“You know there’s vodka that doesn’t come in flavors, right?”
He passes me a glass with a shot and a half in it. It smells like a scented candle. “Honey, don’t waste your breath. I am the Marie Antoinette of alcohol. Let them drink cake!”
We each take a large swallow and wander back toward the living room, to the chairs and sofa, their soft, cushioned seating. The vodka is sweeter than bubble gum, but it still burns. A feeling I oddly relish after my last twenty-four hours.
“A little hair of the dog,” he ventures.
“I can assure you I was not swilling birthday cake vodka all night,” I correct him.
“Maybe not,” he says. “But you were swillingsomething. You have that puffy, irresponsible look about you. I know a good night out when I see it. Somebody finally got old Mr. Fuddy-Duddy out of her system.”
“Roger,” I correct.
“Whatever. I’m right, aren’t I?”
I just smile and he smacks my knee.
“So, tell me what kept you all hot and bothered last night,” Aaron says, taking another sip of his drink. “Or rather,who?”
“It’s hard to know where to start,” I say, dubious, and Aaron’s eyes widen.
“Let me guess… Threesome? Foursome? No, wait… Are we talking orgy?”
Between laughs I tell him, “I was going to say I made some new friends, but not like that.”
He looks suspicious. “Do these new friends have anything to do with the change that’s come over you lately?”
I feign ignorance because I’m curious what he’s noticed. “What change?”
Aaron waves at me. “You know. The money for Sue, the smack on the hand from HR, leaving early, calling in… An aggressive but not entirely disagreeable ballsiness that’s new for you.”
“Maybe,” I say with a pout and a shrug. “They took me to a club. It made me think of you actually. This wild place with burlesque performers and BDSM acts. Everything is black and green and gold and the music is a fusion of big band and techno, like Glenn Miller meets deadmau5. We drank something called a maiden’s prayer. And clearly I had way too many because—”
“Wait,” Aaron stops. “I think I’ve heard of this place. Is it in Pioneer Square? With the green doors?”
“Medusa,” I concur with a nod.
Surprise steals over him. “Jude, that place is really exclusive. I’ve heard some crazy stories. Who are these new friends?”
“Like what?” I ask. Of course Aaron would have heard of Medusa already. Unlike me, he’s had a life for the past fifteen years.
He balks. “Like, people going in there and coming out different. Rearranging their whole lives. Leaving their families or careers. Changing their names. One guy said he actually got the idea to found his tech company while he was dancing there one night. He’s a billionaire now.”
“That sounds like a good thing,” I remark.
“Sure, but what about the others who piss through every cent they have trying to maintain a membership? Or the ones whose partners leave them once they see where they’ve been spending their late nights instead of the office? It’s like a drug, that place. My friend’s sister went in there a saint and came out with a heroin addiction,” he tells me.
“I didn’t see any drugs.” I don’t mention the ones Arla put in my drink. THC is mild enough, but adding it without telling me? Although, I guess she’s right, I could have put it down, refused to drink it.
He rolls his eyes. “Jude, clubs and drugs are the peanut butter and jelly of nightlife. There arealwaysdrugs. But you misunderstand. She didn’t get the heroin there. She turned to it when she couldn’t get back in.” When I’m too shocked to respond, he says, “Christ on the cross, you really are in a demonic sex cult, aren’t you?”
“No, no,” I insist. “It’s not like that. Really. It was just one time.” I don’t tell him Arla owns the place, that I spent the night there, that they live over Medusa like cats in a barn loft.
Aaron becomes genial. “Look, you know I love to see you getting out as much as the next guy. Just… maybe stay away from there. Leave the deep end for the Olympic swimmers and the daredevils. I know it’s supposed to be amazing, but there’s something not quite right about that place.”
“Yeah. Of course,” I say, embarrassed, all the things I didn’t tell him burning a hole inside me. I decide to change the subject. “Anyway, I met someone. He runs a bookstore near my condo.”
Aaron presses his splayed hand against his chest. “Oh, I love a sexy introvert. They’re the cannoli of singles, crusty on the outside but full of yummy surprises. Tell. Me. More.”
