Months later
CHICAGO WINTERS ARE BLISTERING, WITH well below freezing temperatures and about five hours of sunlight each day. But from the double corner windows of my office, you could almost mistake it for a winter wonderland in the late afternoon hours. Surrounded by smells of a catered holiday feast, and the knowledge that a new year is mere days away, you’d think I would be happy—hopeful.
A new year means new beginnings.
But ironically the biggest part of me would rather fall, tumbling down from this window, rather than see the wonder in the snow-covered Chicago Loop below.
“I’m not going to say that you need to just lay down your sword, Lydia. But what I will say is remember you’re talking to Aston and that you both want what’s best for her. You’re here every day, yet somehow, you manage to avoid him. You need to talk. He loves you,” Helaena, Aston’s sister, and our firm accountant, says. I look down at my hands, tamping down the urge to spur the pointless conversation further, picking at my nails to keep from it.
“I’ll talk to him after we come back from New Year’s,” I say, turning away from the window to look at her. The look on her face changes like a set of automatic blinds.
“Speaking of New Year’s, what’s your plans?” She leans forward, clasping her hands on the desk. I shrug.
“Nothing. I suppose I’ll stop by the hospital and—”
“Not on New Year’s Eve you won’t.”
My eyes round at her.
“I’ve wanted to invite you for some time now, but decided to wait until I felt like you were up for it.”
“Up for what?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe a little intimacy without intricacy.” She cocks an eyebrow at me, smirk evident on her red lips. I ease to my chair, propping my elbows on the desk and coming closer as she continues. “Members of the Elite will bring in the new year at my home and I would love for you to come.”
“And the Elite is what?”
“Professional twenty and thirty something’s that don’t have time for dating or relationships.”
“Isn’t that most Chicago singles these days?”
“Most Chicago singles aren’t on the list, so no. We meet once, twice a month. No last names, no business talk. Just light conversation, and if you meet a match, multiple orgasms.” She treats her response as if she were discussing hiring a maid service. I lean back into the chair and look at her for a second.
“So, I come to this party and find someone to fuck, basically?” I try not to sound like a child, but by the way she looks down and smirks, I’d say I failed.
“We’re all human, Lydia. We all have needs, but not all of us have time to find an appropriate mate to satisfy those needs. Right? You need an outlet, and as classless as it is to say, sometimes a good fuck is the best outlet there is.” Helaena has always been a straight-shooter, but as bold as her words are, they still aren’t as bold as the thought of walking into a room full of strangers with the intent of singling out someone to have sex with.
I’m stunned. “I don’t know what to say. I’ve never considered meeting people strictly for sex. I’m not a prude, I just never knew that existed—the Elite.”
Helaena stands, gathering files from the seat beside her.
“When you are in an intimate, romantic relationship with someone, what purpose do they serve in your life?”
“I suppose someone to enjoy life and possibly grow old with.” She faces me fully, placing the remaining files in her briefcase and grabbing her suit jacket from the back of the chair.
“And maybe fulfill your desires?”
I shrug and nod.
“Then if you aren’t at a place in life where you’re ready for all that other stuff, then wouldn’t it make perfect sense to find someone, multiple people even, to bring you pleasure? Meet those desires?” Her words wash over me like a wave of provocation and she grins as realization transforms in my eyes. “I have an appointment in twenty minutes, so I’ve got to run. Our gatherings usually aren’t formal, but we dress things up for New Year’s. Find a dress that doesn’t say monastery, and be at my house at ten Saturday.”
I follow her out and she grins at me over her shoulder, turning to the right toward the stairs while I stare out into space from the doorway of my office.
I’m left reeling, and a bit disoriented at the thought that tomorrow I’m apparently throwing my boundaries right out the window.
My Greek and Swedish traits couldn’t be more opposite; Swedish women are known for their platinum locks and piercing blue eyes and Grecian women known for their dark hair and olive skin. When you take the two and put them together? You get me.
I inherited my mother’s dark hair and long stature and my father’s ice blue eyes and fair skin. It caused unwanted attention as a child, from modeling agencies and other pointless ventures I wasn’t interested in, but seemingly never from the right person as an adult.
I dated my only real boyfriend through high school, but as soon as he realized law school was in my immediate future, and becoming Suzy Homemaker wasn’t, he decided I wasn’t wife material. Which couldn’t have worked out better, really. The woman I am now, compared to the uneducated push over I was then couldn’t be more opposite. I know what I want now. Mostly.
As much as I wanted to deny Helaena’s adamant request for my appearance at her annual New Year’s party, a small part of me was urgent to attend.
Everyone says there should be more to a relationship than physical attraction, but what if Helaena’s right and you find yourself at a point in life where that’s precisely what you need, crave, even?
I crave a man’s hands on me for no other reason than pure, unadulterated lust. No hidden expectations of more, just pleasure. Anything to take my mind off my reality and send me into orbit around a brighter place.
But why has society placed such a label on people, relationships, and what they do in or out of them?
If there’s one thing we’ve done as a human race up to this point, I’d say our major accomplishment is humanism itself. Advancement in all things, but most importantly, bettering our race and shedding the cloak of bull shit placed over our shoulders hundreds of years ago; feminism, racism, etc. So, tell me why not sexualism? Or more specifically, female sexualism.
My mother used to tell me, “Lydia, I won’t hear of you being one of those promiscuous girls. Your father is the only man I’ve ever been with, and I want the same for you.”
First, thanks for the over-share, Mom. Never been aware of my under-appreciation of split-floor plans until right then. Second, why does a woman have to be labeled as “promiscuous” because she chooses to have multiple partners in her life? Hell, maybe she wants to have multiple partners in a week. Why the need to label her a slut or whore, or whatever other colorful bumper sticker you want to slap on her ass?
I’ve known of Helaena’s dating preferences for the last couple of years after I finally got the gall to ask her why she’d never married, nor had I ever seen her date. Helaena is gorgeous. A complete knockout. At thirty-eight, she is the youngest sibling to Aston, who is the oldest of the six Eriksson children. Her being just twelve years older than me seems like there’s a world of difference between her and Aston, but not so much between her and me.
Her response to my question didn’t surprise me.
“I haven’t time nor the patience to mess with boys. My needs are met by the skilled hands of men who know what they’re doing.”
Those words resonate with me as I take in my appearance, the hum of need rising to the surface. The thought of walking into a room full of attractive, successful people, all there for the sole purpose of pleasure, brought about feelings of fear yesterday, but today, turned me on beyond recognition and caused me to question who I am.
A year ago, I never would’ve entertained the idea of something like this. Growing up with parents like mine, devoted high school sweethearts, predestined your future to some degree. But the last six months brought about change and altered my perspective.
My phone rings from the bed and I move to grab it.
“Hello?”
“Miss Norberg, I’m parked just outside if you’re ready.”
“I’ll be down in five.” I hang up the call and take one last look at myself in the mirror before grabbing my clutch and sequined cape.
The elevator ride down is spent second guessing myself; should I have worn a different dress? Am I showing too much cleavage? I look down at my boobs. Maybe.
As I open the building door, exposed to the elements, I’m reminded why I barely leave the comfort of my warm apartment on the weekend and briefly wonder if tonight will re-solidify that or make me regret not leaving sooner.
“How are you, Tony?” I ask as I walk quickly toward the town car.
“Great, Miss. Got it warm and toasty inside for you.”
I smile warmly at the man who has become a sort of a constant in my life since Dad insisted I stop using public transportation considering the daily trips to the hospital and work. When he closes the door behind me I am pleased to feel the truth in his statement as the thin material of my dress is all that separates my ass from the warm leather seats.
“From the looks of that dress, I’d say we aren’t taking our usual trip tonight?” Tony looks over his shoulder as he settles in his seat.
“Tonight it’s 34 East Bellevue, please.” I smile generously at him. “Speaking of the dress, you don’t think it’s too much?” He looks at me from the rearview mirror now.
“I think depending on who you ask, that dress is a lot of things, but too much ain’t one. Besides, you can’t have too much of a good thing.”
He pulls away from the curb and points us in the direction of Gold Coast. Snickering, I slide the door of the console between the bucket seats open to find ice and a bottle of gin and tonic. While I prepare a much-needed drink, Tony speaks.
“I figure it will take us about thirty minutes to get there with tonight’s traffic, so take your time. Wouldn’t want you getting sloppy for your date before we get there.”
“Is that right? And how do you know I’ve got a date?” He rolls his lips and chuckles.
“With a dress like that, if you don’t have one yet, you will.”
When we make it through the insane traffic and start down Bellevue, a knot forms among the warmth created in my belly by the gin and tonic. It’s not like I have anything to be nervous about, I’m here as a guest. She informed me that each member can bring a guest. You aren’t expected to match with anyone, but the opportunity is there.
Tony stops the car and exits to come around to my door. It’s not till he opens it and takes my hand to help me out that I realize just how high the slit in this dress is. I step out onto the sidewalk and straighten the floor length skirt and enclose my silver cape around my shoulders, covering my bare midriff as I head for the door.
“Do I need to come pick you up later?” Tony calls from behind me. I pause and turn, closing my eyes briefly at my forgotten manners.
“I’m sorry, Tony. In another world, I guess. That won’t be necessary.”
“I hope you let loose a little tonight, Miss Norberg. Happy New Year.” He tips his hat to me and I nod in return.
“Thank you and Happy New Year.” I reach out and ring the doorbell to the townhouse. It immediately opens and an attractive man about my age waves his arm out for me to enter.
“Would you like me to take your coat, ma’am?” he asks and I look up, smiling and nodding as I release the cape clasp at my neck. His eyes briefly trail down my torso, past my cleavage and stopping at the exposed skin of my stomach before meeting my eyes and taking the cape. Clearing his throat, he continues. “I will place this in the coat closet. The guests are at the top of the stairs on the rooftop deck.”
I nod, a satisfied grin plastered on my lips as I turn my back to him and head up the stairs. I can use all the confidence I can gather right about now.
The closer I get to the top, the clearer music and voices become. I stop short for just a second, questions and second guesses flooding my mind as I wonder what I’ll find. Which makes what I do find after taking the last two steps such a relief.
I’d estimate somewhere around fifty people fill the expansive deck atop Helaena’s townhouse. Women dressed in cocktail dresses and the men in suits, some with ties, some without. A jazz quartet plays in one corner and several members of a catering staff pass around trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres.
I painted this picture in my mind of people standing silent in a room or walking around until someone snatched them up and propositioned them. Some secret society to be kept free of onlookers like bands and wait staff.
I close my eyes and shake my head, chuckling to myself as I make my way toward the crowd. Nodding and smiling, several people take notice of my presence as I scan the crowd for Helaena. At five foot nine and platinum hair, you’d think she’d be a bit easier to find.
The space is decorated beautifully. White twinkle lights hang from the center of a stilted roof, casting an angelic glow over everyone. And thankfully given the insane temperature of the late December evening, a large fireplace caps off the opposite end of the roof and tall space heaters are set intermittently around. There are large couches and chairs around the room, although most people stand and mingle with one another.
“Lydia.” I turn to my right to see Helaena walking up to me. She opens her arms and grabs my shoulders in each hand, kissing each of my cheeks. “When I said don’t dress like a nun I didn’t mean show-up everyone here.” She smirks. I look down at my dress.
“You like it?”
“Are you kidding? I think I’ll be borrowing this in the future.” She wraps her arm around my shoulders and starts walking me through the crowd. “Now that you’re here and see things for yourself, how do you feel?”
I chew at my lip as I look back to her. “I have to be honest, I thought there might be kinky public stuff.”
She nods, grinning. “This is a regular party. Nothing takes place here but the exchange of information. You did remember to bring a card with your first name and phone number, right?”
I nod.
“Is this the guest you spoke of, Helaena?” A man sidles up beside us. She kisses his cheek and places her hand on his shoulder, looking to me.
“Yes, Byron, this is Lydia. Lydia, this is my friend, Byron.” He holds out his hand and I shake it.
They talk back and forth and I smile, nodding as they speak, taking in each guest we pass, trying my hardest not to appear rude or gawking. But in reality, looking more at their posture and presence, the way success pours out with each word spoken or hand gesture made. I’m around successful people daily; my parents, Madi’s parents, clients. But in this setting, from my vantage point, it carries a different look and feel. Even the way they hold and sip from their cocktail glasses seems so effortless and unrehearsed.
I swallow down the insecurity rising up my throat and press my chest forward ever so slightly, lengthening my form and standing taller.
My father used to tell me the key to winning a case isn’t just your knowledge of the laws or your client’s case, confidence is just as important. No matter how uncertain you feel, glide into that court room and look over the crowd, breath regulated and shoulders back. I try to apply this to all facets of my life, but somehow, it feels more necessary in this situation than others I’ve faced.
“Here, doll.” Helaena grabs a flute of champagne from a tray and hands it to me, and without thinking I down the contents. “Okay, not quite what I had in mind, but come on.”
I’m giving myself an internal pep talk when she stops in front of two guys and a woman. They all look to be just a little older than me, very clean-cut and professional, very perfectionist. I’m instantly turned off when I look at the two men.
On a night when all inhibitions are thrown to the wind, and the firm knowledge that I am hoping to find someone to have wild mindless sex with, things aren’t looking so great. I mean, the thought of a stuck-up suit in the bed makes me gag. It reminds me of the guys in law school who wouldn’t know raw desire if it slapped them in the face.
We make eye contact and I shoot Helaena a look that says please tell me they aren’t all this boring. She smirks and I reach out and take another champagne flute from a passing tray, giving all the appropriate indications that I’m listening to the conversation taking place between the four of them. That is until Helaena looks over my shoulder toward the stairs, eyes rounding as she pulls me toward the edge overlooking the city and says, “I think he’d be a strong contender, don’t you?”
I blink up at her, brows drawn as I follow her gaze.
When I see who he is, I feel warm, tingly…hopeful.