CuriousVixen

11/10/2025

Velvet Keys: Part VI — The Phoenix Key

Saginaw never truly slept. Even after the fire, even after the papers called it “The End of an Era,” the city still pulsed with jazz and whispers.
Weeks had passed since the night The Velvet Key burned. The bookstore’s ashes were swept away, but rumor lingered like perfume. Some said the place had been cursed. Others swore they still heard the music drifting up from the river on foggy nights.
Evelyn knew better.
She sat at a small café near the edge of downtown, stirring sugar into her coffee, watching raindrops race down the windowpane. In her pocket, the bone key rested — warm now, alive somehow, as though it recognized her touch.
The bell over the door chimed, and a familiar voice said, “You always did have a taste for bittersweet.”
Joseph slid into the chair across from her, collar damp from the rain, a half-smile tugging at his lips. His presence filled the air like a slow tune.
“I thought you’d gone,” she murmured.
“Thought about it,” he said. “But every town needs its songbird.”
Their eyes lingered — a beat too long. The kind of silence that feels like a held breath.
“So what now?” she asked. “We burned the past to cinders.”
Joseph reached into his coat and placed something on the table — a new key, gold and gleaming, shaped like a flame.
“I call it the Phoenix Key,” he said. “Marcel built a place for secrets. I say we build one for freedom.”
Evelyn traced a finger along its edge. “Freedom?”
He leaned closer, his voice low enough to melt the air between them. “A place where no one hides. Where the music plays for pleasure, not power.”
Her lips curved. “And who would host such a den?”
He smiled. “Someone who knows how to unlock a room.”
The rain deepened, a steady rhythm against the windows. The café grew quieter, the world smaller. Evelyn tilted her head, studying him — the man who’d pulled her from the smoke and into something far more dangerous: hope.
“Where would it be?” she asked softly.
“Somewhere no one would think to look,” he said. “Under the old river pier. The tunnels survived the fire.”
Evelyn laughed — low, melodic, the sound of temptation wrapped in silk. “You’ve thought this through.”
“I’ve thought about you,” he said simply.
For a heartbeat, she forgot the rain, the ash, the danger. She saw only candlelight, the gleam of brass instruments, the glint of champagne glasses. The rhythm of something being reborn.
She lifted her cup in a quiet toast. “To The Phoenix Key, then.”
Joseph clinked his glass against hers. “To what rises from the smoke.”
Outside, thunder rolled across the river — soft, distant, promising.
And somewhere beneath the city, in a tunnel that still smelled faintly of velvet and gin, a single door waited.
Its lock gleamed faintly in the dark, already dreaming of the night it would turn again

11/01/2025

The candlelight wavered, and for a heartbeat she thought she saw a shadow move — not the kind cast by flame, but something that seemed to breathe of its own accord.

The air grew warmer. Thicker. It clung to her skin like the weight of a promise not yet spoken. The pearls felt suddenly cool, teasing against the heat rising beneath her lace. Every inhale brought with it the scent of smoke, of something faintly sweet — amber and danger intertwined.

Her gaze drifted toward the mirror across the room. There was no reflection — only the shape of a figure standing just beyond the edge of sight. Watching. Waiting.

A pulse thrummed low in her throat, an ache she could not name. The silence between heartbeats seemed to whisper things she should not want to hear.

She didn’t move. She didn’t need to. The room itself seemed to bend toward her — drawn by the dark gravity that lived beneath her calm, behind her stillness.

The pearls slid from her shoulder and pooled against the velvet, glimmering like fallen stars.
And somewhere in the hush of that moment, a voice — soft, low, and entirely certain — broke the silence:

“I’ve been looking for you.”

10/31/2025

Velvet Keys: Part V — The Keeper’s Song

By morning, Saginaw was gray and cold. The river mist hung low over the water, swallowing sound and memory alike. Evelyn sat in Joseph’s borrowed coat, her fingers tracing the shape of the bone key still resting in her palm. It no longer felt like an invitation — it felt like a choice.
They had taken refuge in a room above an old tailor’s shop, the kind of place where secrets didn’t echo. Joseph leaned against the window, cigarette smoke curling like treble notes in the pale light.
“You should leave town,” he said softly. “Marcel won’t stop looking.”
Evelyn watched the smoke twist between them. “And you?”
“I can’t. I owe him too much.”
His voice carried the weight of something unsaid. She rose and crossed the room. “Then tell me the truth,” she said. “What does The Velvet Key really do?”
He hesitated, then met her eyes. “It started as a refuge — a place where people could be free, even for a night. But Marcel saw something else. He realized that secrets are worth more than money. Politicians, bankers, socialites — they all came to play. And every whispered confession, every scandal, every hidden affair…” He tapped the side of his head. “He keeps them all in his ledger.”
Evelyn’s heart sank. “He blackmails them.”
“Not directly,” Joseph said. “He trades in influence. One key for another.”
She paced, anger blooming under her ribs. “And my key?”
He looked away. “You were never supposed to get one. Someone wanted you tested.”
A silence stretched between them — fragile, trembling. Then, from somewhere far below, the faint echo of a trumpet reached them. A signal.
Joseph crushed his cigarette. “They’ve found us.”
They escaped through the back alley as rain began to fall, the streets slick with moonlight and fear. Evelyn clutched the bone key as they ran, her heels splashing through puddles.
“Where are we going?” she gasped.
“To end this,” Joseph said. “Once and for all.”
They wound through backstreets until they reached the riverfront warehouse where The Velvet Key kept its liquor shipments. But when Joseph forced open the door, the scene waiting inside stopped them both cold.
Marcel stood in the center of the room, calm as ever, a half-circle of men in dark suits behind him. His voice was smooth, almost gentle.
“Evelyn,” he said, as though greeting an old friend. “I see you’ve found the truth. And the musician who doesn’t know when to stop playing.”
Joseph stepped forward. “Let her go, Marcel.”
“Let her go?” Marcel laughed quietly. “My dear boy, she’s the reason the club survived the raids. You think it’s coincidence she was invited? Her husband handles the bank that launders our ledgers.”
Evelyn froze. “My husband?”
“Oh yes,” Marcel said, turning toward her. “He may not know it, but his hands are just as dirty as ours. And you… you are my insurance.”
He lifted something from the table — a new key, carved of glass, clear and delicate. It caught the dim light like ice.
“Every keeper must have one,” he said softly. “Yours, my dear, was chosen long ago.”
He extended it toward her.
“Join us, Evelyn. Or vanish like the rest.”
The rain hammered the roof above them. Evelyn’s pulse thundered in her ears. Joseph’s hand brushed hers — no words, only trust.
And in that moment, she understood: The Velvet Key wasn’t just a club. It was a machine built on secrets, and she was standing at the heart of it.
She took the glass key — cold and perfect — and looked Marcel dead in the eye.
“I’ll join you,” she said.
Then, as he smiled, she turned the key sharply — not in a door, but in the lock of the lantern beside him. The flame roared to life, catching the papers and ledgers stacked on his desk.
Chaos erupted.
Evelyn grabbed Joseph’s hand and ran as the fire spread, smoke curling like music through the rafters. The last thing she heard was Marcel’s furious shout — and the crack of glass breaking.
Hours later, as dawn rose over Saginaw, the bookstore smoldered in silence. The Velvet Key was gone — burned to memory.
Evelyn stood on the riverbank, her hair tangled with rain and ash. In her pocket, the bone key remained, its surface scorched but unbroken.
Joseph joined her, eyes tired, voice low. “You destroyed it.”
“Not all of it,” she said, turning the key in her fingers. “Some doors never close. They only wait.”
From across the water, faint and haunting, came the sound of a saxophone — a melody they both knew.
Evelyn smiled. “Maybe the city needs a new kind of song.”

10/21/2025

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10/19/2025

Velvet Keys:
Secrets in the Smoke Part lll

By day, Saginaw looked ordinary again — streetcars clattering, church bells ringing, men tipping their hats.
But beneath that quiet hum, Evelyn carried her secret like perfume.
Every time she touched the piano key Joseph had left her, she could almost hear the club’s heartbeat — the muted laughter, the brass and bass blending in smoke. She told herself she wouldn’t go back. She lied.
One rainy Thursday, a black envelope arrived at her door. No name, just a wax seal shaped like a treble clef crossed with a heart. Inside, a single line:
“Some melodies are meant to be finished.”
And a new key — older, heavier, carved from bone.
That night she dressed in black velvet, gloves up to her elbows, and drove into the mist. The bookstore’s boarded windows gleamed faintly as if they’d been expecting her.
Down the staircase, The Velvet Key pulsed with new energy. The music tonight was darker — slow, seductive, threaded with a tension that made every conversation feel like a secret.
Marcel greeted her with a glass of something golden and dangerous. “Ah, the lady of the piano returns,” he said. “Your melody has been missed.”
Before she could answer, a commotion rippled through the room. Two men in suits whispered urgently at Marcel’s ear. He nodded once, then looked at her — his smile still fixed, but his eyes sharper.
“Stay near the music, darling,” he murmured. “It’s safer there.”
Evelyn turned, and her breath caught. Joseph was back — his suit darker, his tie undone, a faint bruise along his jaw. He looked up from tuning his guitar, and the moment their eyes met, the world fell into rhythm again.
When he began to play, the room changed. The lights dimmed. The crowd swayed, lost in sound. But as Evelyn listened, she realized — the melody wasn’t for the crowd. It was for her. Each note a confession, a promise, a warning.
After the set, he found her near the back bar.
“You shouldn’t have come,” he said quietly.
“Then why did you call me?” she whispered, showing the bone key.
His jaw tightened. “That key doesn’t open what you think it does.”
Before she could press him, a sharp noise cut through the room — the sound of a door slamming open, then the bark of a voice she didn’t recognize. The crowd went still. Men in dark coats entered, badges flashing.
“Police! Everyone stay where you are!”
Panic scattered like glass. Marcel stepped forward smoothly, voice calm, but Evelyn saw the glint of worry beneath it. Joseph grabbed her hand. “Come on.”
He pulled her behind the stage, through a narrow corridor lined with crates and broken instruments. The music had stopped, but her heart was still drumming, fast and wild.
They reached a locked door — the end of the hall. He took the bone key from her trembling hand, slid it into the lock, and turned.
A click — low and perfect. The door opened.
Beyond it was not another room, but a stairway descending into deeper darkness. The faint scent of damp stone and river water filled the air.
Joseph looked back at her, eyes lit by the flicker of a single candle.
“Welcome to where the real Velvet Key begins,” he said.
And before she could speak, he shut the door behind them, the sound of jazz and chaos fading above.

10/18/2025

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When Gov. Jennifer Granholm appointed Rudy Serra to Michigan's 36th District Court in 2007, she made history by naming him the state's first openly gay

10/17/2025

Velvet Keys: A Night of Temptation

The city slept beneath a velvet fog, but Evelyn was wide awake.

Weeks had passed since that night — the music, the keys, the slow burn of champagne and candlelight. Yet every quiet hour since had hummed with the same rhythm that Joseph’s hands once conjured from his guitar.

Her husband snored beside her, dreaming of ledgers and stocks. Evelyn stared at the ceiling, tracing invisible melodies in the dark. When dawn came, she made her decision.

That evening, a cold wind rolled through Saginaw. The boarded-up bookstore looked as it always did — forgotten, harmless. But when she brushed the dust from the spine of The Great Gatsby and heard the soft click of the hidden latch, her pulse quickened.

The Velvet Key was alive again.

The air was thick with smoke and perfume. The band played low and sultry, brass and bass melting together. Flappers twirled like spilled ink, laughter tangled with the clink of glasses, and shadows moved like secrets.

Marcel met her at the bar, his smile knowing.
“Back so soon, Mrs…?” he teased, letting the question fade. Names were never used here — only keys.

Evelyn slipped her piano key from her necklace. But before Marcel could answer, a woman in emerald silk brushed past her — tall, laughing, radiant — and held up a key of her own. It shimmered like moonlight, and when Marcel leaned closer, Evelyn caught the faintest arch of his brow.

A new match had been made tonight.

Evelyn’s throat tightened. She hadn’t come for jealousy, yet the sting was there. She looked toward the stage — Joseph was playing, head bowed, music rolling like smoke. His hands knew sin and rhythm equally. And when his gaze finally met hers, the room fell away.

Still, she didn’t move toward him. Not yet.

Instead, she let the crowd swallow her — dancers, dreamers, and wanderers with masks of silk and eyes full of want. A stranger approached: a man with a scar along his jaw and a scent of clove smoke. He didn’t speak. He only held out his hand — and dangling from his fingers was a key.

Evelyn hesitated. Her pulse answered before her mind did. She reached for it.

It didn’t fit hers — not exactly — but when the metal brushed her palm, something electric passed between them. Marcel, watching from behind the bar, poured two glasses of champagne and nodded toward the second curtain.

Evelyn’s world blurred into gold light and heartbeat. Behind the curtain, the room glowed like memory — velvet drapes, soft laughter, a record spinning slow.

She didn’t know the man’s name. She didn’t need to. The night wasn’t about names — it was about release. The sound of a zipper, a sigh, a distant trumpet from the stage — all the same language spoken in different rhythms.

When she returned to the bar, her lipstick was gone, her hair loosened, her pulse still fluttering like wings. Joseph was gone from the stage, his guitar resting silent against the wall.

On the counter beside her drink lay something small — a piano key. Not hers. His.

And beneath it, a note written in dark, hurried ink:

“The right key finds its way back — even if the door has changed.”

Evelyn smiled, tucking the key into her purse. She didn’t know whether she’d see him again, or what waited the next time she descended those stairs. But one thing she knew for certain — The Velvet Key had only just begun to unlock her.

08/22/2025

"Velvet Keys"

In the heart of 1920s Saginaw, Michigan, tucked beneath a boarded-up bookstore, lay The Velvet Key — a speakeasy so secret, even the jazz notes seemed to whisper. It wasn’t just bootleg liquor that drew the elite behind the false shelves and down the winding staircase — it was what happened behind the second velvet curtain.

Every other thrusday or Friday night, the curtain lifted for those who carried one thing: a key. But not just any key. Each was distinct — an old hotel key, an ornate skeleton key, even a polished car key — and each matched one other person in the room. If your key fit their lock, you were invited into a more... intimate adventure.

The Velvet Key wasn’t merely a place to drink and dance. It was Saginaws most exclusive mingle party for swingers, draped in velvet, drenched in champagne, and charged with secrets.

Marcel, the bar's host with slicked-back hair and eyes that saw too much, welcomed guests by candlelight. Flappers and socialites, jazzmen and debutantes, all mingled with masks and martinis. No names. No pasts. Just keys.

One night, Evelyn, a bored banker’s wife with a penchant for absinthe and poetry, arrived with a red satin dress and a tarnished piano key hanging from her necklace. She had never been here before — but she had heard whispers at her hairdresser’s, and curiosity always burned brighter than loyalty.

Inside, she met Joseph, a quiet jazz guitarist who claimed he had once played for Capone himself. His key was hidden in the hollow of his guitar. When he played, Evelyn swore she could feel the music in her bones.

Their keys clicked.

They disappeared behind a curtain marked with a symbol — a treble clef crossed with a heart. Inside, the room was candlelit, with a velvet couch, mirrors, and champagne on ice. There were rules, of course — respect, consent, discretion — but beyond that, the night belonged to chemistry.

Outside, the mingle continued. Keys were exchanged. Drinks were poured. Laughter echoed. Some came for connection, others for escape, but all left lighter than they came.

When morning approached, The Velvet Key vanished once again, as if it had never existed. Evelyn returned home, lips still tasting like cherries and gin, her key now hanging from her rearview mirror — just in case.

Because in this city, some doors open only once. But the right key? The right key opens a hundred more.

Come join us as we settle into our New Vixen's Den and see if you can get a key into the the velvet curtain!

03/31/2025

Our 1st event was a hit!
DRAG QUEEN BINGO!!

03/20/2025

🥰
Make a differenc.
Safe zone.

03/19/2025

❤️

03/05/2025

Join us‼️‼️

Join is for an unforgettable night of beauty, and comedy at The Rotated Closet's first ever Drag Queen Bingo!