Catherine turned to see Phoenix holding the door open for them, welcoming them inside. He looked both foreign and familiar, with a dream-like, surreal aura yet still distinctly himself, even in his casual wear—gray slacks and a white designer tee. Seeing him in plain clothes was nice, but still weird.
They stepped inside, and Phoenix offered to take their coats. Molly handed hers over, eager to be closer to him or perhaps show off her outfit—a short cocktail dress, much fancier than Catherine’s jeans and shirt. Catherine refused, feeling oddly cold in this place.
“Did you want a drink or anything?” Phoenix offered, his gaze more on Catherine.
She shook her head, but Molly asked, “Does that include alcohol?”
Phoenix looked at her, and Catherine was surprised Molly didn’t swoon, standing just a few feet from her biggest crush and idol, inside his house. “Of course,” he said. “I can have my bartender make anything you want—even one of those fancy cocktails with an umbrella.”
“Oh cool,” Molly said, tucking her red hair behind her ear. “Can I have a Long Island iced tea?”
“Yeah, I’ll get him to make it,” Phoenix said. “You two just … make yourself comfortable, feel free to take a seat in the lounge room.” He gestured to the left, and Catherine realized the grand, marble room they stood in—with all its art and sculptures—was just the lobby. This entire, giant room was just for entering the place. It seemed excessive, but as they moved into the lounge room, which was triple the size, Catherine found herself eying the masterpieces on the wall. They were from all over the world, and the room was tribal-themed—not in a cheap way, but in a way you’d expect from a historian. The room was cultured, and Phoenix was cultured. Catherine had to hand him that. When you traveled the world as often as he did, you had to learn a thing or two.
“I can’t believe we are actually in his house right now!” Molly let out a low squeal. “Like, he lives here…. I know that sounds dumb, but he’s probably,” she leaned closer on the lounge and whispered, “had sex here.”
Catherine’s nose scrunched, and she now wanted to stand, but then Phoenix returned. He gave Molly her drink and smiled at Catherine. “Are you sure you don’t want anything? You two have been traveling all day, you must be famished.”
“Oh no, I’m fine, I packed food,” Catherine told him.
Molly was busy sipping on her drink. “Wow, this is good,” she said.
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“Thank you, it’s my own special concoction,” Phoenix grinned.
“It’s really delicious,” Molly said, still sipping.
Catherine eyed her. “You may want to go easy,” she warned. “Those things are strong.”
Molly glared. “I can handle my alcohol,” she claimed.
She most definitely couldn’t. On several occasions, she had passed out, gotten blind drunk, or vomited in front of everyone. Catherine wanted to save her the embarrassment, but it wasn’t her place to be Molly’s mother. If Molly wanted to drink, she was allowed to drink, even if no one else was drinking with her.
The rest of the night passed normally—so normally that Catherine began to question her own sanity. She had seen Phoenix’s face change—something demonic, if only for a moment—and the not knowing haunted her dreams. She liked facts, answers, clarity. She always enjoyed math and science for their black-and-white nature, though she was more talented in writing. Catherine came from a long line of writers, and some might say it was in her blood, but she didn’t always enjoy it. She disliked ambiguity, the gray areas, the not knowing.
After talking casually for a few hours in the lounge room, Phoenix took Catherine and Molly on a tour of his house, which was much grander than Catherine had anticipated. Each room was delicately and meticulously decorated, and Catherine was surprised when Phoenix informed them that he had done the decorating himself.
As expected, someone as egotistical as Phoenix had a room dedicated to his achievements. Catherine almost scoffed when he showed them the room, but then he began to explain the reasoning behind the mementos.
“This suit was from a private show I did at the children’s hospital,” he said, pointing to one of his many items.
Catherine’s expression softened, but it was short-lived when they reached a framed red bra. “That’s the first garment that was ever thrown on stage,” Phoenix explained.
“Did you even wash it?” Catherine wondered.
His answer was conveyed in a glance—no, he didn’t.
“Ew,” Catherine thought.
As they moved along, Molly began to feel dizzy. Catherine knew Molly was a lightweight with alcohol and had warned her to slow down on the Long Island iced teas, but Molly hadn’t listened. Feeling embarrassed for her friend, Catherine watched as Molly knocked into Phoenix’s bookcase, sending books toppling over before stumbling into Phoenix and grabbing his crotch with a giggle.
Catherine looked away, her face burning with embarrassment as Molly murmured about how tired she was and nearly lost her balance completely.
Another giggle escaped Molly as Phoenix scooped her up and carried her toward the door, mumbling to Catherine about waiting in the room while he put Molly to bed in the spare room. Catherine didn’t like the idea of leaving Phoenix alone with her drunk—and flirtatious—best friend, but seeing some maids follow, she stayed put and decided to fix the bookshelf.
As Catherine scooped up the books from the floor, she noticed one book hanging from the shelf. When she straightened it, the shelf moved, revealing an ominous-looking door. Hesitating for a moment, she opened the door and stepped downstairs into a pitch-black space, having second thoughts about leaving her friend alone with Phoenix.