CHAPTER 9

THE SPACE WAS next door to the main brothel, a three-story building that resembled residential condos done in wood and glass and befitting the environment. This structure was two stories, with the patrons’ area upstairs and a staff cafeteria downstairs that was dark. The lounge was dimly lit, woody and clubby, harkening back to a different era when men were kings and it was acceptable to pinch and grope and wink with untold freedom. There were lots of old bars and cocktail lounges around that still looked like this, but they were threadbare and worn. This was clearly the update that proprietors would do if they had the money.

A long mirrored backbar was fronted by two men in white suits, ready to pour on request. An array of spirits, glasses, and silver shakers sat on shelves cut into the mirror. The room was furnished with tables for two, four, and six, set apart from one another for privacy. On each table were several candles and several small vases of fresh flowers. Women waited on tables, and their attire was surprisingly modest. By that I mean form-fitting tuxedo jackets over black leggings and pumps with high heels. The jackets had a deep V in the front, but nothing was really hanging out. I’d seen more revealing clothing at any wine bar. The nicest part of the space was a wall of glass that probably showcased the mountains in daytime. Since it was dark, the panoramic view was basically a black blob with some landscape lighting below. But dark or light, a window always gave the appearance of freedom ahead.

It was a few minutes after eleven when Chris escorted me through the door and to a table for six situated in a corner next to the window. It was summer, but the mountain temperature always dropped at night, and I noticed a ceiling heat lamp. It was turned on, and the women, wearing sleeveless dresses, seemed quite comfortable. Which was good. I was always cold. When Chris and I started living together, the minute he would leave, I’d turn the AC off.