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“I better get it,” I murmur. Marcy nods, and with that, I scurry off to the break room, thankful that I don’t run into any of the other make-up counter girls who might overhear. This kind of conversation is best to have in private.
Finally, I’m inside and fortunately the room is empty.
“Hi, Melissa!” I pick up right before the phone goes to voicemail. My manager’s face flashes on screen, her red lipstick perfect as usual.
“Good morning, Bridget. It’s nice to see you. I was worried you weren’t going to answer.”
I smile.
“Sorry, I’m at work, but I can chat for a moment.”
The older woman nods. She really should use a lighter lipstick color because there are faint lines around her mouth, and the crimson shade tends to bleed into them. It’s just the artist in me speaking, I suppose.
“I’ll make it quick,” Melissa says. “You were a hit with one of our male members, and he’s requested your presence for dinner at the Sanctum compound tonight. I know it’s short notice, but would you be able to make it? It’ll be delicious food and good company.”
I nod slowly.
“Yes, because I get off at five tonight. But who requested me?”
My manager smiles mysteriously.
“You’ll find out when you arrive. I’ll text you the details, sweetie, and remember: wear something Sanctum-appropriate!”
Melissa hangs up before I get a chance to ask anything else and I stare at my phone for a moment, mouth agape. The woman always keeps things short and sweet, which I appreciate since I have to get back to work, but still, I have no details about tonight’s date. I suppose she trusts in our training, and in the ethos of Sanctum in general, which is to keep our male clients happy no matter what. With a sigh, I hurry back to the makeup counter where Marcy is tidying up one of the displays. My buddy looks up immediately, brown eyes wide.
“So, what did Melissa want?” she asks, not even bothering to hide her curiosity. “Did it have to do with the Bacchanal?”
I nod slowly.
“I think so. I’m having dinner with a man at the compound tonight, although I don’t even know who it is.”
Marcy squeals. “Do you think it’s the guy from last weekend?”
I shrug and bite my lip. “I hope so, but who knows because it could be anyone. It could be that guy I met a month ago at the crazy dungeon event. Remember? The dude from Romania.”
“Oh yes, Vlad,” Marcy nods.
I squeal.
“His name wasn’t Vlad! It was Radu, and Radu doesn’t even sound like Vlad.”
Marcy merely smiles.
“I call all men from Romania ‘Vlad’ because it’s a sexy name,” she informs me in a lofty manner. “I like to think of them as Vlad the Impaler.”
I snort.
“OMG, you have such a dirty mind.”
She shoots me a smug grin.
“I know, right? I like the sound of ‘the Impaler,’” But then she goes serious. “I bet it is the guy from the party though. If he was all over you for the entire weekend, he’ll definitely want to see you again.”
I nod.
“I hope so, but who knows? We exist for their pleasure, after all. They can request us, but we can’t request them.”
Marcy looks thoughtful.
“Yeah, that seems pretty unfair right?” But then she brightens. “Well, you’ll find out tonight when you’re at dinner with the guy. I expect full details tomorrow,” she nods smartly. “We’re working together again, right?”
“I’m in at ten.”
My friend throws me a thumbs up.
“I’m in at eleven, so we have plenty of overlap. Again girlfriend: I want full details.”
At that point, we sense, rather than see, Pamela’s presence at the entrance to the department store, and immediately, Marcy and I scurry in opposite directions, striving to look busy. But my mind’s already elsewhere because I’m looking forwards to my dinner date tonight, and hoping against hope that it’s Todd.
4
Todd
* * *
I fix my tie and push through the door into the Sanctum compound. It’s heavy as fuck and seems to be made of what feels like solid oak, which befits the luxury of the club. At that moment, the bellhop on duty scurries forward to give me a hand with the huge slab of wood.
“Sorry, sir,” he apologies. “I was just getting some packages in order.”
I shake my dark head.
“It’s no problem. Thanks Tim. I’ll see you later.”
Then I work my way into the deep recesses of the club. Sanctum is an exclusive members-only society which caters to a certain subset of wealthy men in New York City. We’re guys with too much money at our fingertips, and no place to spend it. Even more, we’re red-blooded males who appreciate beauty, charm, and discretion, and Sanctum provides that in spades.
Finally, I arrive at Le Cou Cou, a shish French restaurant on premises.
“Good evening, Mr. Sales,” the petite woman working the hostess stand murmurs. “It’s nice to see you. Your regular table tonight?”
