Risque

The air was so cold against her skin, the hallway was dark and depressing with its plain walls. The sound of Damien's shoes, tapping the floor as he led the way sent shivers through her. It felt like she was walking to meet her end.

"How long do I have to stay in the room?" Zia asked, as her lip trembled. She couldn't tell if it was from the cold or from the fear of what she was going to experience. Damien didn't respond.

The whiskey seemed to be working its way through her quickly now. Her nervousness began to subside with each stride. She felt light until Damien stopped in front of a brass door. He reached for the knob and opened the door, grabbing Zia's hand, escorting her into the room. The large room was dark with candles lit just enough to give a hint of light, casting shadows as they danced in the flicker.

Toward the right of the room contained a bed with black bedding, many pillows, and four tall metal posts that spiraled up to a point. It looked comfortable, much more comfortable than what she slept on in the cabin. Zia's bed was small and not very soft. None of the beds were.

There was another set of liquor and glasses on a small table near the bed. It was smaller than Damien's desk, with two chairs placed at it. To the left of the room was a large leather couch with a coffee table in front of it. The walls were scattered with paintings of women in the nude or risqué clothing. It didn't take a genius to figure out what this room was for.

There he was, sitting on the couch, reading a book. She couldn't tell what the book title was in the poor lighting. On the table was a glass of liquor and an ashtray with a lit cigar in it. He wore a Black fedora that matched his black suit and black leather shoes. Shadows from the lowly lighting hid his face.

Zia's heart was beating so fast, she was afraid the man would hear it. She kept as silent as she could.

"Here she is Sir. Will you be needing anything else?" Damien asked the man sitting on the couch. The man simply raised his hand to gesture to Damien that he was ok. Damien walked out and closed the door behind him.

Zia gasped at the sound of the door locking. Her hands were shaking, so she held them behind her as she stood there not knowing what to do. Tears began forming in her eyes. No. I can't let him see me cry. She thought.

The man raised his head to look at her, but she still couldn't see his face. Up and down he slowly gazed at her, making her extremely uncomfortable. Zia could feel her nipples become firm from the overwhelming chill in the room.

The garments Damien forced her to wear, revealed every part of her. She released her hands from behind her and began combing her fingers through her hair, pulling it all to one side, covering herself as much as she could. She looked down at her hair to not stare at him.

"It's beautiful." His deep voice startled her, causing her to drop her hair that mingled through her fingers. "I didn't mean to frighten you." He said. "No, I am ok. It's just a little cold in here." She managed to force the words out of her mouth.

The man stood up and walked towards Zia. Her heart felt like it would burst but she stood still as a statue. The tall figure walked right past her, over to the bed. Zia couldn't help but stare at this man. His walk was powerful. He seemed strong and well taken care of. His suit fit him beautifully and looked expensive.

The man pulled a blanket off the bed and walked toward Zia. He stopped right next to her, draping it around her. She became confused.

Zia pulled the blanket and wrapped it tightly around her. "Thank you. That was very kind of you, Sir." She said. "You're welcome." He replied in the same low voice. Something about his voice was soothing to her. She wasn't shaking anymore. She just stared at him trying to see his face.

"Would you like to sit?" He asked her. "Uhm, ok." She was tired from running anyway. She knew she couldn't trust this man, but she sat down on the couch on the opposite side of where he sat. She fit her legs underneath her and sat with her back against the corner of the couch arm, facing him as she pulled the blanket securely around her.

"Would you like a drink?" He asked. "Yes, please." She replied, without a second thought.

The man got up and took a glass from the table, uncovered a bottle of whiskey and poured her a glass. He walked over to her, handing her the glass. "Thank you, Sir," Zia said, sipping the whiskey this time. She didn't want to feel drunk, but she also didn't want to feel afraid.

"Damien tells me, they call you Zia." That's correct. "Do you not have a last name?" "No, I was abandoned at birth. Damien took me in." She explained. "Damien seems like a nice guy." He said. "I am grateful," Zia replied.

"I guess that explains why you would be in a place like this." He said. "What do you mean?" Zia replied. "Well, I know you must be familiar with the kind of girls that work here." The man said with slight sarcasm in his voice. "Yes, I do know the other girls. They are very different" She said, looking down at her fingers as she played with a string unraveling from the blanket.

"What do you mean?" He asked curiously. Zia sat up straight and looked right where the man's eyes would be if she could see them. "Well, those girls stay here to make money off men like you. Men who come to the circus and expect to be entertained by young women who have never known a better life.

They entertain men who leave their wives at home, hoping to experience the passion that has faded from their lives or passion they have never experienced before."

Zia's words would make any man uncomfortable, but this man was unbothered. He simply listened intently.

"And what about you, Zia? What do you do for men? What makes you so different?" Zia grew quiet and stared at him for a moment. She looked away as though reminiscing and then back at him.

"I simply love to dance. That is all." She said with a smile as she tilted her head to the side and rest on the couch back. The man seemed intrigued.

Zia felt tired suddenly. She was relaxed. Something about this man was calming. She lifted her glass and noticed it was empty. She felt a little lightheaded. Shifting her body to get more comfortable, she yawned. "What is your name, Sir?" She asked as she faded away.