Authors: Velvet
Naomi wanted more than a warm embrace, but she reluctantly leaned back into him anyway, hoping that the spark that lit his fire when he walked into the room would reignite so that they could make love.
Jacob seemed to feel the frustration coursing through his wife’s body and began rocking her back and forth until her shoulders relaxed. Before long, she drifted off to sleep. When she awoke the next morning, the tenseness in her body was gone and so was Jacob. Once again, he had escaped like Houdini.
THE BELL RANG
, bringing Naomi back to the present. She tried to hook the clasp on her pearl necklace, but couldn’t find the catch. The doorbell rang again, and she put the necklace back in the jewelry box instead of tackling the tiny clasp. She quickly brushed her hair and rushed downstairs to answer the door.
“So, you are home? What took you so long? I was just about to leave,” said an irritated Kennedy.
“Sorry. I was trying to fasten my pearl necklace, but the clasp is so intricate that I couldn’t hook it by myself.”
Kennedy stepped into the foyer. “Yeah, those things can be tricky. I bought a necklace in Nigeria that has a tiny clasp, so I just slip it over my head. Am I the first one here?” she asked.
“Yep, Susan isn’t here yet,” Naomi said, leading the way to the solarium.
“When is she ever on time?” Kennedy hissed.
Susan was a single mom whom Naomi had met at parents’ night at Noah’s school. As they each waited their turn to speak with the teacher, Naomi noticed she and Susan were reading the same novel. After striking up a conversation, she discovered that Susan was an avid reader, as well as the mother of Noah’s friend Simon. At that time, the book club was down to two people, so Naomi invited her to join. Initially, Susan was the ideal member, recommending bestsellers and sparking engaging commentary. But lately, her commitment had begun to wane.
“Give her a break, Ken. She just started a new job. Susan used to be the first one here and the last one to leave.” Switching gears, Naomi asked, “Do you want a Bellini?”
“I’d love one.”
“Come on in the kitchen while I mix up a batch.”
Naomi opened the refrigerator, took out a bottle of champagne and a bottle of fresh peach nectar. “So, tell me. Did you see your mystery guy on your last trip?”
“Yeah, I saw him.” Kennedy plopped her body onto one of the bar stools at the counter island.
Taking a pitcher out of the cabinet, Naomi asked, “What’s his name again?”
“Nigel Charles,” Kennedy answered unenthusiastically.
Pouring the champagne and nectar into the pitcher, she asked, “So you gonna keep me in suspense or tell me what happened on the flight?”
“There’s nothing to tell.” Kennedy looked down at her nails.
“Well, did he at least say anything personal this time?” Naomi asked, stirring the champagne and nectar together to make Bellinis.
“No.” She shifted uncomfortably on the stool. “He didn’t even look in my direction after I served dinner. So suffice it to say, the rest of the flight was uneventful.” Kennedy omitted the part about her getting so turned on by Nigel that she masturbated in the lavatory. Some business was just too personal to discuss, even with close friends.
Naomi poured the Bellini into a champagne flute and handed it to Kennedy. “Do you think he’s gay?”
“I doubt it. He just isn’t interested,” she uttered, with a hint of rejection in her voice.
Naomi looked over at Kennedy, and suddenly felt a wave of relief rush over her. Though she was married to a workaholic, it was still better than being on the front line of the dating scene. The ratio of men to women was so disproportionate, with women outweighing men by at least five to one, which translated to multiple women sharing one man. And if the man did decide to commit, he’d do so in his own sweet time. Men had too many options—translation, too many women to choose from—which was probably why this Nigel Charles guy didn’t feel the need to frantically pursue Kennedy.
“Don’t be silly,” Naomi said, trying to cheer her up. “Why wouldn’t he be interested? You’re gorgeous, and have a great sense of style.”
Kennedy was, by all accounts,
Jet
centerfold fine, with warm, caramel-macchiato skin highlighting half-moon eyes, and a warm personality that could thaw the coldest iceberg. She ran her hand through her hair, which she wore cropped closely, reminiscent of a Halle Berry–style cut. “Thanks, Naomi.”
They were silent for a moment, as if lost in thought. Kennedy sipped the champagne cocktail, put the glass on the counter, and then spoke in a quiet tone, almost a whisper. “Be grateful you have a husband who loves you, and that you don’t have to be out there anymore. It’s rough trying to find a man. The competition is fierce, and men know that they have the upper hand.”
She must have been reading Naomi’s thoughts. “Trust me, I am. The thought of being back on the dating scene makes me cringe. The only competition I have to deal with is Jacob’s job,” she said matter-of-factly, trying to hide her disappointment.
“So, I take it Jacob hasn’t cut back on his hours?” she asked.
“No, but he came in early last night and almost rocked my world.”
“Almost? What does that mean?”
Naomi told Kennedy how Jacob came into the room horny and heated up, painting her breasts with cheesecake, and how excited she was to be getting laid, but before he delivered on his overdue promise, his fire was snuffed out.
“Why do you think he stopped?” Kennedy had never experienced anything like that, and wondered what would make a man go cold in the middle of foreplay.
“I have no idea. Your guess is as good as mine,” Naomi said, sounding totally exasperated.
As they were pondering the reasons for Jacob’s sudden change of heart, the telephone rang. “Hello?” Naomi answered. “Hey, Susan, where are you? . . . That’s a bummer . . . Well, if your hours change, we’d love to have you back.”
“I take it Susan isn’t coming,” Kennedy said, once Naomi hung up the phone.
“No, she’s working the night shift over at Memorial.”
“Is she a nurse?”
“Yeah, and since she’s the new person at the bottom of the totem pole, she’s stuck with overnights.” Naomi poured herself a cocktail and clinked Kennedy’s glass. “Looks like it’s just gonna be the two of us.”
“What happened to Caroline?” Kennedy asked, referring to the fourth member of their book club.
“Girl, didn’t I tell you?”
“Tell me what?” Kennedy looked perplexed.
“Caroline and her family moved a week ago. Her husband’s firm relocated to Denver.”
“We’re losing members faster than a leper colony,” Kennedy teased.
“You’re right. Maybe we should place a classified on Craigslist that reads: Book club in desperate need of members,” Naomi
joked back. “Do you know anybody who’d be interested in joining?”
Kennedy hesitated for a minute. “No, not really.”
“What about Monica?”
“Between flying and babysitting her husband, I’m sure she would not be interested in reading books with us. Besides, I see her enough at work.”
Naomi had thought about giving up on the whole book club idea, but it was such a great social outlet for her. Aside from volunteering at the Museum of Urban Art a few times a month, she was the basic suburban housewife. Though she had dreams of one day becoming an interior designer, she’d yet to start making that dream a reality. “Do you want to postpone the meetings until we have a full house?” Naomi asked anyway, in case Kennedy wanted to spend her free time elsewhere.
“No. It’s not like my social calendar is overflowing. Besides, we’ll find more victims soon.” Kennedy laughed. “Now, pour me another drink and let’s discuss this cheesy love story.”
“It’s not cheesy,” Naomi said in mock defense of the book she had chosen. “It’s romantic.”
“Cheesy? Romantic? What’s the difference? The next book, I get to choose, and you can best believe it won’t have a Fabio look-alike on the cover.”
“Let’s forget about the book. I’ve got something juicier to talk about,” Naomi said with a gleam in her eyes and sat on one of the stools across from Kennedy.
“What’s that look for?”
“I think I’ve found the solution to both of our problems.”
“And what problem is that?”
“Kennedy, you’re not getting any dick, and neither am I. Correct?” Naomi said, more as a statement than a question.
“Unfortunately, that is correct. So what’s the solution? Hire a pair of gigolos?” She laughed.
“You’re laughing, but I’m serious.”
Kennedy stopped laughing, and looked at Naomi like she had lost her mind. “Serious about hiring a gigolo?”
“No, no! Well . . . not exactly.”
“Not exactly? Naomi, what are you talking about?”
“The other day, I picked up the phone and instead of a dial tone, I was patched into another line. I was going to hang up, but these women started talking about this place called the Black Door. Have you ever heard of it?”
“No, I haven’t. Is it a new restaurant?”
Naomi slowly shook her head. “Girrl, it’s an erotica club exclusively for women. Men work there, but they can’t be members.”
Kennedy put her elbows on the counter and placed her hands underneath her chin. She was intrigued. “Really? Tell me more.”
“From what I heard, this place sounds like the bomb. For starters, everyone wears a mask.”
“Sounds like the movie
Eyes Wide Shut
.”
“I know, but it gets better. There’s a champagne fountain that spews ice-cold vodka, and the furnishings are imported from Europe,” Naomi said excitedly, as if she’d seen the club with her own eyes.
“Where is it located?”
“I don’t know. The woman never said. She didn’t even mention whether it was on the East or West Side. I looked on the Internet and in the Yellow Pages, but couldn’t find any information.”
“I’m sure a club like that is totally under the radar. Now the big question is, how can we find out more? As horny as I’ve been lately, the Black Door sounds like exactly what I need. If nothing more than to just have a drink and look at some fine men in tight shorts. I’m sure they only hire model-looking types.” Kennedy could envision an array of buffed hunks parading around in their skivvies, showing off their cocks.
“I’ve never paid for sex before, but I’m feeling desperate.
The woman also said that everyone is tested for STDs, so the club is safe.”
“This place is sounding better and better. Since the Black Door is not listed on the Internet, how are we going to find out where it is?” Kennedy asked, again.
“I don’t know. All I know is if I don’t get some sex soon, I’m going to lose my mind.”
“Me too,” Kennedy agreed.
“I know I should be concentrating on getting my interior design business off the ground instead of focusing so much on sex, but I can’t help it,” Naomi said, taking a sip of her drink.
“You haven’t talked about starting your business for so long that I thought you had forgotten about it.”
“I’ve been putting it off and putting it off, but now that Noah is in school and Jacob is at work most of the time, I figured I might as well do something for myself.”
“I know what you mean. I’ve actually been thinking about going back to school,” Kennedy said.
“Law school?”
“No. I’m not interested in being an attorney anymore. Buying unique clothes and pieces of jewelry on my travels has gotten me interested in becoming a buyer, or maybe starting my own import/export business.”
“Wow, Ken! That sounds perfect for you. You have such great taste.”
“Thanks. I’m getting tired of flying. I don’t want to be an old hag still trying to maneuver those tiny aisles in my blue polyester uniform,” she said, chuckling.
“You’re far from being a hag. So when are you planning on quitting?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ve only begun to think about this buying thing. I need to save more money before I leave the airline, so that I can have a cushion.”
“That’s wise. Speaking of saving, I need to talk to Jacob
about investing in my business. He’s been so busy lately that I haven’t had a chance to tell him my plan.”
“You think he’ll have a problem with it?”
“I don’t think so. It’s not like we’re hurting financially, and he can see from the way I decorated our home that I have the talent. Knowing Jacob, he’ll want to do a budget projection and map out the next five years on paper, before I even have a company name.”
“That’s the accountant in him. Good luck with your plan.” Kennedy raised her glass. The two friends toasted to their impending businesses, and chatted the evening away.
“
GIRL, YOU
won’t believe this shit!” The remote speaker clipped onto the sun visor magnified every syllable. “I’m so upset!” Naomi yelled.
“Stop screaming and tell me what’s wrong,” Kennedy said calmly. She was surprised at Naomi’s erratic tone. The night before at their pseudo book club meeting, Naomi was relaxed and jovial; now she was shouting at the top of her lungs.
Naomi was darting in and out of traffic like Mario Andretti in the Indy 500, speeding along the LIE on the way to the Museum of Urban Art. Twice a month, she volunteered in the curator’s office cataloging artwork. “Jacob is about two seconds from getting a divorce petition from my attorney!” She screamed, honked the horn, and then yelled at the car in front of her,
“Pick a lane!”
“You have a divorce attorney?” Kennedy asked, sounding surprised. She knew Naomi’s relationship was far from perfect, but she had no idea that divorce was on her friend’s mind.
“What?” Beeepppp.
“Pick a fucking lane!!”
“Nothing,” Kennedy said, thinking twice about quizzing Naomi while she was experiencing road rage.
Beep, beep, beep
. Kennedy could hear the blare of the car horn through the phone.
“You no-driving . . .”
Kennedy cut her off, “Naomi!”
“Son of a . . .”
“Naomi, pull over right now!” Kennedy yelled into the receiver, trying to get her friend off the road before she had an accident.