Page 67 of Forever Mr Black

I follow Art closely across the road. He slides a key card out of the back pocket of his jeans and swipes it through the grey box on the wall, opening one of the grey entrance doors.

Inside, it’s dark and quiet. The faint beat of music can be heard in the background, and the black chandelier lights are turned down low. The decor is a mixture of charcoal-grey carpets and opulent, plush black wallpaper. It’s got a private, understated vibe to it, much like the exterior. I guess I expected naked, writhing bodies when, inreality, if I didn’t know where I was, I could be forgiven for thinking I’d walked into a trendy boutique hotel. There’s a single grey door to the right and a black wrought iron spiral staircase leading upwards over to the left. Straight ahead is a hole in the wall with a frosted glass partition.

I keep myself glued to Art as we walk. “What’s up there? I whisper, eyeing the spiral staircase.

He follows my gaze. “The bar.”

We come to a stop at the partition in the wall. Beneath the frosted glass is a metal trough, like at bank counters. There’s a small gap beneath the partition, just enough so you know someone’s on the other side but not big enough for you to be able to identify them. It seems anonymity really is the name of the game in this place. A black key card is slipped into the metal trough. His guy perhaps?

Art slides it out. “Thanks.”

I take his cue and follow him over to the single door to the right, which he opens with the key card. A long, dimly lit corridor lies beyond, which I can’t see the end of. The same grey and black decor carries on throughout. Dark grey doors lead off to the left and right. My curiosity gets the better of me, and I’m about to ask what’s behind them when I hear a male voice in the throes of ecstasy cry out from behind one of the doors we pass by.

“Someone’s enjoying themselves,” Art murmurs, flashing a wicked smile.

“This isn’t what I expected,” I say as we carry on down the corridor.

“No?”

“I expected there to be lots of naked people … having sex everywhere.”

Art laughs. “They don’t have orgies here, but I’m sure it could be arranged. There are specific rooms you go to for voyeurism or sharing.”

I blush. “Have you ever been?”

My question evokes a deep chuckle from him. “No, Sophie. I think we both know I don’t do sharing.”

That’s true.

“It’s quiet.” I glance back down the corridor. “There’s hardly anyone about.”

“It’s private. That’s what the members want. You’d be surprised who I’ve caught glimpses of skulking about this place.”

I’m intrigued. “Really? Like who?”

“Let’ just say, a few well-known MPs would be rather red-faced if I ever went to the press. That’s why they make you sign a non-disclosure as part of your membership.”

Shit.No wonder.

We come to a stop outside the door marked eighteen.

Art places the key card in the door slot and looks at me. “Are you ready?”

I’m more nervous than ever. I nod. “It’s now or never, right?”

He smiles and goes to kiss me, but I pull back. “Anyone could see.”

But his hands are in my hair, and he presses his lips to mine and then pulls away an inch, staring deep into my eyes. “It’s worth the risk.”

He smiles and opens the door with a swipe of the card.

Twenty-One

The dimly lit room is large and all grey. At one end stands a bed with black sheets, and at the other is a big, dark wooden cupboard. Over to the far right is a door and a black leather armchair. In the middle of the room sits a padded bench with leather straps. Other than the strange-looking bench thing, it could pass as a hotel room.

I anxiously eye the bench, thinking back to what Art said in the car. I glance at him. He puts a finger to his lips and points at the cupboard.

There’s no time for chit-chat.

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