Page 12 of Taking Turns

“Jesus Christ,” Quin says, grabbing his snifter of brandy and downing the rest of it. “What kind of drugs is Lucinda on? He’s not coming back for her.”

“He’ll be back,” I say, watching Smith work the crowd as he makes his way to the front of the lobby. The staff at the door are busy, trying to get the car up to the curb before he reaches them. He hates to wait. They know that much. “If he wasn’t interested in the afterparty he’d have never showed up at all.”

By the time Smith and the woman make their way to the front podium where the White Room maitre d' stands, quietly barking orders at the valet men, a coat-check girl is helping Smith with his coat.

A few seconds later they disappear into the snow.

Quin sighs.

“She was pretty,” I say. “Don’t you think?”

“She certainly looked good in Rochelle’s clothes. Does that mean… Do you think Rochelle left everything behind?”

“I don’t know,” I say. But it’s a lie. We both know she did.

“Do you think it means she’s coming back?”

“If she does,” I say, “we won’t be keeping her.”

“Fuck,” Quin says, standing up. “I’m going upstairs.”

I grab him by the sleeve of his jacket and stand as well. “You’re going home,” I say. “She left, Quin. It’s over. You’re not staying up there.”

“She could come back,” Quin says, shrugging off my grip. “Maybe this woman was some kind of kink? You know? Maybe Rochelle stepped out to get something?”

“What?” I laugh. “You actually think Rochelle brought that woman upstairs to fuck? With you? And then she forgot she needed condoms? Went to the drug store to pick some up? Is this something the two of you do?”

“No,” Quin admits.

“She left, Quin. I’m sorry. I liked her too. It was fun for a while. The fact that it lasted as long as it did is a small miracle. But it’s over now. You’re going home, we’re gonna clear that apartment out, and we’ll decide what to do next together. Do you understand?”

Quin doesn’t answer me. Just walks out. I watch him as he descends the stairs. He stops to talk to Lucinda, who has her hands all over his body, something she wouldn’t dare do to Smith. But Quin is easy-going. Doesn’t mind being touched. Enjoys it, actually. His smile is forced as he makes his polite, parting conversation. And by the time he’s finished, the coat-check girl is ready for him.

He steps out into the snow as well.

I wait a few minutes. Sip my drink. Watch Lucinda choose Jordan as her guest of honor downstairs. Probably because of the fact that he’s new. I stand up as they make their way towards the back of the lobby where the sentries stand guard in front of the other elevator. The one that goes down instead of up.

I’m not going. Not yet. But I would like to go upstairs and check out Rochelle’s apartment real fast before Smith gets back. I don’t think Quin looked around too much. I think he was in shock. And if Rochelle left anything behind I need to know about, I’d like to find it before he does.

A few minutes later I’m standing in the living room. The decor has a Bohemian flair. Crushed velvet couch, soft yellow in color. Too many pillows to count. Long, heavy drapes in the darkest purple you can imagine. The coffee table is a clunky thing. The kitchen is neat and tidy. It has a French-country feel to it. Distressed yellow cabinets and butcher-block counters.

The four-poster takes up most of the bedroom. It’s massive and Rochelle has long draperies hanging from the canopy at each corner.

I spy the new girl’s clothes on a chair and decide Smith had no choice but to dress her up. Jeans. Shearling boots. She couldn’t have come up through the front, which means Rochelle sneaked her in the back. Hid her.

And the woman went along. I guess that’s the part that troubles me the most. Why the hell did she go along with this? Why did she let Quin fuck her? Did Rochelle tell her about our arrangement? Did she set us up with a new girl? So we’d forget all about her and leave her alone? Did she think we wouldn’t leave her alone?

The last question bothers me. Why would she go through all this when she knows we’d never follow her? We’d never look. It’s part of the rules. And yeah, we bent some of the rules. But leaving is sacred. If a girl wants out, she leaves. No discussion is required, or wanted, if I’m being honest.

I spend another five minutes checking for a message. An envelope with our names on it or something that might give me a clue as to what just happened. And more importantly, why?

It’s not like I really care that she’s gone. I’m not attached to her. I like her. She played the game well enough for me. But why bring that woman into it?

Rochelle has to have talked. Has to have told her what to expect once Quin came up here. Has to have explained our arrangement.

Which begs another question. Who the fuck is that woman? And more importantly, what does she want? Will she try to blackmail us?

I shake my head. Conspiracy theories abound. But I’m not really a conspiracy theory kind of guy. So I let it go. I leave, go back down to Smith’s room. Sit at his table. And wait.