Page 74 of Taking Turns

She raises her eyebrow at me again. “Men take women to Christmas parties because they want to show them off, Chella. They take them to meet the important people in their lives because they like them. So who is this mystery man? Hmm? Is it Matisse?”

“What?” I almost choke on my coffee.

“My friend said she saw you with him last week. After delivery day.” She’s looking very smug.

“Which friend?” I ask, trying to be innocent about it.

“Just some girl I went to school with back east. Vanessa Sterling. She was asking about you, in fact.”

I try not to react, but I’m pretty sure I fail. “Why? When?”

“Last week. That’s how I know you were with Matisse. She said she saw you at the Turning Point Club having a midnight dinner. You know what that place is, right?” She makes air quotes with her fingers as she says, “A gentleman’s club. But I’ve heard what happens there. It doesn’t surprise me that her husband is a member. I’ve heard rumors that they’re into the whole swingers thing.”

I do choke on my coffee now. “What?”

“Yeah. Turning Point is a swingers’ club, Chella. Wife-swapping? You ever heard of it?”

“No,” I lie. But holy fuck. I had no idea this was a well-known fact. If I had, I’d never have gotten involved.

“Sometimes I wonder where your mother hid you all growing up. You’re so clueless. Everyone knows about that place. And my friend said you had dinner on the private side. What was it like? Were people groping each other and shit?”

“Michell! No. It wasn’t even dinner. I went over there with him and we were going to eat, but I got sick and left. I was there for like twenty minutes, that’s all.”

“Damn,” she says. “I’ve always wondered about that place. And that guy who came with Matisse? Smith Baldwin—”

Oh, good Lord. I’m screwed. It’s like Michell has the pieces to my secret puzzle laid out in front of her and all she has to do is start putting it together.

“—I hear he’s one of the owners.”

Is Smith an owner? “I thought Elias Bricman owned that place?”

“See?” She cackles. “You did know what it was. You filthy liar.”

“Anyway, I’m done talking about this stuff. We have work to do.”

“What work? We’re practically on vacation, sister. This Matisse installation will be here for three months. Our job is to smile at visitors. We don’t even have to sell the pieces because—”

Shit.

“Oh. My. God. That’s right,” Michell says. “Elias Bricman bought it for the Mountain Ballet courtyard. Did you meet him?”

“Um, well, of course. I had to talk to him about the sale.” I’m going to hell for lying. But whatever. I’m already going to hell for so many other things, it hardly matters.

“He’s so fucking hot. What is he like? Is he a dick like Smith Baldwin?”

“No.” I laugh. “He’s nice, actually. A lot nicer than Smith.”

Michell just stares at me for a few seconds. “You know Smith too, don’t you?”

Fuck.

“You know all about Turning Point Club. Chella!” she exclaims. “I need for you to spill, honey. Are you dating…” But she puts it together before she can finish her sentence. “You are, aren’t you? You’re dating both of them.”

“Michell—”

“Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. I wondered why they were both talking to you last week for the opening.”

“Michell,” I say, setting my coffee down and walking over to grab both her shoulders. “Listen to me, OK? I don’t want to talk about it.”