'M' is For: [Ch15] Salvation in Sin - Part 1

One early Saturday morning, I headed out to the local supermarket to buy my weekly groceries. Despite the hour, the supermarket was already busy with people. I was focused on my shopping list, doing my best to avoid the jostle of mothers with their children, when I heard from behind me, “Mallory?”

I turned, and it took me a full minute to place the familiar face of the sandy-haired woman looking at me. I recognized that sparkle in those eyes, but my uncaffeinated brain was drawing a complete blank. Mercifully, she supplied a name before I could dangle on the precipice of recognition too long.

“Sharon,” she said. “From Missy’s party awhile back.”

“Oh!” Intelligently, I added, “You were wearing a wig then.”

Sharon laughed. “Yeah, I was.” She was rocking a very different look just then: a flannel shirt, faded jeans, and a simple silver pendant hung on a leather cord. At a glance, she blended in with the Brooklyn masses. The assessing look she gave me, though—sweeping me up and down from head to toe—could only have belonged to her.

“Small world,” I marveled. “How are you doing?”

“Great, actually.” She peered at me. “How are you doing? Still going to Missy’s book club parties?”

“Yeah, I am,” I said lightly. “Still, I’m starting to get what you were saying. It does start to become a small crowd.”

“Told you,” Sharon said, casting me a sympathetic look. “Hey, I know this is kind of an inconvenient time. Do you want to grab a coffee or something when we’re not in the middle of a grocery store and catch up?”

“Yes, let’s!”

We agreed on a local coffee shop not too far from the store. After swapping numbers, we went our separate ways. Once I’d recovered from my initial surprise, I realized I was looking forward to our coffee date. She had been one of the first people I’d met at Missy’s book club parties, and I was curious to hear what she’d been up to since I’d last seen her.

The coffee shop we’d agreed to meet at was humming with activity when I arrived at 2 pm. I spotted Sharon in the back with her coffee and waved at her. She returned the wave. Five minutes later, I was sliding into the seat across from her, latte in hand.

“So last time I saw you, you said you were going to paint the town,” I told Sharon, grinning. “Did you?”

“Oh, yeah.” Sharon gave a catlike, self-satisfied smile as she leaned back in her chair and stretched. “Got myself into all sorts of trouble, good and bad.”

“Well, now you have to tell me about it.”

“I’m not nearly drunk enough for that,” Sharon said, and laughed. “I don’t know, it was just nice to take a break from Missy’s carefully curated debauchery. I ran in several different circles for a while, and they’re each special in their own way.”

“All as kinky?” I grinned.

“Oh, I’d say maybe not as elaborate,” said Sharon thoughtfully. “They don’t all have the same...production value. But that doesn’t mean they’re not kinky.” She gave me a sly sideways glance. “Come out with me this weekend. Shake it up a little. Maybe it’s time to step out of Missy’s circle of influence.”

“Wow, just one coffee and you’re already inviting me out?” I teased Sharon. “I’m flattered.”

“Not as my date, obviously,” Sharon said, flapping her hand at me in exasperation. “I just broke up with my ex-girlfriend and am pretty keen to stay single for the time being, thank you very much.” She tipped her face back at me, taking me in with a thoughtful intensity that belied the plainness of her face without its makeup. “You wear your skin a lot better now, you know.”

“Do I?” I smiled, knowing that Sharon wasn’t one for empty compliments. “Thanks.”

“It’s a certain confidence about you. Some of the puppydog eagerness has worn off, leaving you a little hard. But not too hard. I like it. It’s a good look.”

“Now I don’t know if you’re trying to compliment me or tease me.”

“Both?”

We laughed.

“So tell me about this weekend. What’s the event?”

“It’s another private party organized by a friend of a friend. You’ll like this—it’s in a shi-shi upscale hotel.”

“Who’s the friend of a friend?”

“Some German heiress or something. I hear she has a decadent taste to rival Missy’s, though the space won’t be nearly as big.”

“I’m intrigued,” I sighed. “You had me at ‘heiress’. More hobnobbing with the social elite and I might start putting on airs.”

“Good thing you’re too smart for that,” Sharon said frankly. “I can’t stand sycophants. But this crowd isn’t bad, as socialites go, though I wouldn’t blame you if you ran out of the room screaming for the guillotine. They can be a little...insulated.”

I snickered. “Consider me duly warned.”

❖❖❖

The address Sharon gave me was for The Double Windsor, an old 19th century hotel located in the heart of Manhattan. Unlike the lofty modernism of Missy’s abode, the hotel felt like a throwback to another era, with matching doormen outside and the kind of plush furniture and gilded ceilings that brought to mind the sort of decadence that incited revolutions. Maybe Sharon was right and I had gotten complacent with Missy’s parties. By now, I was friendly with her doorman and knew all the cadences and rhythms to her events. It had been a long time since I’d felt so off-kilter.

I walked into the hotel lobby, half-expecting the doormen to stop me. Sharon was waiting inside with a couple of her friends. She was dressed again in that same black wig she had worn when I first met her. Her makeup transformed her from the hipster next door to a smoldering sex goddess.

“You’re good,” I couldn’t help but say admiringly as I joined her. “Very 60s covergirl of you.”

“Not bad yourself.” She reached up and touched me lightly on the cheek. “Those smoky eyes are killer. You look ready to eat someone up.”

“Hmm, accurate.” I had no idea what to expect, but whatever it ended up being, I was glad at least that I’d know one person there.

“Meet my friends,” Sharon said, turning. She introduced me to her two companions, whom she identified as Mark and Cleo. We smiled and shook hands before Sharon ushered us to the elevator.

A man dressed in the hotel uniform and wearing gloves stood watch by the elevators.

“What floor?” he asked with a smile.

“The 12th, please,” Sharon said.

The next elevator that arrived unloaded a haughty-looking couple that barely looked at us as they exited. I turned my head to follow them with my eyes, taking in the woman’s impeccable chignon as I entertained myself with speculation as to who they might be.

The elevator was small and cramped by modern standards, but fortunately no one else joined us on the ride to the top. We unloaded into a hallway that was as lavish as its reception, with gold-burnished sconces and ornate mirrors.

Sharon strode confidently forward, and I fell in beside Mark. They were dressed like they had wandered off the set of a Disney live-action fairytale reboot in a stunning black velvet jacket whose shoulders were garnished with long black feathers. Round mirrored tiles were stitched into the exterior, and as we walked, they caught the light and scattered it back around us.

“Nice jacket,” I murmured to Mark. “Seriously, it’s killer.” Mark glanced at me, initially startled. Then their lips curved into a wide smile.

“Thanks. Found it at a thrift store, then jazzed it up myself.”

“No way,” I said enviously. “I’d always wished I had the skills to do something like that. That’s really cool.”

“Mark’s pretty unstoppable when it comes to custom outfits,” smiled Cleo, affection and pride for her friend shining in her eyes. “You should see their Instagram. It’d blow you away.”

The easy conversation loosened me up and I felt a little less on edge by the time Sharon reached the end of the hallway and rapped on the door.

A few moments later, the door was opened by a young woman with the kind of tousled honey hair and striking dark eyeliner that put me in mind of a modern-day Sophia Loren.

“Come in! Come in.” She beckoned us in, and we obeyed.