My heart thuds in my throat in synchronisation with the flashing haloes of the elevator buttons. 1, 2, 3... right up to the top, leaving the world I know behind me. The doors slide open (blank, apathetic, clinical) & I step into the echo of a marble floor before teetering apprehensively down the glistening corridor. It smells like money, like power, so unfamiliar it almost makes me spin on my heel & go back -- back, back, before I go too far. The glaring, intrusive brightness of too many reflective surfaces shows me as I am: small, scared, uncertain. Wondering how I got here. Wondering how many more steps I've yet to take before the floor falls out from under me. Before I lose the illusion of power & autonomy that I cling to, as if it's anything more than an illusion.
The door's not hard to find. It's right at the end of the corridor, like it's waiting for me. End of the line, start of... start of what? The fall? The undoing? Like I'll somehow lose myself behind that door?
I'm in it for the money
, I think to myself as I raise my hand to knock,
just one night & I'm out of here.
Just one night, & in the morning I'll still be me. I can forget all this, being brought so low I had to give them my power for a fee --
but there are other ways, darling. There are dead-end jobs, so dull you couldn't bear it. So why here? Don't tell me it's just for the money.
I knock: once, twice, so anxious, so exact, trying to drown out the noise of that voice in my head. He opens the door almost instantly & everything is gone but him.
The first thing I see is his eyes. They bore into me, right through me, with an intensity that pins me down like a flightless butterfly. Like there is nowhere I can hide. Like every detail is open for him to extricate & analyse, pulling me apart with that stern hard gaze.
The rest of him builds itself around those eyes, but none of it so instantly compelling. Tall, square shoulders, dark greying hair, heavy brow. All these details of men, all these insinuations of strength, of power. His hand on the doorframe, gentle but as if he could break it all the same. His lips, quirking into a smile that I cannot define as admiring or mocking. As if he could break me all the same.
"Well, hello there," -- his voice, deep but playful, like this is all a game -- "won't you come in & make yourself comfortable."
I step through the doorway, he moves aside to let me pass. I can feel those piercing eyes on me, watching my tentative progress into the room. It's so white, everything's so white, like this big void come to capture my fall, to strip me of everything I thought I knew. I instinctively make my way to the big leather couch, perching on its edge & looking around with my eyes all big like a lost bird. That smile is still on his face, as if he likes what he sees. I can't help but think of the dichotomy of prey & predator.
"Can I get you a drink?"
I look up at him, he towers over me, smiling, smiling. I almost stutter on my response & he raises an eyebrow, that smile only getting deeper.
"Uh -- yes please." I give a little laugh that's almost a cough & add "something strong, if you don't mind."
He glides to the kitchen (
how can a man so big seem to glide like that?
) & opens a bottle of wine like he's cracking its neck. He pours it into two glasses, the oversized ones rich people always seem to have, & glides back over to me with the bottle tucked under his arm. He passes me one of the glasses, puts the bottle down on the coffee table in front of me (also glass), & taps his to mine with a little
clink
. All of these motions are
delicate
somehow, I can't help but notice as I take a sip. The wine's smooth, gentle, rich, not like I'm used to, & my sips become prolific -- as if I'm trying to drown something, some fear.
He's still looking at me with that damn
smile
, like he's sizing me up -- hell, I could tell him I'm small. Small & getting smaller, sinking through these stupid heels right into his neat white carpet.
"What's your name?" he asks me around the corners of that smile, his eyes not looking away from mine even for a moment.
"I -- I --" I really do stutter this time. Unexpectedly he laughs, deep chuckle like my father's.
"No, I understand, you don't want this world to cross over into that one. This is merely... what is this to you? Labour? Fantasy? Oh sugar, you know I would prefer the latter."
My eyes flash, & his smile slips into the realms of a smirk. "Oh, Sugar."
I look up at him, I don't know whether I'm asking a question or answering it but either way it must be something cos he grabs me, he takes my chin in his big rough hand & lifts it up like I wasn't quite meeting his eyes. & I'm stuck there, I'm stuck there immobile & incapable of looking away.
"You're a shy one, aren't you?" he asks, or tells me, & I would nod if I could.
He suddenly releases me as if I've grown red-hot -- I wouldn't be surprised -- & I cradle my chin instinctively as he sinks with a powerful elegance into an armchair perpendicular to the couch.
"Forgive me --" he says, running a hand across his stubble in the most self-conscious movement I've seen from him so far. "I can get carried away, especially with women as... youthful, & innocent as you." He looks at me, assessing. The wine glass is back in my hands & I'm throwing it back like I haven't seen a drink in weeks. He takes it from me to refill it & I blush. "You are innocent, yes?"
"Well, if you mean things like this... then yes." It's the most I've said all night.
"Mmmm, I thought so. What I mean to say is that I don't want to rush you. But if I may be so bold as to ask... why this? Why are you here, if you are so shy?"
The question reverberates all through me & I tip my second glass of wine to my lips before answering. "Well... the money, you know, I've been having a hard time..."
"Is that all?" His eyes are sparkling now, that smile dancing. "Why this path, of all paths, if not for something more?"
God, how is it that he sees so much with those eyes?
"Well, I guess..."
"You want it, don't you? What a man like me can give you? Even if you don't know how to put that longing into words. You want to feel a release... the release of giving up your power. Isn't it so tiring to cling to? Aren't you tired? Don't you wish that you could just... succumb? To the vulnerability that aches in you? It is like a wound, the pain of which you have never been able to name, or truly feel. Women like you, these young, gentle, women, they are always hurt, & it is never on their own terms. Their power is taken, stolen, & never given freely. Don't you wish to give, give it all up? What freedom there is in surrender. Freedom that fighters like you have never felt, only yearned for, inexplicably, indefinably. Oh sweet, sweet, Sugar, I know what it is that you want."
