I can just make out her offended scoff over the blaring music, but the “asshole” is perfectly audible as she storms away.
I’m sure she’s on her way to her friends to complain about the asshole who blew her off, and that’s fair. She and her friends are not what I’m searching for. The first step in the scientific method is to identify.
I’ll know it when I see it.
After another few minutes, the bouncer unhooks the velvet rope and admits a group of suits. Four men in black tailored business attire. Expensive. Important. This piques my interest, and I watch as they lead six women to the VIP lounge on the second level.
I watch them as they order drinks. I watch them as they grope the women. This really isn’t their kind of scene either…but they’re not here to pick up women, like every other single man that ventures to a night club. And the women aren’t here to be picked up. They’ve already been paid for the night. They’re escorts.
To the keen observer, these men are celebrating. I grab my drink and weave a path through the undulating bodies toward the other end of the club. A rope separates the VIP section, and another bouncer-type guards that post.
I smile at the burly man. His facial muscles are carved in steel. I’m not getting past him. Noted. Instead, I take up the empty seat on the leather bench directly below the elevated VIP section. The only thing blocking the VIPs off is a black metal rail; it’s not soundproof.
I catch fragments of their conversation, but it’s not enough to form a conclusion. They had bet on a fight of sorts and their contender won. They plan to blow a lot of money tonight. Frustrated, I push back against the cushioned seat and wait.
Here’s the thing: I’m searching for particular traits. It would be easier and much wiser for me to search out these exacting qualities and behaviors in a less conspicuous location. Like a homeless shelter. Or back alley. Few notice when a vagrant goes missing.
But that pool is lacking in the characteristics I covet the most.
Lack of empathy.
Superficial charm.
Grandiose sense of self-worth.
Shallow affect.
These individuals are more prone to climb the corporate ladder than fester in an alley. Their disregard to human compassion sets them apart, gives them the tools necessary to achieve greater heights, like a surgeon, or CEO of a fortune 500.
Like my friends in the VIP lounge.
Then when the scope is narrowed even more, there’s the crucial criminal element. As this particular person already believes they’re above the law, that the rules don’t apply to them, they have no qualms in breaking the rules to justify their end.
My tumbler of club soda slides across the tabletop to draw my focus. The condensation has pooled around the glass to create a suction effect. Distracted, I absentmindedly push the glass from side to side, and almost miss my chance.
One of the suits passes me on his way to the bar. Accompanying him is one of the escorts. I abandon my seat and club soda and make my way to them.
As he flags a bartender, I push in beside the couple at the bar top. I hear him order a martini, so I do the same. “Dirty,” I add. The woman with blond hair sends me a guarded, curious look.
I’m taken off-guard for a moment. Saying she’s beautiful would be a lame attempt to describe her. The way the LED lights cast her features in an iridescent hue…she’s some unearthly creature. Some goddess from a myth.
I’m not one to favor superficial beauty. I’d like to think I’m not that shallow—but I admit, I’m stunned. Because there’s a gravity to her sea-green eyes that startles me.
An ache builds in my chest, and I release the breath I’ve held for too long.
“I noticed your party up there,” I say to her, pitching my voice over the music, but also trying to gain the attention of the guy next to her. “What are you celebrating?”
She outright ignores me, turning her gaze ahead. To the man beside her, she delicately touches his arm and whispers in his ear. He laughs, and I’m supposed to take the hint.
As the bartender sets the martini glasses in front of us, I peer down into my drink with a tight smile. Beautiful or not, this woman is an escort, and a barricade I have to get through to obtain my objective.
“How much for the night?” I ask pointblank.
The suit lowers his martini as his eyes dart my way. “She’s spoken for,” he says directly.
I hold up my hands apologetically. “Didn’t mean to offend. But I mean…look at her.” I cock my head, trying to get the woman to react. “Can you blame me?”
He actually chuckles. Then he strokes her bare shoulder with purposeful intent, a display of ownership. She is his property, at least for the night. I happen to notice the silver wedding band on his finger.
“I certainly can’t.” He adjusts his suit cuff to reveal a Rolex. 40mm. Oystersteel. I know my clocks. “However, not to be rude, but you probably couldn’t afford it, my friend.”
It. Not her.
I nod sagely, sip my martini, and watch the woman. Any escort with half a brain for business would capitalize on this development. I watched them walk in with an escort to man ratio that would benefit her. More paying men in their party, more money to be shelled out her way.
Come on. Do the math.
“Let me buy you a drink,” I say, and raise my hand to get the bartender’s attention.
He shakes his head. “That’s not necessary—”
“I insist. I rarely get the opportunity to mingle with such fine company.” I lift my chin at the bartender to signal him. “Another two martinis,” I say, then look at my new friend. “Dirty?”
“Sure, why not?” he says.
His response irks me. I noted that both their martinis are straight-up with a lemon twist. The traits I’m seeking would not be so passive. I start to order the drinks, when the escort speaks up.
“Dry. Lemon twist.” She says this directly to the bartender.
My gaze stays on her while I refer to the bartender. I thought escorts were supposed to be accommodating. “You heard the lady.” I reach into my back pocket for my wallet and produce a credit card. I think twice about leaving a money trail, and set the card aside while I count out cash.
I take a swallow of my dirty martini. “You look familiar,” I say to the escort. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
“I doubt it.” She lets a curtain of blond hair fall between us.
I have the sudden and instinctual urge to sweep her hair back. I need to see her eyes. I clamp my hand around the base of the martini glass instead. “So, how much do you charge for a whole night?” I press.
“You’re fucking blunt,” the suit says. His smile says he’s no longer insulted, though. He’s stated the facts. He likes to own his toys, and he doesn’t share. Now I’m just amusement.
I can work with that. “I’m serious,” I say. “You have to have a friend—” I toss a glance over my shoulder toward the VIP section. “I’d like to know how broke I’ll be in the morning, and if it’s worth it.” I place my hand over my heart. “If she’s as beautiful as you, I’m sure it’d be entirely worth it, of course.”
As the drinks are set before them, the escort pushes away from the bar. “I’ll meet you back in the lounge, Ericson.”