The woman’s expression didn’t change, but she tilted her head slightly to the side, a gesture that almost seemed like sympathy. “A wide range of discerning clients.”
“Has the guy who booked the room arrived yet?”
“Yes. He’s already inside, making preparations.”
“Has he been here long?”
“He asked for a few modifications to the room, which should be completed by now.”
Colleen swallowed hard. “Can I ask what name the room is booked under?”
The woman’s smile became slightly more rigid. “Do you not know the name of the person whom you are meeting here?”
“Oh, no. I know the guy I’m meeting.” Embarrassed giggles bubbled in her throat. “I mean, of course, I know him. I would never meet a guy I didn’t know at a nightclub and then go into a private room with him, alone, without anybody around. That would be crazy, right? That’s totally something I would never do. I’m not crazy. I am the pinnacle of boring. I was a computer science and finance major before I dropped out of college. I don’t own any fancy high-heeled pumps because I might sprain my ankle and they’re a waste of money, and I run four types of malware protection on my computer plus a black ice firewall and a VPN. I don’t ever do anything crazy. I wore this cosplay outfit because I don’t have any sequined gowns or long black dresses because I never go out to expensive restaurants or the symphony or anything. I get up early and go to my job every day, and I move boxes around and sell high-end computer equipment to gamer geeks. To meet a stranger at an alternative nightclub like this would mean that I’d completely lost my mind, that I was so tired of being broke and sad and grieving and lonely and lost that I’d finally blown a gasket. Meeting a stranger somewhere like this is something a theater major would do, or a pop music studies major, or maybe a psychology student so she could analyze how crazy it was.” Her laugh held a hysterical edge. “I mean, who would even do something like that?”
The woman at the desk had retracted the clipboard and forms to her side of the desk. Her voice was lower and brimming with sympathy. “Ms. QueenMod, honey, are you in trouble?”
“In trouble?” Colleen repeated the question as if she were a felon in a police interrogation room and doing a bang-up job of denying everything. “Of course not. I’m fine. My life is dandy.” A little too much desperate sarcasm there. “I mean, everything’s fine.”
The woman folded her hands on the clipboard, covering the forms. Her pink-manicured fingernails rested calmly on the paper. “Sometimes, people who arrive here are in desperate straits. As this is the place that caters to distinctive tastes, sometimes people make bargains that are unethical and, quite honestly, illegal. The Devilhouse does not condone any kind of coercion, even financial. If you don’t want to be here or have second thoughts, there is a door behind me where I can take you right out the back of the building. I can call you a cab or a BuddiRyde, and we’ll make sure you get in it safely. If you need a place to stay tonight, we work with emergency services organizations. We’ll take care of the person you’re meeting and make sure everything is handled with the utmost discretion.”
“I’m fine. Really,” Colleen insisted.
“Of course. But if there’s a financial situation you need help with, we can make arrangements or phone calls to other businesses, ones that are different from here. Many people who work here full-time are majoring in counseling or other ways to help people. Our business manager, Glenda, has long-standing connections to many of the CEOs of the major corporations in the Valley. I’m working on my master’s degree in social work, and you’d be amazed at the path I’ve taken to get here. I know I am,” she chuckled under her breath. “We can find grants or programs to help you out of whatever is the problem.”
“I’m really fine.”
“Mm-hmm,” the woman nodded, but she didn’t take her eyes off Colleen and stabbed the blank paperwork with one manicured finger. “You are here under an assumed name, and you don’t seem to know the name of the person you’re meeting. You’ve never been here before and don’t seem to know what to expect. You seem rattled. These are all red flags for us. Why don’t you pull up a chair and talk to me about it? Or we can go someplace more private to discuss whatever you need.”
Colleen sighed and stared at her hands. Gray mist gathered around her because she was about to screw this up, too. “I’m really fine. I’m just trying to make some changes in my life. Change can make you anxious sometimes, right?”
The woman’s quiet half-laugh and downward glance sounded like she was scoffing at herself. “I can understand that.”
“But sometimes you’ve got to jump in with both feet or swallow the frog or whatever you want to call it to get to the other side of the problem. I’m here of my own free will. I’m not being coerced in any way, even financially. No one is paying me to be here. I want to be here. I don’t even care what happens to me tonight. I just don’t want to be like I am anymore.”
The woman nodded. “All right, but that offer of the taxi stands for the rest of the night. Just so you know, our rooms are monitored in various ways. If you are uncomfortable with anything that is happening, you just say the phrase not my cup of tea, and someone will immediately arrive to close the session and escort you out. It will be done quietly, with a minimum of fuss, and it happens all the time. We will talk to anyone else in the room for you. It’s no trouble. Do you understand this?”
Colleen nodded.
The woman’s manner became brisker, and she took out a red marker and drew three red lines on the top right corner, marking it with literal red flags. Then she added several more pages to the stack of paperwork and slid the clipboard across the desk.
She said, “I’m going to have you write ‘not my cup of tea’ on the top of this first page and initial it, and then you’ll fill out the rest of the paperwork and sign and date the end. The paperwork states that you are a private citizen, have been neither coerced nor paid to come here, and have no medical conditions we should be aware of. A list of those is on the next page. You have plenty of time to read this paperwork thoroughly. If you need any clarifications, I will do my best to explain. We also have a lawyer and knowledgeable staff members who can clarify any clauses I’m not familiar with. Are you comfortable with that, Ms. QueenMod?”
“You can call me Colleen.”
The woman’s red-lipstick smile warmed. “And I’m Hester Stone. Welcome to the Devilhouse, Colleen.”
Eighteen pages of paperwork later, Colleen was led to a waiting room where she was offered various drinks and refreshments she was too nervous to imbibe. Part of the paperwork had almost seemed like a psychological test with answers that might correlate with psychopathy or depression. She was pretty sure she’d lied well enough to pass.
After ten more minutes of fidgeting alone in the small waiting room and listening to Vivaldi violins wafting from the walls, a large man wearing a black suit escorted her through hallways with soft carpeting underfoot and art in ornate frames on the walls to a large, dungeonesque door.
A coiled cord connected his earpiece to the back of his collar. “You remember your safeword, right?”
“Safe word?” Colleen felt like an idiot again.
“The phrase you’re supposed to say if you get in trouble and want external intervention.”
“Oh, not my cup of tea. I didn’t know that’s what it was called, a safeword.”
