She tilted her head with a look of concern.
"Yes, okay," I finally said. "I probably wouldn't be doing this if that ... hadn’t happened."
I couldn’t exactly bring myself to say the word died out loud.
"But the thing is that this is the first thing that has made me feel excited again about life, you know what I mean?" She shook her head no.
"It's maybe stupid and irresponsible, but it's no less responsible than going to bars and just trying to find someone to spend the night with. The last guy I talked to told me flat-out that he was looking for a relationship and I smiled and told him that I was looking for one, too, just because he was hot and he was a good dancer, and I wanted to feel something other than all of this hate, and disappointment, and anger that was just going inside of me all the time."
“What happened?” she asked.
"I went home with him. He wasn't as good at sex as he was at dancing. A little too eager, too quick, didn't really care about where I was in the whole thing. But, whatever, that's the thing. I went home unsatisfied and I'm sick of it. I had to lie to him about my intentions. And for what? I think I need to go to a place like this where everyone is just in there for one thing and just hope that they're really into it and they're good at what they do."
"Oh, you have no idea.” Allison's eyebrows shot up. "I don't want to raise your expectations, but people there take sex very seriously and they do not like to disappoint."
I smiled and she smiled, and then we both cracked up laughing.
8
Jacqueline
Darkness is falling and the sun disappears over the horizon. The next party is tonight.
I get the official email from Cassandra. This time however, the message is not so impersonal as it was before; she writes more like a friend asking me whether I'm free to come over.
This isn't the masquerade that's on Saturday; this is just an informal get-together, a few friends having drinks at the bar. No pressure as always, she points out.
I stare at the email on my phone and wonder if I should go. When I put on my best pair of skinny black jeans, a comfortable, loose-fitting top, and a tight leather jacket that's way too thin for this cold weather, I look at myself in the standing mirror in my room and I like what I see.
I look cool, hip, just going out on the town. I hate to admit it, but Redemption was fun. I like meeting strangers who I can have this flirtation with once and then move on with my life.
It's freeing not to know their real names or what they do for a living and it's freeing to not be myself tonight. Tonight I'm not going to be Jacqueline, tonight I'm going to be Kylie. It's not my favorite name, but it's catchy and easy to remember and that's good enough.
When I arrive at the club, I head straight to the bar and look around, couples are everywhere. One guy who had his arm around a girl with long auburn hair pulls away and comes to talk to me.
He sits on the bar stool nursing his Old Fashioned. Instead of a martini, I order the same.
"Wow, I didn't know girls liked these kind of drinks.”
I hate statements like that. It’s a compliment peddling in stereotypes. It’s like saying, I’m not like other girls, I’m a cool girl.
"Maybe not, but I do.” I smile.
He introduces himself as Brad and I wonder if that’s his real name. We shake hands and he looks at me like I'm something to consume. That's the point, I guess, but it's a little bit too sleazy. When his girlfriend or wife turns around and waves at us, he nods for her to come over and introduces her as Christine.
Christine seems shy and a little bit uncomfortable and he mentions that it's their first time here.
"You're going to have a good time," I say and move just a little bit away from them. I've never kissed a girl and I'm not really interested in starting with Christine.
After a few minutes, I excuse myself to head to the bathroom but instead I scan the room.
Dante, where are you? I say silently to myself.
Staring at myself in the mirror, it occurs to me that I'm not so much here for someone new, but for someone old.
I exhale slowly and I curse myself because this is the complete opposite of what is supposed to be happening. I'm supposed to meet someone new, someone fun.
What am I doing instead? I'm waiting around for him.
I go back to the bar. I chat with two more guys and then a girl. She's a single girl, just like me and introduces herself as Emerson. That's such a good name, I suddenly feel jealous.
Why didn't I go with something literary and exotic instead of plain old Kylie?
Emerson has thick curly, black hair and is in an attractive peasant blouse and jeans. She's not particularly dressed up and from talking to her for a few minutes I realize that she's not a stranger at all.
"How often do you come here?"
"Um, usually once a month just to blow off steam."
"And what is it like?"
"Oh, you've never been?"
"No, I was just once, so this is my second time."
"Oh, okay. Were you with a guy or more people?" Emerson asks, drinking her Bloody Mary.
She seems completely unfazed by the fact that that's a morning drink and that everyone else is wearing cocktail dresses and I admire that.
"Well, I'm a pilot, I fly around a lot. Single, so, you know, this is kind of a fun thing to do whenever I'm in different cities."
"So are these clubs everywhere?"
"Major cities, yes. LA, New York, Boston. Let's see, Atlanta, Seattle. There must be others. Miami, I'm sure."
“So, do you meet guys in every place?"
"Well, that's what's so interesting about it. You can kind of hook-up with whoever you want. Sometimes couples, sometimes one-on-one depending on how the mood strikes.”
I take another sip of my Old Fashioned and suddenly hate the way it tastes. I ask the bartender to bring me a martini.
"You don't seem very comfortable," she says.
I rub the back of my head and lean my elbow onto the bar top.
"Um, that's the thing. I'm kind of all over the place. Last time I came, I had a really good time. I met this guy."
"Who?" She leans over as her eyes light up.
"Dante."
"Oh my God. You lucked out. And you were with him one-on-one?"
I nod.
"Dante is a stud." She crosses her legs and clinks my martini glass with hers in a demonstrative manner.
"Have you been with him?"
"Yes, and he is very, very good."
"So how often does he come here?"
"Well, he travels a lot for work and I mean a lot. I've seen him once here probably every six months. If he were here last week, I wouldn't expect him to be here again for six more months."
I nod, slightly disappointed.
"I know how you feel."
"You do?"
"Yep. We got together about the fourth or fifth time that I was here and let me just tell you, if you're expecting every guy here to be as good as him, I would adjust those expectations. That's just not going to happen."
"Oh, okay.” I nod, not hiding my disappointment.