“No. I promise. It’s nothing illegal.”
“You know I’m here if you need?—”
“I know, Rina. Thank you. I’m good. It’s just…I made a promise to someone. And I need to keep it.”
She sighs. The kind of sigh that says she knows she’s going to regret this. “Fine. First right of refusal. But please be discreet, or I’ll castrate you, so you have to keep it squeaky clean.”
“Fair enough.” But I shield my dick with an open palm as if her threat is imminent.
“I’m texting you the details now.”
Elusive Hotel. Wear a sports coat.“I can read. I got it,” I say too eagerly, already heading to my bathroom to take a record-fast shower.
Rina continues anyway. “The client’s name is Margaret. She’s forty-two, recently divorced, and according to my notes, ‘looking to sow her wild oats.’ Be charming. Be complimentary. And please don’t make fun of anything she may buy at the party.”
“I would never.”
“You absolutely would. I’ve seen you roast a woman’s shoe collection for twenty minutes.”
“In private. Not to her face. And those were Crocs, Rina. Rows ofbedazzled Crocs. I stand by my choices.”
She laughs despite herself. “Go. Get ready. You have less than two hours. Oh and I forgot to mention, she’s a little shy and needs your help picking up her contribution for the party.”
She’s shy yet she’s hosting this party?Hmm. Okay.
“Contribution?” I ask Rina.
“Yes. From what I understand, this is one of those parties where everyone brings a toy and leaves with a different toy.”
“What kind of unhinged White Elephant is this?”
“Hell if I know. But pick up whatever item you please within a one-hundred-dollar budget. She’ll reimburse you when you arrive. There will be a key at the front desk waiting for you. Head right up to the penthouse.”
“The toys we’re bringing are all unused, right? Like new and still in the box?”
“Dear God I hope so.”
With that, she hangs up, effectively avoiding any more of my questions that she either does or does not have the answer to.
I look at Black Cat, who has finished his catnip-laced dinner and is now sprawled on his back in the middle of the kitchen floor, paws in the air, absolutely vibing.
“One of us is having a good night,” I tell him.
He doesn’t respond. He’s ascended to a higher plane of consciousness. His eyes are half closed, his purr rattling through his entire body like a faulty engine. I envy him. No existential dread. No hundred-thousand-dollar promises hanging over his head. No hurting over the feline who dumped him after he lost his money. No father in prison who we might have to excavate with a reenactment ofShawshank Redemption. Just catnip and kibble and the simple pleasure of existing.
Must be nice.
The edible is starting to kick in—just a gentle warmth at the edges, nothing too intense—as I race through the world’s fastest shower. The hot water helps clear my head, and by the time I’mtoweling off, I’ve almost convinced myself this is a great idea. Step one in a twelve-step redemption plan where I keep my promises and restore myself to my prior palatability in society.
I dig through my closet for something presentable, which takes longer than it should because my wardrobe has significantly deteriorated since my trust-fund days. I sold everything name brand I owned after Dad’s scandal for a little survival money. The sports coat Anne commented on at dinner is now the nicest thing I own—a navy number I bought secondhand from a consignment shop in Brooklyn. It’s quality, just not new. I pair it with dark jeans and a black button-down, check my reflection, and decide I look like someone who could plausibly be invited to a passion party of the elite.
The sex shop is a fifteen-minute walk from my apartment—a place called “Sinfully Seductive” that I’ve passed approximately four hundred times without ever going inside. The neon sign flickers in the window, promisingTasteful Adult NoveltiesandDiscreet Packagingwhich at least suggests I won’t have to carry a giant dildo down Fifth Avenue in a see-through bag.
Inside, the store is surprisingly aesthetic. Clean shelves, soft lighting, a bored-looking employee with green streaks in her hair who barely glances up when I enter. It’s nothing like the seedy backroom vibes I expected.
“Can I help you find something?” Green Hair asks, not looking up from her phone.
“I need a gift. For a party.”
