Black Dog Nights: The Club, #1

One

I crumple the resume I’m holding and toss it into the first garbage can I see. So much for my $50,000 Fine Arts education. I’ve had twelve interviews at various museums and art galleries, but apparently there are too many recent graduates applying for too few entry level positions.

I haven’t even gotten a second interview.

My dad tried to warn me not to go to the Chicago Academy of Art and Design but I didn’t listen. I am the proud recipient of a very expensive and apparently useless degree.

My student loans are set to go into repayment in a few weeks and there’s no way I can afford the extra monthly expense on my salary working at Trey and Tina’s Beanery. The owners have been great about giving me overtime and extra shifts but I’m still barely making ends meet.

Living in Chicago isn’t cheap.

But at least I look good. I bought a new knee-length black suit for the interview. It’s professional but still feminine and slightly sexy. And it was on sale.

Too bad it didn’t land me a job.

I’m not really in the mood to listen to my roommate, Cali, talk about what her sometimes-boyfriend, David, is doing (or not doing) depending on his mood and the number of girls he’s gotten into bed this week.

So I walk a different route than I normally would and take a little longer strolling back to our dump. Calling our place an apartment would really be giving it too much credit.

Rose! Cali exclaims as I enter our very small and very cramped living quarters.

I’m sure when our rat-infested hole-in-the wall was built decades ago the designers assumed our apartment would only have one occupant. But we turned what was supposed to be a studio into a two-bedroom.

There isn’t even room for a real bed in my make-shift bedroom so I sleep on a fold-up futon or flip-and-fuck, as my roommate likes to call it. The nickname is even funnier due to the fact that I’ve never actually been fucked, in the futon or anywhere else.

You absolutely have to come with me to The Rock Stop tonight.

I really don’t, I assure her.

She pouts. I don’t want to walk in there alone. And if I don’t go, David will end up hooking up with someone other than me. I’m not sure I can deal with that right now.

Do you think maybe you should consider broadening your horizons a bit and date someone else? David doesn’t seem to have any problems broadening his horizons for anyone with a vagina.

She shakes her head. You just don’t understand.

I cross my arms over my chest. You’re right. I really don’t understand. But is it necessary to throw the fact that I’ve never been laid in my face every time we talk about David? I think you’re trying to deflect from the real issue.

Her eyes narrow. You got a degree in art not psychology.

I narrow my eyes right back at her. And you don’t have a degree at all.

She heaves a sigh. I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m just pissed at David and I’m taking it out on you. I just don’t understand why he wants to screw other women. It’s not like I ever tell him no.

Because he can.

She frowns.

I continue, Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe you should tell him no.

Will you please come with me to The Rock Stop tonight? I’ll do your laundry for the next month.

She knows how much I hate going to the Laundromat. It’s like slow, painful torture.

Fine, I agree. But only because you volunteered to do my laundry. I haven’t done it in weeks and it’s piling up. I hope you have a few hours to spare this week because it’s going to take a while to do all that washing.

Great. She rolls her eyes at me. I can hardly wait.

I shrug. You’re the one who made the deal.

Get changed and let’s get something to eat on the way to the club.

***

By the time we get to The Rock Stop, the dance club is already crowded with twenty-somethings who all look eager to hook up with anyone who’s willing.

Two guys, who are already half-drunk, gawk at my breasts as I walk by. I wish there was another feature of my anatomy that garnered as much attention as my mammary glands.

I breathe a sigh of relief when I hit the relative safety of the bar area. 

What do you want to drink? Cali yells over the loud Top Forty music.

Would I look too conspicuous just holding a glass of water?

She purses her lips at me. I tell her she looks like a duck when she does that but it doesn’t stop her.

I’ll get you a beer. You don’t have to drink it but I don’t want you to embarrass me, or yourself.

Yes, Daffy, I tease.

I do not have duck lips, she insists.

You do when you pucker them like that.

I think you’re on crack.

Just get the beer.

She waves in order to get the bartender’s attention but no such luck. He’s busy with a group of girls at the other end of the bar.

Hey, Babe. An arm reaches over Cali’s shoulder. I wasn’t sure I’d see you tonight.

David nods in my direction. What’s up?

He never addresses me by my name even though he’s been hooking up with Cali for over a year and I’ve seen him dozens of times.

David is the kind of guy I always hated in high school. His family has money and he’s never had to work a day in his life for anything. Cars, clothes, expensive vacations, you name it, and his parents have handed it to him on a silver platter. As a result he has a sense of entitlement that knows no bounds.

No doubt that’s why he feels like he can treat Cali any way he pleases and she’ll just keep coming back for more.

He runs his fingers through his short brown hair. I’m not sure whether it’s a nervous habit, or if he thinks that his fingers are like some kind of comb, but he does it all the time.

David is a good-looking guy in a frat-boy kind of way. Cali says he played baseball in high school, and he looks like he probably still plays sports. He’s not huge, but he’s definitely in good shape. 

Cali met him at a frat party. Even though she’s never set foot in a college class she’s spent a lot of time at college parties. David likes to brag about the fact that he’s a business major. I don’t see what the big deal is though. I feel like business is a major for people who don’t really know what they want to do with their lives.

Not that I have any room to talk. Apparently I earned a degree for people who don’t really want a job.

Before I know it, Cali and David have disappeared somewhere and I’m alone at the bar.

Great.

I didn’t even want to come here in the first place.

I have a choice. I can leave or I can order a drink. After the day I’ve had a drink is actually starting to sound appealing.

As soon as the DJ starts mixing, nearly everyone moves to the dance floor. The bar area is now pretty empty except for a young woman seated at the far end. She glances up at me when I approach and gives me the faintest of smiles.

She’s an attractive blonde with stunning ocean blue eyes. She’s the definition of a blonde bombshell. She’s got curves that would give Marilyn Monroe a run for her money.

I order a Crantini and the bartender wastes no time filling my order.

Tough day? the blonde asks.

I nod.

Have a seat. She points at the stool next to her.

Thanks.

I climb onto the stool and take a sip of my drink. It’s strong and I cough a little as it goes down.

Russ likes to make them strong. She laughs. Maybe he thinks he’ll get lucky at the end of the night.

The bartender, who looks like he’s in his mid-thirties, is completely bald and built like a brick house. Definitely someone I would want to have on my side if a fight broke out.

Are you waiting for someone? I ask. She looks a little too dressed up for the place we’re in. It’s mostly a denim crowd and she’s in a little black dress and pumps.

You could say that.

I nod. A cryptic response, but I get the impression that she’s not going to say much more about who she’s waiting for.

So what’s your story? she asks.

I laugh. Do I look like I have a story?

You definitely look like you have a story.

You’ve probably heard it a million times before.

She glances at her watch. I can’t help but notice it’s a gorgeous Rolex. The blonde doesn’t look that much older than me. I doubt she’s even twenty-five. It makes me wonder how she can afford such an expensive watch. When I look at her more closely, I notice she’s also wearing a diamond tennis bracelet and huge diamond stud earrings. Also very expensive.

Maybe she’s like David and has a generous daddy with lots of money.

I’ve got a few minutes before my friend gets here. Tell me this story I’ve heard a million times before.

I take another sip of my drink. She’s right. Russ does like to make them strong.

I recently graduated from art school. I have a fine arts degree but no professional job and no prospects. My student loans are set to go into repayment and I have no way to pay them. I’m barely making ends meet on my salary busting my ass at the local coffee shop. Pathetic, right?

She shakes her head. It’s not pathetic, but you’re right, it’s a story I’ve heard a lot. Maybe not a million times. Half a million tops.

We both laugh. It feels good to laugh about it. At least for one night.

She reaches into her purse, a pricey Coach bag, and pulls out a business card. I expect her to hand it to me but she places it on the bar between us instead.

I don’t do this very often but I feel bad for you, so I’m making an exception. She points to the card. You can pick it up if you want to, after I tell you what it’s about. Or you can leave it on the bar. It’s completely up to you.

My curiosity is definitely piqued. When I glance down at the card I notice it only has two words: The Club followed by a phone number.

What’s The Club?

It’s a kind of dating service.

I frown. Do I look like need a date?

No, but you said you need money. This is a special kind of dating service for extremely wealthy men.

I assume that’s how she got her Rolex and other jewelry, but I don’t want to be rude by asking. Are you saying it’s kind of like having a sugar daddy?

She laughs. That’s kind of an antiquated term but sort of. Most of the men in The Club are older and they have very specific tastes. Most of them want younger women, but more importantly, they want women who will be there whenever and however they want.

I gulp. Then I whisper. Are you talking about prostitution?

She gives me a little smile. Prostitution implies that you’re with multiple men and they’re paying you for sex. It’s not like that. It’s more like you’re being paid to be one man’s mistress.

Are they married?

She laughs. Some are. Some aren’t. Does it matter?

I think it would to me.

Why?

It’s a good question. I’m not married. He’d be the one doing the cheating.

Do you mind if I ask how much money you’re talking about?

That’s negotiable between you and the man who selects you. It’s called an arrangement. You can negotiate any sort of arrangement you want.

Could you give me a ballpark figure?

Usually between three and five thousand a month.

My eyes grow wide at the thought of that kind of money. My salary at the coffee shop, even with overtime and tips, doesn’t come close to that.

And that doesn’t include all of the perks. A lot of the men like to provide their girlfriends with generous gifts in addition to their arrangement.

You said a lot of the guys are older. How old?

An image of a geriatric using a walker crosses my mind. I’m not sure I’d be able to have sex with someone that old, if he could still even have sex.

The guy I have an arrangement with is fifty-four.

That’s ten years older than my dad. I can feel my stomach churn. Am I really considering getting involved with some kind of club and being paid to have sex with a guy who could be older than my father?

The blonde leans in close. Don’t let his age fool you. He can still perform in bed. And I only have to see him two days a week for a few hours. And my arrangement is non-exclusive. He doesn’t mind if I date other guys.

I don’t really date that much, I confess.

That’s even better. There are a lot of guys who want exclusive arrangements. Not many girls will commit to that.

I stare at the business card for a few seconds. Is this something I’m actually considering? I’m just not sure. There’s no doubt that I need the money but I’m not sure about having sex with someone I don’t even know...for money.

It’s really not that bad, she insists. I wasn’t sure at first either but you get used to it. And Alex can be a really sweet guy.

She makes a point of pushing the business card a little closer to me. At least meet with Claudia. You can always back out if a guy selects you and you don’t like him.

I pass my hand over the card and hesitate for a moment. I feel like this is a pivotal moment. Like my whole life could change just by picking up the card.

I take in a deep breath then grab the card from the bar. Now that it’s actually in my hand I feel like calling the phone number is inevitable.

Tell Claudia that December sent you.

My eyes widen and I can’t help the look of surprise on my face. Your name is December?

She laughs. It’s my real name too. And I wasn’t even born in December. My birthday is November 28. I was an early arrival. But my parents already picked out the name and they really liked it.

She holds out a hand for me to shake. December Reynolds.

Rose Collins, I reply as I shake her hand.

Claudia just accepted several new members into The Club and she’s looking for a few more girls. I think she’ll really like you. You’re cute and classy.

I’m not sure whether to take that as a compliment. Thanks, I say anyway.

December looks at her watch. I’ve got to split. I’m supposed see Alex in a few minutes.

She hops down from her barstool then reaches into her purse, grabs two twenties and throws them on the bar. The drinks here aren’t cheap but they’re not that expensive. The Crantini is on me. I’m sure I’ll see you around. Give my best to Claudia.

Before I have a chance to respond, December is hurrying out the door.

Two

I stare at the business card for what seems like forever before I get the nerve to pick up my cell phone.

Am I really thinking about going through with it? December said I could back out if I wanted to. What I neglected to mention to her is that I’ve never actually had sex with anyone in my life.

Makes my situation a little more complicated. Is that something I should even tell Claudia? Would she want someone with absolutely no experience whatsoever?

And how does a twenty-one-year-old in the 21st century make it all the way through high school and college with her virginity intact?

It sounds ridiculous considering that I’m not opposed to sex. I never wanted or intended to be a twenty-one-year-old virgin. It’s just that the opportunity to lose my virginity never presented itself.

As an artist, I’ve always been a bit introverted, kind of a loner. I dated but it never resulted in anything beyond making out.

I wonder if an arrangement would even work with someone as inexperienced as me. 

As soon as I actually muster enough courage to make the phone call to Claudia, my roommate stumbles into our apartment.

Great timing.

She’s wearing last night’s outfit, but it’s significantly more rumpled than it was when we went out. And her long, dark hair is not quite as put together as it normally is.

Rough night? I tease.

You have no idea.

You’re right. I don’t.

She puts a hand on my shoulder. Sorry. I know it’s kind of a sensitive subject.

I just don’t want to end up being a 40-year old virgin.

She rolls her eyes at me. I’m sure that’s not going to happen. I mean, look at you. You’re hot. I’m sure you’ll find someone to rock that hot little body of yours.

Maybe.

She grabs the business card from my hand. What’s this?

Nothing. I snatch it back.

Is that some kind of new nightclub or something?

I don’t really want to have this discussion with my roommate but she’s not leaving me much of a choice. It’s sort of a dating service.

She scrunches her nose up like I just put rancid garbage under it. You do not need a dating service. Dating services are for losers who can’t get dates.

Exactly.

She gives me quick hug. You are not a loser.

But I can’t get dates.

I’m sure David would be willing to fix you up with one of his friends.

No, I exclaim. I don’t want to go out with one of David’s friends.

She frowns.

You know how much I dislike David.

Cali plops down next to me. Look, I know David has his issues but he’s really trying.

Trying what? I roll my eyes. To get in your pants?

He doesn’t have to try very hard to do that, she admits.

I just think you can do a lot better than David. He’s with you when it’s convenient and when it’s not, he acts like you don’t exist.

Things are different this time. She actually sounds convinced.

You always say things are going to be different, but they never are.

She grabs the card from my hand again. You’re really going to try a dating service? What if they set you up with someone really creepy?

I snatch the card back from her again. "I said it was sort of a dating service."

She narrows her eyes at me. What does that mean?

I heave a sigh. I guess I have no choice but to tell her. Young girls get paid to date older guys.

She jumps up from her seat. Shut up! Don’t tell me you’re thinking about becoming a prostitute.

I shake my head. It’s not like that.

She narrows her big brown eyes like she doesn’t believe me. Then what is it like?

I think about it for a moment and then say, David paid for all your drinks last night, didn’t he?

She nods.

And when he takes you to dinner, movies, concerts, he always pays, doesn’t he?

Those are dates. He’s supposed to pay.

And then you have sex with him, right?

What’s your point?

Does that make you a prostitute?

She laughs. Of course not.

What about when you dropped your cell phone in the toilet and needed money for a new one? David gave it to you, didn’t he?

Yes, and then I slept with him.

But that doesn’t make you a prostitute, does it?

I hope not.

All I’m saying is that I think it’s okay for a girl to accept gifts from a guy she’s dating.

But are you actually going to be dating the guy, or just sleeping with him?

I can’t believe she just said that. And how much actual dating to you and David do? Isn’t your relationship, if you can even call it that, mostly about sex?

She tilts her head like she’s thinking about what I just said. You have a point.

She grabs the card from