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“No, no. Of course, have a seat. I don't recognize you.” He waved a waitress over to us. “Would you like a drink?”
I didn’t respond at first.
It was the black girl from earlier, but now she had a sweet smile on her lips. “Honey, the man offered you a drink. It would be rude not to order.”
I nodded, “A whiskey sour please. Thank you.”
She nodded, “Another tequila for you, Judge? It is Saturday after all.” So it was the man the blonde had been referring to.
He laughed. “Monique, you know me so well.”
She sauntered off, and I watched his eyes as they focused in on her ass. I had to get his attention back or he might request her.
“Judge, is it?”
He nodded, “That's my name here. But I'll tell you a little secret; that's what I do in real life, too.”
“Fascinating,” I said, as I leaned on the table. “Tell me more.”
Lucky for me, the judge and I had a lot in common. My political science major, and interest in current political events had served me well. Conversation flowed easily, and after a couple of drinks, the judge put a card on the table.
“Do you know what to do with this?”
I picked up the dark card, and held in my hands. It felt slick under my fingers. It read:
Boston Buyer’s Club
Official Member
I shook my head. “No, sorry.”
He smiled at me kindly. “You take it to the Madame. She stays back behind that black curtain.” He pointed to the left corner of the club. All the material in the club was black: the chairs, the bar, and tablecloths on each table. I listened as soft music played in the background. I hadn’t noticed it over my thumping heart before. But the judge relaxed me, and I was calmer.
“Once you get in there, she'll tell you what to do. And then she calls me to make the arrangements. I'm not looking for anything serious. I keep a hotel room at the Roosevelt for my girls. We can go get some dinner, and then you can stay the night there. Anything you want, you can have. There's no commitment here; just a night.”
I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves that were once again rising in my chest. “One night?”
“You look nervous. It’s nothing sexual, if that’s what you’re thinking. The girls say I’m old school, just looking for company. If you’re a good fit, I’ll take you to functions with me. I’m always looking for an eloquent date for those boring charity balls.”
I smiled, “That sounds fabulous.” No sex, no problem. I took the card, and sauntered off to the back corner. Outside of the curtain was the same bouncer I'd seen outside the club. He held up his hand for me, and I handed him the card. He took his cell phone and scanned the back; there must've been hidden information there.
“She'll see you now.”
I nodded, and he held back the curtain for me as I entered. A woman in her early fifties sat in a large red velvet chair behind a black desk. The room was completely smoke-free, nothing like the club I had just been inside. It shocked me that only a curtain separated such two different worlds. In here, it was all business; outside it was all pleasure.
She was talking on the phone as I entered, and held up a finger for me to wait. I stood holding the card in my hands, flipping it over and over, trying to calm my nerves. I couldn't believe I was actually doing this: getting paid to go on a date with a man I hardly knew. A man who was twice my age, at least. The judge seemed kind and trustworthy, but maybe that was a mistake. As I stood there waiting, I realized that this whole thing could be a mistake, but if I walked away now I would never know.
One night. One night was worth finding out what this was all about.
“Calla, right? Come here, darling.” She stirred me out of my stream of indecisiveness.
I walked forward. “You know my name?”
She smiled at me. “Of course, dear. I would never let a girl in my club without knowing everything about her. But I'm sure you would like to know some things about me. Sit.” She extended her hand to a chair that was in front of the desk. I sat down and held the card in my lap, still turning it over in my hands. “I am Madame Nica, and I own this wonderful establishment. I've been the sole owner now for about ten years, but once I was a girl like you. Lost and confused without a penny to call my own. And now, I own all of this.” She tossed her hands up in the air, and I noticed her perfectly manicured red nails. They matched her lips, which stood out against her pale skin and light brown hair that just framed her face. She looked distinct, important, but most of all, confident.
“You own all of this?”
“Of course I do. I used to let men run my life, and now I let them put money in my bank account. Worked out perfectly. I have everything I could've ever wanted.”
