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Charming’s is a lovely place, even during the day. The main part of the club is somewhere around eight thousand square feet. There’s a stage all along the far wall, draped with a black velvet curtain. A catwalk juts out from the center of the stage, leading to a small square stage with a pole in the middle. The edges of the stages are lit up with hot pink and soft white lights, the same color as lights shining down from the ceiling.
Instead of rickety chairs and beat-up tables, all around the room are small, round, black tables with a hot-pink candle in the middle of each, and each table is surrounded by elegant black-leather club chairs with high arms and deep seats. It’s warm, and inviting, and elegant, and nowhere near seedy and gross.
“I still can’t believe we know someone who owns a strip club that doesn’t make me feel like I’ll get herpes if I rub up against the wall,” Ariel mutters.
Vincent looks up from behind the bar when Ariel’s voice carries across the empty club, his mouth twitches in my favorite way.
I quickly move across the room with Ariel right behind me.
“What are you doing here?” Vincent asks when I get to the other side of the bar.
“We thought we’d take up day drinking. Pour me a scotch,” Ariel tells him, smacking her hand on top of the bar.
I roll my eyes at her and pull his cell phone out of my purse, sliding it across the top of the bar towards him. I keep my head down and refuse to make eye contact, not wanting to see the fury in his eyes when I tell him what I did.
“You . . . uh . . . you left your cell phone at the house.”
Ariel elbows me in the arm and clears her throat. I made the mistake of telling her about the strange, yet funny, phone call on the ride over here, and now I’m regretting it.
While I’m busy trying to come up with the best way to tell Vincent I kind of, sort of invaded his privacy a little bit, Ariel decides she’s tired of waiting and does it for me.
“Belle answered your phone because your parents were calling you, like, a million times in a row, and she was afraid one of them died or something. They want to know when the wedding is and thanked her for saving you, whatever the fuck that means,” Ariel blurts out. “Now, give me my damn scotch. Time’s a-wasting.”
I cautiously lift my head to look up at Vincent, and he’s standing there with his hands resting on the bar and a blank expression on his face.
“It’s fine! I told them we weren’t dating or anything crazy like that, but I might have let it slip that I was living with you now and I’m really sorry for answering the phone and saying something I shouldn’t have, but your parents are really sweet and funny and did I mention I’m sorry because I really thought your mom might have gotten hit by a bus and it would have been my fault if your kidney didn’t get there in time!” I ramble.
Vincent still doesn’t say anything, and I start to chew on my bottom lip, waiting for all hell to break loose and for him to pick up a bottle of really expensive liquor and throw it across the room.
“Did you know that in 1954 Joseph E. Murray and his colleagues at Peter Bent Brigham Hospital in Boston performed the first truly successful kidney transplant from one twin to another, and this was done without any immunosuppressive medication?” I mumble uncomfortably. “Also, did you know your parents have kind of a strange accent? It was almost . . . Canadian.”
“Oh, thank the sweet baby Jesus, you told her!”
Eric walks up next to me, flinging his arm around my shoulder and giving me a squeeze.
I watch as Vincent’s face finally shows the first sign of emotion since I started talking, but instead of anger, he looks almost . . . freaked out. His eyes are wide and his mouth starts opening and closing without making a sound.
“Told me what?” I ask, looking away from Vincent to glance at Eric.
He looks back and forth between me and Vincent, and the silence stretches between everyone for so long that now I’m getting uncomfortable.
“What the fuck is going on with you two?” Ariel suddenly asks from the other side of me.
“NOTHING!” Eric and Vincent shout at the same time.
There’s another moment of silence before Eric lets out an uncomfortable laugh.
“Oh, you know . . . that thing . . . he . . . uh . . . got a promotion! You’re looking at the brand new floor manager of Charming’s. Gee, Vincent, I can’t believe you didn’t tell Isabelle this really important information,” Eric says, glaring across the bar at him.
