Chapter 2 #2
No. It was the fact that she sat there laughing with the bartender, both of them trading jokes and stories like they had known each other for years, when it was just as possible that they had just met.
She’s having fun. Why interrupt that? Butterflies worked hard at these things.
Maybe too hard, based on some of the stories Benson had heard in places like The Dark Hour back home.
The weekend was just starting. There was time to come across more beautiful women willing to jump his bones if he simply said the word.
That was part of the fantasy of this place.
He could have her now… or he could savor the desire, admiring her from a distance, and choosing the perfect moment to pounce. Later.
For now, he enjoyed watching her carry on and be relaxed, like the way he wished he could be.
Maybe he’d take a page out of her book and sit here in the lounge chair, eyes to the sky as he worked up the will to hop in the pool for a few laps.
He always did enjoy swimming beneath the path that bridged the poolside to the bar.
It felt like a secret world. Like he was a kid again.
I haven’t been a kid in thirty years. Dysfunctional family. College. Marriage. Fatherhood and business. Divorce. Heartbreak. From more than one person.
They all weighed on him. Both in that moment, and across the years that continued to hang over him like a gray cloud.
Another guy approached the bar. At first, Benson was brought back to reality because he thought this stranger might hit on his Butterfly.
If it came to that? I’ll get involved. But, as it was best for everyone’s sake, the guy got a drink and returned to his chair with a book propped up on his chest. The tension eased, but it told Benson everything he needed to know.
That Butterfly was his. And, with all the power in his being, he would be her first that weekend.
Just not right now. Right now was for relaxing and attempting to forget the past.
The evening came quickly. While the twilight hung on for a blessedly long enough time for Benson to enjoy some hot tea on his balcony, freshly showered and dressed for the evening, he was eager to get to the next phase of the day.
After all, the Low Light party was about to begin, and something about that afternoon had energized him enough to leap into hedonism. At least for tonight.
Besides, no pressure. Part of the fun was knowing he could do something even if he chose not to. Sex with strangers he could barely see in a closed club while music blasted and everyone reeked of sweat and perfume? Sure. Why not? Nobody said he had to touch anyone.
He didn’t have to RSVP. It was included in his admission to the island.
All he had to do was show up, check in, and be granted his wristbands for the night.
It’s the same party every time. The only other big party that always made a comeback every season was the Sunday night orgy.
And while the Low Light party often turned into an orgy in certain corners, it was more about covert affairs.
Or, as the welcome packet put it, “A chance to jump in without worrying about anything.”
The walk to the hotel, where the underground nightclub awaited, was quiet.
Hot pink crested the horizon over the ocean to his right.
He passed the other cottages, where through one of the living room windows he saw another lucky fellow “entertaining” a Butterfly he had probably ordered over his landline.
How lovely for him. Benson averted his eyes as he kept walking.
He had confirmed it wasn’t the woman from the pool, and that was all he cared about.
“Welcome, sir,” greeted a masked hostess in a tiny black dress as he walked through the darkened corridor leading to the nondescript club entrance. “Please, your guest card.”
He had it attached to the pocket of his linen pants.
The hostess patiently waited while Benson retrieved it, the man’s eyes incapable of averting from the generous cleavage on display before him.
But women dressed in black were not available for anything but fulfilling other desires.
If he needed fresh towels, dinner in his room, or directions, then a woman in black was the one to ask.
The Butterflies only wore white. In case some idiot can’t tell the difference.
But the hostesses, waitresses, bartenders, and other concierges in black were still beautiful.
They still displayed themselves as much as they were comfortable, and this woman was so comfortable in her skin that she might have been a Butterfly in previous seasons.
I wonder if being a staff member still pays well?
Benson almost braved asking, but the hostess had processed his guest card to confirm his status.
She hit a button on her phone screen before grabbing a handful of black wristbands from a drawer in the wall.
“Here you go, sir.” She handed over the wristbands. Benson went ahead and slipped them over his left forearm. “If you enjoy the company of a Butterfly at tonight’s party, please give them one of your bands. If you have any leftovers when you leave, please hand them to the woman at the club exit.”
“I’ve done this before, thank you.”
“Oh, excellent. Enjoy your evening, sir.”
Benson, still in his black top – and still unbuttoned, of course – and linen pants entered the club with his matching black wristbands.
It didn’t take him long to see two guys sitting on a couch with two Butterflies, one guy sporting bright red wristbands and the other forest green.
Christmas is coming early over here. Benson sauntered past them, then a waitress in black, and soon realized he had entered a world where he could barely see five feet in front of him.
The Low Light party tested the best man’s eyesight.
Butterflies wore fluorescent white clothes that glowed in the dark, and corners were marked with blacklight stickers, but otherwise, Benson might be knocking into a chair or a table without realizing it.
The club was also infamous for replicating a certain New York club’s labyrinth, which meant the front was ideal for ordering drinks and enjoying social company, but the back was an endless curve of hallways dropping unsuspecting visitors off in crevices full of easy-to-clean furniture.
Outside of clearly marked bathrooms, the only things Benson could see were the glowing serving platters carried by black-clad waitresses wearing fluorescent makeup, shoes, and jewelry.
Benson had shown up fashionably late, but not so late that most of the action had already happened.
Did he hear one happy Butterfly get the ride of her life around some corner he couldn’t see?
Sure. Did he assume that other wristbands had been collected already?
Definitely. But guests like him either paced themselves to enjoy maximum pleasure in one night or simply got it out of the way. Benson wasn’t sure what he wanted yet.
Well, he knew one thing he wanted. That Butterfly from the poolside. But there was no guarantee she would be assigned to the party that night. Or I’m too late to claim her first. Go figure. She could be in some guy’s room right now.
In such dark spaces, he was nearly blinded by a bright, glowing tunic dress around the next corner. A Butterfly sat on a loveseat – or a couch, or a settee, who the hell could see? – one leg over the other so her glowing white flats took turns dangling in the air.
She was alone. Was she waiting for someone? Some other guy’s lost. Benson hadn’t had a conversation with anyone since arriving. Not unless he was checking in, ordering dinner, or getting into the party.
“Hi,” he greeted, before sitting next to her.
Her head slightly moved toward him. “Ah… uh… hi.”
Damnit. She sounded adorable. Friendly. Way too pure to be here.
“I’m Brim,” she introduced, surely using one of those cheeky codenames they gave everyone to use.
They all have a script to follow when they meet someone random.
It allowed them to collect data on the guests so they could report it later.
I know my sexcapades are tracked on this island.
It was how they figured out who wasn’t doing their jobs, and how they doled out the coveted “bonuses” so high-end escorts and full-service sex workers would keep signing up to make this place a billion bucks every year.
Everyone’s gotta get paid. Benson was in finance. He knew all about it.
“Lovely to meet you, Brim. Are you having fun tonight?”
Was she taken aback by that? “Sure. It’s electric in here.”
“You like that?” Benson hadn’t meant to sound so… pervy… when he said that. “I mean, I like it, too. People having fun. They can just be themselves and do whatever they want.”
She perched her elbow atop the back of the loveseat, pushing her unbound breasts in his direction. Can’t miss two nipples poking through a shirt like that. She probably wasn’t wearing any underwear. “Are you someone who likes to be spontaneous?”
“Suppose… in situations like these…”
She laughed.
It was then that he knew. It was her. The perfect woman from the pool.
She was here. She was available.
In about two minutes, she would be his.