I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. The second I stepped back into that club, I would be triggered like crazy. I could still see my ex and my ex-best friend canoodling on that couch. No matter how hard I had worked to erase that memory, I couldn’t. I hoped never to have a memory like that forced upon me again.
I came home from work, slipped into a comfy pair of yoga pants, and immediately began cleaning. Because I had been out of my home all week, busy with Victor’s event, I couldn’t even take the time to make my place presentable for him. There would be no razzle-dazzling going on in my drab place. I certainly didn’t have the granite countertops or the hardwoods and chandeliers. I had boob light fixtures—circa the seventies—carpet that needed to be replaced six years ago, and the smell … as much as I tried to cover it up, was just shit—bird shit. My apartment was the only place I had lived in since my divorce, and I had been too busy building my career to care much about it.
I checked my calendar, counting down the days until Christmas. Right after the New Year was when I wanted to purchase a home and be out of here. Sixteen days. That was all I had to meet my goal. I hoped Victor would give us all bigger bonuses if we knocked this out of the ballpark.
I tidied my bedroom and put fresh linens on my bed before I lay down for the night. The drama of tomorrow’s sex club date had me on edge.
What if I see my ex there? What if someone recognizes me?
I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, awakening to the chorus of chirping and dirty birdy chatter next door. I heard a woman this time—but not just any woman. There was no mistaking that snotty voice even if she was two octaves higher than usual.
Sara started barking out commands, “You listen here, man-whore! I said, I like it rough. What are you, some kind of pussy? Time to toughen up.”
I heard a yelp and a slap, and then the parrot repeated her almost word for word. I put my hand over my mouth to both stifle my giggles and to keep myself from puking.
“I want you to give it to me dirty! Now! I shit turds harder than you!” she yelled.
My mouth dropped open.
Holy shit.
“Squawk! Shit turds. Squawk!” the parrot chirped.
I pressed record on my phone and quietly pushed it up against the wall. She could pull out any scandalous pictures of me she could find, but I would, in turn, pull out her shitty dirty talk. I giggled as she ordered my poor neighbor around. He was unusually silent during this shitshow. I imagined them in a mess of tangled limbs and feathers while his audience of birds grew louder and louder. Finally, when things seemed to be almost over, I heard her scream.
“Victooooooooooooor!” she cried out.
“Squawk! Victor! Squawk!”
Oh. My. Gosh.
I was still recording the audio, but in my shock, I dropped my phone. It crashed down hard onto the floor, echoing off the walls. I held my breath, listening, but heard only dead silence from the bedroom next door. I cringed as I picked my phone back up and tiptoed back into bed. There was no way Sara could know that I was her lover’s nosy neighbor.
Or could she?
I threw my robe on and ran into the hallway to watch Sara’s walk of shame. My neighbor always sent them home after he finished with them, no matter what time of the night. I cracked my door open and waited.
Sara shuffled out, slamming my neighbor’s door shut and stomping off. I guessed my neighbor didn’t like being called Victor. I fidgeted with my doorknob, inspecting it as if it were the most exciting doorknob in the world when Sara looked up and met my eyes. Her face turned so pink, red, and then purple. This memory would stay ingrained in my brain forever too.
Checkmate.
“Oh, hi, Sara! What are you doing here? You don’t look so good—like your feathers are ruffled. Everything okay?” I smiled the most genuine smile I’d had since I last saw Victor.
“Fuck off, Samantha.” She barreled past me.
“That isn’t appropriate talk for someone working at Fleur-De-Lis! I shit turds more appropriate than that!” I called out after her as she ran down the stairs.
I had Sara by the balls—her balls. The ones she had stolen from that pussy next door.
Eight
Victor
I took a few quick breaths and tapped on Samantha’s door. I hadn’t been to another woman’s home in a very long time. I had excellent manners, and I knew how to be a proper guest, but Samantha intimidated the fuck out of me. I was always on my toes when she was around, but oddly enough, she was the only person I’d been able to relax around too. I wanted to spend every waking moment with her. I wanted to get to know her, and I wanted her to know me—Victor, in all my forms, masked and not.
“Hey you! Come on in.” She opened the door and pecked me on the lips. “I’m just grabbing my things, and I’ll be ready to go.”
I stepped into her apartment and noticed it was straight out of another era. I looked across the kitchen and into a gold-crackled glass mirror that mostly covered dingy wallpaper in a paisley print. A stained-glass lamp hung above her kitchen table. Her apartment could have been the set for a seventies-style porn movie. I could grow a mustache and fit right in perfectly.
Bow chicka wow wow.
“I already know what you’re thinking. This place is old. There’s a lot of history in these walls, and most of it, I don’t think I want to know about. But the location is good, and my job keeps me busy enough not to be here. Hopefully, I’ll be out of here by the end of the year and into my own home. Maybe the super-white one you heckled me about.” She smoothed her dress in front of the gold-crackled mirror. The silky material clung to her petite frame, showing every dangerous curve on her body.
“I think it’s pretty cool. Like stepping back in time.” I shoved my hands in my pockets, maybe giving a sly touch to my already-hard dick as I watched her put on her heels.
“Let me help you.” I knelt next to her and slipped on her shoes, fumbling with the buckles.
I slowly brushed the back of my hand up her thigh before bringing it back down again and kissing the top of her foot. Her flesh prickled at my touch.
“Aw! What a Prince Charming! Keep doing that, and we’ll never get out of here.” She kissed the top of my head.
“I went from asshole-in-chief to Prince Charming. Winning!” I said, picking myself up off the floor.
“Are you ready, Prince Charming? No flailing noodles, no Malcolm. But I wouldn’t exactly turn down champagne.” She hooked her arm in mine as I led her downstairs to our ride.
“I’m way ahead of you. I got you something too. And I have those masks. And … about the masks.”
She stopped walking and turned to me. “What about the masks?” Her voice deflated.
“Nothing bad. Not really. Maybe. Sort of. Our faces will be covered, so no worries there. No one will know it’s us. At all,” I stammered. “It will be impossible.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Come on. Let’s get in the car. I’ll show you.”
The same grinning driver from the flailing noodle night held the limo’s door open and let us inside.
“Let me give you my gift first. I think it might soften the blow.” I pulled a little black box from a bag and handed it to her.
“What do you mean, soften the blow? Now, I’m nervous.”