Saffi

I had to admit, I was scared shitless about my next destination of the evening—the mysterious Club Silk. Not to mention, a little titillated by Dad’s hot friend. What was the guy’s name? Oh, right. Varden. He was gorgeous, no doubt, with thick, messy hair, a perfectly chiseled face, and dark, dark eyes. And he’d worn some of the most beautiful clothing I’d ever seen on a man. Certainly nicer than anything I ever saw at the paper.

But I knew his type. Hot, rich, man-whore. No thanks. And commenting on my appearance? What the hell?

It didn’t matter. I’d never see him again.

Unless Dad invited him to the firm holiday party…

I got in my car and leaned back on the headrest, eyes closed. With a deep breath, I turned on the ignition.

Let’s get this party started.

The instructions for accessing the club had come in a text message toward the end of dinner with Dad and Varden. My phone had buzzed, and for a second I was afraid Varden had spotted it. I casually glanced at the message while they discussed some sort of new industry regulations.

I was to arrive at Club Silk and ask for Miss M. The message said the building’s street address would not be visible, and to give myself extra time to identify it by looking at the addresses to the right and left. There would be no asking for identification since the club was all about protecting its members’ privacy, but I’d have to verbally agree to follow a few, simple rules.

I was to text back with the first initial of my last name.

Sounded easy enough.

I arrived with time to spare and parked a half block away so I could watch other guests come and go. The club was in the old Dog Patch district of the city, which mostly consisted of run-down warehouses and factories, tech startups, and the occasional house inhabited by hipster squatters.

I checked my makeup again and took some deep breaths to calm my nerves. I would not let this opportunity slip through my fingers. How many other chances like this would I get at the paper?

What’s the worst that could happen, anyway? They’d figure out who I was and kick me out? That would suck, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world. Who knew, maybe there’d be a story in that.

At two minutes past the hour—I didn’t want to look desperate—I climbed out of my Honda Civic. I crossed the street to the club, and discreetly read the buildings’ street numbers while strolling.

The club’s front door was large, black, and non-descript. The only indication that there was life on the other side was a peephole, and a small, illuminated doorbell. I fluffed my hair, rubbed my teeth clean of lipstick, and put on my best I own this place smile.

The door whipped open. I could barely see beyond the glamorous woman facing me.

“You must be Miss M?”

C’mon, confidence.

“Please, come in,” she said.

It took me a sec to adjust to the dim light, but when I did, I took in a room covered in heavy damask wallpaper with pillar candles scattered about and dark, overstuffed furniture, just like how I pictured a bordello. And it was pretty damn sexy. A few men and women sat on the sofas, chatting quietly with cocktails in hand. On a small dance floor in the corner, a couple moved to the music while enjoying a passionate kiss. I’d never seen such a collection of perfectly toned, coiffed, and stylish people. How did M pull it all off?

But what was most striking was M, herself. Curls spilled down the back of her silky, green evening dress. Her eyes were ringed in just the right amount of kohl, and her full lips were red and glossy. Her sky-scraping heels put her around six feet tall, something I could easily gauge, being five foot ten myself.

I dutifully followed this thirties-era screen siren to a couple club chairs in a corner.

“Please sit,” she said, gesturing. “I understand you’d like to be called B here at the club.”

I forced a graceful smile. “Yes, that would be fine.” I crossed my legs with my hands around my top knee.

“Very well. And you said you were referred by a friend?” Her head tilted while she smiled coolly.

“Yes, that is correct.”

“And who was that friend?”

Oh shit. Of course she was going to ask that.

Think fast.

“I’m afraid I can’t share that with you. Sorry.”

She looked down at her hands. “All right, B. I would like to stress that Club Silk is an oasis for its members. People come here for many reasons. But one thing they all have in common is a desire to have their privacy protected. Just like you hope for, I assume?”

“Yes, I expect my privacy to be protected.” I nodded.

“Then you will verbally agree to never speak of the club when you are beyond its walls. If you see someone outside whom you know from the club, you will not acknowledge them. You will not ask anyone’s real name, nor share yours. You’ll see that many of the members wear masks. You will respect their desire to keep their faces hidden. All sexual activity—from light touching to full-on intercourse—is completely consensual. You can count on never being pressured by anyone to do anything.” She smiled and sat back in her seat.

“Of course, there may be interested parties who will endeavor to seduce you. We all know and enjoy the thrill of the chase,” she added.

Damn right.

But hold on, cowgirl. You’re here for work, first.

“May I ask you some questions now?” I ventured.

“You may,” she said with a slow nod.

“Is this your place? How long have you had it?”

“B. You will learn all that and more over a period of time as you get to know the club and its members.” She stood. Should I stand, too? “Now, I’ll leave you to explore on your own. If you ever need anything, please let me know.”

That seemed to be the end of that conversation.

She floated away to greet someone who’d just arrived, her green dress swirling around her lower legs. The new guest was in profile, but wore a full-face mask.

Geez, what was he hiding from?

But more importantly, where could a cool mask like that be found?

I spotted a staircase in the far corner and headed over to it, not wanting to look like a loser sitting all by my lonesome. I needed to get the lay of the land and collect as much detail as I could, as quickly as I could.

Crossing the room, I noticed both male and female heads turning, checking me out. Probably because I was a new face? Or rather, a new ass?

At the top of the stairs, where there was even less light than the first floor, I was offered a glass of champagne. I had to drink slowly to keep my wits about. A woman wearing a red dress and high heels sat on a cushy sofa. I made a beeline for her.

Maybe she’d be friendly.

“May I sit here?”

“Of course.” She patted the seat next to her as she looked up at me. “You’re new here.”

She was stunning. Black bobbed hair, green eyes, her full lips smeared with nothing more than a neutral gloss.

Note to self: get to Sephora for some new makeup tips.

“Yup. It’s my first time.”

The woman extended her hand. “I’m P.” She held up her champagne glass for a toast.

“I’m B. I’m never gonna keep these one-letter names straight.”

P laughed. “Don’t worry. No one does.” She took a long draw on the last of her champagne and looked around for the server.

“What brought you here?” P asked.

“Oh, I was just curious I guess.”

“So you came by yourself? For your first time?” P’s eyebrows rose.

Hmmm. Was that why people were staring?

“Sure,” I told her. “Why? Is that strange?”

P pursed her lips thoughtfully, and smiled. “I guess it’s not strange. It’s just that most women are brought here for the first time by a man.” She waved over the server for two fresh glasses of champagne.

“Cheers to you. You’ve got some balls,” P said, holding her glass up.

I laughed, hoping my mirth didn’t sound as fake as it felt. But the champagne was helping take the edge off.

“Thank you. Thank you very much.”

I spotted another dance floor in the distance, a couple smaller rooms I couldn’t quite see into, and a bunch of seating areas like the one P and I were occupying. Beyond that, there was another staircase leading to a higher level. The place was just sprawling.

“Where’s that go?” I pointed.

“There are a couple play rooms on the third floor for the super high rollers. Very exclusive. I’ve been in them a couple times.”

“Why do they need their own rooms?”

P tilted her head and made an I can’t believe you asked that question face. “Wow. You are really green aren’t you?”

“So what if I am?”

P sighed. “Some have their own rooms because they have some pretty intense kinks. And some just want an extra layer of privacy. A couple years ago, a guy sneaked some photos with his iPhone and then threatened certain members with blackmail. People fucking freaked out. They stopped coming for a while. I thought the club was gonna close.”

“Whoa. What came of it?” My shaking hands sent a splash of champagne onto the sofa. Dammit.

“People gradually came back after Miss M stepped up security. And the guy? Rumor has it he disappeared.”

“What? What do you mean, disappeared?”

Jesus, what have I gotten myself in to?

“Well, of course he never showed his face at the club again. But a couple folks knew him from around town. They said they never saw him again out and about. His phone was disconnected, his apartment abandoned.”

My eyes grew wide with horror. What the fuck?

P smiled, shrugging. “But like I said, that’s just a rumor. Probably not even true.”

Holy shit.