“How is it that you’re alone tonight?”
Don gave a low chuckle. “Who knows?”
“So, the kids are out too?”
“Yeah. Marc’s at his friend’s house and Alyssa’s spending the night with Tiffany and Kay.”
“You know, in the ten years since I’ve known you, I’ve never heard you say that you’re alone.”
“Well, I am.” Don didn’t believe it either—today was what seemed like only the fifth day in his life that he had ever been alone like this. Not that he didn’t like the quietness; he just missed the constant chattering and presence of someone else.
“Don’t have any plans?”
Don looked at the clock; it was only four. “Not particularly.”
He could hear his friend—Malcolm Landgraab—smirk. “Interesting, Don…I just so happen to have a plan…that would be more fun if you were included in it.”
Don had a feeling that he knew where this was going. “Okay…And, what’s this genius plan of yours?”
“Did you hear about that new gentleman’s club opening? Chained?”
Of course Don had heard about it. Some of his friends at work were talking about it and how beautiful the escorts were. From what he found it, it was an exclusive and highly luxurious club. It wasn’t your average club—it was actually pretty infamous. From the rumors, he heard that many politicians had started the birth of many scandals in the VIP room of that club; he had heard that many business tycoons had their money-making ideas started in that club; he had heard that many lawyers found out something crucial to their cases in that club.
“And what about it?”
“I just so happen to have an exclusive member card right in my hands—VIP and everything.”
“…Okay?”
“And, I want you to go with me.”
Don sighed. “When was the last time I went into a stripper’s club, Malcolm?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s been about twenty years.”
“That’s why you don’t know what you’re missing out on.”
“I don’t think I’m missing much.”
“Oh, you totally are. Just come with me for tonight, and you’ll see.”
Club Chained was a two story, highly modern building. No one would suspect it to actually be a gentleman’s club—even if there were so many rumors going around about it.
The VIP line was short, so Malcolm, Don, and two more of their friends—business associates of Malcolm, Steven Rupert and Emmett Clayton—were in the club in less than ten minutes.
Don’s eyes had to perform a drastic change: it was almost midnight in here, and the only lights going about were purple neon lights flashing about, along with what seemed like light reflected from a disco ball.
They were shown into the VIP room, where Emmett showed another pass.
“What’s that?” Don noticed that the security guard guarding another door had took the pass and was checking ID.
“A more special VIP pass,” Malcolm admitted, “Because of Clayton, we get our own personal VIP room.”
The guard nodded his head and unlocked the room for the four men.
Inside, it was dimly lit—a little bit better than outside. The interior was a red and green clash.
Don sat near the bar, where the bartender was already mixing up some drinks.
Malcolm was talking a bit to one of the stripper girls who had came in with them. She feverously nodded, but she kept a serious face and air. So, perhaps, stripping was a serious job for her?
A few moments later, when Don was served some snacks and some drinks, Malcolm excused the girl and came to take his seat as well.
“What was that all about?” Steve asked.
“Thought I knew her from somewhere.” Being the businessman that he was, it was nearly impossible to tell if he was lying or not. He was an expert at it—this masking his intentions business.
After another round of drinks, Don noticed that the lights got dimmer. The music became louder and louder, but not too loud as to not be able to hear someone else speak.
One by one, the extraordinary girls came out, each from different aspects of the world: there was one who most likely had Mediterranean in her, a Latina one, a few Asian looking ones, and two ebony-skinned women.
What they did next was the basic reason why the men had even thought about coming tonight.
Don tilted his head back and downed another shot of tequila. When he brought his face to stage, he knew that his eyes were playing with him. But, was it so bad to hope what he saw?
Her short hair, her brown eyes, her slightly high cheek bones, her flirty lips…there could be no other… He licked his parched lips and parted them for a second.
“What did you say?” Malcolm asked as he faced his friend. “Did you say something?”
“…No. I didn’t.”
Malcolm gave his friend a rather slightly suspicious look, but nonetheless, turned back to down another margarita.
Don grew deathly silent as his eyes hungered for that single woman who was bringing out two kinds of urges in him—the natural, almost instinctual urge, but another more unnatural…more emotional urge in him.
At two in the morning, Don arrived home. Though he was surely beyond drunk, he didn’t even feel it. He felt pretty sober.
He trotted upstairs and easily stripped out of his clothes. His body felt hot—either from the alcohol or from some other purpose.
He threw off the covers of his bed and laid stiff on it. Was everything he saw tonight his imagination? Yes, it had to be…But, in other ways, no, it wasn’t—it could’ve been reality.
He reached out to the ceiling, at arm’s length. If he did this at the club, he would’ve been able to touch her.
His image of her was burned deep into his memory—into his conscience. And, it would leave a scar, so he would have to think of her, all the time.
He moaned. Did it really come down to this? Did he just break his own promise to never fall in love, again?
Yes, he realized, he just did. And, it wasn’t just a usual stripper…No, it was the person whom the stripper looked like: The wife of his sworn enemy, Darren Dreamer; Danielle Dreamer.
Out of all the people in Pleasantview—in the world—it had to be her. She was the wife of the man he was supposed to despise the most—the man who took his fiancée.
But maybe it was because he didn’t despise Dreamer like that. Maybe that was why he fell for Dreamer’s wife.
Now that he thought about it, he shouldn’t have done that—he shouldn’t have laid eyes on her for the first time. That was his sin…He saw her, so he wanted her…His logic would not be threatened.
Her name was on the tip of his tongue—if he were to say it right now, then no one would hear him; no one would suspect what his truth was.
“Danielle.” But, once was not enough to prove how much he had fallen. “Danielle…Danielle…Oh, Danielle…”
He laid his hand on his forehead. He hated how he felt—he loved how her name rolled off his tongue.
He tried to count his sheep, but every sheep brought about Danielle. Every number was a letter of her name. Every thought he thought of to try to bring him to sleep was her smile and the way she said his name.
He had never been this seduced. Was it possible?
His tossing and turning led him into Sunday morning.
He didn’t feel tired at all—he actually felt pretty energetic because of his thoughts. “Damn it,” he whispered.
For another hour or so, he laid in bed, trying to resolve his problems, even though he knew very well that they were unresolvable. Before he realized it, he heard Marc and Alyssa coming into the house.
From upstairs, he heard their conversation.
“Hm, Dad’s not up,” Alyssa admitted.
“That’s not like him, is it?”
“I thought he’d be up by now. I was looking forward for lunch.”
Lunch? Don looked at the clock. It was eleven thirty. He had been awake for nearly a day and a half…even if sleep still didn’t sound enchanting to him…
“Maybe he had a rough night,” Marc suggested.
“I wonder what he did last night, since no one was here.”
“I bet he just stayed home.”
The truth would surprise him. His truth would leave them breathless and utterly confused.
“Good morning, Lothario.”
“Yeah, morning.”
“Rough weekend?”
“You can say that.” Don turned in his chair to type away an order for some medicine. He noticed a very vaguely prescription for stress relievers. And, lucky him, he was supposed to send it today. He looked at the address one more time, and he instantly regretted it. “Uh…uh, Jim?”
“Yeah?”
“Do-do I have to drop this off?”
Jim laughed. “I don’t see why you can’t. You’re heading that way, anyways, aren’t you? Isn’t it on your way home?”
“W-well, it is, but…”
“But, what? Got into a fight with the doctor?” Jim came over to look at who the address was to. “To…to Dr. Leroy--.” Jim instantly knew what had happened. Well, he thought he knew. “…Isn’t…isn’t she Darren Dreamer’s wife?” His question was a small squeak.
Don nodded. But, that wasn’t the case. Even if he wanted to tell Jim, then he knew he’d slip up his truth, and the whole world would know, even if it was only Jim who knew.
“…Th-then, I can drop it off for you, if you’d like...”
Don was very much urged to tell him to go ahead and do it—because, he was sure that if he saw her now, he wouldn’t know what to do…how to act…what to tell her. But, if he saw her, then his heart would send adrenaline into him, and he would get that pleasant high he had always wanted; had always longed for, but hadn’t felt in the longest time.
“So, um, just rearrange your name to be mine, and I’ll drop it off. I’ll also call them to tell them that I’ll be coming.”
That was right—if Don called now, and if he got Danielle, he’d tell her that he’d be coming just to see her.
“Don?”
“…You know what, I think I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Well, I dropped off medicine to that place about a few weeks ago…It’s nothing.”
Jim wanted to scratch his head in confusion. If that was right, then why didn’t he want to go a few seconds ago? What was at that place that Don had mixed feelings about?
At two thirty, Don made his way to the psychiatry office. He nearly strutted in, if he hadn’t been carrying so many packages.
When he got to the front counter, he didn’t expect to see someone else there. “Oh, hello.”
The receptionist smiled. “Hi.”
“I-I’ve got some packages here from Pleasantview Hospital.”
“Oh, yeah, Dr. Leroy was expecting those.”
“Oh…we-well, is she here?”
“Oh, she just left a few minutes ago. Maybe about five minutes ago.”
Immediately, Don’s heart sank. He masked his regret. “…Then, I’ll need a signature on a few of these.”
“Then, let me get Dr. Larson.”
Don nodded. He set the packages down and brought out the paperwork. Just as the receptionist was about to head back, the front door opened.
Don glanced back—but, of course, all it took was a glance. His face lightened and the smile he had on easily merged onto her face.
“M-Mrs. Dreamer.” He hated the way it come out of his lips—Mrs. Dreamer. How easier it would be to call her ‘Danielle’.
“Oh, hello, Mr. Lothario.” She beamed. She rubbed her womb. “I see you have some medicine for me. Do I need to sign anything?”
“Dr. Leroy, right here.”
“Okay, thanks, Anne. Have you seen my paperwork for Mr. Javier Belmontes?”
After Anne left when Danielle signed the papers, she turned her attentions to Don.
“How are you, Mr. Lothario?” she pleasantly asked.
The feelings he had as a small boy when he had a crush rose back in him, even if he tried to keep them down. “I-I’m fine. How is he?” He looked at her womb.
She smiled. “Oh, he’s just fine. The other day, he was kicking.”
“Is that so?” He smiled, only to then attempt to keep down his frown. There, on her hand that was on her womb, was a new diamond ring—an engagement ring, not a wedding ring.
She must’ve noticed it. She thus became embarrassed. “I-I just bought it. Isn’t it nice?”
She bought it? How come it didn’t sound so true to him? “Oh, it’s beautiful. Could I see it?”
She lifted her hand and he brought both hands to shelter the small hand. Even though he looked like he was inspecting the ring, it wasn’t that—no, he was enjoying the warmth that her hand was giving off; a warmth that was so hot that it could melt his hand.
“I thought it would be a change of things,” she admitted.
He nodded. He then brought his eyes to her, even though he still didn’t let go of her hand. “Um…Mrs. Dreamer--.”
She raised her other hand defensively. “No, Danielle’s just fine.”
Much easier—less guiltier. “Th-then call me Don…and…Danielle…if-if you don’t mind, could I ask you to lunch?”
Her eyes sparkled. “Is that a date I hear?”
“…I would like it to be.”
She seemed to blush. “Well…”
“Well?” Perhaps she was going to say something else?
“Well…I already had lunch…”
His eyes showed his regret. “O-oh…” He kept holding her hand. Finally, Anne came back and he frantically let go of her hand. “I-I’m sorry…for holding your hand…”
With the same hand, she went back to sheltering her womb. “You have nice hands, Don…” She received the papers from Anne. She turned to him. “And…even though I had lunch, I’m looking forward to buying groceries for dinner…”
His eyes sparkled. “Oh, that’s fine with me, too.”
No comments:
Post a Comment