“Come on, let’s go,” he smiles.
What shall I text back? I need the upper hand. I am tapping my front tooth with my fingernail while I think. Simon is right, he really is a prick. I sit in Simon’s car, silently looking out the window as I troll my brain for a good comeback. I’ve got nothing. Use your brain Natasha, I’m sure there’s one in there somewhere. I just know at 2 am tomorrow morning an awesome comeback is going to pop into my head and it will haunt me for the rest of my life. I have to text now or it will look like I am thinking about my reply, even though I am. This is a total disaster. In the end I text the lamest reply in human history.
Gladly
That night at Oscar’s, Bridget and Abbie laugh as they read the texts.
“How did it go from you’re an asshole to fuck off?”
“I don’t know.” I shake my head as they continue to pass my phone to each other.
“And why does he think you’re an asshole?” I slump on the table and put my face into my hands. “Probably because I am an asshole, a stupid beyond belief asshole.”
They laugh again. “He knows you better than you think.”
“Thanks a lot,” I sigh. “This isn’t funny, bitches.”
“Yes it is.” They both huddle together and giggle. “It’s frigging hilarious.”
Wednesday at work drags. I’m still fuming. I have thought of nothing else since I saw him yesterday. Fuming is a lot more satisfying than pining. I’m just so off him. After lunch I get a text from Bridget.
We are going out tonight. Spying on Jeremy, time to bust a move.
Great. I smile as I read the text. I need some NCIS action and it will take my mind off prickface. I text back.
Sounds good. Is Abbie coming?
She replies.
Of course, meet me at mine at seven.
K
We are standing together in a line in Bridget’s bedroom, looking at our reflection in the mirror. “We look like hookers,” I grimace.
“That’s the point,” she replies.
“Are you sure you read the email right?”
She nods. “Yes, what do you think? I just thought this shit up?” Jeremy accidentally left his email open last night and Bridget snooped. Apparently he is going to an upmarket strip club tonight with his work friends and we are going to sneak into the joint to bust him in the act.
“What time does it open?”
“Half an hour,” she replies. “We had better get going.”
An hour later we are sitting at a table in the back corner of what is probably the classiest night club I have been in. The walls are a deep smoky grey and the lounges and pendant lights are all in black velvet. Huge silver gilded mirrors hang on the walls and giant palm trees are in massive ceramic pots surrounding the perimeter. Whoever the interior designer was hit the target. It can only be described as sensual. I have never been in a space like this before, it screams opulence and fantasy. The sound system is amazing, and the music seems to be surrounding us.
“This wig is itchy,” I scratch my scalp.
“Why did you wear it then?”
“Because I don’t want to run into one of my patients. I’m in disguise.”
“Oh phooey, you look like Natasha with a long blonde wig on.”
I nod as I sip my margarita, “Yeah I know. Mmm this is good, it’s super icy. Do you see him?” We all look around.
“No, it’s pretty empty actually.” We all relax.
A cute blond bartender comes over. “Can I get you beautiful ladies anything to drink?”
“Sure, three more margaritas thanks.” He smiles and nods. “What’s upstairs?” I ask as if interested.
“Just more booths with views to the stage.” We all nod, trying our best to look cool and uncaring. “Is anyone up there?” I ask. He smiles and shakes his head—he is so onto us. “No one yet,” he gives me a wink. We all nod, a little more than relieved. At the end of the bar there is a second set of stairs and there is a large red velvet rope across the bottom of the stairwell.
“What’s up there?” I ask.
“That’s the VIP room for private parties.”
Abbie frowns, “Private parties?”
He nods and smiles. “Yes only one group at a time.”
“What goes on up there?” Bridget asks.
He shakes his head and smiles. “You don’t want to know.” We are all shocked to silence.
“Is anyone up there now?” Abbie asks.
“No, it costs $5000.00 just to get up there.” We all look at each other.
“Do people really pay that?” I question.
“You would be surprised. It’s used every night.”
“What do you get for five grand?” Bridget asks.
He smiles as he walks off. “Anything you want, pretty much. But mostly sex and cocaine.”
“Wow,” I mouth to the girls, and they nod in agreement. “Shit, anything you want.” I chew my ice. “This place is a high–class brothel.” Oh shit, a disturbing thought enters my brain. Panic sets in.