Page 2 of In Case You Didn't Know
His mouth twitches. And that’s when I realize that Simone must be an ex of his. I lost count of them after he turned twenty-one. The man flies through women like nobody else,andthey all stay friends with him.
“She seemed nice when I talked to her,” I tell him.
“She’s the best.” He stands, running his hands through his dark, thick hair. “Message me. Let me know how it goes.” He leans down, kissing my cheek. “Love you, cuz”
“Love you too. Safe travels.” He’s off to L.A. for meetings. He works for his dad and uncle – my much older brothers – in finance.
Grabbing the handle of his aluminum ribbed carry-on, he wheels it over to the driver, who takes it and loads it into the trunk. While he closes up, Charlie smiles at the woman sitting across from me again.
She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. I’m so going to put an overly flirtatious side-kick cousin into my next book. With a very, very dark ending. Charlie deserves it. Then he climbs into the car and lets the driver close the door, much to the woman’s disappointment.
I want to tell her she’s dodging a bullet. But I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t agree. So instead I finish my coffee and throw my cup into the trash, waving at Niall, the coffee shop owner who’s also a friend of mine. Then I walk through the door next to the shop, that leads into a foyer, and up the steps to the apartment that I live in alone, ever since my best friend and roommate got married.
Once situated at the tiny, beaten up kitchen table in my even tinier apartment, I sit down at my open laptop and sigh. I have two thousand words of the first chapter to write today if I want to meet the deadline Alice gave me for the first submission before they offer me a contract. But all I can focus on is the white, strappy dress that’s hanging up on the door, ready for me to put on tonight and make what could be the worst mistake of my life.
My only consolation is that the club guarantees anonymity. I’ll walk in, see what I need to see – hopefully without needing therapy – and be done.
It’s no different to the time I went to the Bronx Zoo to study the Komodos for six hours straight so I could describe the way a dragon moved, even though the one I wrote had wings and averaged about forty feet in height.
Or the time I went to a Renaissance Faire to learn about chainmail and how it feels to run in it, because the heroine in that book was kick ass and would slay the world once she realized her power.
It’ll be fine. Nobody but Charlie and I will ever know about this particular piece of research.
Thank goodness.
I have a habit of being chronically early for any appointment I’ve made. Probably because my childhood was so chaotic. Coming from such a huge family, I never had any control over where I went or what I did. My dad was mostly absent – he was seventy when I was born, and though he’s in his nineties now he still travels south for the winter – and my mom was his constant companion even though she’s over thirty years younger than him.
My brothers – I have six of them – took turns taking care of me during school vacations and holidays. They had kids of their own and they spent a lot of time at our dad’s estate in Virginia where they all have cabins of their own around a lake. I wasn’t neglected. I had a great childhood, all things considered.
But for all intents and purposes, I was an only child with seven fathers. And sometimes it still feels that way.
My Uber pulls up outside a restaurant a block down from the club. It’s twenty minutes before my agreed arrival time, and there was no way I was typing that place into an app. The less of a trail I leave the better. But I have plenty of time to walk the rest of the way.
I add a tip to the ride, thank the driver, and climb out, grimacing because either I’ve put on a bit of weight, or this dress has gotten tighter since I last wore it.
The Ivory Rooms – the exclusive luxury adult intimacy venue Charlie arranged for me to visit – is based in a non-descript three story brownstone at the corner of the block. A simple sign, black serif script on white, is above the door. Nothing to say what it is, or who’s allowed to enter. Like Simone promised when we chatted, nobody would ever know you’re walking into an eroticclub. It’s classy and discreet and it makes me breathe a little easier.
Night has already fallen over Manhattan as I press the buzzer on the door. The sky is an inky dark blue, and the streetlights are illuminating the sidewalk.
“Hello?” A low, smoky voice echoes from the speaker.
“Hi. It’s Sylph.” I was given the code name when Simone registered me. It’s their way of giving anonymity. Every member goes through a full check – financial and security. But after that, no names are used.
“Sylph, welcome. Come on in. Turn left and I’ll be waiting for you.” The smokiness disappears, replaced by a friendly tone.
Sure enough, the door buzzes open and I step through, feeling the rush of a breeze as it clicks closed behind me almost immediately. I turn left as directed, into an open hallway that smells of gentle florals, like they’re piping perfume in. The floors are marble, and the walls are painted a soft ivory and the room is well lit. Nothing like I expected at all.
There are no audible sex sounds, no people parading around in the flesh bending each other over in the corridors. It could be the entrance to any upmarket club where rich people come to meet.
At the far end is a woman dressed in black pants and a white sleeveless blouse. Her hair and makeup are exquisite. She smiles at me as I approach.
“Sylph. I’m Simone. It’s a pleasure to meet you in person.” She holds out her hand and I shake it, warming to her immediately.
“Thank you for everything,” I tell her.
“No worries. It’s a pleasure to be able to help a friend of Charlie’s. How is he?”
Okay, so she’s not keeping complete anonymity. Not that I really mind, I’m not here for anything anonymous, after all.
