Like much of what I said, these were wasted words.
Harry jerked his head to the side. “I’ll be parked down the way.”
He didn’t need to be close. He didn’t need to have my back. No one was going to charge into the building with tommy guns and shoot the place up, whereupon Harry had to be close in order to rescue me and/or provide a quick getaway.
“You can go have a drink,” I said. “Something to eat. Go home and catch a program. You don’t have to—”
He interrupted me. “I’ll be down the way, Olivia.”
Wasted words.
I didn’t know why I bothered.
I needed to learn to stop doing that.
I nodded. “Thank you, Harry.”
He nodded back, jerked his chin to Mr. Revere and didn’t move until I was through the door Mr. Revere was holding open for me.
I walked through the narrow, dark vestibule of the private VIP entrance to the club where Mr. Paine was lurking in the shadows.
They were very good at security here.
Security and, for VIPs, anonymity.
Everyone’s name was an alias, including staff.
I tipped my head to the side as I passed Mr. Paine and moved into the reception area which was lined with deep-seated, comfortable, curved couches with plenty of tables around for easy access to lay drinks, although it was infrequent people lingered in reception. That said, the club was available for private parties and this area was used for that when the club was closed down to accommodate such an event.
There were large and small bouquets of extraordinarily arranged, fresh-cut flowers, the air heavy with the aroma of them, the biggest at the reception desk behind which Ms. Ross was standing.
Her thick, dark hair was swept back in an artful messy bun. Her eyes were expertly and dramatically made up. Her dress fit perfectly. And I would find, when she walked around the reception desk to lead me up the stairs, her shoes cost twelve hundred dollars.
“Ms. Lincoln,” she greeted with a small smile, already on the move. “Welcome. We’re ready for you.”
“Thank you,” I murmured.
Ms. Ross’s eyes went beyond me. “Can Mr. Arthur take your coat?”
I shrugged off my coat and handed it to a man that had moved out of the shadows of the cloakroom just off from the reception desk.
He said nothing. Just disappeared from whence he came.
I moved silently up the thick-carpeted steps behind Ms. Ross.
“I hope you enjoy our program tonight. It’s already begun, as you know.”
I was still murmuring when I replied, “I’m sure I will.”
“Midori, vodka and Fresca, correct?” she asked when she reached the top.
I cleared the last step behind her. “Yes.”
“Excellent,” she replied.
We moved down the hall that was handsomely appointed, intimately lit and it had a number of doors leading off of it, all to the right side.
She led me to the middle one, the only one with double doors.
She opened one side and stood out of my way for me to precede her.
I walked into the social viewing chamber and heard it immediately, the hall and reception being soundproofed, but the viewing rooms absolutely not.
I looked to the floor to ceiling one-way window and felt my mouth tighten.
Ms. Ross got close, read my look and gave her expert opinion. “It looks like this scene won’t last much longer.”
I stared at the women through the window. Considering the cost of membership…hell, considering I was even there, I did not judge what people did, what they liked.
But a woman performing cunnilingus on another woman didn’t do anything for me.
Man on man, absolutely.
I just was not turned on by same-sex play if they were my sex.
I looked from the window to the chamber, which I’d been in only once, when I’d taken a tour after being cleared for VIP membership two and a half years ago.
Again intimately lit, there were five segmented seating sections with low walls separating them, the flooring theater-style. The front four sections on two rises having two comfortable chairs in each section for relaxed viewing and a table for drinks and snacks. The seating section at the top rise sat six.
My drink was at the bottom level, closest to the window and the right wall.
“We surprisingly had another booking come in after yours,” Ms. Ross informed me.
I looked her way, not thrilled at this news.
“A new member, I’m afraid,” she carried on. “He’s been notified of the rules, of course. He’s also been here more than once and behaved accordingly so you both should be able to enjoy your viewings without concern and with minimal interruption.”
“When is he due to arrive?” I asked.
“Sometime between now and midnight,” she answered.
A vague arrival. Something else I didn’t like.
“He orders his drinks when he’s here,” she continued. “So I’m afraid unless you want us to interrupt you to inform you of his arrival, you’ll have no warning prior.”
I nodded, offering no reply, and made a move to the steps that led down to my seat.
“Enjoy,” she murmured to my back.
“Thank you,” I returned, not glancing at her when I did.
I moved to my seat, stowed my clutch, took a sip of my drink and then pulled out my phone to check email and otherwise kill time while the women finished their scene.
The club, obviously, was a sex club. Intensely private and relatively secret (“relatively” because they had to be known to attract members), it was independently owned.