Page 60 of Taking Turns

Is she having fun? Already? What part of this is fun so far? “Uh… I see you got some new furniture.” Gone are the sleek couches I chose to replace the earthy thrift-store look Rochelle had going on. It’s been replaced with more classic, traditional pieces. It looks very… homey. Nuclear family, two point two kids kind of homey.

“Yes,” Chella says, peeking around the door of the bedroom as she fastens her earrings. “Quin took me shopping. We picked out new stuff. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No,” I say, looking around. Kinda. “I didn’t know what your style was. I guess I missed the mark.”

“No,” she says, coming out of the bedroom. “It was fine. But given the choice…” She laughs again. “I guess I prefer this. Normal stuff, you know? And Quin is a shopper.”

I smile. Sort of. Normal stuff. I have so many questions about that seemingly innocent remark.

“I’m excited,” Chella says, grabbing her coat from the front closet. “I don’t usually go to Christmas parties.”

I take her coat and drape it over my arm. She won’t need it until after dinner. “No? Why not?”

“My dad. He’s not a Christmas party guy.”

“What about your mom?”

“She died three years ago.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” I say. Fuck. “Sorry, I knew that. I should’ve know better than to ask.” I’m so off my fucking game.

“It’s OK,” she says, smiling as she drags a piece of hair off her face and tucks it behind her ear. “I’m over it.”

Over it. Normal. Yeah, I have a lot of questions for Chella Walcott. “Well, you look very pretty.” And she does. The black dress fits her perfectly. The lace bodice is tight, her tits look fantastic all pushed up and perky, and her waist is tiny. I envision dancing with her tonight. Placing my thumbs on her hips, my fingers splayed across her ass.

The dress is long, touches the floor. I asked for this specific dress on this specific night for a reason and that, at least, is going as planned.

And then I notice the necklace. The choker. The collar.

“What?” Chella asks. Her hand goes to her throat. To the collar I can’t stop staring at.

“Where did you get that?”

“Smith gave it to me. That first night when he took me home? When he dressed me up? He put this jewelry on me.” She raises her hand to show off the gold cuff bracelet and then I notice the earrings that match. “I figured it needed a night out as much as I do.”

I don’t like it. Rochelle was supposed to be eradicated before Chella got here. Gone. Thrown out. Given back to the world. And yet there is still something left of her. But if it makes Chella happy… “It looks beautiful, Marcella. And so do you.”

“Thank you,” she says, blushing pale pink.

“I hope you’re hungry.”

“I am. Quin told me I have access to the kitchen any time I want. But it’s no fun eating alone. And I already did it twice today.”

I force a smile. And then I lie. “Sorry about that. The Club was so busy today I just couldn’t get away.”

“I understand. I always get lonely on my days off work. And now that Matisse will be on display until March, well, I have four full days off a week. I feel lucky that you guys came along. My whole week is planned, it seems.”

“You like that?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says. “I like it.”

I give her a real smile for that answer. And as we take the elevator down to the second floor, I start to think that maybe… just maybe, Smith is right.

Maybe this one will pull me back into the life?

When we get off the elevator Smith is in his usual chair, so I place Chella’s hand on my arm, hand her coat off to a server to check downstairs with mine, and lead her up the short flight of stairs and towards to the table overlooking the Black Room and the lobby.

Smith and Quin both stand up as we approach, and then Smith backs out and waves his hand at the chair to his left.