Page 68 of Play Dirty

The same black and white marble floor tiles carry over from the lobby. The cab front is one-of-a-kind art deco metal etching with sharp, zigzagged lines that criss and cross each other as they climb up the silver plate and expand into a geometric sunburst at the top.

It’s erotic in its own right and just stepping inside—just hearing the tap, tap, tap of our shoes on the chevron-pattern floor—is enough to make me feel better.

Just a little bit.

The doors close and the three of us stare at each other in the soft white light from the two wall sconces.

And then the doors open and we step out…

The strobing black lights make the white paint glow on her body. Her black mask hides her face from us, revealing only the desire in her eyes. The music is pounding, pulsing, and the place is packed, moans and screams of pleasure in progress weaving their way past bodies and echoing through the hallways.

Everywhere there are men in tuxedos. Fully dressed with zippers down, cocks spilling out of their pants and into hands, or mouths, or whatever. All the women are naked. Some with white paint to signal they want more than a one-on-one, some not, indicating they’re there only for their husbands.

The room where we belong is off to my left. A smallish space with three walls so people can watch us as we take her. There’s a white vinyl bed with a cage underneath it and when we lead her over to it, she climbs onto the mattress and crawls towards the top with her ass in the air.

Bric smiles at Quin, and Quin smiles at me, and—

It’s empty and quiet. The black walls look garish and stupid with the overhead lights on. The white vinyl chairs and couches look aged and overused. The tiled marble floor is scuffed, and the magic is gone. Faded away or left behind, I’m not sure.

“Let’s go,” I say, backing away, then turning on my heel to head back into the elevator.

“No,” Augustine says, grabbing a hold of my arm. “Tell us, Jordan. Tell us why you need this place.”

“It’s not the same,” I say. “Let’s just go.”

“Then tell us what’s missing.”

“I can’t,” I say, suddenly angry. “I can’t, OK? It’s stupid. It’s fucking pointless. There aren’t enough words in the English language to compare these empty hallways and silent rooms to what it was.”

“Why are you so upset?” she asks.

I glance at Alexander, but apparently he’s sitting this discussion out. Because he just stares back at me and keeps quiet.

“I’m upset,” I say, trying to figure it out as I talk. “I’m upset because this place was fucking perfect. And I’m sorry I came down here with you because it ruins all the memories of what it was.”

“Why was it perfect?” Augustine prods.

I just shake my head in response.

“Why can’t you just admit it?”

“Admit what?” I say, too loudly.

“That you need more than one person to love, Jordan. Jesus, are you that clueless?”

“I don’t need to love anyone. Nothing that happened down here for me had anything to do with love. It was sex. That’s it. Just dirty sex.”

Alexander wanders down the hallway, peeking into the various scene rooms, leaving Augustine and I to our argument. I watch him stop at a set of stairs that lead up to a party space. A place for people to congregate on white couches and peer down into the scene room below through the glass floor.

“Dirty sex. And that’s it?”

“That’s it,” I say, still watching Alexander, who moves on, away from the stairs, not curious enough to go up there. Or maybe he knows. Hell, they’ve owned this place for a long time now. There’s no way they never came down here to check it out.

“So it had nothing to do with you hating who you are?”

A laugh bursts out unexpectedly. “Hating… fuck off, August. I don’t hate myself.”

“No?” she asks. “Are you sure about that?”