seems determined to turn America into an evangelical Christian theocracy, which, as you can imagine, doesn’t sit any better with Catholics than it does with heathens like yourself.” “You should ask Sam about the church,” Blaise said. “She’s
the one who showed me the article in the paper. She knows
all about them.”
“Sam? Who’s Sam?” Kingsley asked.
“Sam works at the club,” Blaise said. “At the M?bius. Your
M?bius?”
“Sam. Is she new?” He couldn’t picture a bartender named
Sam.
“She started a month ago.”
“How do you know this and I don’t?” Kingsley asked. “Because you don’t pay any attention to the club except
when you want to sleep with one of the dancers.” “You may have a point. So, who is Sam?”
“Sam’s the new head bartender. And she’s amazing. Really
smart and funny. She has history with Fuller’s church—bad
history.”
“How bad?”
“She didn’t tell me much, just that if Fuller’s church moves
in, she’s moving out. Which would be sad, because she gives
me free drinks whenever I go in.”
“Because you’re my girlfriend?” Kingsley asked. “Submissive? Whatever you are?”
“No, silly.” Blaise rolled her eyes. “Because she likes me.” “Likes you?”
Blaise gave him a wide-eyed and pointed look. “She. Likes.
Me.”
“Kingsley, I believe your ex-girlfriend, current submissive
is attempting to tell you your bartender is a lesbian.” “Why are you in my office?” Kingsley demanded. “You summoned me,” S?ren reminded him.
“When did you start doing what I asked you to do?” “I promise, it won’t happen again,” S?ren said, standing
up. “If you have no further need of me in your divinely inspired quest to build the largest kink club in the world, I have
a homily to write.”
“Go,” Kingsley said. “You’ve done enough. You—” he
pointed at Blaise “—you don’t leave the house. I’ll be back in
a few hours, and your presence will be required in my bed.” “Where are you going?” Blaise asked as Kingsley grabbed
his jacket off the back of his chair and headed for the door. “The M?bius,” Kingsley said. “I have a lesbian bartender
to seduce.”
13
KINGSLEY ENTERED THE M?BIUS THROUGH THE front door, not the back like he usually did. He wanted to be inconspicuous, and entering through the employees-only door would compromise his anonymity. He’d pulled his necklength hair back into a ponytail, and instead of a suit he wore jeans, a black T-shirt and black jacket. The stage f lashed with red lights and female f lesh, but he kept his eye on the bar.
He didn’t see her at first. No one worked the bar tonight except for a slim young man with short shaggy hair. Once seated on a stool, Kingsley saw how mistaken he’d been. The young man was a young woman. She had a woman’s delicate features, smooth skin, high cheekbones and straight small nose. But she was dressed like a man. She wore straight-leg pinstriped trousers, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to her elbows and a pinstriped vest. It even appeared she had spats on her shoes.
“What can I get you?” the woman asked as she placed a napkin on the counter in front of him.
“Information,” Kingsley said, suppressing his French accent. It would give away his identity immediately.
“Information? I don’t serve that here,” she said with a tight smile.
“Just on your clothes. Where did you get the suit?” She narrowed her eyes at him.
“You want to know where I got my suit?”
“I like your suit,” he said simply.
“Are you insinuating something?”
“Only that I like your suit.” Kingsley could see Sam was already on the defensive. No doubt she’d fielded her fair share of unpleasant inquiries about her clothes, hair, gender and orientation more than once in her life.
“I have a tailor,” she said. “And you have to order something if you’re going to sit at the bar.”
“A bottle of champagne.”
“A whole bottle? Are you celebrating something?”
“Not yet, but I plan to,” Kingsley said.