I woke up in paradise.

A good release was something I could feel long after the act. It would keep my muscles relaxed, my mind clear, and my blood pumping strong. It could give me the kind of energy I couldn’t find anywhere else. As if that weren’t enough, it was healthy, and that all made me a very happy man.

When I became aware that I was awake, I kept my eyes closed and let myself bask in the sunlight that was caressing my bare skin. I drew a soft, deep breath, not wanting to break the spell I was under for just a few seconds more. But I was always the kind of person who preferred to get up as soon as I possibly could rather than wallowing in bed, so I opened my eyes and stretched on the soft sheets.

That was my first hint that something was off. The bed was empty. I was a pretty big guy-- if someone else had been in the bed with me, our bare legs would have brushed up against each other. The thought of that was something I’d been looking forward to, but when I looked over to the side of the bed, I realized that indeed, Noah was nowhere to be seen.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes, glancing around. The bathroom door was open, but the lights were off. My heart started to sink as I realized I was alone in the room.

I ran my hand over my face as I stood up and walked to the bathroom to splash some water on my face and wake myself up. When I finished, I looked at myself in the mirror, and I admitted that I needed to think about what happened last night.

It was taking my mind a little while to process it, but I couldn’t ignore the elephant in the room, even though the fading good mood in my heart wanted to resist doing so. Something had made Noah leave last night.

A thought occurred to me, and I hurried back into the room and started looking around at the desk and the drawers. I frowned. I’d hoped there would be a note from him, since we hadn’t exchanged numbers yet, but I had no such luck. Finally ready to confront the ugliness of the situation, I sighed and started pulling my clothes back on.

When I walked out of the room, the hallway was mostly empty. I must have slept long enough that the staff who stayed here had already gotten up and started the daily routine, whatever that was. I figured now was as good a time as ever to try out the espresso bar upstairs, so I made my way up and over to the place Noah had led me last night.

The little café area wasn’t empty. There were a couple of men sitting inside, both of them with their noses buried in their tablets. Still, as I approached, they glanced up at me and gave me a brief smile of acknowledgment before going back to their business.

I saw Noah’s favorite painting hanging there between the French doors, just as it had been last night. I wasn’t sure why that was a surprise. Maybe part of me was wondering if the whole thing wouldn’t turn out to have been a dream, including Noah himself. But here I was, still in this strange, exclusive club, and there were still all the signs of what happened last night.

“Morning, sir,” the young barista said as I approached the counter.

“Morning! I’m...not formally a member yet, but is there any way I could pay for an espresso?” I asked.

“I think the club will survive one espresso.” The barista laughed. “Take it straight?”

I had to resist the urge to say it was the only thing in my life I took straight.

“Please,” I said. “You’re a gem.”

“Sure thing. Give me two seconds.”

He was a cute guy with a button nose and friendly smile, and the way he carried himself told me he was both relaxed and happy with his job. I knew that look-- it was the look of an employee who took pleasure in serving the right drink to his customers. It was strange, though-- normally, that was exactly the kind of guy I was interested in, but even though the right ingredients were there, I didn’t feel the faintest urge to check him out or even flirt harmlessly.

I wrote it off as a side-effect of how quickly everything was happening. The barista served me some delicious, inky-black liquid in a cute cup, and I slid him a ten-dollar bill, taking the cup and saucer and making a beeline for the balcony before he could stop me.

What was the point of having billions in your bank account if you couldn’t tip well?

I was alone out on the balcony, which was just the way I liked it. Up in the sky, a few birds were sailing overhead against the clear blue, cloudless expanse, probably taking as much time as they could to enjoy the warm summer before autumn started breezing in. I sat down on an ornate metal chair and took a deep breath as I set the steaming espresso in front of me and peered down into the courtyard. It too was empty, though I could hear people talking over breakfast on the balcony below me.

No matter where I was in this massive, sprawling club, it felt like there was life and activity, but never so much that it was overwhelming. There seemed to be a lot of people here, but they all knew how not to make a place feel crowded. It was that feeling of solidarity of being the first group of people to wake up on a given morning, but it was like that everywhere.

I felt a smile come to my face unbidden. I could get used to this.

I started flipping through the news on my phone while sipping on the espresso, but I wasn’t paying any attention to what was on the screen. I was going over everything that happened last night.

I had met with Noah. I had toured with Noah. I’d had a good time with Noah. I’d had sex with Noah.

Was all that right? No, it couldn’t have been that simple. I tried to run through things again. We met flirtatiously – no, that wouldn’t do. We felt an instant connection and – no, I couldn’t let myself think that. But we’d had sex, and, well, sure, we gave each other oral, but none of that gave me any hint about what might have chased him off before I woke up this morning.

I was an expert at overthinking things, to the point that I often overthought about the fact that I overthought things-- which was exactly what I was doing right then. I ran my hand through my hair and turned to stare at the wall across the courtyard blankly while I drank.

At least the espresso was damn good.

Was there any way I could have been pressuring Noah? I went over things in my head again, wondering if I had just been seeing things the way I wanted to see them. But no matter what, I kept coming to the same conclusion: Noah had made the first move.

This was the kind of thing that ate away at me constantly. I saw myself as an upbeat person, but I was also very aware of who I was and what kind of background I came from-- it was easy for power imbalances to make my love life...tricky. If I had my way, nobody would know my last name when I was just out to have a good time.

Noah hadn’t asked about any of that. He definitely knew because he knew Charles. But I’d given him endless outs, if he wanted them, and I asked him if he really wanted what we did. He said yes. What more could I do?

The answer was “nothing,” but that didn’t help the fact that I felt like I was at a loss. The sex had been great, and I felt a connection with Noah in a way I rarely felt, and it hurt that he had run off like he did. But he must have had a good reason, I figured, so I’d just have to find time to track him down and talk to him in private.

Somehow, that sounded easier said than done, even in my head.

While I was mulling over a few plans to get a minute to talk to Noah, including slipping a note with my number under his door like a high schooler, my phone buzzed. Charles was calling.

“Good morning!” I answered in a bright tone, immediately able to hide my feelings.

It was a skill I’d gotten good at by necessity over the years.

“Ben,” Charles greeted me cheerfully, “good to hear you’re up. Did you stay at the Fox last night?”

“I- I did!” I said, trying to hide my smile and praying the next question wasn’t which room I stayed in. “Best night’s sleep I’ve gotten in a while.”

“The guest rooms are hard to beat.” He chuckled. “That’s one thing I’ll miss when I go.”

“The UK does hospitality very well, though,” I pointed out.

“True enough,” he conceded. “Anyway, I wanted to ask you about something-- what does your schedule look like today?”

Try to flag down the ‘straight’ man I just got a blow job from last night and make sure we’re cool before joining a secret society, nothing major.

“Just need to freshen up, but other than that, I was just planning to get to know the club a little better, nothing special,” I half lied. “I don’t think I want to leave the vicinity of the espresso bar for another fifteen minutes or so, but other than that, I take it you had something in mind?”

“Oh, good, I’m glad the taste for good coffee runs in the family.” Charles laughed. “I was starting to worry Scott would get lonely without me around. That’s the barista, by the way. Nobody’s a stranger at the Fox. I guarantee he’ll remember what you drink and how often you shake it up.”

“Should I take that as a challenge?”

I was kidding, of course. I wouldn’t dream of making a barista’s life any harder than it already was.

“We pay them to be the best there is, and they seem to enjoy it,” Charles said. “Anyway, yes, I did have something I wanted to run by you. I know I said yesterday that we’d have a formal member induction ceremony for you sometime in the future, but I wanted to see how tonight sounded to you.”

“As in, you want me to get inducted tonight?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.

“Precisely,” Charles said. “I know this is a lot happening very fast, and I’ll completely understand if you want to back out, but…”

“But what?”

“I was expecting you to cut me off if you had a problem with any of that,” Charles said with a sheepish laugh, and I rolled my eyes, smirking. “I know your schedule can get busy at the drop of a hat, so I wanted to get you inducted formally as soon as possible, if that’s something you’re open to.”

I could see right through Charles’s words to what he was really thinking.

Inducting me as a member immediately was probably faster than most people got inducted, which would make my membership even more of a splash than it was going to be already. It would draw attention, which was exactly what Charles wanted. We still hadn’t discussed this plan of his to put me on the council when he retired, but I knew it was connected. My induction had to be big, it had to be soon, and it had to be promising.

It occurred to me that until now, I hadn’t given much more thought to whether or not I really wanted to take up Charles’s offer on gunning for the seat on the council. This was a fabulous club, and Charles was the kind of relative I cared about and didn’t want to disappoint, but it was another thing entirely to take on a leadership role in an international, prestigious social club like this, no matter how nice it was.

But when those doubts came to mind, one other image came to mind on top of that: Noah. This was the kind of place where a man like Noah could thrive, apparently, and it was the kind of place he loved. More interestingly, it was the kind of place where he spent a lot of time, and if there was one thing I did know about this club, it was that I liked Noah.

He and people like him deserved good leadership.

“Sounds good to me,” I said after a pause. “I’m in. Just tell me where to be and when.”

“Wonderful!” Charles said enthusiastically. “I’ll send you the details by email.”

While Charles spoke, I carried my saucer and empty cup back inside to set on the bar, and as I did, I saw the painting Noah had talked to me about hanging on the wall again. I peered at it thoughtfully for a moment.

“Sure, sure,” I said, feeling a smile growing on my face. “Just one more thing-- remember what you said about sprucing up some of the art around here? I just had an idea.”

The golden light that made the dining room glow like the inside of a bank vault made it look like a completely different room than the one I’d seen last night.

It was just after sunset, and the room was packed with people. I saw that Charles hadn’t been exaggerating when he said this club drew men from all walks of life. Some of the men here looked rough around the edges, and some looked like they were born with silver spoons in their mouths. I noticed that they tended to segregate themselves, and I could even start to pick out miniature social circles like Charles was worried about. Still, the mood was merry, and few people who looked at me weren’t smiling.

I sat beside Charles at the table in the middle of the room, surrounded by the other council members. There were five in total: Charles was one, as was Jack Kensington, who was one of the few not smiling at me. The other three were Michael Caldwell, Andy Lockwood, and Zach Sinclair. Michael was a silver fox up there with Charles and Jack in age, though Charles was easily the oldest of that group. Andy and Zach were closer to my age, probably both just barely over thirty, if that. They were seated farther away from me than the rest, which made sense, given that the senior council members wanted some time to get to know me.

In the middle of our table stood a statue of a fox, made of silver and gilded with pure gold, as Charles told me. It was standing on a small platform midstep, with its front right paw raised and its head turned as if listening to something. I didn’t know much about gold or silversmithing, but I thought it looked remarkably lifelike in its detail. All he had told me about it was that it was part of a club tradition, and he didn’t say more.

We had just finished the main course of exquisitely roasted salmon and were drinking another round of fine wine when Charles stood up, giving me a meaningful look, telling me it was just about time for things to get started.

“Gentlemen, if I could have your attention for just a moment, please-- well, several moments, because we are gathered here for a reason,” he said, clinking his glass lightly as the room settled down and turned to us. “If you think it’s safe to relax and tell your stomachs the relentless onslaught of our chefs’ finest work is over, I’m afraid I have bad news for you.”

The room laughed politely, and Charles gave a quick grin before looking back down to me with a more earnest smile.

“In 1842, five men attended an art auction in this very building, where many of New York City’s finest bid on exquisite pieces of art from around the world. Samuel Clayton, Jonathan Kent, Malcolm Dryden, Oliver Hastings, and William Cabot engaged in a fierce bidding war over this Florentine piece,” he said, and he gestured to the fox statuette in the center of the table. “A gilded fox that apparently all of them thought would look exquisite in their dining rooms.”

The room laughed again, but it was brief-- I got the feeling Charles came up with a new joke to make at every one of these inductions.

“Like decent gentlemen, they got together after the bidding war for a friendly drink, and soon, they all realized that they had two things in common, the same two things that all of us do to this very day: a love of fine art and a love of fine men!”

The cheer that went through the room was a lot more lively, and I even noticed Jack smiling and clapping along with the others.

“They became fast friends, and they realized that men like themselves needed a place to be themselves, a place to relax and enjoy the finer things in life while helping one another through it. And so, together, they bought out the very building where the auction took place, turned it into the club we have today, and named it in honor of the piece of art that brought them all together.”

Charles picked up the fox and offered it to me as I stood up on cue. I took it in my hands and felt its weight, and while I had never been big on ceremonies, I had to admit...holding something that hundreds of men before me had held came with a sense of pride. As I looked over the crowd, though, the bar at the far end of the room caught my attention.

Noah was standing behind it, watching me with an unreadable expression. I stared at him longer than I should have before Charles spoke again, heart racing.

“Ben, my nephew, it is my very great honor to open our doors to you and welcome you into this fraternal society of the Gilded Fox. Do you accept?”

For one last moment, I locked eyes with Noah, then looked to Charles and smiled.

“Nothing would make me happier. I accept.”

A ripple of applause went through the room, and I smiled at everyone who met my gaze.

“Thank you all,” I said. “I’m humbled by your hospitality. It isn’t often that I get to meet a more welcoming and exciting group of people, and I can only hope to measure up to the spectacular standards all of you so clearly set.”

I paused for applause.

“And with that in mind,” I said, my smile growing, “I think it would be fitting to begin my membership here by bringing something to the table uniquely fitting for this society. I am happy to announce that I am organizing an art exposition right here at the Fox.”

A wave of murmurs rippled through the audience, as I expected. Most of the people looked excited at the prospect, wide-eyed and with smiles on their faces. A minority raised their eyebrows-- most notably Jack, who sat so close to me I could watch his mouth twitch.

“This will be an event intended to bring a fresh drop of the Manhattan arts scene to our doorstep, as well as to support the artistic community through safely anonymous channels,” I went on. “Naturally, I will provide the funding for organizing the event-- I can’t think of a more fitting way to thank you all for welcoming me into your esteemed ranks. Now, enough of me rambling; let’s get to dessert.”

I sat down to the cheers of the audience, and I looked over to see Charles giving me an approving smile and a firm nod. It warmed my heart that he had gotten on board with my idea, and I knew it was rocking the boat in the exact way we wanted it to.

My heart was in this, and I wanted it to be fully invested in it.

But the one thing my mind really wanted to spend time on was that elusive man behind the bar.