Page 14 of Five
“Roger that,” I mock him as I refresh my curls with my fingers. I know he’s worried for my safety, but I’ve gotten out of worse circumstances than whatever is waiting for me inside that building.
“What’s the code word?” KKJ asks.
“Airy-fairy,” both Ollie and I say. It’s a word my gran used to say when describing her weak legs. It made us chuckle every time when we were kids. For a brief moment, her smiling face is so definite in my mind, down to each pronounced wrinkle and the same small mole we share over our upper lip, that it feels like she’s right here in this humid backstreet with me.
I take a deep breath and grab my phone from the dash and the Dior bag from the seat. I lock the supermini barracuda and give my reflection a last check before swaying my hips toward the silver door. My cell is in the outside pocket of the bag as I lift my hand to knock, but the door opens before my knuckles touch the surface.
A tattooed colossus stands between me and the long red corridor behind him blocked by his massive, hairy shoulders and ginormous biceps. He looks me up and down, his pissed bulldog expression doesn’t change as his dark eyes land on my face again.
I cock my hip to the side, cross my arms, and lift a challenging brow his way. “Are you done checking me out, Wookiee? A very kinky night is waiting for me inside.” Confidence is key in life.
“Is it?” He folds his arms as well, which looks quite intimidating on a guy his size, but not enough to stop my lips from moving.
“Have you seen me? They will probably call you to stop the brawl my splendor will cause. Now move your furry tree trunksand let me pass. It’s the anyone-in event tonight,” I tell him, remembering Rague’s words.
Wookiee keeps staring at me for a few more seconds, then takes a step back and creates enough space between him and the doorframe for me to enter.
“Thank you.”Broody tosser.
I get why this place is called Crimson, the hallway is the color of blood. Four huge paintings displaying orgy scenes between what I can only assume are supernatural creatures and humans adorn the walls. They are very detailed from the sharpness of the half-bull’s horns, the wicked desire in the demons’ black eyes and their very big dicks, to the man-shaped lizards’ forked tongues and tails. I can almost hear those subjugated humans screaming—surely in pleasure.Lucky ducks.
At the end of the corridor there are two solid golden doors—which will presumably lead me to where Gabe is—and a tall, lanky woman with gelled hair standing behind a slick wooden counter. She’s wearing a black and white houndstooth suit with an orange floral shirt underneath and a checkered red and green bow. The colorful ensemble forces me to blink a couple of times. I’m very sensitive to patterns, especially when someone is wearing all the wrong ones at the same time. And in this Martin Scorsese red light, she’s like a visual bullet right between my eyes.
“Welcome to Crimson. Phone, please,” she utters in a nasal voice. One hand is outstretched toward me, palm up, while the other points at the sign behind her on the wall.
No cell phones allowed. Leave them at the entrance.That’s why Gabe wasn’t answering Ollie’s texts.
Bugger! I stick out my bottom lip in a pout. “Ugh.”
“If you want to get in, you’ll need to follow the rules,” she states annoyingly, wiggling her fingers impatiently. “And let me assure you, you do want to get in there.” She proceeds to give me a long, knowing stare that does tell me something. Important people are behind those doors, VIPs who don’t want their faces and bare asses on the internet. Is it Jude Law making out with Keanu? Martha Stewart and Peter Dinklage? Or Peter Pan and Capitan Hook? Yeah, always thought there was something between the mean pirate with anger problems and the sassy flying boy with daddy issues.
“So, I need to leave my phone here,” I repeat to make sure Ollie and KKJ heard it, and lean toward the patterned lady. “Are there promiscuous aliens in there? Cats purring at dogs? Gordon Ramsey on a hunger strike?”
She gives me a stern look. “Phone.”
I straighten myself and take my cell out of the pocket of my Dior, being careful to subtly close the call before handing it to her. But before letting it go, I tell her, “Take good care of my baby.”
She nods and places it in a metal box and then slides it into one of the numbered cubicles behind her. She hands me a red card with a matching number to retrieve my phone later and then moves to the doors.
“Any other rules I should know about?” I ask her, as she pushes the golden monstrosities open.
“Drink the champagne,” she stage-whispers, before leaving.
Show time, I tell myself as I hear the doors close behind me.
I find myself on a mezzanine made of gray marble with black veining, columns and all, that opens into a wide crimson room. The ceiling is high and vaulted, covered in golden paint with a dark stone chandelier hanging down in the middle like dark drops of rain.
As I ascend the carpeted red stairs, my eyes flicker from the shiny silver bar counter on the left to the dark, round tables scattered around and the small quartet playing melodic music on the opposite side. Waitresses wearing black satin vests and long pants are walking with trays in hand, nodding and smiling.
People are talking in small groups or tête-à-têtes, wearing fancy suits and elegant dresses. No leashes. No kneeling or licking boots. No naked or even half-naked dudes. It looks like a posh club.
I get a glimpse of a bloke in a white mask in the corner—the same one I saw outside the firm an hour ago. He’s near one of the black marble columns. But when I blink, he vanishes. Is it a play of light and shadows, or am I turning Harley-Quinn mad?
I glance around for the white-masked dude, but nothing. I can easily find Gabe, though. His imposing presence, impeccable manners, and chiseled features are impossible to overlook. As I take the last step down, I lose sight of him. I’m petite, but the leery looks I’m getting remind me once again how my size doesn’t matter.
I veer toward the bar, deciding to follow the patterned lady’s suggestion of getting a drink. Also, sitting on one of those high stools in the corner gives me a nice panoramic view of the room.
The counter is gleaming immaculately, I can actually admire my marvelous reflection in it. And the stool’s leather cushionis cradling my arse cheeks divinely. Everything screams money here, I could get used to it.
