“Bachelorette?”
“Passion party.”
She finally looks at me, one eyebrow raised. “Passion party. Fancy. What’s your budget?”
“Hundred bucks.”
“Okay, so mid-range. You want something practical or something that’ll get a laugh?”
I think about Rina’s instructions. Be charming. Don’t make fun of anything.
“Practical,” I decide. “Something…I don’t know. Classy? My friends mentioned something called The Detonator is all the rave.”
Green Hair snorts in laughter. “Do you want classy or The Detonator? Two different things.” She leads me to a display case near the back, gesturing at the options like a sommelier presenting a wine list. “Budget friendly is bottom shelf. Mid-range is eye level. Top shelf is where you’ll find The Big D—our nickname for The Detonator.”
“You have a nickname for it?”
Wide-eyed, she nods. “It’s that popular. Believe me, you’ll be the hero of the party.”
I lock eyes with the box. Intimidating indeed. Its phallic girth and length alone are enough to make any grown man feel unbearably insignificant. Not to mention it’s like a two-headed hydra, threatening to demolish you from the inside out.
“It only comes in black?” I ask. “Is there something less aggressive-looking like…pink?”
“We keep a twenty-four-carat-gold limited edition in the back.” She reaches for the key hooked to her lanyard. “I’ll have to unlock it.”
“How much?”
“For Goldie? Two thousand.”
I snatch up the box in front of me. “Black it is.”
She smirks. “Wise choice. Gift-wrapped?”
“God, no. Just your most subtle bag.”
She rings me up and slides the toy into a brown paper bag with glittery-gold cloth handles. “Do you want me to input your name and number? We have a loyalty program and a huge variety.” She plants her elbows on the counter, scoots forward, and drops her voice to a whisper which is unnecessary because we’re alone. “We have taint stuff. Top of the line.”
My slow, heavy blinks aren’t answer enough for her, so I have to add a pointed, “Hell no, thanks,” before sliding my bag off the counter and exiting.
“Come back anytime.” She’s already back on her phone before I reach the door. “The loyalty program has generous rewards if you change your mind,” she calls out as I exit the store into the frigid early February air.
Back on the street, I check my phone. Rina’s prior text with the hotel name glows on the screen:
Rina:FOCUS. I need a warm body in a sports coat at the Elusive Hotel in two hours.
The Elusive is all the way across town. There’s no time to be cheap and hoof it. Nor do I feel like navigating the subways. I hail a cab, mentally noting that when I offer to stay overnight with this client and set my fee, I include the cost of this ridiculously overpriced cab ride.
I’ll get half of what Rina booked, so that’s one grand. If I ask for another three to stay the night, that’s four grand from one night. Not terrible. It’s four percent of Joy’s tuition. Four percent closer to keeping my promise.
The cab drops me off in front of the Elusive Hotel, a sleek tower of glass and steel that screams money so loudly I’m surprised the doorman doesn’t demand to see my tax returns before letting me inside.
The lobby is all marble floors and modern art—the kind of abstract sculptures that serve no purpose other than intimidating you with their ostentatiousness. A massive chandelier hangs overhead, dripping crystals like frozen raindrops. Everything is very white, very clean, very designed to make people like me feel like we don’t belong.
The front desk stretches like a runway, all gleaming marble and brass accents, but only one person mans the station—a young woman so entranced and unnerved by whatever’s on her computer screen that I have to clear my throat twice before her eyes flick up to acknowledge me.
“Oh, I’m sorry, sir.” She shakes her head, and her neat ponytail glued down by hairspray doesn’t budge. “How can I help you?”
Her eyes dart between me and the screen, clearly eager to get back to whatever emergency she’s dealing with.
