Page 16 of Grift

“But his temper isn’t what I’m here to discuss. What do you know about the Red Velvet Club?” she asks, her voice tentative.

Absolutely nothing. I’ve never even heard of it. She gives a sigh at my blank look and taps one of the images.

“It’s an adults only club,” she’s saying. “Men attend to participate in shall we say less savory sexual activities. I’d heard rumors and when I had someone investigate….” She gestures at the file.

It’s like I can’t process the information, even as nerves flare across my body and heat rises in my cheeks.

“Patrick is a man of very dark sexual appetites,” my mother says, already moving toward the door. “I suggest that you prepare yourself.”

And with that, she leaves. She just leaves.

What am I even supposed to do with this?

I can’t seem to stop myself from scanning the file. There are more pictures of Patrick, and I hate myself for the way that my body warms just seeing him there. Walking into a building – apparently the sex club – and sitting having a drink and conversation with other well-dressed men. There’s more information in the file, too. Details that quickly give me an idea of what The Red Velvet Club has to offer. Pretty much any kind of sexual service or activity. Swingers, BDSM, or just straight companionship. Unfortunately, it doesn’t give me any idea of why he’s actually going to the club or what he likes.

Just the vague hint that he’s been a client.

This is insanity. I look around the bright little apartment, with its lace curtains and light furniture and feminine touches. It’s simple, but it’s mine.

What happened in college may have wrecked my life, but I’ve climbed out of that wreckage and built something. It isn’t much but I won’t give it up. It’s mine.

That’s what I’m saying over and over like a protective mantra as I climb out of the rideshare I take from my apartment to the Trinity Casino. It looks different by day. It’s a place that’s to best effect at night, with lights and glitz lulling people into believing its lies – and about themselves while they are within its walls. By day it’s just a big building that feels out of place.

You could same the say about me. I’d rushed out into the harsh, bright winter day without a second thought to my appearance. The last – and only – time that Patrick Carney had seen me I’d been made up to the hilt and wearing a $5000 dress my mother loaned me. This version of Jessica Kensington will no doubt be a let down.

But then maybe a man like that with complicated tastes would take a look at my simple clothes, lack of makeup and decide that he needs to look elsewhere for a wife. If he refuses, there might be some way to use the confusion and say that I won’t marry any of them.

Now I’m wearing jeans and a dark sweater, simple and warm, under a dark coat. My hair is pulled into a ponytail, and the only thing on my face is moisturizer. I don’t want to start this negotiation one down. And I don’t like how I’m suddenly feeling unsure of myself. What am I even doing here?

But before I can text the driver to come back, a bright voice calls out, “Jessica? Excuse me, but aren’t you Jessica Kensington?”

An absolutely striking young woman heads in my direction, her whole face alight with a smile.

“I’m Bridget,” she chirps.

When I don’t speak, she gives me a slightly concerned look. “Patrick’s younger sister.” The names on the file my father sent over to me the morning after the gala flash through my mind.

Bridget, the youngest Carney, is in her early-twenties and a very accomplished ballerina. Actually, I’m pretty sure that I saw her perform last year at a ballet I attended for a charity function with my mother. But as I look at her, in the flesh and smiling up at me hopefully, I steel myself. She’s not a name in a file; she’s a woman standing right in front of me thinking that she’s meeting her future sister-in-law for the first time. I don’t need to offend anyone in this family, even if I don’t plan to join it. In fact, it can’t hurt to possibly have an ally in this outgoing, bright young woman.

“Of course, Bridget, it’s such a pleasure to meet you. I’m so sorry, this week has been such a whirlwind,” I give her my brightest smile.

The concern immediately melts from her face, and it strikes me again what a beautiful family the Carneys are. Some of them have a very cool beauty like Bridget and Callan, while Patrick is all rugged and earthy and strong. It’s a heady mix.

“Are you here to see Patrick?” She slides her arm through mine, and is leading me through the confusing space that’s alive with the bings and lights of the slot machines firing in every direction.

“Is it always this busy so early in the day?”

She nods. “My dad says it’s a good thing and people seem to have fun. But sometimes I wonder.”

The folks crowding the floor are mostly older, and many look unwell. Each failed press of the slot machine buttons brings a concerned look. I hope they’re not gambling money they need for other things. But then, that’s not for me to decide, is it? When we approach the elevator bank, the security guard immediately recognizes Bridget, greeting her with a deferential “Good afternoon, Miss Carney.” She doesn’t seem to notice the formality.

“Hi Stuart, how are you? How are the boys?”

They chat for a few seconds until the elevator arrives, where we’re met with another security guard who nods. Bridget suddenly looks at me, “I really love the dresses that you chose.”

“Dresses?”

She quirks an eyebrow, but it doesn’t stop the flood of enthusiasm. “The bridesmaid’s dresses. They’re gorgeous. Thank you so much for picking something flattering. You never know, you know? I once had to be the flower girl in a wedding where the dresses were lime green muumuus. Can you imagine?”

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