Page 16 of Skin
Maybe it’s all behind those curtains. But I don’t look.
“What is this place?” I ask.
“We’re here. This isClub Skin, sweetheart.”
All the shame I felt before is melting away like an iceberg that’s floated into a jungle. It’s not where it belongs, but it’s changing - adapting.
Melting.
A woman hands us two masks. Black masks. Simple. Not like the one I wore for Halloween two years ago. I bought that one at the 99 cent store. No, this one feels like pure, heavy satin atop some steel-hard material. It’s soft and hard at the same time, like a stone at its core but covered with softness. Lusciousness.
“Come,” Gabe commands, guiding me. He slips his hands around my waist and walks behind me, his presence so imposing but so damnprotective.
A large man in a black tuxedo awaits us just a few feet ahead. He begins to pull the green curtain aside, but nods to us first.
“You must wear your mask inside,” Gabe says to me gently, taking it from my hands. “It is for your own protection. For you to remain anonymous. It’s a condition of entry. You can only take off the mask in one of the private rooms. It is to ensure that everyone present is consenting to their identity being known. But even then, our membership rules dictate that no one may reveal the identity of those they see inside.”
He places the mask gently against my eyes. It covers my top portion of my face, ending at the tip of my nose. He ties the velvet panels around the back of my head and fastens the mask into place.
“Why is it called that?” I ask. I stand up a bit straighter, say my words a bit more solidly.
“Skin? You’ll see.”
Gabe
Igotinto this business because I didn’t know where else to turn.
I was lost.
I inherited money from my father when he passed.
I didn’t even know him.
I read recently in theFinancial Timesthat seventy percent of people who come into a sudden windfall lose all of their money within two years.
It doesn’t matter if it is a small inheritance from a long-unseen uncle, or if they were an early investor into a business that is sold for a record price, or if the person is a lottery winner.
A big or small amount, that sudden windfall will be gone.
I promised my mother before she passed away that wouldn’t happen.
I invested the money wisely. I got involved in theClubbefore it was a magnet for the wealthy and powerful. Before I was buddies with them. Back when I was an associate in the District Attorney’s office. Ironically, I have more influencenowthan I had back then.
Guiding Avery by the hand, we enter the main ballroom. It’s decked out in silver and gold for the holiday; ivy and fresh eucalyptus tied with silver ribbons adorn the columns along the perimeter of the large space. A bar on the far right of the room is lit up with red and gold uplighting, and to the left, tucked into the corner, is a twelve-foot Christmas tree adorned with white lights and gold and silver oversized ornaments. A band on the stage across from the entrance of the room plays slow jazz music, the notes weaving through the air, setting the stage for a seductive night should our guests choose.
“There’s only one place I want to take you,” I say to Avery.
Adrenaline cruises through my body when she looks up at me. She is perfection, and she is here with me. Her lips draw up into a fuckable heart shape, and I die a little inside because she isn’t in my bed. But I want to show her a nice time first.
First.
Before I take her.
“I want to dance with you,” I say.
As promised, she quickly learns why the club has its namesake. The waitresses come through the space, weaving through the sparse crowd, wearing nothing but black lingerie. Their skin is on display. The male patrons and female patrons alike drink them in with their eyes. And they only look. There is no touching unless in one of the private rooms. Where the masks come off andall of itis on display.
Avery’s eyes glide through the room, taking in the sights, the curves on each of the waitresses. They are all beautiful, but none compare to Avery.
