Page 19 of XX Love Affair
“Mostly?”
“My dad’s roots are in Manhattan, my mom’s in Connecticut. I cut the difference. Helps that my job is here.”
“What do you do?”
Delia had to admit, she expected that question to come much sooner. Helena was definitely sussing out how much her target made. “Real estate. I work for The Boyle Group. If you’ve heard of them, congrats, someone committed a war crime by boring you to death. Because it’s not the kind of company you hear about in the news unless someone’s in trouble.”
“Sounds like commercial real estate.”
“And some residential. Mostly planned communities via redevelopment. I’m currently overseeing a project transforming a former golf course into a mixed-use community.”
“So, you’re one of the people behind those cut-and-paste five-over-ones.”
“I do what I can to bring more housing to our bursting population.”
“Hey, I’m not judging. We’ve all gotta get by.”
“Is that what you’re doing? Getting by?”
Helena was slightly put out that the conversation had been turned back on her. I’m sure she was about to dress me down for being a shady real estate developer. Delia knew these types well, but she never signed up to defend how she made her living. The results spoke for themselves. NIMBY, YIMBY, namby-pamby, I don’t give a cold fuck.
Helena was the unknown quantity here. Let her speak for herself.
“I’m taking a break from what it means to be a student in the year of our Lord 2024.” Helena wasn’t a stranger to drinking wine. She even sampled a sip as if they were at a bona fide tasting in Napa Valley. When’s the last time I did that? “I spent so many years studying myself half to death while my parents moved us from place to place. Before I commit myself to more of the same, I’m traveling around and meeting people. Figure myself out a bit before the boredom crashes in again.”
You’re too young to be talking so crankily. Delia wouldn’t say that out loud, though. The last thing any college student wanted to hear was that they weren’t yet mature enough to know what boredom and pain were. Hell, Delia didn’t want to believe she was old enough to know those sensations.
“How are you financing yourself? Are you a trust fund kid?” It would explain why Helena seemed so worldly, so comfortable in the kind of places she was barely old enough to inhabit. Yet she was unrefined in enough ways to make Delia question that. Like the hotel she had been staying in… Delia wouldn’t look down on her for staying in a three-star hotel, having slept in one many times herself, but it said something.
“I get by. It’s not hard to come across money when I need it.”
What a non-answer! “You mean other people fund your sabbatical.”
“Do you have a problem with that?” Helena lifted her chin when the waiter arrived with their appetizers. “I never asked you to help. You’re here because you want to go out with me.” Her eyelashes fluttered as the waiter excused himself again. “I must have left quite the impression on you last weekend.”
“Have you looked at yourself lately?”
Helena chuckled. “I had to when I got ready for our date.”
Delia remained unconvinced that Helena was as mature as she let on. Does it matter, though? For years, Delia had been dating twenty-somethings like herself for the sole purpose of spending the night with them, nothing more. Her most serious relationships lasted four, six months and ended with spectacular fireworks aimed right at her face. Delia was under no disillusion that she was a great catch. She had money, a wealthy family, and knew how to get into the best clubs around town, but she was far from romantically stable. Her mother often lamented that it was one thing for her youngest to be “a queer,” quite another for her to prove once and again an inability to commit. Her father likewise expressed interest in Delia finding lasting love like he had so many times.
Unfortunately, I am my father’s daughter. One woman to another, and now here Delia was, dating someone ten years younger than her. Go figure.
She kept the conversation pleasant as they ate their entrees and switched from wine to coffee once the glasses were empty. There was no time for dessert since they had to be at the reservation at Le Salon in fifteen minutes. Helena excused herself to the restroom while Delia handled the bill and checked her phone.
When Helena returned, hips swaying and long legs shimmering in the restaurant light, Delia reminded herself that she had been looking forward to this night all week. Even if some sense were knocked into her and she realized she shouldn’t touch this girl with a ten-foot pole, she would at least enjoy the view a while longer.
Chapter 7
Le Salon was the latest hidden gem in town that entranced women like Delia, making them feel like they were truly worth the sophisticated millions they had in their bank accounts. The owner was the enigmatic Monica Warren, the madam of Le Chateau up in the mountains that Delia could never be assed to go to. My dad, though… Rumor in his family was that he had another mistress up there, whom he visited before settling for Emma, his one true mistress.
Delia had always wanted to go to that den of ill-repute if only to say she had seen professional sex workers do their worst. I’d be interested in bottoming for a spell if I could ensure an encounter like that. But Delia was a creature of habit, and she preferred the city.
All the more reason for her to secure a membership to Le Salon, the high-end lounge run by two veterans of Le Chateau. The manager on duty that night was Judith, Monica’s #2 who had more than one man wrapped around her finger, not that any of them were in the lounge that night. Not on ladies’ night, when the delicately elegant women of the region showed up for light jazz, expensive bottles of their personal poison, and riveting conversation with hostesses who were not technically sex workers in this space, but that was like saying the employees of The Dark Hour couldn’t be beguiled to spend a night in a hotel room if the price was right.
Helena had never been there before. She immediately drank in the crimson red walls, the plush black couches, and the spectacular view of the city as seen from the floor-to-ceiling windows. Delia knew enough about this building’s history to know that these were old, dilapidated condos completely refurbished into expensive apartments and secret clubs like this one. It was homey, cozy on purpose. A large, well-stocked bar stood where the kitchen would normally go, and both bathrooms were changed into Hers & His, but the large, spacious living room and den were like walking into a good friend’s party on the seventeenth floor of a high-rise.
They were stopped by the woman working the door alongside the female bouncer. She scanned Delia’s membership QR code and cross-referenced her reservation. All according to plan until she then said, “I need to see your ID, hon. Thanks.”