Soft Candy

Excerpt From Chapter 17 (Mandarin Lounge)

As Swithin approached Mandarin Lounge, there was smoothness in his step—a confidence, like that of a runway model strutting down a catwalk. Dressed in a black suit and a well-starched, high-collared black dress shirt, he looked hip, self-assured, and connected.

At the entrance, Swithin handed over his driver’s license to a large, muscular man in a black mock turtleneck, long coat, and slacks—just as everyone in line before him had.

“Saint Swithin,” the man at the door read aloud in a deep, resonating voice as he held up Swithin’s license. “I was told to expect you.”

Swithin smiled.

“The young lady to my right will help you. Let her know you’re listed under Paul Francis.”

“Will do,” Swithin replied as his license was handed back.

“Thanks.”

A short hallway distance from the front door, an attractive blond woman in a red cocktail dress stood behind a maitre d’ podium.

“May I help you?” she questioned as Swithin paused in front of her.

“Yes. My name’s Saint Swithin. I’m listed under Paul Francis.”

The woman pulled out a thin black book, set it down on the podium, and opened it. She turned several pages and began to scan. “Here you are,” she said in a pleasant voice as she reached Swithin’s name. “You must be friends with Murray.”

“Something like that,” Swithin commented as he sheepishly glanced away.

She turned to the last page in her book, revealing a small black envelope. From the envelope, she pulled out a bright green plastic band. On the band, written in black, were the words:

PREMIER GUEST

“Your left wrist, please.” 

Swithin pulled back the cuff of his jacket and stretched out his left wrist.

“This will give you access to all areas of the lounge; public and private,” the woman said as she snapped the bright green band around Swithin’s wrist. “Show it to a bartender and any drink you request will be free—this includes a discretionary number of free drinks for your friends and acquaintances.”

Swithin shuddered.

The woman looked up. “Is everything okay?”

“Very much so,” Swithin replied as he looked down at his left wrist. “I was just stunned by how cool this band is.”

The woman smiled. “Enjoy your night.”

A few steps beyond the maitre d’ podium, a second muscular man stood before an orange smoked glass door with an ornate metal handle that was sculpted to look like wood. Dressed the same as the man at the front door, minus the long coat, this second man pulled open the door  for Swithin, and gestured for him to enter. “Welcome,” he said as Swithin walked in.

Mandarin Lounge was a massive rectangular club bordered by dark brown leather booths. Each booth wrapped in a semicircle around an opaque orange glass table and was illuminated by a soft overhead light. In the center of the club was a long oval bar haloed by ornate metalwork textured and shaped to look like woven branches. At the short end of the club, the one closest to the door Swithin had just entered, a DJ was spinning downtempo electronic music in a lifted booth. Although no one was dancing, a good number of people were standing around, drinking and talking throughout the club. Still, Swithin had an easy time making his way to the bar and through the crowd of people around him with his drink in hand.