The Society #StalkerProblems Read online

  I eyed my phone. Chastity would love to help me with this. But I also didn’t always trust Chastity’s fashion advice. She erred on the side of promiscuous. I was pretty sure she was sleeping with someone at BIMG and that was the only reason I’d gotten the job. You know, since I’d almost peed my pants at the interview. I hadn’t even been smooth about it.

  This was a choice I’d have to make for myself. God, I’d rather die than wear a blazer. But I still hit the “proceed to checkout” button on Amazon. I’d be able to pay all this back as soon as I got my first paycheck. I cringed as my mouse hovered over the “place your order” button. I couldn’t procrastinate this huge decision any longer.

  Wait. Wait. What if I went out to a work function at a fancy restaurant like the one I went to with Matthew Caldwell and the unthinkable happened? I couldn’t risk ever causing a second incident. And I couldn’t afford to lose this job, because I was about to order a bunch of stupid clothes I didn’t want. And Amazon was easy to order from, but it was very hard to return things thanks to their insistence on using UPS for returns. I only ever saw FedEx men for some reason. Maybe it was because they wore bright colors. Either way, I wouldn’t be able to return anything I got because it seemed too complicated. Which meant I couldn’t set any dicks on fire anytime soon.

  I quickly searched for mini fire extinguishers. Oh. My. God. Yes! They had a portable one about the size of a can of Lysol. It even looked like a spray can. Which was good, because I technically had no idea how to use a fire extinguisher and this looked easy. I’d have to start carrying around a huge purse to accommodate it. But I’d rather have back problems than light another man’s junk on fire. Add to cart. Having something I actually wanted in my cart made the whole process of actually clicking “place your order” a lot easier.

  Phew. I immediately felt the stress of indecision melt off my shoulders. Maybe all the clothes would look terrible. But that was a problem for another day. Besides, as a last resort I could go to a physical store with actual humans in it. I laughed at the thought. Never. That’s what the internet was for.

  My stomach growled. God, how long had I been sitting here? It felt like I hadn’t eaten in years. And I definitely deserved some kind of culinary reward after nursing a hangover for two days and online shopping for stupid grown-up clothes. I put on my pants - shut up, you'd shop pantsless too if you lived alone - and walked out of my apartment and down the rickety stairs. The Panera across the street was calling to me.

  I checked my mail on the way out. A money mailer, a Viagra advertisement for the old dude who'd lived in my apartments years ago, some circulars, an electric bill... There was a reason why I didn't check my mail more often. None of it was ever exciting. My mom occasionally sent me a greeting card and $10, but that was as good as it got. I was about to close my mailbox when I noticed that I had missed something: a little black envelope, just like the one at the party.

  Come on, Liz. Yup, I’d decided that Liz was the mastermind behind the envelope. It fit her MO perfectly. Not only was it weird and artsy, but it was also a clever way for her cheap ass to avoid actually buying me anything. Sending a second envelope was just overdoing it, though. I would have much preferred if she had just like...I dunno, moved to California or something. Now that would have been a gift worth getting excited about.

  No matter how much Liz sucked, I was still curious to see what weird shit she had come up with now. I assumed it would be a super lame play on my wish, something like a drawing of shoes and an article about how sinners burn in hell.

  But what if this wasn't Liz's work after all? What if this had been Madison's gift? In that case, the envelope would probably contain Joe's severed penis. No…it was too flat for that. Joe was small, but not that small.

  I tore through the golden wax seal and opened the envelope. Just like the first one, it contained a single sheet of parchment. I unfolded it and read:

  Welcome to the Society! Your wish has been received and is being processed.

  The Society thanks you for your security deposit of $1,000,000. This deposit will be returned in full upon you leaving the Society, as per clause 6 of our terms and conditions.

  Your first complimentary spa session will be Thursday, April 6 at 3 p.m. at the Shifting Sands Spa.

  That's today. More importantly, what the hell did I just read?

  I definitely had not sent them a million dollars. Nor had I even mailed my wish in the first place. But Chastity probably did. I rubbed my forehead. I’d left the invitation at her apartment, right? It was hard to remember. I was pretty sure I was still hungover from all that vodka that hadn’t quite gotten me blackout drunk.

  I took out my phone and called her. Twenty minutes later, we slid into a booth together at Panera.

  "Of course I mailed in your wish," said Chastity. "You think I’d let you pass up the opportunity to join the Society? I mean…I’m assuming that wasn’t a real invitation. But what if it was?!”

  “I feel like you know more about the Society than you’re telling me.”

  “Not a ton. I just know it’s the most exclusive club in the city. Only the top 1% of 1% get invited. I’ve heard it costs a million dollars to join.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Very funny. And do they also give their members free spa sessions?” I pushed the letter across the table so she could read it, even though I was now quite certain that she was the one who had written it in the first place. How else would she have known about the astronomical security deposit?

  “Holy shit! They really sent you this? Where did you get the million dollars to pay the entrance fee?”

  I just stared at her. “I didn’t. I have zero money. You know this.”

  “Weird. Maybe that’s how they get girls to join. Lure them in with the promise of a million-dollar payout at the end… It’s actually quite clever.”

  “Why would such a prestigious club need to lure women into joining?”

  “Uh…” Her cheeks actually turned rosy. I’d never seen anything that made Chastity blush.

  This is bad. Really, really bad. “Spill it.”

  She waved me off. “It’s probably not true. It’s better if you go in without any preconceived notions.”

  “Yeah. I don’t want to get my hopes up when this whole thing is clearly just a charade you set up to trick me into getting some sort of erotic massage.” I put massage in air quotes. Because I was pretty sure she was trying to get me to do something illegal.

  Chastity narrowed her eyes. “Wait, you really think I sent these letters?”

  “I mean…you kind of gave it away when you knew about the million-dollar buy-in.”

  “I didn’t realize that was for real. It’s just what I’ve heard.”

  “You swear it wasn’t you that made these letters?”

  “Cross my heart and hope to die. I think you should just accept that it’s real. Haven’t you ever seen those Hallmark movies where a girl makes a wish and it comes true? Or the one where the two dudes pee into the fountain and switch bodies? Maybe joining the Society is your pee fountain!"

  "First, don’t ever use the words 'pee fountain' again.” I shivered just thinking about almost peeing in a conference room at BIMG. “Second, those are movies. Wishes don't just magically come true in real life. And broke divorcées don’t get invited to secret clubs." This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

  Chastity took a loud sip of her chai latte.

  "So what do you think?” I asked. “Is Liz behind this?”

  Chastity sighed like I was exhausting her and pointed to the logo on the broken wax seal. "I think you just need to accept that it's from a handsome suitor with a magic lamp."

  My stalker! I shook my head. In a city of millions, the chances were slim to none. "Or a Nigerian Prince trying to scam me out of a million dollars. And what makes you think that’s a magic lamp? It looks more like…” I stared down at the strange symbol.

  It could really have been anything. “A bird? An ancient Norse rune? Two
people banging?”

  “It’s definitely a genie lamp,” said Chastity.

  “I don’t know. That feels like a bit of a stretch.” I squinted and tilted my head. “Ohhh, if you tilt it, it kind of looks like a dude in a wheelchair with a really big foot.”

  “So let me get this right. You think that the Society - a super-secret club that grants its members wishes - made their logo be a dude in a wheelchair rather than a genie lamp?”

  “You make a convincing argument. I’m still more concerned about who invited me.” And if it was my stalker.

  "There's really only one way to find out," said Chastity.

  "Go to the FBI and let them dust these letters for fingerprints?"

  "No!” She shoved the letter in front of me. “You have to go to that spa appointment, Ash."

  "I'd prefer not to get raped and murdered today, so I think I'll pass on that." Not to mention that the thought of getting naked and being massaged by a stranger was horrifying. I’d never been to a massage parlor before, but it sounded like a place that perverts would like to frequent.

  "Fine." Chastity snatched the letter off the table. "If you don’t go, then I will."

  "And get murdered? No.” What would I do without her? She was literally the last person in my life that truly knew me.

  “I’m sure the spa is perfectly legit. Here…look at the Yelp reviews.”

  She handed me her phone and I scrolled through the reviews. There were quite a few five-stars, but also some one-stars.

  “Okay,” I said. “The general consensus is that the ambiance is lovely, they'll try to up-sell us on bath salts, we won't understand a word they say, and a certain masseur by the name of Hassan will go to town on our asses, whether we want him to or not." Perverts.

  "Oh, I like the sound of this Hassan." Chastity put her elbows on the table and leaned in. "Does it have a picture of him? And when you say go to town...do you mean massage? Or...?"

  "I feel like the Hassan reviews were meant to be more cautionary than enticing."

  "So are you going to come, or am I going alone?” asked Chastity. “I'll tell you what. If Hassan is there, I'll sacrifice myself to his wandering hands."

  "How noble of you."

  We went back and forth for a while longer about the pros and cons of going to the spa. Being the huge pushover that I was, I eventually caved and agreed to go with her. What was I supposed to do when I grew up as the middle child of four siblings? My older sister and brother were much more vocal than me, and Rosalie had been the adorable baby. Which meant no one ever cared what I wanted. It was annoying, yes. But it wasn’t all bad. I had always been terrible at making decisions, so it worked out well that I never had to.

  In this case, though, maybe I wasn’t totally being a pushover. I needed to keep Chastity safe. And fine, maybe a little part of me may have been intrigued by the thought of some stranger grabbing my ass. But not really, because…germs. Who knew where Hassan’s hands had been?

  Oh God. Am I really going to do this?

  I spent the next couple hours showing Chastity pictures of all the clothes I'd ordered on Amazon, which she pretended to like, and then at 2:30 we set out in search of the Shifting Sands Spa. Google Maps said it was only ten minutes from my apartment, but I hated being late. If I had to make a list of my greatest fears, being late would be at the top. Or maybe centipedes. Or germs. No, definitely public speaking. Whatever, you get the point. Being late was not an option.

  Chapter 6 - Handsy Hassan

  Thursday

  It was a good thing we left early, because this spa was not easy to find. As we got closer, all the store signs changed from English to...I don't really know what. Korean? Swahili? Arabic? Probably all three of those with ten others mixed in. Street vendors held up various cooked meats and shouted things at us. I wasn’t sure if the yelling or the combination of smells was more disturbing. It reminded me of that time I tried to cook curry without a recipe and nearly burnt my kitchen down. I’d never been to this part of town before. And I was glad Chastity was with me.

  Eventually we looked up a street view on our phones and tried to match it to what we were seeing. The door that Google Maps pointed us to was wedged between a Middle Eastern restaurant and some eye doctor's office. The only marking on the door was a small yellow sign with Arabic writing.

  "Are you sure you want to go in there?" I asked. I was all into trying new things. But getting murdered wasn’t on my list. And I didn’t care what the Yelp reviews said. This whole place was sketchy, not just Hassan.

  Chastity didn't answer. She just opened the door and walked in.

  She owes me big time for this one, I thought as I followed her through the door and up a flight of stairs. I didn’t have my fire extinguisher yet, but I did have mace. I rummaged around in my purse. Got it. We pushed through a curtain of beads and suddenly it felt like we had been transported to Morocco.

  "Welcome to the Shifting Sands Spa," said an attractive middle-aged woman standing behind the counter. At least, I thought that was what she said. As promised in the Yelp reviews, her accent was so thick that it was nearly impossible to understand. And based on the abundance of bath salts displayed on the wall behind her, the bit about upselling us had been true as well.

  I just stared at the woman. Talking to strangers wasn't my strong suit. My mom had done too good of a job teaching me about stranger danger. But the woman didn’t seem dangerous. I dropped the mace back into my purse.

  "Hi," said Chastity. "We're here for our 3 o'clock massages."

  The lady said something I didn't understand. I zoned out during the rest of their conversation. Something about the sweet smell of cinnamon in the air was very distracting. And soothing. God, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so relaxed. Eventually, Chastity reached into my purse and fished out the black envelope. That got things moving in the right direction, and a second later I had a clipboard in my hands with a release form.

  "Fill this out," said Chastity.

  "No. Only you," said the woman, pointing at Chastity.

  Finally something I can understand. But why only Chastity? I needed a form too. I wanted to tell them all about my Penicillin allergy and my strong aversion to Hassan pounding my ass for 90 minutes.

  "Why don't I get one of those?" I asked.

  "No idea," said Chastity.

  "Follow me," said the woman.

  I looked to Chastity for help.

  "Go ahead," she said. "I'll be right here the whole time. Well, not exactly right here. I'll be in a room with Hassan. Apparently he had a last-minute cancellation!" Her face lit up.

  "I wonder why." I would have said more, but the woman grabbed my arm and pulled me through an archway into a tiled hallway. The rooms we passed were all small but well decorated. The thought of having a stranger massage my naked body in one of them made me sweat a moderate amount, which was less than the buckets of sweat I would have expected my armpits to be expelling in such a situation. Who could say why...maybe it was the cinnamon in the air. Or my clinical strength antiperspirant. Ha, I wish. I didn't have clinical strength antiperspirant. I'd always wanted it, but it was too expensive, so I’d never taken the plunge.

  I forgot all about my sweaty pits when we got to my room, though. Because instead of being one of those tiny murder rooms, it was a massive indoor pool surrounded by brightly colored arches.

  Oh God. Are they going to make me get naked in a public bath? That hit all my fears. Germs, public nudity (which was like public speaking only even more mortifying)...there were probably even centipedes crawling around the edges. And there were no clocks, so I could easily end up being late for the next part of my appointment. See? All the fears. Kind of like all the feels, only awful.

  The woman started speaking again. I tried my best to listen, but it was still unintelligible. After she left I decided that she had told me to get naked, lie on the massage bed off to the side of the pool, and put a towel over my ass. But who really knew. She co
uld have just as easily told me to definitely not get naked. Which would lead to a rather awkward encounter with the masseuse. Or masseur. Oh God, what if Hassan sneaks in here and grabs my ass?

  Before I could change my mind, I stripped off my clothes, lay on the massage table, and hid my entire body under the towel. Then I thought twice and folded it down so that it only covered my ass. And then I rethought everything and decided I had lost my mind and needed to get dressed immediately. But I’d waited too long to back out now. The masseuse would be here any minute, so if I stood up and tried to get dressed, they might walk in on me fully nude. I bit the inside of my lip. I just needed to pretend getting a massage was on my list. Then I could cross it off and move on with my life. A life that would not involve any public nudity or bad parts of town.

  It was a good thing I stayed put, because a second later the masseuse walked in. She had olive skin and long, thick dark hair. God, I wish my hair was that thick. For whatever reason, my crazy red hair was also the thinnest in the world. Even though it reached all the way down my back, when I put it up in a bun it practically disappeared into a marble. Okay, maybe not that small. More like a really big marble. Or half a full-grown gerbil.

  "Good afternoon, I'm Amira," she said. Her accent wasn't as extreme as the receptionist’s. "I'll be taking care of you this afternoon. If you need anything at all, just ask."

  "Hi, I'm Ash." I reached out to shake her hand, but immediately realized that doing so exposed both of my breasts. Fuck my life. I pulled back and lay flat on my stomach. "Sorry, didn't mean to be rude. Or show you my boobs. I was just going to shake your hand and then I realized I was flashing you so I stopped." I gave an awkward laugh.

  Mercifully, she ignored my awkwardness. "Today we'll be starting with a facial, so I need you to turn over. You can cover yourself with the towel if you'd like."

  If I'd like? Do some people that come here just lie here completely naked during a facial? What the hell is wrong with society? Or…the Society. Did only people from the Society come here?