Chapter Twenty-Eight - Quin
“Saw her where?” I ask. But Bric is on his feet, already walking towards the White Room. Smith goes after him, so I have no choice but to follow. We push our way through the revolving doors just in time to see a woman throw a drink in Rochelle’s face. Some of it even lands on my mother. And Adley.
“What the fuck is going on here?” Bric bellows the words out so loud, the whole room lets out a shocked gasp.
The woman, who is so drunk she’s swaying, takes her fury to Bric. “This little cheating whore!” she yells. “She’s just like her mother. Just like her father. The disgusting deviant side in her comes naturally. She thinks she’s so much better than me? Well, let me tell you a little bit about Rochelle Bastille! She’s—”
But Bric has his hand over her mouth and is dragging her ass back towards the doors we just came through.
I walk over to Rochelle and take Adley from my mom. “Are you OK? What the hell was that?”
“I’m fine,” Rochelle says, wiping champagne off her face. I take my pocket square out of my suit coat and offer it to her. “Thanks,” she says, with a frustrated sigh. “And that was my father’s ex-mistress throwing a tantrum because Bric threatened to kick her sugar daddy out of the Club if she didn’t keep her trap shut about how she knows me.”
“How does she know you?” I ask. Smith’s words are still ringing in my head. You don’t know anything about her, Quin. You never ask. But then some guy in a gray suit starts dabbing my mother’s dress with a handkerchief. “And who the fuck are you?” I ask him.
“Sorry,” the guy says. He’s about Bric’s age, I’d guess.
“Quin,” Chella says, coming up next to me. “That’s Darrel Jameson. He’s a former FBI agent. Used to be my security detail back when I was young and wild.” She laughs.
“Oh,” I say. “Sorry about that. But I’m kinda wound up. My girls just got a drink thrown on them.”
“No problem,” Jameson says. “It’s nice to finally meet you. When Bric hired me to find Rochelle, we didn’t have a chance to talk. I got the info so fast.” He laughs. “It’s almost like he didn’t want her found. Anyway, I only reported to him. And it’s all working out, I see.” He beams a smile over to Rochelle, who looks very confused.
“What?” I have to shake my head a little to catch up with the conversation.
“Quin,” Chella says, taking my arm. Adley is smacking me on the face, babbling her little heart out, completely oblivious to the commotion. “I didn’t even have a chance to tell you. I introduced him to Bric and the very next day, Rochelle came home on her own. So we never needed him.”
“No.” Jameson chuckles. “I found her thirty minutes after you gave me her name, Marcella. I came to the Club to tell you that, but you left. So I told Mr. Bricman—” He stops talking. “Ohhhh. Yeah. Oops.” He winces. “Mr. Bricman did tell me not to tell you.”
“He what?” Chella says.
“What the fuck is happening right now?” I look at Rochelle. “Did Bric find you? Did he tell you to come home? Did you lie to me?”
“Listen,” Chella says. “I’m sure this all a misunderstanding. Rochelle came home because she missed you, Quin. Right, Rochelle?”
I look at Rochelle and she’s pale. So fucking pale. That’s not why she came home. I can tell. I can read her mind.
I look at Smith and he’s leaning up against the wall near the revolving doors, his arms crossed, big smug smile on his face. “There’s more,” he says. “Isn’t there, Rochelle?”
“Smith,” Chella barks. “Would you shut up! You’re not helping.”
Rochelle snaps out of her shock and comes up to me, taking Adley right out of my arms. “We need to go clean up. Excuse me.”
Everyone, and I do mean everyone in this tea room, watches her walk away. As soon as she disappears into the restroom, the whole place explodes in whispers.
Bric appears behind me. “I’m so sorry, everyone. Please, continue to enjoy your tea. Helen will not be back, so if you’re in her party…” He stops, like he’s thinking. “Well, just get the fuck out now. I have no tolerance for this kind of bullshit.”
He waits, but not a single woman gets up to claim that Helen woman as a friend.
“Good,” Bric growls at them. “If any of you think you’re going to come in here and start some catty bullshit, you’re mistaken. You know the rules.”
Everyone turns away from him, pretending to be interested in their tea and not the complete scene we’re making here in the back of the room.
“Well, that was quite a show,” I say. “You wanna fucking explain what the hell just happened in here?”
“No,” Bric says, combing his fingers through his hair. “We can have that discussion at home.”
“I think we should have it now,” Smith says, walking over to us.
“Smith,” Chella cautions him.
But Smith is not deterred. He’s risking Chella’s anger because he’s got something to say to me. So I put a hand up to stop her. “Just let him talk, Chella.”
“Not here,” Bric growls at us.
“Here,” I say back. And then I look Bric in the eyes. “Now.”
“Rochelle has a lot of explaining to do, Quin,” Smith says. “Do you really think I’d pay her ten thousand dollars a month to stay away for the fuck of it? Why did Rochelle leave so suddenly, Chella? You told us she took off unexpectedly. Why?”
I look at Chella. “Do you know what he’s talking about?”
She shrugs, looking confused. “Rochelle did leave unexpectedly, but—”
“But that’s not even the worst of it,” Smith says. “The worst of it is…” He stops. Like he’s got a lot more to say, but he’s not sure if he should say it.
“You might as well keep going,” I say.
“I know why she left and it’s got nothing to do with you.”
I look at Chella again. “What’s going on?”
“She doesn’t know anything,” Smith says. “I didn’t tell her. And I wasn’t going to tell you either, but I cannot let you continue this farce of a relationship, especially since you’re dragging your mother into it. There’s a very good chance Adley doesn’t belong to either of you,” Smith says.
“What?” Bric and I say together.
“She was cheating on you guys,” Smith says. “I saw her in a very heated argument with a guy on the street the day before she took off.”
“You must really hate me,” Rochelle says in a small voice from behind us. She’s standing just outside the door of the restroom. “That is some kind of hate, Smith Baldwin.” Then she looks at me. “I don’t have any idea where he’s getting this.”
“So I didn’t see you with another man the day before you took off?” Smith looks at me and shakes his head. “Don’t believe her. Don’t believe a single word she says. She comes from a long line of liars. I looked her whole family up that spring I stopped coming by. I always knew you were someone, Rochelle. You had no cares. You had no worries. You had no commitments. I looked your family up. I even made a special trip out to Palm Springs to meet your father once. What a guy. So, yes, Rochelle Bastille, you absolutely do have some idea of what I’m fucking talking about.”
Rochelle looks at me, anger washing over her. “I think it’s ironic that I’m here, in a place filled with cheaters, being called a cheater. This Club is nothing but cheating. You people are the height of hypocrisy. And if you believe him—well, then I’ll happily pretend I never came back. Helen just accused me of being a stupid little slut, just like my mother. And now Smith Baldwin is going to say the same thing? After he used me for years, just like the rest of you?” She shakes her head. “No. I don’t think so.”
Rochelle lifts up her head, straightens her spine, and walks right past us, disappearing through the revolving doors.