Corinne: Hot ass?
Max: Be careful, babe, that’s the worst kind.
I missed Max. I missed Zoey too. And, even Marie. I needed to see them for one last hurrah before I walked away from everything.
The stinging sensation of tears was so unexpected that I drew in my sob. I wasn’t ready, would never be ready to simply walk away from the Magick - from them.
The rest of my afternoon was wholly unproductive. I couldn’t concentrate enough to gain insight into Dimitri and his mob for myself. It was as if I were going through the motions without actually being mentally present.
I received three texts from my mother already - one complaining about leaving for New Orleans before I even saw Olga - because didn’t I know that Olga was offended because she missed me? I rolled my eyes at my mother’s suggestion - we both knew that Olga had been spying on me and reporting back to my mother for years. It was the very reason I had become so creative with my Magick. Her second message gushed about how my father was so excited to have me join his firm next year. Bile rose up from my stomach, burning my trachea and nasal cavity as I swallowed it back down, taking deep heavy breaths in the process. And the third message was her society list of people who were currently in New Orleans - should I want to meet up with them. Only, it was phrased as a suggestion, but we both knew it wasn’t.
World, meet Emily Rand - the true reason our family had climbed the societal ranks.
The burlesque club looked exactly how I imagined it would. Red carpets lined the floors of the different tiered areas that overlooked the stage. Circular dinner tables were placed expertly across the varied landings, and there seemed to be an endless haze of smoke swirling at my feet.
In direct opposition to what Max had recommended, I wore a long white backless Chanel jumpsuit. It was the type of outfit that my mother would even approve of, despite the open back. I kept my hair in a neat chignon with some pearl earrings. In truth, I didn’t know what to expect from a burlesque club, I just didn’t want to be mistaken for one of the girls here - I wasn’t like Max, I didn’t have her confidence and sexual prowess. Judging by my outfit, I think I had achieved what I was going for. No doubt there would be burlesque shows and entertainment, but how far said entertainment extended, I couldn’t say.
The maitre d guided me effortlessly to one of the tiers closer to the stage. A table sat deep and slightly away from the rest of the area, almost hidden from view. How they managed to still boast a great view of the stage was a feat in meticulous planning and precision. And the view of the stage was spectacular.
As we approached the secluded area, I recognised Dimitri seated at the table, hunched over, and glaring at his phone. That seemed to be his modus of operandi. An elderly gentleman swiftly stood up from the table and beckoned me over. The resemblance between him and Dimitri was near non-existent. My first impression of him had me feeling as if he were trustworthy - a true mentor-grandfather figure, and I had to mentally berate myself for my train of thought because no matter how nice and kind the old man looked, he was still the mob.
'You can never trust our clients,' I heard Charl's voice silently berate me. The memory of his teachings reared up just in time.
“Corinne,” the old man gushed, wrapping his warm hands around mine. “It is so wonderful to finally put a face to a name.” He smiled, putting me at ease. His accent was thick, leaving you with no doubt that he hailed from Eastern Europe, his weathered hands still gripped me firmly, his dark eyes seemed to miss nothing. I wondered if he didn’t derive his information through pure charm alone. I knew it was dangerous to feel at ease around him, and yet - here I was, trying my utmost not to trust him.
I smiled and slipped into easy greetings and even easier conversation. He pulled out my chair for me like a gentleman belonging to a time long past. His name was Arlo.
Once the initial pleasantries were exchanged and I was seated, I glanced across at Dimitri, who was alternating between staring at and stabbing his phone in a frenzy of text messages.
Arlo slammed his hand down on the table firmly. “Dimitri, you will pay our guest some semblance of respect and greet her properly. After today’s valuable information, it is the least you owe her,” he spoke harshly.
Dimitri looked up towards his grandfather, and then across at me. “Hello, Corinne, you look well this evening.”
His statement was void of emotion, because it wasn’t a greeting, it was simply a statement - one that appeased his grandfather. Before I could even utter a response, his eyes were back on his screen as he scrutinized another incoming text.
Without missing a beat, Arlo picked up the conversation. It seemed that those same manners and conversation skills had not been passed on to Dimitri.
“I must thank you, Corinne,” he gushed, “your information on Olek and Jeanette has been invaluable, and we have been able to act on the matter swiftly.”
My stomach bottomed out as I wondered exactly what he meant by ‘act on’. Olek. So that was the blonde gentleman's name. My mind immediately leapt to Olek being murdered and placed in cement columns of a newly constructed building. I had obviously watched one too many mob documentaries, which was colouring my experience.
I smiled tightly in response, “Glad to be of service.”
I was so out of my depth here.
“Dimitri tells me that you are familiar with New Orleans?” Arlo smiled jovially. He was charismatic and easy to talk to. I wondered how many people he had murdered.
“I work with a charity in New Orleans on an on-going basis, so I frequent the city often,” I smiled tightly. Damn Charl for offering up pieces of my personal life to these people.
“It’s so good to give back to the community, let us know if you need any contributions or if there’s any other way we can assist and support your endeavours.”
Arlo patted my hand in a grandfatherly gesture, but his words caused blood to rush to my face, the pounding in my ears made it almost too difficult to breathe. One of our cardinal rules was that you didn’t allow your readings to bleed over into your personal life. And this was very personal. I wasn’t Max who would fuck a client in a bathroom stall - if they got their hands into my charity, it was my entire family’s reputation at stake. And, while I didn’t love my family situation, I wanted Dimitri and his grandfather as far away from the Rands as possible. They were danger and destruction incarnate.
Silence settled between Arlo and I, and even after everything he had just said, the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. Dimitri still glared angrily at his phone, and I took the time to scan the club and absorb everything before me.
The ambience of the club wasn't nearly as bad as I had expected, and if I allowed myself to relax a little and forget that I was there for the sole purpose of reading for the mob, then it could have been an utterly foreign and enjoyable experience. Instead, I kept catching myself letting my guard down around these people, and that awareness only made me more tense. The cycle was exhausting. I was already on edge and found myself counting down the minutes until I could politely leave, if only for the sole purpose that I could actually breathe then.
The dancers were magnificent, and even I could admit that there was certainly an art in their performance. I found myself giggling a few times at their on stage antics as I simultaneously appreciated their cleavage. I didn't hate it. Their feathered plumage and ample cleavage caused jealousy to stir deep within. I wanted to be as free as they were - as sexually open as they were, but I couldn’t. It somehow went against everything that I was, so instead, I was content to simply watch them.