I know this club is full of that kind of man: rich, powerful, passionate. And I need to find only one who can give me the best time of my life.
Of course my parents have no idea that I'm here. I told them I was partying with my girlfriends, and they believed me because I’ve never lied to them before. I feel a little guilty that I’m doing it now, but what can I say? I’ll never have another eighteenth birthday, so I have to make the most of it.
I go to the bar to order some champagne. I brought plenty of cash so I wouldn’t have to use my credit card, so there would be no evidence that I was here. Now I can order something expensive, the kind of thing my mom drinks at her Sunday brunches with her girlfriends but never lets me try.
"That's a gift from the man in the corner," the bartender tells me, and I freeze in surprise for a second.
I have been in this club for maybe five minutes, and I already have a free drink? What a wonderful place!
When I take a look at the corner, I hold my breath.
There’s a young man there. He’s maybe a little over thirty, or maybe older, but I can't say precisely because of the lighting in here. He isn't drinking, just sitting alone and watching the crowd.
And me.He's now looking directly at me, and I swear that my heart stops.
He's wearing a suit but no tie, and the upper button of his shirt is open, exposing his long neck. And those eyes...I bet they are the color of the night, although I can't say for sure. And he's looking at me without breaking his gaze, not even blinking.
I feel my legs start shaking, and I almost can't believe I'm lucky enough to find a perfect man right after I entered the bar.
I swallow, trying to decide whether to go to his table with my glass to thank him for the drink or to wait until he comes to me.
"Don't wait until all the bubbles evaporate. It's better when it's fresh, just like you," someone tells me from behind.
When I turn around, I see a man who’s obviously over sixty wearing a massive Rolex watch on his wrist and holding a glass of whiskey in his hand.
"I want to prolong the pleasure," I say politely, trying to sound at ease, although I want to run away.
"I'm sure you do," he says slyly, licking his lips, without even trying to hide his appraisal of me from top to bottom.
I try to breathe normally, but my legs are already shaking with fear.
Maybe coming here wasn't the best idea.
"Don't worry, I'll order another glass for you when you're done," he says, smiling like a perv, and it takes me a couple of seconds to process his words.
"Are you telling me that this is a gift fromyou?" I ask in surprise, trying not to sound so disappointed.
"Of course it is!" he exclaims with a laugh. "The guy at the bar should've told you."
Yes, he said it was from a man in the corner, but he didn't point at the table. And there's more than one corner, of course.
I can't believe I took a glass from a man older than my father. Does that mean that I'm accepting his flirting? Because I don't want to.
"So tell me, pretty, what's your name?" the man continues, moving a little closer. "And which city has raised such a beautiful flower as you? I bet you'll be a new rising star in Hollywood soon."
His snow-white fake teeth remind me of my grandfather, who had implants installed recently. I think I'm going to vomit.
When I came here, I was wishing for a Prince Charming who would make my dream of my first time come true.
But all I have is an old man with a midlife crisis who probably frequents sex clubs so his wife won’t find out about his addictions.
"I'm not an actress; I was born in LA," I say, pulling away and leaving the glass of champagne on the counter.
"Oh, I bet you were," he chuckles, obviously assuming that I’m lying, and moves even closer, stretching his hand to touch mine.
When I pull my hand away, he frowns in irritation.
"There's no need to be shy, darling," he says, and his voice is harsh this time, as if he's sick of playing the good guy. "We all know why you're here tonight. Beautiful young girls like you want to find men who will show them the city."