my way.

  My eyes go wide. “Blake?”

  “Rochelle?” his voice is filled with pure shock.

  “What are you doing here?” My voice was as shocked as his.

  I don’t wait for his answer. I set the tray down on the table and run out the side door. I lean on the wall and I feel like I am going to get sick. What the hell is he doing here? Blake is definitely not going to want coffee now.

  I hadn’t even wanted to meet Randy again, but he’d texted me asking if I could come and see the club. Perhaps he thought he could appeal to my baser instincts in order to strengthen his negotiating power, but I had little interest in places like this, apart from the money they might make me. Don’t get me wrong, a beautiful woman is always a sight to see, but I never cared for the idea of exploitation. Sitting in a place like this offered no challenge.

  Seeing the pathetic guys sitting around ogling the ladies made me a little sad. I could see the excitement in their faces every time one of the women made eye contact or smiled. Did these men really have themselves fooled into believing that the women were interested in them? That they welcomed their open stares or enjoyed their advances? These women were expert actresses; their smiles and body language honed to perfection, but none of them wanted to be here. Most were likely desperate for the cash and looking to get out as soon as they could manage. That didn’t matter to the desperate fools pouring money into overpriced drinks and paying top dollar to take the ladies back to the private side.

  When I first received Randy’s message asking to meet here, I’d considered declining, but I wanted this chance to see if the club was exactly as advertised. As soon as I’d set foot in the door, it was obvious that my concerns about this place were correct. I requested a tour of the other half of the building, but Randy said that the rooms were all closed off and there was nothing to look at. When I asked to see the security tapes, he refused, citing some legal issues about me being a non-employee. I wasn’t buying his BS at all, there was something nefarious going on, and he thought he could hide it from me. I was about to politely excuse myself when he called out to one of the men and demanded that Roxy bring some more drinks.

  “You’ll love Roxy,” he said with a disgusting grin. “She’s one of my best, but she’s just working the floor tonight. Never had a girl quite like her in here. Don’t get me wrong – all my girls are smoking hot, but Roxy has something extra. I can’t describe it, but you’ll see.”

  I nodded my head politely, secretly finding it amusing that Randy thought that parading some girl in front of me would make me overlook the rest of his dump and give him some kind of upper hand. I was already ninety percent sure that I was going to walk away. I could start my own club and do a hell of a lot better job, but I didn’t want to be rude, so I waited to meet this Roxy. Since Randy had nothing of interest left to say, we fell into an awkward silence. Randy finished his cheap drink and I stared blankly at the clock on the wall until a movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention.

  Looking up, I saw a familiar face – one that I’d been thinking about all day – walking toward me. She was picking up a tray and not looking at me, so I had a moment to observe her. She was just as beautiful as the night before, despite her atrocious outfit and fake smile. The tawdry lights of the club played in her hair and highlighted the angles of her face. I felt a pang of sympathy for her, she didn’t belong here. I’d considered the worst possibility the night before, but the truth was that her job was only slightly better than prostitution. That being said, I didn’t care what she did. I wanted to know who she was.

  My eyes were already on her when she finally looked up and stuttered my name.

  “Rochelle?” I asked, not sure if I should call her Roxy.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked with wide eyes. I could actually see the color draining from her face.

  I was opening my mouth to respond when she dropped her tray and once again ran away from me. Randy was looking quite confused. “You know her?” he asked.

  “Sort of,” I responded, not intending to give him any more information. “I’ve seen enough. I appreciate the invite and the drink, but I really must be going.”

  “But you haven’t even finished your drink,” Randy protested.

  “That’s because you serve shitty drinks,” I said, my mind only half in the moment and no longer worried about being polite. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

  I slid from the booth and jogged out to my car, but, once again, she was gone. Of all the bad luck, why did she have to work in this club? She’d assume that I was no longer interested, or worse, that if I was, I was only trying to take advantage of what she did for a good time. My attraction had nothing to do with any of that. Rochelle had my attention, and I needed to understand why and see if there was something more to be discovered.

  I checked my watch and saw that I still had some time before we were supposed to meet for coffee. I still planned to go, even if the odds of her showing up were next to zero. I pulled the address up and my phone showed me where it was. It was in a part of town not known for being all that nice. I contemplated my car and the suit I was wearing. Showing up like that would possibly get me mugged, but my bigger concern was actually how it would look to Rochelle. I didn’t want to give the appearance that I thought I was better than her, or that I thought I could buy her.

  I sped back to my penthouse and changed into some jeans and a t-shirt before flagging down a cab on the corner of my building. The desire to impress Rochelle was as strong as any man’s desire to impress a lady, but I didn’t want to do it with my money. She clearly knew I had it already, but I wanted her to see that I wasn’t a snob. I scrolled through emails on my phone during the ride, trying to distract myself from the thought that she probably wouldn’t show up. At least I had her number now, but I had the feeling that if she didn’t want to see me tonight, she probably wouldn’t want to talk to me either. My heart sank when the cab dropped me out front. At this hour, the coffee shop wasn’t crowded, and she clearly wasn’t there. I was a few minutes early, so I wasn’t going to write this off just yet. There was still hope.

  I sat at a table in the back corner and waited. With each passing minute, it seemed less likely that she woul
d come. I had just glanced down at my phone to check the time when I heard the faint chime of bells that indicated the door had opened. I looked up, and Rochelle was there. My heart skipped a beat. Her hair was down, and she was wearing a casual sundress that gave her a ‘girl-next-door’ look. A group of guys who had entered behind her were not being discreet about admiring her body. It wasn’t my imagination - she was beautiful. Classically gorgeous in a way that most women could never hope to achieve. It was a natural, radiant beauty. I wasn’t out of her league. She was in a league all her own, and something told me that she had no idea. If she did, she would never be working in a club like that for a jackass like Randy.

  She sat across from me, clearly tense, and as surprised to see me as I was her after our chance encounter that evening.

  “I’m so glad you came,” I said. I waited, half expecting her to take off running again. After a moment’s pause, she spoke. Finally – I was getting my chance to talk to the angel!

  I can feel the eyes of the men in the coffee shop on me as I walk toward the back table. I can feel them undressing me with their eyes. I know it’s true because it isn’t the first time men have wished to see me naked, this is how most men treat me. I bet if my sundress were to fall off right now, not one of them would pick it up off the floor and hand it to me so that I could get dressed.

  My heart is in my throat as I pull out the chair across from Blake and sit down. I didn’t think he’d show after seeing me as Roxy. If I am going to be honest, I only came here for one reason, and I am sure Blake isn’t going to like it. I didn’t come here to chat or to get to know him. I came here to warn him. That’s the only reason I showed up. I wish it were to get to know Blake. I wish he could be my saving grace, but I am not naive. I know men like him don’t truly want a woman like me. I have nothing to offer him. I am a broken, thirty-year-old woman. He’s what, in his early fifties and rich? Ya, we don’t have a chance in hell. It’s better to cut our losses now.