CLAIMED

Meeting the Gangster

BRIDGET

Past

“Please, please, please, please,” begs Amy Liu, my junior-year roommate at Cal. We share a two-bedroom apartment just off campus with our friend Simone and a transfer student named Kat.

“What about Simone? She’d go with you in a heartbeat,” I reply. I’ve made myself comfortable on my bed with my statistics textbook and don’t feel like budging, especially to go all the way into the city.

“She’s at a poetry reading.”

“What about Kat?”

“She’s rushing Delta Delta Gamma. Tonight’s the weigh-in.”

I roll my eyes. Rumor has it that Delta Delta Gamma has all the prospectives stand on a scale to be weighed. After that, they get a number written on their foreheads for the number of pounds they have to lose before they can be accepted.

“Please. You have no idea how hot this guy is,” Amy continues about the guy she served at the fancy restaurant where she works. “He didn’t leave his number, so showing up at this club is the only way I’ll get to see him again.”

I purse my lips. It’s late. I need to finish a problem set for statistics. But I can’t let Amy go stag at some club in the city.

I make one final attempt to stay. “But this guy knows you work at the Golden Garden.”

“I told him I’d show up, and if I don’t, he might think I’m not interested.”

“You think he’d give up that easily?” I ask. It’s hard for me to imagine because Amy is gorgeous. Like, movie-star-glamour beautiful. Her brows, always professionally done, have the perfect arch. She doesn’t need to wear fake lashes to enhance her looks, but she does anyway. Her brand-name clothes show off her slender figure, and she has thick hair lightened with blond highlights.

“I’m sure he doesn’t have a shortage of women after him. Please, Bridget. I’ll help you with all your stats assignments.”

I close my textbook. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll go with you.”

With a squeal, Amy hugs me. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! I just need fifteen or twenty minutes to change.”

“Change? You can’t go as is?”

“This club could be swank. I don’t want to be underdressed.”

I look down at my baggy sweats. “Do I have to change?”

Her eyes widened. “Yes, please.”

I don’t exactly have clubbing clothes, but I find a pair of black jeans and a cold-shoulder blouse. However, they don’t meet Amy’s approval.

“I wish you could fit into one of my skirts,” she says as she zips into skin-tight leather pants.

I’d have to be half my size to do that.

“But maybe you could wear my wraparound halter.”

Her top is a little tight and short on me, exposing my midriff.

“Sexy,” she pronounces. “Now what are you going to do for shoes?”

“My fake Uggs?”

She frowns. “You can’t wear shoes like that to a club!”

“It’s going to be freezing in the city at this time of night. And there’s no way I can fit into any of your tiny shoes.”

Amy sighs.

“All I have are my flip-flops,” I say, pulling them from my closet. “There’s a little bit of bling on them. It’s that or my sneakers.”

Amy releases another sigh. “I guess we’ll have to go with the boots.”

I grab a chunky button-up sweater to wear over the halter. I don’t know how Amy plans to stay warm in her lacy camisole top and strappy gold sandals.

“Do you think these bangles are too much?” she asks, bracelets jangling as she holds up her arm. Her sapphire ring, an heirloom from her great-grandmother, which Amy never takes off for any reason except to get it cleaned, catches the light.

I don’t own jewelry except for a few pairs of earrings, so I’m not the best judge, but I tell her honestly that she looks amazing.

“If I were gay, I would totally be hitting on you right now,” I add.

As we walk down the stairs, we come across Keira and Jordan, seniors who live in the unit above us.

“Wow, Amy, you look fab,” Kiera remarks. She turns to me, looks over my ensemble and smirks. Kiera’s not a fan of me ever since I told her on move-in day that her cardboard boxes could go in the recycling bin instead of the trashcan.

“You must be going someplace special,” Jordan says.

“The Lotus, a club in San Francisco.”

Jordan’s eyes widen. “No way.”

“You’ve heard of it?”

Jordan tosses back her long golden curls. “Of course I have. I know all the exclusive places in the city.”

I don’t doubt her. She grew up in Pacific Heights, the daughter of some cosmetics tycoon. And as if she doesn’t think she’s hot stuff already, she’s currently dating the football team’s starting quarterback, who’s expected be a first-round draft pick in the NFL. She’s not a fan of me, either. I’d say it’s probably because I once asked her to turn down her music while I was studying for a midterm, but I don’t think she’s a fan of anyone who doesn’t hold the same social status as she does.

“Oh, so you’ve been there. What’s it like?” Amy asks.

Jordan’s face darkens. “There’s no way you’re getting into The Lotus.”

“I got an invite from JD Lee.”

“I don’t even know who that is.”

“So what’s The Lotus like?” I inquire deliberately.

She tosses her hair again. “I have my favorite clubs already, so I’ve never felt the need to go to The Lotus.”

Meaning you’ve never received an invitation. But I keep my mouth shut because Grandma raised me to be nicer than that.

Now I’m slightly more interested in checking out this club with Amy.

We take the BART train into San Francisco and get off at the Powell Street station. Although I’d prefer to hoof our way to the club to save on cab fare, I doubt Amy will want to walk seven blocks in her sandals. And as I predicted, the city is chilly. Even though Berkeley is only about ten miles across the bay, it’s a different climate. Amy’s bare arms would freeze off by the time we arrived at the club.

“I’ll pay for the cab,” Amy offers as she flags one down.

I decide to look up this club, The Lotus. Oddly, nothing comes up. No website, no Yelp reviews.

“You sure you got the name right?” I ask Amy as the cab drives in the direction of Chinatown.

“Trust me, I would not forget anything this guy says,” Amy replies.

“Wow, you’ve got it bad for him. What’s his name again?”

“Jin Dao Lee, but he goes by ‘JD.’”

“Have you looked him up on the internet?” I ask, now dying of curiosity to see what this guy looks like.

“Of course. I mean, I tried, but he doesn’t have a profile anywhere. I couldn’t find him on Twitter or f*******: or the usual places. He might be on one of the Asian apps, though.”

On the outskirts of Chinatown in what might be Nob Hill, the cab pulls up in front of a four-storied building that looks like it’s made entirely of black glass. There’s no sign outside bearing the name of the club.

“Are you sure this is it?” I ask, surprised that a club would be located on such a quiet street.

“This is the address you gave me,” said the driver, pointing to his GPS screen.

Amy and I get out and walk through glass double doors into a dark lobby with what looks like an expensive rug covering gleaming marble floors. Behind two large bouncers are another set of doors, through which I can hear music thudding.

“Cellphones, keys, and electronics,” says a security guard standing beside the metal detector.

I haven’t been to that many clubs, but I don’t remember ever seeing a metal detector at one before. After placing my cell in a basket and passing through, I reach for my cell but get handed a number instead.

“We keep everything until you leave,” he explains.

“Seriously?”

“No photos allowed.”

I suppose a place like this is unlikely to try to steal our phones from us. Amy and I pocket our numbers and walk up to the bouncers.

“Name and ID,” says the one with the shaved head.

Amy pulls out her driver’s license. “Amy Liu.”

He eyes me with skepticism. “Who’s your friend?”

“Bridget Moore.”

The guy looks over my ID and checks a handheld digital device. “Your name’s not on the list.”

“I told JD I’d probably bring a friend,” Amy explains.

He talks into his headset and looks up to a security camera pointed at us. “Got a Bridget Moore with Amy Liu.”

After a very long pause, I begin to think that Jordan’s right about the exclusivity of this place. Finally, a response comes through on the other end of his headset, and the bouncer waves us through.

Amy grabs my hand as we walk past the two bouncers. I can tell she’s trying to hold in her excitement. Two doormen open the doors for us and we step into a cavernous room with lighting that slowly fades into different shades of blue. Based on the size of the building I saw when we were outside, there’s more to the place than what I currently see. I figure the other part of the building is just office space.

A winding staircase to our right leads to balconies on the second and third floors. The balconies are tucked into shadows and don’t have any lighting except for what appear to be votive candles. Nearly as high as the second balcony are some dance platforms. A woman wearing a lace-up corset and skin-tight leather shorts dances provocatively on one platform, and on another, a man and woman with equally scant clothing grind hips together.

“May I take your sweater?” asks a woman in a knockout red dress. She has on a little hat that reminds me of one worn by a flight attendant on an Asian airline brochure that Amy once had.

“I’m good,” I reply.

Amy tells her we’re looking for JD Lee.

“He’s not here yet,” the attendant says.

Seeing a bar just off the dance floor, Amy says to me, “Let’s grab a drink.”

I don’t turn twenty-one for another two months, but even if I were old enough to drink, I’d probably just ask for a lemonade.

We walk past tables toward the bar. Seeing how dressed up everyone is, I begin to rethink my attire choice. Oh well. Nothing I can do about it now.

“Should I order a s*x-on-the-beach or is that too much of a college drink?” Amy whispers to me as we climb onto the barstools.

I shrug my shoulders.

“I’ll have a mojito with extra mint,” Amy tells the bartender.

“Coke,” I answer when he turns to me.

“With rum, vodka, Jack?” he asks.

“Straight Coke.”

“You could’ve ordered a real drink,” Amy says. “He didn’t ask for ID.”

“I like Coke.”

I hope this JD Lee shows up soon as I consider how late it’ll be when I make it back home.

Amy presses a finger to her eyelid. “I think one of my lashes is coming off. I’m going to find the restroom. Be back in a minute.”

I watch her hop off the stool as the bartender sets our drinks down.

“Straight Coke,” he says with a smile. He seems like a nice guy and the only one in the place who hasn’t given me a skeptical look.

“Thanks.”

A glass of soda at a place like this probably costs ten times what I’d pay from a vending machine. I sip the Coke slowly to make it last longer. Besides, I need the drink to distract me from the looks I’m getting.

DARREN

Past

“What the hell is that thing?” asks Kimberly Park, an ex-lover of mine who’s now dating my cousin’s friend.

Olga, a Russian blond bombshell, joins her at the balcony railing. “That is the ugliest sweater I have ever seen.”

“So gross,” Kimberly concurs before turning to where I’m sitting on a chaise lounge. “You should have your manager take care of this. You don’t want people thinking the club’s rep is going downhill. Don’t you have important company coming tonight?”

I rub my temple, unsure I’m up for a night of Kimberly’s nitpicking. It’s been a rough day with a close friend of mine getting arrested this morning on racketeering charges, and Lee Hao Young, an Operations Officer—also known as a Vanguard, and ranked just below the Dragon Master of the Jing San Triad—is in town from China and coming to The Lotus.

Plus, it’s hard for me to imagine how Kimberly and Olga could get so worked up. Anyone lucky enough to be allowed into my club dresses to impress. And while not everyone can look as hot as Kimberly and Olga, both lingerie models, no one can look that bad.

But I stand corrected.

After joining the women at the railing, I see in an instant what they’re talking about. The taupe-colored sweater the woman at the bar is wearing is the ugliest sweater. I look around for Cheryl, my manager, but don’t find her.

“And what’s with the snow boots?” Kimberly shivers in disgust. “How did she get past your bouncers? Is this a joke? Where’s Cheryl? Isn’t your important company going to be here soon?”

“I’ll take care of it,” I tell her, “though it’s not like you’re going to go blind from looking at someone who’s only half as hot as you.”

“A half?”

“He means a tenth,” Olga supplies.

“What she said,” I say as I head down the stairs.

Kimberly might be right about this patron being a joke of some kind. I’d put my money on Ronald Ho. Like me, Ronald is twenty-eight years old, but he stopped maturing emotionally at thirteen. He said he was going to get me good after I neglected to get him tickets for the playoffs at Levi’s Stadium. Except pulling a joke on a night when Lee Hao Young is going to be here is taking things too far.

On the ground floor, I’m stopped by patrons who want to talk to me: Jack Chiu, a lieutenant and one of our fixers in the SFPD; Marsha Holmes, a woman who handles my overseas accounts; and Adam Feinstein, a criminal lawyer whom many of my relatives keep on retainer. After telling each of them to schedule something with my manager/personal assistant, I check the time on my Audemars Piguet. Lee Hao Young could be here any minute.

“Hi,” I say to the ugly-sweater woman.

“Hi,” she responds, her eyes brightening for a second before giving me a wary look as if I might be some predator.

She can’t possibly think I’m trying to pick up on her? I stand next to her at the bar and nod at Felipe, the bartender.

“What’s the game?” I ask, noticing there’s a second drink near her. Mojito with extra mint. Ronald’s favorite.

She gives me a strange look “Excuse me?”

“Does Ron have a photographer planted in here?”

She frowns. “I’m sorry, you have me mixed up with someone else.”

She’s good. Much better than the actor Ronald hired to pretend to be an ex-lover of JD’s to scare the s**t out of the woman JD managed to steal away from Ronald at a party last year.

“You can give it up,” I tell her. “Ron knows I don’t allow any photos to be taken at The Lotus, so you can just pack it up and call it a night.”

She looks at me like I’ve got a screw loose and glances around the club, probably looking for Ronald.

I lean in toward her. “Look, I admit it’s funny. Kind of. The outfit’s a real winner. I couldn’t have picked out better. Kimberly’s worried she’s going blind just looking at the sweater.”

The young woman’s eyes widen. She glances over at Felipe as if seeking help, but he goes back to wiping the counter.

“Did you come over here just to insult me?” she asks. Even in the dark, I can see her cheeks turning color. She’s actually much better looking up close. It’s the frumpy clothes that make her look less than impressive. “What kind of an asshole are you?”

Now I’m starting to get a little impatient. “The kind of asshole who doesn’t put up with s**t like this. I’ve got important company coming tonight.”

For a second, I almost believe her mortification is real.

I lower my tone. “You can drop the act and go put on some real clothes now. Try your stunt some other night.”

The next thing I know, I have Coke dripping down my face and onto my silk Versace button-up shirt.

Felipe is near me in an instant with a clean towel. I wipe my face and see the sweater woman has walked away. I’m about to storm after her with the intention of tossing her out myself when I find a petite young woman standing at my elbow.

“What did you say to my friend?” she exclaims.

I wipe my face. “Who are you?”

“Amy—oh.”

Her pupils dilate after I drop the towel. I know that look. It’s the kind of look I’m used to getting from women. The kind of look I didn’t get from the ugly-sweater woman. Surprisingly.

“Amy Oh?” I echo.

“Amy Liu. I was invited here by JD.”

I raise a brow. “JD Lee.”

“Yeah, you know him?”

“I do.”

I think through ugly-sweater woman’s reactions to everything I had said. Maybe they were real after all. I look over Amy from head to toe. She’s cute, petite and young enough to look like jailbait. Exactly the kind JD goes after.

“You know Ronald Wong?” I ask her.

She shakes her head. I believe her.

“Who’s your friend?” I ask.

“Bridget Moore.”

Now, I know JD wouldn’t have invited ugly-sweater lady.

As if reading my mind, Amy adds, “I asked her to come with me since I’ve never been here before.”

Behind the bar, Felipe is trying to hide his grin. I throw my towel at him.

“Whatever they want is on the house,” I tell him.

My residence is on the fourth floor of the building. There, I rinse the soda out of my hair, run fresh hair gel through it, wash my face and put on a new shirt. I decide to wear a vest and jacket for Lee Hao Young. Having lived only in the US, I sometimes forget that those from the mainland tend toward formal.

“OMG, we saw what happened!” Kimberly says when I return to the second-floor balcony. “You should have had Marshall with you!”

“I don’t need a bodyguard for everything I do,” I remind her as I sit down.

Cheryl comes up to me and hands me a glass of bourbon. “I heard what happened. I shouldn’t have allowed the woman in. I’ll have her thrown out once we locate her.”

“I saw her go into the restroom,” Olga said. “I can see that ugly sweater a mile away.”

“No, she stays,” I say. “She’s with JD. Sort of.”

Kimberly’s eyes pop out. “What?!”

“Don’t look at her if she bothers you so much.”

“I won’t. I can only take so much ugly in one night.”

I almost protested that sweater woman wasn’t actually ugly. Her eyes were bright and attractive. Her lips fairly full. With a little makeup and a better hairstyle, she could be on the upper end of the beauty scale.

I down the bourbon, unsure why I’m thinking about how this Bridget Moore looks.

“Your guest, Amy Liu, is here,” I tell my cousin when he arrives with Eric Drumm, Kimberly’s boyfriend. “Where’s Hao Young? I thought he was coming with you?”

“We wrapped up business at dinner, and he wanted to call it a night. He went back to his hotel,” JD replies as he tosses the spikey bangs that are always falling into his eyes.

I glance over at Eric and Kimberly, lip-locked by the railing. I’m not a huge fan of Eric, the son of a billionaire real estate developer who’s currently governor of Florida and running for president, because he seems far too eager to ingratiate himself with members of the triad but plays it off like he’s doing us a favor by blessing us with his company. Kimberly knows I only tolerate him because JD might want to go into a business venture with him, and I suspect my lack of enthusiasm for the guy is one of the reasons she’s decided to date him.

“So where’s Amy?” JD asks as he accepts a beer from one of the servers.

“You sure she’s not jailbait?” I ask as Olga curls up next to me and plays with one of the buttons on my vest.

“Not likely. She says she’s a junior at Cal.”

“She brought a friend.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I told Cheryl it was okay.”

“She’s down at the bar.”

“Mind if I invite her up here?”

“Go ahead.”

Olga starts kissing my neck. We’ve had s*x twice before, and I stop at three. After that, you risk moving into the gray zone before relationship territory. Kimberly looks over and frowns. She and Olga pretend to be friends, but there’s not much love lost between them. I don’t try to understand women’s relationships with each other.

I consider spending the night with Olga, but I could also find a partner at the other part of the club.

For some reason, Sweater Woman comes to mind.

“I’ll go down with you,” I say to JD. “I owe the friend an apology,”

Kimberly disengages from Eric’s mouth. “You’re not serious? The woman threw a drink in your face.”

“I’ve had worse thrown at me.”

“And since when do you apologize? Are you sure you even know how?”

The fact that she’s Eric’s girlfriend won’t stop me from tying her down to the A-frame and spanking her till her ass is purple. But that might be exactly what she’s after.

“I need the practice then,” I say. My cell rings.

“I’ll bring Amy and her friend up,” JD tells me as I take the call.

It’s Mitchell Lindsay, a state senator who wants to bring his mistress to the club tonight. He’s received over $25,000 for securing government building contracts for various members of the Jing San and hopes to find additional ways to fund his bid for Secretary of State in two years.

“I’m sorry, Senator,” I tell Lindsay, “I can only take so many newcomers at a time.”

The FBI recently busted a state legislator up in Washington for racketeering, and I’m not entirely sure they don’t have their eye on Lindsay. And since a lot of business gets conducted at The Lotus, the fewer outsiders, the better.

“You’re going to let JD bring that ugly thing up here?” Kimberly asks when I’m done with the call.

I lean back and put my arm around Olga. “Get over yourself, Kim.”

She scowls at me before turning to Eric. “Come on, the view’s better on the third floor.”

I watch her skinny ass sway as she stalks by.

“Let’s talk later,” Eric mouths to me.

I don’t respond, though part of me thinks it would be amusing to wish him luck where Kimberly is concerned. My mother, who currently lives in Singapore, met Kimberly once and didn’t like her, even though Kimberly was on her best behavior at the time.

“You can pick them better than that,” my mother had scolded me. “Plenty of women out there with substance to go along with their putang.”

I smile at how my mother suddenly talks urban when she really wants to make a point with me.

Olga reaches for my crotch again.

“Not now, babe,” I say.

If I greet Miss Bridget Moore with a hard-on, I wouldn’t be surprised to find myself covered in Coke again.