The Ixthia Club

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Chapter One

Ramalia Gourshen never got through one day without spelling her name to someone. In grade school she was spelling it for teachers, then it was for professors, prospective dates, reservation agents, curious passers by and various people at bars who felt they could determine her nationality if they could just get a grasp on the spelling. A parlor trick, if you will.

"Gourshen? With an e in there? Is that...Himalayan?"

The only advantage to having a name like hers was that she could easily weed out the telemarketers.

"Is Ms....Goourrch.." click.

The point was...her name was just an example. An example of the complexity that she continually had thrust upon her in her Everestian effort to simply get through a normal life. All she ever wanted out of life was a relatively pleasing job, a nice boyfriend and possibly a couple of Dauschunds. Maybe a cleaning lady once a week. It wasn't too much...or was it.

The relatively pleasing job? It wasn't QUITE the paradise she'd planned on. As a result of her studies of modern and ancient literature at the University of Michigan, Russian, Japanese and Spanish language and extensive extracurricular participation on the water polo team, Ramalia landed a peach position as an assistant editor of the letters column of a porn magazine. An ASSISTANT editor. That's the kicker. The letters column got so many submissions of totally fictional "true stories" that three people had to weed through them each month to find "the juiciest". Rare was the night that Ramalia didn't run into the door of her apartment shivering with disgust and scrub herself raw in the bathtub. She told her mother that she was a stripper...so she wouldn't be ashamed of her only daughter's profession. Of course, that was a joke, but it was one she used almost every day...and always got a laugh.

The nice boyfriend? Well, Muck was nice. And he was nice looking...tall, brown hair, brown eyes. He had both of his ears pierced with heavy silver hoops, and on the back of his neck was a fabulous tattoo of the Rebel Alliance Insignia done all in black and silver. He was a sexy, squirrelly character, but he was also a self diagnosed "narcoleptic of convenience" who collected broken cuckoo clocks and made a pretty penny selling a "natural hallucinogen" that he fashioned from nutmeg, sugar and herbal supplements. She was so proud of him. There were times that he would walk in the door, grab three pair of socks, a jar of peanut butter and some matches and yell, "DON'T WAIT UP!", and she wouldn't even bother to ask.

Possibly a couple of Dauschunds? That never came to fruition either. Instead, she had a three legged cat named Troika and a calcium deficient iguana that she rescued from an abusive home. His name was Rick.

This was the uneventful, if not abhorrent life of Ramalia Gourshen...until she heard about The Ixthia Club.

"Don't wait up!" Muck called, gathering up six peaches and a can of Fresca. Ramalia looked up from her magazine and nodded, having never waited up, and wondering why he would even bother to give her the option of doing it. But Muck looked different when she caught his eye. He had shaved, and showered, and his hair was slicked back with gel. He was wearing IRONED PANTS and a button down shirt. The tip of the tattoo still peeked out over his collar.

"Are you going to court?" She asked, slowly, worried that the nutmeg scam had backfired.

"What?"

"Did you kill somebody?" He put down three of the peaches.

"What makes you say that?" She stood up and looked him over, a tiny smile on her face. She pulled at his collar, straightening it.

"I didn't even know you had these clothes. What's up? A girl on the side?" Part of her hoped that there WAS a girl on the side. Maybe she could get him to stop smoking. But Muck only smiled at her.

"Jealous bitch. No. There's no girl. I'll be late though, I'm going out with Beatle to the Ixthia Club."

Beatle. She didn't trust him as far as she could spit him. A gay magician who actually brought multicolored balls into restaurants to juggle for the patrons before their salads came, Beatle was a little weasel of a man who would sell his mother into white slavery for Siegfried and Roy tickets. But he was Muck's friend before Ramalia was even in the picture, so there was nothing for her to do about it.

"Ixthia Club? What the hell is that?"

Muck shrugged, kissed her forehead and headed for the door. "Don't know...I'll tell you when I find out myself."

Ramalia settled back in to her magazine, but for the first time ever...she found herself settling in...to wait up.

Chapter Two

Muck didn't get home until close to two o'clock, and by that time, Ramalia had lost her valiant battle with a John Irving novel. He tip toed past her, tripped on the phone cord that she'd stretched across the doorway and went sprawling, his face landing inches from the cat's water dish.

"You're home." She stretched and cracked her neck as he disentangled himself from her trap.

"Yes, and I see that you've moved the phone. I told you not to wait up."

"How was it?"

"What?" He said, unbuttoning his shirt. He looked different somehow. He was carrying himself with a different sense of self. She...liked it.

"The club. The Ixthia Club. I looked all over, in the phone book, everywhere. Where is it?"

"Oh, I don't know...somewhere down in the loop, Greektown. It's tiny. It's nothing. We stayed for like an hour and left." He kicked off each shoe and stripped down to his boxers, his voice trailing off as he shuffled to the bedroom, leaving his clothes in the middle of the floor.

"You stayed like an hour? It's two o'clock. Where else did you go?"

There were a few seconds of silence, a sneeze, and then, "I don't know, we went for pancakes or something." Ramalia turned off the apartment lights and crawled into bed beside him, still curious.

"Is it a strip club?" He didn't smell different. A little smokier than usual, but no perfume, no liquor. Troika climbed up and curled into the nook of her bent knees.

"What's the deal here, Ram? It's not a strip club, it's just a club downtown that was very, very small...very small and really very boring. You wouldn't like it." He kissed her goodnight and went to sleep.

The next morning, Muck was up before her, looking through the paper at stock quotes.

"You can invest online now," he announced, not looking up. "What if we did that?"

"Yes Muck, what if we did? We could use that $50,000 we have in the bank and the brand new computer we have over in the corner...oh wait, that's not us." He put the paper down and stared at her.

"I suppose you want to live at the corner of Clark and Belmont for the rest of your life?" he said.

"Not really, but if I'm editing a porno mag and you're selling herbal ecstasy, I guess it's appropriate."

"What's most important to you, Ramalia? Money, status or security?"

She stopped pouring coffee and stared him down, making sure it was him. Money...was the $416 they had in checking...status was the free drinks they could get at the bar on the corner of Diversey and Sheffield, and security was Muck's dexterity with a butter knife. She couldn't prioritize what she didn't have. What she wanted most, though, would bring the other two.

"Money." He nodded in agreement.

"Me too. Then money you shall have my dear Ramalia. Money you shall have." He was bright eyed. She still stared at him steadily.

"Are you high?"

"No, I'm just...thinking about our future."

"Are you going to propose?" They were both silent. Muck looked like she'd suggested eating pigeons.

"Do you want to get married?"

"Fuck no."

"OK." Muck got up and kissed her. "Beatle and I are going out tonight, I'm going to check into some new business opportunities."

"Can I go?" She was never interested in Muck's business, and she was even less interested in seeing or possibly talking to Beatle, but Muck's new attitude and concern for the future had her intrigued. His drug dealing was nothing to her. It didn't worry her. The people he dealt with were generally sixteen year olds in from the suburbs, looking for a high that didn't involve using "scary" needles. Fun drugs, baby drugs. They weren't packing heat. Besides, Muck was charming. He was cute and convincing, and he never threatened anyone. After giving you the dose, he gave you a hug. He was the nice drug dealer, the one who doesn't use himself, the one that your parents think is a "nice boy". He wasn't though, not by a long shot. But Ramalia wasn't a nice girl either.

They were a match made in heaven.

"No."

"Are you going to get dressed up again?"

"Did you like that?" He purred, putting on his "evil seducer" act. Ramalia shrugged, not wanting to sound too gushy.

"I did. You look nice with your hair all neat."

"I'll probably get dressed up. I'm looking into a business opportunity. I have to look responsible." She made a sound like "pfff" and walked from the kitchen, gripping her coffee tightly, pretending nothing mattered.

"What time will you go? I have to make some arrangements myself." If he didn't invite her, she'd show up unexpected. None of this would have happened if he hadn't gotten all cleaned up nice.

"I'm not sure...ten, eleven?" He shuffled towards the shower and Ramalia followed behind him. There was something about his attitude. Something about his "aura" that just made her all...goosebumpy.

Chapter Three

Beatle came over to the house at 9:30 and immediately poured himself a glass of rum from the bottle that Ramalia had gotten in the West Indies. It was insanely expensive, and she was sure she wasn't going back to the West Indies anytime soon, so he was essentially drinking her one, priceless souvenir that she would never get back. She said nothing, just sat in her chair and plucked her eyebrows.

"Hey Ram...I've got a new card trick." She sighed heavily and put her tweezers down. Beatle began a bizarre, seemingly infinite set up of cards in little flower shaped piles which, of course all wound down to him picking her card...the three of hearts.

"Amazing Beatle. You really are the master." She smiled a little and went back to her chair, keeping an eye on the rum bottle, growling a little under her breath. "Off to the Ixthia again tonight?" she asked in her friendliest tone.

"Yep."

"I knew it." Beatle's face went pale and Muck rushed out of the bedroom, dressed to the nines in black pants and a dark gray sweater. He looked like a model, but for the silver earrings.

"What are you doing, Beatle? Shut up!" Beatle flopped onto the futon against the wall and sipped at his PRICELESS RUM. Ramalia burned holes in him. He looked good, too, in a gay juggler sort of way. He didn't have any piercings or tattoos, but he did have some nice blonde hair and a very chiseled jaw. He was directly in contrast to Muck's darkness, wearing light linen pants and a white shirt. One of them clearly thought it was fall, and one thought it was spring. It was August...they were both way off. She decided to try Beatle again.

"What I don't understand, Beatle is why you would want to go to a strip club. Don't breasts make you oogy?" He sighed at her.

"It's not a strip club, Ramalia. And breasts in general don't make me oogy. Just YOURS."

"If it's not a strip club, what is it?" He shrugged and thought about it.

"Well, remember that scene in..." Muck walked in quickly and pulled him up from the futon by the arm.

"We're leaving now. Trust me Ramalia, you would not like it." He kissed her and they left.

Ramalia knew where the car was parked, and she knew they were on a one way street. Muck would have to turn around and come back by the house. She quickly gathered up her bag and left. She caught a cab at the corner and told him to wait there until Muck passed in the jeep.

The two cars sped down Lake Shore Drive and Ramalia squinted and cringed at Muck and Beatle laughing and smoking together. A chill ran through her. Was Ixthia a bath house? A gay bar, a brothel? Was she setting herself up to look like a total asshole? It was no secret that Beatle loved Muck...in THAT way, and he was probably working earnestly, day and night to awaken his "bicurious" alter ego. Now Ramalia wanted a cigarette. The jeep pulled off of Lake Shore and raced down Michigan avenue with the taxi following close behind. As the lights of the Magnificent Mile disappeared behind them, the two cars turned off of

Michigan to "the loop", the business district of Chicago. They took several turns and headed west and south to Greek Town.

The jeep screeched up to a white brick building and a beautiful, beautiful strapping young man in black leather pants and a black arm band rushed out to escort them from the car. Ramalia's jaw dropped. The "doorman" shook Muck's hand and quickly glanced at his forearm. He then turned to Beatle and smiled widely, kissing him on the cheek. He also inspected his forearm and then the two rushed past him as he took their car to park it.

"Let me out." She said, handing the cab driver a fifty. She would beat that money out of Muck later. She ran up the steps to the door of the building, where a fortyish man was standing in a gray suit. He didn't smile at her. "I need to go in." Ramalia said hurriedly,

pretending it was an emergency. He made no move. "My...husband is in there, and I need to find him. His mother...died." It was true. She died twenty years ago. Ramalia wasn't a good liar. She stared at him and the man simply pushed her back, silently.

"Members only, miss." A voice said behind her. It was the car boy.

"My husband's a member. I need to get a message to him." She craned her neck to look around the stony doorman who had still said nothing. The car boy stood between her and the doorman, smiling warmly.

"I'll give him the message. Who is he?"

"Muck. He just walked in. With Beatle?" The boy nodded. "Tell him..." she thought about it, and got angry. "Tell him, Ramalia won't wait up." He nodded again and Ramalia stomped down the stairs to the street.

Up above, on the third floor of the club, Masha had heard the conversation, and was staring out the window of his office at Ramalia, thinking how perfect she would be for the position.

Chapter Four

Muck got home at 2:00 again, and tripped over the phone cord again, proving that classical conditioning doesn't work on drug dealers. But he wasn't concerned with whether or not Ramalia could sleep or not. He was concerned that she was a no good snoop.

"What are you doing?" He yelled, flipping her over onto her back and straddling her. She pushed him off and jumped out of bed.

"Get off me. I'm sleeping, as you can easily discern."

"What the hell are you doing following me around town?"

"I wanted to know where you went. What the Ixthia was. Is it a gay bar? A bath house?"

"It's none of those things. It's just a place to do some networking."

"Networking? What does an ecstasy dealer have to network?"

"I'm looking for new opportunities, Ram...it's just a place I can go to...be..."

"What?"

"To be...away from you." She slid down the wall and sat on the floor.

"To be away from me. That's very nice." She pulled the comforter off the bed and went to settle in on the futon. She had four more hours to get a good night's sleep.

Muck followed her out into the living room and crouched down next to her and she curled up on the thin mattress.

"I don't mean it that way...I just mean that I want you to let me..."

The phone rang and Ramalia nearly had a heart attack. A phone call at 2:14 can't be good...ever. It rang a second time and Muck grabbed it, perplexed.

"Hello?" His face changed and he walked to the other side of the room to sit in the blue chair. "Yes, yes. She was." Ramalia sat up and tried to decode. "Really. I'm sure. Yes. Alright then...Tuesday." Muck hung up the phone without a goodbye and just stared at her. "What was that?"

"It was Masha. He's a member at the club. He...saw you tonight, outside. He told me to bring you by this week, for a tour."

"A tour..." Ramalia was half frightened, half excited with a splash of anger.

"Yeah, I guess you look like Ixthia material."

"That means I look like you and Beatle." Muck shrugged.

Tuesday night came slowly, but with a kind of emotional rumbling darkness heretofore associated only with pre-tornadic activity. Ramalia went through six or seven different outfits, wondering what it was about her last week that made her look like Ixthia material. Muck sat in the living room, wearing all black, and shaking a little with nerves. He sucked down a cigarette, waving the smoke away with each exhale so as not to draw Ramalia's attention. Finally, she emerged, wearing her finest, most pretentious black clothes and a little smile on her face.

"How do I look?" Muck smiled at her and stood up.

"Perfect. Now just relax. Let's go."

Beatle was waiting in front of his building when Ramalia and Muck pulled up in the jeep, and he made no effort to hide his disgust at having to ride in the back. Once they were on the road, he dug into his pockets and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and two silver bracelets. He handed one to Muck and put the other around his wrist. It was a thin band of silver with three shiny black beads on it. Muck snapped it on and resumed driving and smoking.

"Do I have to have one?" Ramalia asked, to break the silence.

Beatle shook his head. "No. Not yet."

The same car boy with the same outfit came out and opened the door for Ramalia, smiling warmly and nodding at Beatle and Muck.

"Is this your guest?" He asked, looking Ramalia over. Muck nodded and took her hand, leading her up the white stairs. The same huge doorman was there. He checked their bracelets, saw that Ramalia had no bracelet and said, "You may not pass, you must return: our general will no more hear from thence."

"No, Delphinian." The car boy interrupted, "She's a guest at Masha's request. Let her by." Delphinian nodded and opened the door for the three of them, but before they went in, Muck squeezed Ramalia's hand, making her very nervous.

Chapter Five

The steps inside the door weren't white stone, but white tile, like you'd see in a bathroom. Silver hand rails ran up the sides and middle of the twenty step stair case, but none of them used them. Their heels were the only sound as they approached two tall black lacquer doors with silver handles. Beatle looked bored, Muck looked nervous and Ramalia looked sick. After the doors were opened, everything would change.

Unfortunately, the drama associated with the door opening was dampened by a sign that said, "door broken, use one down hall". Muck shrugged and they followed the crudely drawn arrow to a standard wood door. Still, nothing could have prepared Ramalia for what she encountered inside.

The whole room was white tile up to the middle of the walls. There was no furniture, only different steps and levels of white tile, some blocks serving as tables, some as benches. Some blocks of tile were missing, creating nooks and holes in the blocks, where drinks stood, or candles, or a deck of cards. The walls and ceiling above the tile were a deep, blood red. Tiny pin lights in the ceiling sent sharp spots to certain areas of the room, but otherwise, it was only lit by candles behind glass block, giving the room a warm, but eerie feeling. Along one wall were three black doors with three gold name plates. OPPORTUNITY, PROTECTION, INFORMATION. A candle sconce hung between each door, flickering light across the titles. A tiny, quiet bar was along the opposite wall, top shelf liquor, imported beers on tap, and one bartender...a beautiful brunette woman, at least three years younger than Ramalia...looking JUST barely legal enough to drink herself. She wore a silver choker around her neck with three black beads, just like the bracelets, and her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. She was wearing a relatively modest black dress, and very little makeup. She smiled at Beatle and said hi to Muck.

"Violet, I'd like to introduce you to Ramalia...she's here as my guest tonight." She was careful to note that Muck made no indication that she was his girlfriend.

"Hi Ramalia, can I get you a drink?" Violet smiled widely and Ramalia asked for a gin and tonic, but in the middle of mixing the drink the phone rang and Violet dropped everything, disappearing behind the bar.

"Rude." Ramalia said, but Muck only shrugged.

It was then that she turned around to see the main attraction. A four foot tall, white tile pedestal was in the middle of the room, lit by four tiny spotlights. On top of the pedestal was a glass case, sealed on all sides, protecting a brown leather box inside. The box was about a foot square, with a lock on each side. Beneath the glass, on the pedestal was a gold plaque with tiny black lettering. Muck and Beatle were engrossed in a conversation with a midget, so Ramalia went over to read.

The Rules For The Bidding

* All Bidding Is Made Through Zapf Chancery ONLY

* Bids Are Not Discussed Amongst Members

* Meetings With Mediators Are Scheduled Through Zapf Chancery

* Applications For Entry Into The Auction Are Available Through Zapf Chancery

* Teams Are Modifiable Through Zapf Chancery

* The Auction is Open Indefinitely

* The One Who Bids The Correct Amount, Will Receive What He Needs

"So that's what it is," she heard Muck say behind her. "That's why we're here. To bid on the box." Ramalia looked at him incredulously.

"What's in the box? And what makes you think you can afford it?"

"No one knows what's in the box...that's the point. All we know is that it's What We Need." Ramalia snorted. "Beatle and I are a bidding team. If you're accepted into the club, you can join in. A team of three has got to be able to bid pretty high."

"And we split the prize money three ways? We're bidding on a box of money? Seems crazy, eh?" She said, laughing. Inside, she was greatly intrigued.

"It may not be money." Beatle added. "It may be a great job opportunity, a deed to a house, stock...anything." The three of them fell silent, focusing on the box. "Besides, you don't have to pay off on the bid in full until you win. Until then, you just pay a percentage every four months."

"Where does that money go?" Ramalia asked, looking around the room at no furniture, no multimedia, no food...someone was scamming them.

"Well the bar is free...and with these bracelets we have a lot of access...we get other things for free. The owner of the box must have a lot of pull around town." Muck said, putting his empty glass on a tile pedestal.

"Zapf Chancery is the owner?" She asked. But before anyone could answer, a deep, thick, sandpapery voice broke in.

"No, he's the Advocate." Ramalia turned to see a tall, dark and handsome man in a black suit and glasses staring down at her. His voice was accented, but she couldn't tell from where. "We don't see the owner of the box. No one knows who he is. But your lover is right... he has a lot of pull." He was Russian.

"Ramalia, I'd like you to meet Masha ... the man who invited you here."

Chapter Six

Ramalia gave a little nervous smile to Masha, who was devastatingly beautiful, but infinitely frightening at the same time.  His glasses were a little tinted, and they hid the color of his eyes.  Before shaking her hand he lit a cigarette.

"I see that you've perused the rules.  I saw you outside yesterday and you looked kind of…frantic."  Ramalia smiled again.  Her jaw was beginning to hurt from forcibly smiling at people.  Suddenly Violet was at Masha's side, holding a dark drink in a short glass.  He took it and swirled it around.

"I wanted to see what kind of place you were running here.  I thought it was a strip club."  She noticed that Violet hid a tiny smile and disappeared.  Masha made a horrible face, as if she'd suggested eating rotten squid.

"Please.  We're trying to help people here.  This club is all about opportunity.  The owner of the box is offering to supply whatever the winner needs.  I doubt that the answer is strippers."  He smiled at Muck and Beatle who laughed with him.  "I think that you and your friends would make a lovely bidding team, and besides, you breathe a little fresh air into the club.  We don't have any female bidders yet."

 "How long has the auction been going on?"  Ramalia asked, watching a pale, bald, skinny, tattooed man walk in the door.

 "Six months, seven.  Ever since the first auction closed."

 "Who won the first auction?"  Masha smiled widely.

 "Ramalia Gourshen, private eye."  She didn't smile back.  "I don't know who won the first auction, angel, but chances are he didn't stick around."  Two fat midgets walked in and settled into a little corner of the tile, pulling out dice and cards.  Violet appeared next to them and put down two martinis.  "So tell us…do you want to join the Ixthia Club, Ramalia?"

 "Well,"

Muck and Beatle finished their drinks and were immediately handed two more by Violet.  They were strong, and free.  The tattooed man was smoking in the corner and sketching something while referring to some numbers on a spreadsheet, blueprints maybe.  The two fat midgets had begun some bizarre game wherein they both held four cards and each had a pair of dice in their hands.  A little pile of money and black and white chips was between them.  A roll of the dice, a card laid down and the other midget growled angrily, pushing the pile of chips at the other.

 "I think you want a tour."  Masha said.  "Muck, Beatle…please excuse us."  He held out his arm and Ramalia threaded her hand through it, looking back at Muck, who only nodded. 

"The Ixthia Club IS primarily about the bidding, Ramalia, but it's also designed to be a respite from the world that has run us all down.  I'm sure that you aren't treated as badly as some of our members, but think of all of those that look down on you, or insult you, or humiliate you.  You won't find them here…because we're all of equal importance.  And membership to an exclusive club ALWAYS improves your self esteem, whether we like to admit it or not.  Besides, it behooves us to help each other.  We can only assume that when someone wins the box, they will share its contents with those that helped them, right?" 

Ramalia snorted.  "Sure, as long as you don't admit any assholes."  Masha nodded.

"We don't." he said, conclusively, then turned to the midgets and smiled.  "Ramalia, I'd like you to meet our favorite set of twins, Ish and Ian."  They held their hands out and Ramalia shook them.

 "Ramalia.  Don't tell me…German."  Ramalia shook her head, knowing she was simply a mutt of all nations, whose mother made the name up in a creative stupor.

"German?"  The other said, "Don't think too hard, we don't want you to kill yourself."

 "Well what do you think it is?"

 "Who the hell knows?  Who cares?  It's not German though, I sure as hell know that."  Ramalia was gently pulled away by Masha.

 "It's best to just let them fight it out alone."  He said.  "Besides, I want you to meet Augsburg."  He spun her around the room until they met up with the tattooed man.  It wasn't just tattoos, though.  But you couldn't tell until you saw him face to face.
 

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