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In the darkness of the sprawling spaces, the women, often vastly outnumbered, can be difficult to spot among the sea of suits. These events are members-only, and every Tuesday we lucky few wake up to an email that contains a secret password and the addresses for that week's three, sometimes four events. You'd be forgiven at first for mistaking the scene inside for a boozy hedge-fund mixer.Diana pushed me on the details in ways that made me wonder if she was trying to derail the whole project.But I am almost always game, the product of a happy and relatively trauma-free childhood that left me mostly fearless when it comes to new experiences.Later, Diana admitted she had been suddenly overcome with jealousy.This other woman went from object of desire to clear and present danger once I was involved. So we co-authored a kind of rulebook: To begin, a sexual third wheel would have to be equally attracted to both of us. And under no circumstances could one of us indulge on our own.I was scanning building numbers when I saw the telltale pack of dudes in striped shirts and slacks smoking near an unmarked entrance.I had never seen a female guest at SVT, but Diana's friend—let's call her Jenna—insisted that couples come in all of the time.
I've met alleged med students, alleged classical violinists, alleged actress-slash-models and, once, an acquaintance of my little sister.A few weeks ago, Diana—not my girlfriend's real name—mentioned that a friend had just quit a high-profile gig at a high-profile restaurant to embark on a new career. But there they are, dressed in formfitting, easy-off cocktail attire, most looking like they belonged to a sorority as recently as last semester."She's dancing at Saint Venus Theater now," Diana informed me. There are no stripper poles in sight, and only a PG-13 amount of skin."He'll try anything twice," is how my father once described me.
Diana was not so lucky, having watched her parents fuck up so many times you'd think they were crash-testing their marriage.Earlier that night, all three of us had eaten mushrooms that were neither porcinis nor chanterelles. Then a glass broke, and I realized I was witnessing an honest-to-god fistfight.