Stevie was distracted. To be fair, Stevie was often easily distracted. But today was different. Today was Wednesday. The day of Benton's weekly session. She'd tried to forget about what she'd seen snooping on Mary's computer. She'd even gone for a run this weekend to clear her head when working out was never an activity she willingly engaged in. She wondered if it was a sense of boredom, security. The cushiness of serving out her corporate sentence leading her toward a new cliff's edge. Stevie was and always had been an adrenaline junkie and the question mark about Benton and his secret meeting got her blood pumping. Even the faintest possibility that it could be something more than a weekly therapy session or dinner date, drove Stevie into a salon product store a few streets from her apartment, to buy a high-quality black wig. The cut was severe, the front bottom edge of the hair hitting right at her cheekbones. She loved the sleek and dark look, an alternative to her usual pastel array of dye colors for her naturally pale blonde hair.

"Not vibing today huh?" Aero leaned back in his leather studio chair, kicking up one $3,000 studded designer boot dangerously close to the mixing controls. Stevie sighed and took her headphones off, knowing that her mental distraction was getting in the way of her creativity. She felt tense, filled somehow with an urgency for release. It was like all of her usual creativity was bottled up deep inside of her and something had clogged the hose that let it out into the real world.

"Guess not, my head's not in it," Stevie reached for a beer, tapping off the cap in the smooth way that Aero had taught her. He'd become like a cool older brother or a young Uncle. She couldn't decide which, but either way he felt like family. The only real friend she had since being sentenced to Los Angeles.

"Yeah, same. Had a shit weekend," he took a deep pull of his beer, the tattoos against his throat flexing and moving as he swallowed.

"Oh yeah? How so?" Stevie twirled in the leather chair opposite his, eager for some famous LA drama to distract from her thoughts of Benton and his secrets. The devil's secrets, she thought.

"My ex, she threw a whole scene down at Baker on Melrose. It's the only club I can go to where the patrons don't pressure me to play," he laughed, the sound dark and sad at the back of his throat. "Now she fucking ruined it for me, lumping me in with LA trash."

"Who's your ex?"

"Maria Brinkley."

Stevie almost spat out her recent sip of beer. Maria Brinkely was an actress on Homebound. The only mainstream TV show that Stevie allowed herself to watch. Because it was that good.

"I know, I know, don't say it," Aero waved his arms at Stevie's awed expression, "she's a real piece of work, trust me. There isn't a doorway her head can fit through."

"What a hard, hard life you lead, Aeronox." Stevie smirked at him, earning a light slap on the arm.

"Look, I'm a sad, broken man okay? Give me some pity." He smiled at her and she laughed, missing the banter of her friends back home. Even missing her sister, Olivia.

"What's wrong?" Aero noticed the change in Stevie's expression and she looked up from the mix table, smiling shyly.

"Nah, nothing. Just kind of miss my sister. Which is weird because I never thought I'd say that. She's annoying as hell and the total opposite of me."

"You have a sister?" Aero leaned back further, resting his head against his arm.

"Yeah, and she's a real piece of work, let me tell you. She'd give your Maria a run for her money." Aero snorted at that and offered Stevie his fist.

"Let's call it a day kid, you already have one song with a billion streams and another getting pretty close last time I checked." He stood and slid on his leather jacket, looking every bit the worldwide DJ producer sensation. Was there a part of Stevie that wanted that? The fame, the lifestyle, the notoriety? But then she looked back at Aero's eyes and saw the hurt and frustration there. Nope, life was already hard enough without throwing fame in the mix. He left the sound studio, leaving Stevie alone. She reached into her backpack and felt the soft fibers of her black wig. She'd do what Mary hadn't been brave enough to pull off yet. She'd well and truly follow Benton after work, even if it was just a selfish form of adrenaline and endorphins that she'd been lacking since her pirating days. The edge is what made her feel most alive, and she was hellbent on finding it again.

***

Stevie had watched Benton leave the office, his long, strong body folding itself into the backseat of a blacked-out Escalade. She hadn't spoken to him since he'd come into the recording studio a few weeks ago. Her nerves were fluttering throughout her body and her hands shook slightly as she changed into her outfit and wig in one of the lobby restrooms. How disappointed would she be when she found out this was nothing? That both she and Mary had been driven to the brink of crazy, albeit for different reasons, and that she'd have to find a new hit? A new high? Stevie pushed the thoughts down, wanting to savor the moment. Here she was, back in her happy place of doing something she knew she shouldn't but not wanting or able to stop. Why was she hardwired this way?

Stevie had stood around the corner of the elegant Pacific Records studio building, her Uber app open and ready when Benton walked out. After his car pulled away from the curb, she hopped into the back of a blue SUV, telling the driver to follow his car.

"Um, I can't do that. I need an address to put into the app--"

"I'll pay you cash, here." Stevie handed him $100 in twenties and the driver frowned but nodded, pulling away from the curb.

Just as Mary had mentioned in her notes, they headed toward West Hollywood. When Benton's car pulled up against the curb, a set of industrial bulb lights illuminated a trendy but understated bar called, The Den. Benton exited the car and entered through the front.

"Thanks again," Stevie slipped the Uber driver another twenty and waited thirty seconds before getting out of the car. Then she entered the bar through the same door as Benton, scanning the bar counter for any sign of him. The interior was all dark, warm colors and leather. An almost 1920's vibe with a modern flair. Stevie didn't see Benton anywhere. Maybe he's in the restroom, she thought. She took a seat at the bar, touching her wig self-consciously, making sure it was still securely in place.

"What can I get you to drink?" The bartender smiled warmly at her, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes that she didn't quite understand.

"I'll have a Red Bull Vodka," Stevie kept her voice low, not that anyone here would know who she was. Even Benton had hardly spent much time around her to catch the subtle identifying tones of her voice. The bartender's eyes went a little wide at her drink request, clearly not a popular order in this kind of bar. But Stevie didn't have much knowledge of fancy high-class drinks. Red Bull Vodka had always been her go-to, partially because it was rather dangerous.

"Coming right up." The bartender busied himself with her drink and Stevie drummed her fingers on the bar counter, still seeing no sign of Benton.

"Hello," a hypnotic, smooth voice reached her ear and Stevie turned to see an older man sit down next to her at the bar. His skin was perfect, nearly glowing, his slender face framed by gray hair and a well-manicured matching gray beard. "You're early. That's good."

What? Stevie stared at him, her doll-mouth slightly agape. Did he think she was someone else? Maybe he'd been expecting a blind date and she just happened to be here at the same time and place? Stevie's eyes darted around, hardly anyone else in the bar aside from the two of them and a group of older men in a back corner booth. She opened her mouth to correct him but he started talking before she could speak.

"You no doubt have already read through the terms and conditions," the bartender slid a drink over to him even though he hadn't ordered and also handed Stevie her Red Bull Vodka. She took a healthy drink to keep herself from speaking, curious to hear what this mysterious man was going to say next.

"But," he took a drink, setting his whiskey glass back down directly on the small ring of condensation it had left, "we still need to ensure that you'll be an appropriate fit. Our clients have very...particular needs. And while clearly you're a very beautiful young woman, that simply isn't enough."

Alarm bells clamored in Stevie's head, her heart racing wildly in her chest. Was this man interviewing her to be some sort of...sex worker? Stevie had nothing against the profession, her 'do whatever you want' attitude extending to all facets of her views about life. But she certainly hadn't planned on finding herself here, in an interview of this sort. The fear that the actual person this man was supposed to be talking with would walk into the bar at any moment and reveal her fraudulency slammed into Stevie's chest but she didn't' protest. She simply nodded, taking another drink.

"Let's start with the basics," he grinned and Stevie felt her stomach lurch, either in dread or excitement. She couldn't tell.

"Do you have any hard limits?" He tilted his head, his eyes glittering.

"Hard limits?" Stevie swallowed hard, confused but catching on.

"Knives, restraints, burning, chains, whips --"

"Oh, I got it," Stevie cut him off, not needing to hear anymore. She made the decision easily, like it was brewing in her all along. Just pretend, Stevie. Just take it as far as you can, you're not even whoever he thinks you are. You'll never see this man again.

"No hard limits, I'm good with all of it." She squirmed in her seat, her face contorting slightly, "Except urination--"

"Not necessary, that's never been an option for our members or our talent." The gray-haired man smiled but there was an edge to it. Stevie noted that he clearly took a great deal of pride in whatever mischief business he was running here. That's when it clicked in her brain. The realization that Benton was still nowhere to be found, and here she was being interviewed for some exclusive sex club. His weekly appointments.

"What about control?"

"What?" Stevie blinked, distracted by her thoughts of Benton. "How do you mean?"

"Do you like to be in control? To control others?"

"No," Stevie laughed, the dark sultry sound of her natural voice, "I actually seek the feeling of being out of control. Totally and completely. I need severe, even judicial, punishment to get me to behave otherwise." The words were honest as they flowed past her lips, revealing more than she'd originally intended. She noticed the man's silver eyebrows shoot up onto his placid forehead, either in a look of surprise or pleasure. She couldn't tell which.

"And why do you think that is?"

"What is this, some sort of therapy session?" The man paused at Stevie's snark and smiled at her, his lips stretching thin, revealing full white teeth.

"Yes, actually. Many would say it has the same...calming and restorative effects. For the right participants of course."

Stevie took another drink, buying herself a few moments to respond. No one else had shown up yet to the bar so she figured at this point that whoever this man had originally planned on interviewing had bailed. The last minute nerves must've gotten to them.

"I guess, I don't know. It's like I enjoy getting as close to that line, the point where I know I shouldn't go. And then I guess there's even something about getting caught...or more like the possibility of getting caught and not knowing which side of that coin I will land on. I like that part more than even doing the risky thing. It's like the fall out, you know? Maybe that doesn't make any sense." Stevie felt a faint blush at her cheeks and she looked into her glass.

"No, no. It makes sense. Trust me, it does." There was something genuine in his otherwise clinical expression. Like he really did understand. Like someone, finally, truly understood what she was constantly seeking and why that urge landed in her places like this...wearing a wig at a bar, interviewing for a role she didn't fully understand with a man she didn't even know.

"What about type? Do you have a preference?" He inched slightly closer and Stevie held her breath, hoping he wouldn't turn this interesting experience sour by making an advance. But he kept his distance, his attention growing, but not uncomfortable. Stevie reached up and smoothed over the top of her wig, almost without realizing.

"I like independent men, I guess. I've never, ever been interested in dating. Never had a serious long term boyfriend. I don't want to get married, I just...I just crave these strong releases, like there's so much energy in me and I just want someone to share that with but nothing else, you know? No family meetings, no wedding dates. Just," Stevie dropped her hands in her lap, the honesty in her voice nearly breaking her. Something about the anonymity, the strangeness of the situation, the fact that this man didn't really know her. It allowed her to reveal parts of her true self.

"Here's my card," the man slipped her an all-black card with just a phone number on it, no name. "Come in next week, same day and time. I'll meet you here at the bar." He stood quickly, the strangely personal conversation ending as abruptly as it had started.

"Don't you need my name or--"

"The less I know the better. Part of the business. Besides, you've told me plenty." He winked and threw his hand up causally to the bartender before exiting out the front. Stevie stared at the door long after he left, trying to piece together what had just taken place.

Benton was here, but nowhere to be seen. So his appointment likely had something to do with this secretive sex club. Stevie had been mistakenly interviewed and passed. And next week...well next week she'd have to decide if she wanted to come back or not.