"Please, do more impressions of senators later."
"I’m serious, though. Practice with a mentor is vital. I learned from Charlie. She walked me through every safety detail; I even had to take a first aid course. That was four years ago, after my parents died. BDSM and racing were the only things that kept me sane."
"If I wanted to learn... how would I do it? I searched for clubs, but none of them felt safe."
"Charlie is in New York. She’s incredibly discreet. Her club is practically invisible, a penthouse on the Upper East Side. It looks like a Michelin-starred restaurant. I’ll give her your number."
We talk until past 10:00 PM. She tells me stories about being stuck in the snow and imitates people from her gala dinners until I’m breathless with laughter.
"I should let you go. Talk tomorrow?"
"Yes. It’s wonderful talking to you, Kels. And now that I know you’re a professional sailor, I want to see the Caribbean."
"I’ll make it happen. Two days of just us and the sea."
"Who’s cooking?"
"Fine... just us, the sea, and a crew. Goodnight, Kitty."
"Goodnight, Kels."
I hang up and realize I completely forgot to call Sarki. I send a quick apology and drift off to sleep.
Between a grueling schedule of meetings with supporters and dry, endless lunches, the week drags on toward Saturday. My phone has become my lifeline. With Kelsey, our texts swing from cold-blooded business to raw sexual tension with an ease that’s almost disorienting. With Vanessa, it’s different, a constant, low-simmering flirtation where everything is implied and nothing is quite said. Her last message was a long one:
K. Calama:"Anyway, Megan, tell Vanessa how much you’re looking to invest, and she’ll run the numbers to maximize your returns. Word is the market is about to take a hit in the States. If that’s true, it’ll be a tragedy for most, but an incredible opportunity for us to profit."
Kelsey’s logic is simple: a calamity is just a market opening in disguise.
Megan Woods:"Following the 2008 playbook, I see. What kind of margins are we talking about?"
K. Calama:"An average of 4.5%."
I do a quick mental calculation of my assets. That’s a solid return.
K. Calama:"Monthly."
My heart skips. That’s not just solid, that’s exceptional.
Megan Woods:"I'll talk to her. We’re actually heading out shopping today."
I can’t help but imagine her in India, surrounded by the vibrant saris and the humidity, while I’m freezing in New York.
K. Calama:"She mentioned that. I’m glad you reached out. Vanessa is usually quite aloof with other women. Especially beautiful ones like you."She follows this with a photo: Kelsey in a sharp, tailored suit against the backdrop of a sprawling high-rise office. Then another text:"I’m off to Amsterdam until Monday."
I spend the next twenty minutes taking photos of myself until I find one I actually like. I’m only wearing a bathrobe, and the angle shows just enough of my thigh to be a provocation. It’s my response to the photo she sent me last night, her in nothing but a sports bra and a towel.
Megan Woods:"Just picking out an outfit to go out."
K. Calama:"I prefer you wearing nothing."
Megan Woods:"Hurry back."
I tossed my phone onto the bed, a smirk lingering on my lips. In the shower, I let the hot water untie the knots in my muscles, but my mind was elsewhere.
The sudden image of Kelsey’s hand tightening around my neck acted as an instant trigger. Her voice, her touch… it’s a game of Russian roulette where I’m more than happy to lose.
I pulled on my black overcoat and headed down to the lobby. Vanessa looked exceptional, even bundled up against the bitingcold. We exchanged a brief kiss on the cheek. “What's on the shopping list?” I asked.
