Chapter 21 – Backdoor Escape
by Kleo EriliShe had to get out of here. But how? Just leaving was not an option.
And then she saw Elena.
The Latina was leaning against the wall next to the French doors leading to a terrace. Even from a distance, Chloe could see that something was wrong. Elena was swaying slightly and her eyes were glassy and unfocused.
A man was standing way too close to her. Sixty maybe, with thinning hair and hands that seemed to be everywhere. On her hip, her arm, her butt. Elena barely reacted, just stared into space.
Shit. She’s completely out of it.
Drunk? Drugged? Both? The nearly empty pink champagne glass in Elena’s limp hand provided the answer.
The man leaned halfway over her, whispering something in Elena’s ear. His hand slid down over her stomach. Elena made a weak attempt to turn away, but her movements were uncoordinated, helpless.
And suddenly Chloe had her exit strategy.
Two birds with one stone.
She put on her most radiant Chloe Heart smile and headed toward the two of them.
“Elena! There you are!” Her voice was loud enough that several heads turned. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
The man reluctantly took a step back, his hand still on Elena’s hip. “We were in the middle of a conversation.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Chloe put a hand on his arm, distracting, appeasing. “But Heather needs Elena urgently because of… well, you know. Women’s stuff.”
The man grimaced in disgust.
Elena struggled to focus on Chloe. Recognition flickered in her eyes.
“Chloe?” Her voice was slurred, washed out. “I don’t feel… good.”
“Come on, sweetie.” Chloe put an arm around Elena’s waist, supporting her weight. “Let’s go to the bathroom.”
The man didn’t look happy, but what could he say? That he’d rather continue groping a semi-conscious woman?
Elena leaned heavily against her as they made their way through the crowd.
“Everything’s spinning,” Elena murmured.
“Hang in there,” Chloe whispered.
Chloe supported Elena’s weight against her shoulder and maneuvered her through the crowd and toward the hallway where the redhead had disappeared earlier. Elena stumbled every other step, her fingers clawing at Chloe’s arm.
“Almost there,” Chloe murmured, even though she herself had no idea where the nearest bathroom was. The music from the party grew quieter with every step, replaced by the click-clack of their heels.
There!
Chloe threw open the door and pushed Elena inside, just in time. Elena fell to her knees in front of the toilet and retched. The smell of champagne mixed with stomach acid filled the room.
“It’s okay,” Chloe said, holding back Elena’s hair, which was black and sweaty and stuck to her neck. She rubbed gently over Elena’s back, feeling the muscles tense under the thin bodysuit. “Let it out.”
Elena gagged again, her whole body shaking. Tears ran down her cheeks, leaving black mascara streaks.
“I’m… I’m so-sorry,” Elena sobbed between retches. “The champagne… I didn’t eat enough… and then…” Her words blurred into an incomprehensible mumble, and then she had to vomit again.
“It’s okay,” Chloe lied. Nothing was okay. The pink champagne had definitely been spiked with something.
Elena slumped back onto her heels, wiping her mouth with a trembling hand. Her makeup was completely ruined.
“I’ll get you out of here,” Chloe said firmly. “Can you stand up?”
Elena nodded weakly, even though her eyes were still glassy. Chloe helped her up, grabbed one of the fluffy towels monogrammed with V.C., and wiped Elena’s face clean as best she could.
“We have to find Heather,” Chloe said, more to herself than to Elena. “Before you accidentally puke on one of the important assholes’ designer shoes.”
She found Heather near the bar, smartphone in hand, scanning the party like a hawk.
“Heather!” Chloe’s voice was urgent but as quiet as she could make it. Elena hung heavily on her arm, barely conscious.
Heather turned around, her professional expression slipping for a split second. “What’s wrong with Elena?”
“Elena’s sick. I just got her to the bathroom in time.” Chloe lowered her voice. “She should go home. Before it turns into a scene.”
Heather’s gaze swept over Elena, taking in the smeared makeup, the glassy eyes, the trembling, and above all, the vomit stains on the Dirty Dreams bodysuit. The calculation taking place behind her cold face was practically visible. The bad PR if a performer collapsed here or threw up on some investors versus a discreet departure.
“You’re right.” Heather grabbed her phone and quickly typed a message. “Igor will get your things and you’ll go straight to the back door. No fuss.”
Two minutes later, Igor appeared, a burly guy with their bags in his tattooed hand. He didn’t have their clothes with him. They would have to go in the fucking bodysuits.
Of course.
“This way,” Igor said with a Russian accent, pointing to a side hallway. “Not through main room.”
They followed him through a narrow corridor, past framed photos of Valeria with various celebrities. Then he maneuvered them through the back door, pressed the bags into Chloe’s hands, and closed the door behind them.
What an asshole.
She called a taxi with the app, which arrived after ten endless minutes. The driver stared at them as if they were aliens. Two women in skin-tight bodysuits with “DIRTY DREAMS” across their chests, one barely conscious.
“My friend is sick,” Chloe said in a tone that brooked no further questions. “We need to go home.”
She helped Elena into the back seat. “Where do you live, Elena?”
“Mmm… Southwest Garden… 1248…” Elena mumbled the address as her head slumped against the window.
The driver entered the address, but his eyes were glued to the rearview mirror.
“Just drive,” Chloe said sharply.
The ride was mostly silent, interrupted only by Elena’s occasional moans. The driver continued to check them out in the mirror. Chloe ignored him and focused on Elena, holding her hand, stroking her hair.
When they stopped in front of Elena’s apartment building, the driver tried his luck.
“Hey, once you’ve put your friend to bed, maybe we could…”
“No.” Chloe helped Elena out of the taxi. “Just no.”
Elena’s apartment was on the third floor. Chloe struggled with the key while holding Elena upright. The apartment itself was tastefully decorated in warm colors and seemed really cozy. Elena had a real home, not just a place to sleep, like Chloe.
She maneuvered Elena into the bedroom and helped her into bed. Elena reached for Chloe’s hand, her fingers weak but persistent.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “You’re… you’re so nice… no one is nice…”
“Shh.” Chloe stroked her hair. “Sleep now.”
Elena muttered something incomprehensible, then her grip slackened. Chloe waited a moment, made sure Elena was lying on her side in case she needed to vomit again, then quietly slipped out of the apartment.
The taxi driver had just driven away after she turned him down, so she had to call another one.
The second taxi driver was even worse. Younger, smug, and already wearing an asshole grin before she had even gotten in.
“Hey, sweetheart, on your way home?” His eyes were glued to the DIRTY DREAMS logo on her chest. “Maybe you’d like to…”
“Either you drive me home without any stupid comments, or I’ll get out and report you on the app,” Chloe interrupted. “Your choice.”
“Hey, it was just an offer.” He raised his hands defensively. “No need to get bitchy.”
The ride was spent in icy silence. When they arrived at her building, she gave him exactly one star in the app and got out without saying a word. He drove away with screeching tires.
Asshole. They’re all assholes.
Shortly after, the apartment door finally closed behind her and she could breathe a sigh of relief. Finally alone. Finally safe.
The first thing she did was take off that fucking bodysuit. The fabric stuck to her sweaty skin like a second layer she had to peel off. She threw the thing in the corner. If she never had to see it again, it would still be too soon.
Then she got in the shower, just for a moment, but she needed it. She had to wash away the touches, the looks, the whole fucking evening. She just stood there for minutes, letting the water run over her until her skin was pink and her fingers were wrinkled.
Wrapped in her towel, she sat down on the bed, opened her laptop, and immediately called up the investigation document.
Valeria Cruz Private Party #1
Performers wear identical bodysuits (marked as merchandise). Male guests only. Pink champagne glasses for performers (definitely spiked with something). Clear champagne glasses for guests. Lounge area for “private entertainment.”
People I recognized: A state senator (research names). Judge Mason. Several people who looked somehow familiar (research needed). Probably explains why Samantha’s case went cold.
There are never any explicit instructions. All the pressure is built up through hints. They always maintain plausible deniability. But everyone understands the rules. The performers are available and guests have access to them, and in return Valeria promotes their careers.
It was all there. So many people were involved. But what could she do with it? Without concrete evidence, without recordings…
Her cell phone vibrated on the nightstand. Unknown number.
The message was short:
That was more than clear. Valeria was sending her a message: I saw what you did today. You got away with it this time. It won’t work again.
She put her phone away and stared at the ceiling. She was tired. Today had been close. Too close.
But she had made it. She had gathered information, helped Elena, hopefully gained a little goodwill with her, and, most importantly, she had come out unscathed.
Next time, she wouldn’t be so lucky.
She knew that.
But she also knew she had to go back. Valeria was her prime suspect, and this was Valeria’s world. If she wanted to find out the truth about Samantha, she had to dig deeper.
She dragged herself to the bed and slipped straight out of the towel under the sheets.
Samantha, she thought as sleep overtook her. What have you gotten yourself into?
Honestly the one thing I don’t believe is that the drinks are spiked. That’s an unecessary element to the whole thing, I think that Elena just genuinely didn’t eat and was a lightweight. The social pressures to have sex with them are already in place; spiking drinks serves no purpose as far as I can see.