Sheridan nodded. “Okay. I’ll think about it.”

  An easy promise to make. She did nothing but think about it all the time, all day and all night.

  “Now, forget my drama. What are we going to do about the costume?” Sheridan pulled a concert T-shirt out of the closet. “Go as a couple of band groupies?”

  Mistress Nora clapped her hands. “Wait, wait, wait,” she said. “I got it.”

  “Got what?”

  Sheridan looked at her. She tossed her phone onto the bed and went to the closet. She pushed Sheridan aside as she dug through a few boxes on the top shelf.

  “Found it.” Mistress Nora opened the box and removed a large black top hat. She ran her fingers through her long black curly hair, making it as big as she could. Then she plopped the hat on her head, bringing the brim so low it almost covered her eyes.

  “Who do I look like?” Mistress Nora asked.

  “Um…the Mad Hatter at a funeral?”

  She took the hat off and swatted Sheridan on the ass with it. Then Mistress Nora grabbed her phone and pulled up a photo.

  “Oh,” Sheridan said, looking at the photograph. “Great idea. I’ll need some leather pants.”

  “You can borrow mine.”

  FIFTEEN

  Sheridan was pleased with her costume. Dressing like Axl Rose and Slash circa 1987 was a stroke of genius on Mistress Nora’s part. Sheridan had on black leather pants slung low across her hips and a cropped t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, her long blond hair was down and straight. She wore a red bandana around her head.

  Mistress Nora wore ripped jeans, a black pirate shirt, and a black leather jacket with fringe. Plus the top hat, of course, and dark sunglasses. Sheridan had her own pair of aviators, which, along with the costume, should obscure her identity.

  Griffin was dressed like a white swan. Not just like a white swan. Like Bjork in her infamous white swan Oscars dress.

  “You do not disappoint, Mr. Fiske,” Mistress Nora said, giving him a golf clap.

  “Thank you. You two look obscene,” Griffin said as Mistress Nora spun in a circle. “I never thought I’d be having threesome fantasies about Axl Rose and Slash, but, like you said, Nor—first time for everything.”

  “You’re looking good,” Mistress Nora said and gave him a sharp swat on his swan tail. “Ridiculous but good.”

  “I was going to dress as a Met, but since I’m already a loser…” Griffin sighed deeply.

  Sheridan squeezed his arm, but Mistress Nora rolled her eyes. “God help me, if you and Michael don’t get back together soon, I’m moving to France.”

  Both Sheridan and Griffin looked at her. “Why France?” Griffin asked.

  Mistress Nora paused one suspicious second before answering. “Why not France? Come on. Let’s go get weird.”

  The party was at Mr. King’s big Garden District mansion, conveniently located one street from Mistress Nora’s much more modest double gallery house. As they approached the back gate, Sheridan heard music blaring.

  “Good thing this is New Orleans,” Mistress Nora said as they entered the yard. “They’re used to parties down here.”

  Griffin held the backdoor open for them and said in a surprisingly good accent, “Laissez Les Bon temps rouler…”

  Sheridan grabbed Mistress Nora’s hand as soon as they entered the packed house. Everywhere she looked, she saw people she didn’t know. Even if Sheridan had known any of them, she wouldn’t have recognized them. She saw Mr. Spock, an evil clown, an assortment of angels and demons, and since it was a kink party…lots and lots of slutty vampires. And slutty pirates. And slutty nurses. And slutty nuns. Basically, everyone was dressed slutty except for her and Mistress Nora.

  They wove through the slutty crowd to the living room, where two bartenders served cocktails. There were even security guards at the front door.

  Sheridan nodded at the guards. “Keeping people in or keeping people out?” she asked her Mistress. She had to whisper-shout over the din.

  “Keeping people from puking on King’s lawn,” Mistress Nora shouted back. “He’s never had a lawn before. It’s very exciting to him.”

  “Wow,” Griffin said. “I’ve never seen so many slutty costumes in my life. And I’ve been to Provincetown during Pride Week. I gotta put this on YouTube.”

  He took out his phone and started filming, wisely keeping Sheridan out of the picture.

  “Drinks?” Mistress Nora asked.

  “I’ll get them,” Griffin said as he stuffed his phone in his pocket. Mistress Nora raised her eyebrow at him. That required her to lift her top hat off so Griffin could see her eyebrow raised. “No booze for me, I swear.”

  Griffin was many years sober now, but Sheridan could imagine how losing Michael had tested his sobriety. If she’d let herself, she might have fallen into a bottle of wine over Brad and not crawled out of it for a long time either.

  “I’ll take you home if I catch you drinking,” she said. “But I’ll have a beer, and Sheridan will have a…”

  “White wine.”

  They stood together watching a man, built like a boxer but dressed like an elfin Icelandic pop star, weave his way to the bar.

  “Poor Griffin,” Sheridan said. “He and Michael were like…the cutest couple ever.”

  “They’ll be fine. I think. I hope.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  Once, Sheridan had a threesome with Griffin and Michael. Only once. They were fun together, all three of them, and the sex had been good. Griffin did the heavy lifting while she and Michael relaxed and enjoyed themselves. But afterward, watching them kiss and cuddle and talk and joke around with each other…watching Griffin rubbing arnica gel into the bruises on Michael’s back…watching Michael’s face go quietly blissful when Griffin kissed his neck…Sheridan was so wracked with jealousy, envy, and loneliness that she couldn’t do it again. It hurt too much seeing what they had and knowing she’d never have it.

  Unless.

  Unless she threw her career into the fire and watched it burn.

  Griffin returned with Mistress Nora’s beer—a Pumking Ale for Halloween—and a glass of white wine for her. They huddled on the sofa together, people-watching. She sipped it carefully, not wanting to spill anything on her leather pants.

  A slutty Chewbacca (apparently that was a thing?) strolled past with a slutty Han Solo (definitely a thing).

  Mistress Nora gently elbowed her side. “Having fun?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s horrible being at a party without the one person you want with you. Been there, too. Try to have some fun, but if you don’t, don’t beat yourself up. That’s my job.” Mistress Nora winked at her.

  Griffin leaned over, swan head tickling Sheridan’s bare shoulder. “It’s not my job to beat you up, but I’m happy to do it for free.”

  “Oh my God…” Mistress Nora breathed. “They did not….”

  “What?” Sheridan asked, but then she saw it. And what she saw couldn’t be unseen, not that she’d ever want to unsee it.

  Mr. S, aka Søren, aka Father Stearns, Jesuit priest and Mistress Nora’s master, had just entered the party. And at his side was Kingsley Edge, aka Mr. Edge, aka the King of Kink, at least in their world.

  A priest and a king.

  Except now the priest was dressed like a king, and King was dressed like a priest.

  Mr. S wore a Regency-era suit of black knee-high boots, a black cutaway tailcoat, a white waistcoat, black knee breeches, boots, and a white cravat. His silver-blond hair was brushed forward, giving him the look of a dark and moody poet.

  Meanwhile, Mr. King was in a cassock, a word Sheridan only knew because of Mistress Nora. From neck to toes, he wore a long all-black tailored cassock, black buttons from top to hem, and a black sash around his waist. The only color was a square of white as his throat.

  Every eye in the room was on both men. Sheridan was probably the one person at the whole party who didn’t want to fuck either of them.

  “I have to go kiss my priest,” Mistress Nora said. “Back soon.”

  Mistress Nora-slash-Slash patted her thigh and got up. She had to throw a few elbows to get to Mr. S, but she made it. She reached for him to kiss him, but he pulled back, pretending not to know who she was. Then she took off her top hat and bowed. He returned the bow gracefully, as if the blood of grand dukes ran in his veins, before taking her in his arms and kissing her on the mouth.

  Sheridan exhaled.

  “Yeah, I know,” Griffin said. “I hate happy couples too right now.”

  “I don’t hate them. I just…yeah, I hate them,” Sheridan said. Griffin held out his arm, and she leaned against his side, coming nose to nose with the swan.

  “You got anybody in mind, or is it just general misery?”

  “It’s specific misery on top of general misery. I was generally miserable before Mistress Nora, and everyone said they were moving down here. Then I met someone so perfect for me I…I let it get specific.”

  “What happened? He cheat on you or something?”

  “No, no. We met. We hit it off. He wanted to see me again. But he also…he won’t do secret relationships, which is the only kind of kinky relationship I can have without causing some big scandal. So now I’m in love with someone I spent one night with. Like an idiot.”

  Griffin took his arm from around here. “Forget it. You’re not in love.”

  “What?”

  He laughed, but then seeing she wasn’t laughing too, he met her eyes. “You’re not in love, Sheridan. Trust me. If you were in love, and he wanted you, too, you wouldn’t want to keep it a secret. You’d be shouting it from the roof.”

  “Mistress Nora and Mr. S keep their relationship a secret.”

  “Right. Big secret. Huge. Nobody knows.” He pointed across the room where Mistress Nora was wrapped up in Mr. S’s elegant arms. He held her close to whisper something in her ear. Whatever it was must have been good because she smiled and kissed him again. “He can’t tell the whole wide world they’re together, but it’s not like they’re trying that hard to hide it. And you know and I know and they know…if it meant breaking up or telling the whole wide world—”

  “They’d tell the whole wide world. Yeah, I know. I know.”

  “Which means you don’t love him. Just a crush. So don’t worry. It’ll be over soon.”

  “It’s been ten months.”

  Griffin’s brown eyes went wide. “Ten months? You’ve been miserable for ten months? Over one dude? No offense, Sher, but if you’d told the world about you two ten months ago, the scandal would have already blown over nine-and-a-half months ago.”

  Griffin got up quickly, which wasn’t easy for a large man in a swan dress. But still, he managed it.

  “Look, if it’s just the Twitter-tabloid bullshitters keeping you and this guy from being together…” He shook his head. “I gotta tell you, if a little public humiliation is all it took to get Mick back, I’d let Justin Bieber peg me on the Today show.”

  He walked away to join Kingsley in the smoke-filled billiards room.

  Alone, Sheridan walked around the party, checking out all the wild costumes behind the safety of her costume and sunglasses. Crazy costumes. Wild party. The music blared and half-naked revelers sang and danced along. Juliette sat on King’s knee, viciously cropping anyone who got too close. As gorgeous as she was, there was no end to the line of victims volunteering to get on the business end of her crop.

  When the heat got too much for Sheridan, she found the one empty bedroom not claimed by party-goers who wanted to fuck behind closed doors (as opposed to a few party-goers who were fucking quite openly in the house). The guest room had a balcony. She stepped out on it and breathed in the thick autumn air of New Orleans.

  Her phone was tucked safely in her back pocket. She’d forgotten she’d brought it with her until it vibrated. She took it out and found a text from Brad.

  It was the same thing he always texted—the photograph of the pink collar and cuffs on top of his dresser. Except this time, he’d added a small orange pumpkin.

  The text read, Happy Halloween, kitten.

  Maybe the wine she’d drunk had gone to her head. Or maybe she was just lonelier tonight than usual, but instead of simply replying with a single heart, she wrote him back.

  I don’t know what to do.

  Brad replied quickly. Do you want to talk?

  No. I just wish you’d tell me what to do.

  The answer took a long time coming, long enough for her heart to race so fast and so hard it almost ran out of her chest.

  Do what makes you happy.

  You make me happy, she replied.

  Brad replied—predictably, Exactly.

  Sheridan had walked right into that one.

  She wrote back, Big jerk.

  That’s big jerk, SIR, to you, he replied. She thought that would be it, the end, but then a few seconds later, her phone buzzed again in her hand.

  It’s fall, and I’m still hungry for you.

  When she read those words, hot tears filled her eyes. Ten months later and Brad still wanted her. His wedding had been called off for over a year. He wasn’t newly single. He wasn’t nursing a freshly broken heart. All the excuses she’s told herself for why she shouldn’t trust Brad’s feelings for her were gone. Expired. Back in winter, she could have believed he wanted her because he was on the rebound.

  But not in October.

  Ten months.

  Ten long, lonely months.

  If you’d told the world about you two ten months ago, the scandal would have already blown over nine-and-a-half months ago…

  Griffin was right. She knew that. No celebrity sex scandal between two consenting adults lasted longer than a week or two as long as no kids, violence, or pets were involved. And even then…

  Charlie Chaplin married a sixteen-year-old girl, and their divorce trial was the scandal of the century. Did anyone even remember that?

  Or that Gary Cooper was bisexual?

  That Rock Hudson was gay?

  That Greta Garbo, Marlene Dietrich and Tallulah Bankhead all had multiple affairs with women?

  Or that Lana Turner’s daughter literally murdered her famous mother’s mobster boyfriend?

  If the public record could forget all that…

  And Sheridan wasn’t even that famous. Yes, she was on Nolita, a highly rated network TV show, but she was more Julianna Margulies or Krysten Ritter than Marilyn Monroe or Audrey Hepburn. Not that she wanted to be movie-star famous. All she wanted was to…what did she want? What would make her happy?

  Well, being with Brad. That would make her happy.

  And doing Broadway again. Musicals. Singing and dancing.

  Why not? Why the hell not, right? Why not throw her career into the fire? Maybe something better would rise from the ashes.

  And even if it didn’t, if it was ruined for good…well, she did have a few cool million in her bank account. Maybe she and Brad could move to France. Because, as Mistress Nora said, why not France?

  Sheridan got out her phone and sent another text.

  Want to see my Halloween costume?

  SIXTEEN

  Sheridan’s breaths came in short dry bursts as she pushed through the crowd. “SexyBack” by Justin Timberlake pounded through the speakers spread throughout the main floor of the house. She knew Mistress Nora had contributed a few songs to the party playlist. Now she just had to find the DJ and then Griffin.

  The party DJ had his table set up in the music room off the main living room. Sheridan went to him just as Justin Timberlake faded out, and Joan Jett’s “I Love Rock n’ Roll” started.

  “You take requests?” she asked the DJ. She already knew the answer was yes. DJs typically didn’t say no to pretty girls offering them one-hundred-dollar bills.

  Deal done, she found Griffin in the living room in a corner, staring out the window as if waiting for someone to show up who was never going to show up.

  Sheridan couldn’t help Griffin, but she would show up for Brad. “Griff?”

  He looked at her and blinked as if returning to reality. “Hey, sorry,” he said. “Spaced out. I, uh…I just saw something crazy.”

  “Can you tell me later? I need a favor.”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “How many Twitter followers do you have?”

  “Um…twenty-five thousand. Why?”

  “Can you film something and post it online for me?” she asked. “And tag me?”

  “What am I filming?”

  Right on time, they started playing her song. That opening guitar lick was calling her name.

  “Me,” she said. “Dancing.”

  And then Sheridan Stratford—beloved and adored star of America’s favorite primetime soap opera Nolita—got onto a table, took off her sunglasses, and began to dance to “Sweet Child o’ Mine” by Guns N’ Roses. And when it hit that aching heartbreaking chorus, she broke into a snake hips dance so sinewy, she could have wiggled her way through prison bars and into freedom.

  The whole party was watching, cheering. Mistress Nora-slash-Slash even got on the table to dance with her. Then just to put the final nail in the coffin of her currently pristine reputation, she threw her arms around Mistress Nora, and “Axl” kissed “Slash” right on the mouth.

  Tongue included.

  And then she swiveled in a circle and kept dancing as the party-goers cheered her on and sang along.

  It was the first time she’d been happy in ten months.

  Griffin, filming still, yelled at her, “You know this will go insanely viral, right? Just warning you before I post it.”

  She twisted her hips in a slow sensual circle right into the camera.

  “Exactly.”