Keeping up the boytoy act as we circulated through various wings of the club wasn’t hard. I occasionally pawed at Nikki, and she would either indulge or scold me, seemingly without pattern. I preferred the scoldings, though, as then I could petulantly pull out my phone and pretend disinterest in what was going on. In actuality, I was taking notes on my phone. Taking out my field notebook would have been easier, but it also would have been noticed for being unusual.
I had picked up the idea from the club staff. The sexy tuxedoes reminded me more of Playboy bunny costumes than any kind of formal wear. They circulated the club bringing drinks or by occupying the lap of some club member.
After anywhere from ten minutes to half an hour with a given crowd of people, we moved on to the next group, in one of the open salons or by Nikki receiving little slips of paper with room numbers, guiding her to the next grouping.
“Have you deduced anything?” She whispered as we stole a moment on the escalator. Yes, for some odd reason, the Fairhaven Club made use of escalators more than it did elevators or stairs.
“At least half a dozen extra-marital affairs, at least two more affairs on top of those affairs, confessions of fraud, and the SEC should probably be called in for most of these people.”
“Such is how the social ladders are populated, Matthew. But what about the smuggling?”
“Nothing that I’ve been able to pick up on. If they’ve been mentioning it, it’s in some upper-crust elite doubletalk I can’t decipher.”
She sighed. “Nor I. What do you suggest?”
“That you get tired of me for a bit and send me away so I can climb down the ladders.”