Page 7 of The Pleasure of Panic

“OK,” Jordan says, smiling at me as he leans back in his chair and takes a sip of wine. “Hit me, Issy. What’s your fantasy? And I’ll see if I can help.”

“Well… I have always…” I cringe, not sure if I should actually say it.

“Go on, you’re almost there.”

“Well.” I sigh. “Ever since I moved in across the street I’ve sorta had a secret fantasy about the club.”

“Club?” Jordan asks.

“You know,” I say, nodding my head in the direction of next door. “That place.”

“Turning Point?” he asks. “It’s closed. And I don’t have a sex club on my roster of games, so…”

“I know it’s closed. It’s not really the sex club part, but the… scene part.”

“Scene?” he asks, blinking, as if he’s confused.

Which just makes me heat up with anger. I want to slap him right now. “Are you or are you not a sex game master? Why are you acting like you have no clue what I’m talking about?”

“I just need specifics, Issy. Tell me what you mean by scene.”

“You know. People… watching. Lots of people. Like a whole crowd of people.”

“Public sex?”

“No,” I say quickly. “No, not public. Private, but in a place with lots of people.”

“A bar?”

“No. That’s not private.”

“So a sex club.” He laughs.

“Whatever. I guess so. I dunno. Sex with…” I think about what he was telling me about panic a few minutes ago. “With chaos. Yes. I think you got that part right. I want some safe chaos. That’s the fantasy I think about most. So can you make a game about that?”

He grimaces. Then sighs. Then looks up at the ceiling. Then stands up and buttons his suit coat. “Ya know, Issy, I don’t think you’re really a good candidate for this after all.”

“What?”

“Yeah, let’s forget the whole thing. I’ll let Chella know it didn’t work out, OK? You go ahead and enjoy the dinner. I hear it’s delicious.”

And then he puts on his coat, grabs his briefcase, and walks out.

“What the fuck?” I get up and go after him, but he’s already making his way through the tables of people, and it’s either let him leave or make a scene, so…

So I just watch him go.

“What the hell happened?” Chella says, coming towards me holding a tray of silver-domed dishes. “I was just bringing dinner.”

I take a deep breath. Deep. Count to ten.

“Issy!” Chella whisper-yells so the people all round us don’t hear. “Did he just walk out on you?”

“Yup,” I finally answer. “Said I wasn’t right for this or some bullshit like that.”

“Come in here and sit down,” Chella says, bumping her hip into mine to indicate I should retreat back into the little private tea room.

I do. But only because I left my purse in there and need to go fetch it. But by the time I walk those ten steps to the table two seconds later, I feel exhausted and just plop back into the chair.