Page 11 of Taking Turns

But… they will end up downstairs together tonight. I can tell. Reading people is a skill I’ve honed over the years. The club is closed tonight for Lucinda’s private party, but it is her party and she can fuck whoever she wants. She gets to do that downstairs. Just her, and her guests, and her choices—as long as her husband is there. Because she’s a guest here as well. Her husband, Clark, is the member.

But Lucinda isn’t the type to step out on him, so I don’t even bother worrying about it. There are more important things right now. Like Quin.

“Look,” I say. “I don’t think you should take this the wrong way.”

“How should I take it?” Quin lifts his snifter and drinks. A long sip. Not how you drink a good brandy.

“Maybe… I don’t know. It’s not personal, Quin. That’s the whole point, right? It’s not personal. It’s a game, it’s pleasure, it’s arranged, and safe, and satisfying. She didn’t join us for you and she didn’t leave us for you.”

Quin is silent again. People are laughing down below. Good times. Fun times. Some of the guests have cleared out, gone downstairs to find a space to watch the show. But plenty of them still remain.

I wonder if Smith will go down there later? I’ll go if he does, but Lucinda is a little tame for my tastes. I’m not sure she’s worth staying up all night to watch, to be honest.

The elevator door dings. Quin and I both redirect our gaze to find Smith and the new girl stepping out onto the landing.

The first thing I notice are her eyes. They dart back and forth, giving off a nervous vibe. Her hand is clutching Smith’s arm, and even though Smith is walking forward, she freezes, makes him stop. Pulls him back.

Smith leans down into her neck and whispers something. Her eyes dart up to his. Caught in his trap.

“Do you fucking see that?” Quin asks.

“It’s pretty hard to miss.” I scan the party to see if anyone has noticed Smith’s appearance yet, but they are all still busy fluttering around Lucinda, looking for attention.

“She’s wearing Rochelle’s coat,” Quin says.

I redirect my gaze back to Smith. “And the dress I bought her for that Christmas party last year.” I’m pretty sure those shoes belong to Rochelle too. I’m pretty sure I bought them for her.

The girl—no, woman, I realize. Older than Rochelle by a few years, at least. Maybe thirty? Thirty-two? The woman is pretty. Maybe even more than pretty. Her long dark hair is draped over her shoulders. Her skin is fair—in fact, she looks quite pale. Her face is sweet. The face of someone who grew up beautiful.

Smith is still talking to her. She is nodding her head. Biting her lip.

“Don’t do that,” Smith says. “Don’t bite your lip. Don’t look at anyone. Ignore the people and the party. This will all be over in a few minutes.”

“Hey,” I call out. They are only about twenty feet away and the din of the party down below is enough to keep any guests from overhearing. “Do you want me to take it from here?”

Smith looks right at me, probably pissed off that Quin and I are sitting at his table without him. “No.”

I shrug. Sip my brandy. And scoot a little closer to the edge of the ledge so I can watch the show that’s about to happen.

A moment later, when the woman in the red dress is collected and steadied, they descend the stairs slowly and deliberately. The way Smith does everything.

“What the fuck is he doing?” Quin asks. “Why the hell is she dressed up like that?”

“I can only assume her clothes weren’t dress code-appropriate and he improvised.”

“I don’t like it,” Quin says.

“He doesn’t care,” I reply, absently. The party almost goes silent when people notice Smith and the woman. Not quite. There’s music and people in the Black Room can’t see him yet, so it’s only the grand lobby that shuts up. But it’s enough to be noticeable.

Lucinda is first to approach. “Smith.” I can’t really hear her soft greeting, but I can read her lips. “I didn’t think you were here.” He kisses her on both cheeks, leaning in the way he does. Probably to say happy birthday. And Lucinda smiles, pulls back, and studies the woman on Smith’s arm. “Who’s this? Is she your date? I was hoping…” She trails off.

We all know what she was hoping.

“I’ve got to take my date home, Lucinda. I’m sorry, I’ll probably miss the opening scene. But I’ll be back later.” Smith’s voice is easily heard. The entire club is watching now.

“Do you promise?” she asks, hurt and disappointed.

“Promise,” Smith says, using that charming smile he’s mastered over the years. “Don’t wait for me though. I’ll find you later.”