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I struggled for long, deep breaths in the noisy overheated room and pushed for the door, ignoring greetings from other guests. Bursting into the cool, San Francisco night, I was relieved to find the street in front of the club empty and quiet. I ripped at my mask to gulp some fresh air.
I was done with that place for the night and since it was early yet, I called Beau to see if he wanted to go for a bite to eat. I wouldn’t lie, it had been nice to have him around, both for the company and to make sure he stayed out of trouble.
On the short drive home I thought back to our younger days, before we could legally drink, when we’d go out for a beer at the local dive that wasn’t concerned about serving minors. Even back then, one or two brews would turn into ten or a dozen for Beau. That was the beginning of the end for him, and his life hadn’t been the same since. A beer once in a while turned into every night of the week. Several years on, I’d lost track of the number of times I put him in rehab, only to have him backslide. And yet, I’d never give up on him. Never.
“Beau! Watcha doin?” I called as I came through the front door.
“Whattup, bro?” Beau asked as he met me. “I just finished an online meeting with my AA sponsor.” The puffiness that had consumed his face just a few days earlier had subsided, and I could swear there was a lightness in his step that hadn’t been there in a long, long time.
“Wanna walk to that place around the corner?” I asked.
“Let’s do it. I’ll just go grab my shoes.”
A few minutes later, we settled into a booth in the back corner of a neighborhood place and ordered from a pretty young waitress. I watched Beau’s gaze follow her as she walked away.
“So, Beau. You’re doing really well. I’m proud of you.”
He nodded. “Thanks, man. I don’t know where I’d be with out you.” Shaking his head, his gaze settled on the placemat before him.
The waitress dropped off two non-alcoholic beers. I hated the things but always drank them with Beau. Brother solidarity and all that.
“So, Var. How are you? I see you working hard and going out. You meeting any nice girls?”
I sipped my fake beer. “You know me. I like to fly solo. But, there is this one woman I met not long ago. I’m kind of into her.”
“Yeah? Way to go. Keep up the good work.”
Yeah. She was proving to be some work, that was for sure. Her involvement in the club, and my involvement with her dad created a level of complication I usually ran from.
But this time was different.
Chapter 31
Saffi
Nelle was back from London, and I was desperate to talk to her. After a miserable day working on my Club Silk story, knowing full well I didn’t have all the details I needed and that I’d probably never get them, I needed a shoulder to cry on. I arrived early at the bar where we always met and dove into my first beer.
“Heyyyyyy!” Nelle exclaimed, running into the bar with open arms. She threw them around me.
“I am so glad you’re back,” I said.
“Well, I’m not. I freaking loved London and cannot wait to return. We have to go there, Saffi. It’s the most amazing city.” She frantically waved over the bartender. “And the guys’ accents are so hot. Oh my god. I am so marrying an Englishman.”
I was chomping at the bit to dis
cuss all that was on my mind, but just listened. If I waited long enough, she’d run out of gas.
And she did, chattering on for five more minutes before slowing.
“So, Saff. What’s up with you and the big story?” She leaned close to whisper. “And the sex club.”
“Glad you asked,” I said with patience. “I’ve hit some roadblocks. I think the club owner might be on to me.”
Nelle’s hand flew to her chest. “No way. Jesus. What will they do? I mean, could this be dangerous?”
“No,” I said, wishing I believed my lie.
“The problem,” I continued, “is that I’m having trouble finishing the story. Everyone there is tight-lipped and I haven’t been able to get even the most basic info. I can probably finish the story, but it won’t be that good.”
