The Circle
I arrived at the address Marcie had given me at ten minutes before nine. The midtown neighborhood was mostly older offices and loft buildings. I paid the cheerfully psychotic Uber driver and got out of the cab. At this hour, the street-level stores were all covered with heavy metal gates. The street was dark and deserted. I was nervous. I had spoken to Marcie only once, on the telephone. She had sounded intelligent, but the low fidelity of the phone had removed all distinctiveness from her voice, as it usually does to women’s voices. It had been a quick, strange conversation.
“I don’t like bars. There’s a club I like to go to. We could meet there if you like,” she had said.
“What kind of club?” I had asked.
“They have entertainment.”
“What kind of entertainment?”
“Ero
