I chose to wear an elegant black tuxedo with a dark velvet bow tie. You don’t grow up the best friend of Maddox Hathaway and not learn a thing or two about men’s fashion.
I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m not a member of Aces Underground. That weird-looking guy who runs the desk in the foyer will surely just turn me away.
Maybe I’ll convince another patron to let me in as their guest. I don’t know.
This is my only plan, so it has to work.
I make my way to the little alleyway off Randolph and State and walk until I find the black door with the four card-suit symbols on it.
Spades, Diamonds, Clubs, and Hearts.
I wonder why they chose that order.
I open the door and, sure enough, the tall guy in the fuchsia pinstriped suit leers at me. I spy the nameplate on his small pink desk. That’s right. His name is Chet.
He raises his white eyebrows. “Dr. O’Rourke. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen you here.”
“Indeed it has, Chet.” I pull out my wallet, hand him my ID.
Chet slowly reaches his arm out and grabs my ID. He lugs out his big book of member names, but I know that my name won’t be in there. He knows it, too. This is just a formality.
“I’m afraid your name is not on our list, Dr. O’Rourke,” Chet says. “Are you waiting to be escorted in by a member? We haven’t seen Mr. Hathaway in…quite some time.”
I take a deep breath in. “No, I’d like to be let in on my own merit.”
Chet furrows his brow, the grin on his face not wavering. “I’m afraid that’s not how we do things here at Aces, Doctor. As you are aware, members must be invited, typically by Rouge herself. Or they can inherit their membership, as was the case with your friend Mr. Hathaway.”
“But I’ve come here several times as a guest. It’s not as if I’m not already aware of your whole vibe here.”
Chet wrinkles his nose. “Our vibe, as you refer to it, has nothing to do with it. Rouge’s rules are ironclad, and my hands are tied.” He reaches into his desk, pulls out a selection of pamphlets. “You are more than welcome to frequent one of Rouge’s other clubs, though.” He fans the pamphlets out on the desk. “The Noir Parlor, Second Star, even MINOS… These are all wonderful establishments, and their rules for membership are not quite so stringent as ours.”
“You don’t understand, Chet,” I say. “I need to come here tonight.”
“If you’re not coming as the guest of a listed member, then?—”
I slam my hands onto his pink desk, sending the club pamphlets fluttering to the floor. “Chet, you’re not hearing me. I demand that you let me in.”
4
BIANCA
My makeup is nearly finished.
I look fantastic. Youthful. Virginal, yet sultry. Just the dichotomy Rouge wants me to embody. It’s a good aesthetic for my show, of course, but it’s more so for the private entertainment I provide behind the velvet curtains of the club.
Men like it when they think they’re deflowering a woman.
Even the ones who’ve deflowered me several times before.
It’s all about the illusion.
Truth be told, none of them took my virginity.
That was snatched from me a long time ago.
A small tear slips out of my left eye at the thought.
Damn it—my makeup!
