A Fall of Night

"No way!" Anna laughed, peering over her shoulder at the computer screen.

"It is, look." Dorien gestured at the screen, her face bright in its blue glow.

This was unreal. So unreal that she started to feel a little unsettled. Behind her, on the sofa, she heard Debbie giggling, high pitched, hilarious.

"Who is it?" Anna said.

"Don't know. There's some user name, registered in Italy, but I have no idea beyond that."

She stared at the screen. This was insane.

"Is it real?"

"Yes. I mean...I think so. I set it up in the Netherlands, so it's legal."

Slowly the hilarity drained from the room, replaced by incredulity. Then a stunned silence.

Who would pay five million dollars for her virginity?

******

"You're American?"

"I have dual citizenship. My father is Dutch," she said, shifting uneasily.

He looked at her, grey eyes intense beneath beetling brows, silver like his hair.

There was something about him that made her skin crawl.

"You speak other languages?"

"Dutch, some German, a little French."

He nodded, walked to the window adjacent to the polished desk, looked out across the city, thinking.

She glanced quickly across at Anna, saw her shrug almost imperceptibly.

The office was cool, overly air-conditioned, but not unpleasant. Since they'd entered it had been filled with the rich smell of fresh coffee, an anonymous young woman in a business suit filling the waiting silence with its arrangement before discretely absenting herself.

In the weeks since the auction it had become apparent that the offer was deadly serious. It was an extraordinary sum, a life changing sum. For a nineteen year old struggling to pay college bills it was the answer to her prayers - she'd be set up for life, not just for college.

At first negotiation had been by email. After that she'd met with his agent. A slim woman called Margaret, dark-haired, with the brisk air of a lawyer. There'd been a medical examination to confirm her claim - discrete, professional, a top clinic, doctors - all paid for by the 'client'.

Finally, satisfied, he'd wanted to meet with her in person - final arrangements to be concluded at the meeting.

She'd thought of telling her mother - even of bringing her along as her chaperone - but that was one complication too many. Telling her father was out of the question. Instead she'd asked Anna, a few years older and the most worldly of her friends.

He'd met them at the offices of a legal firm, an anonymous presence high in the steel and glass shelter of one of the city's myriad skyscrapers. It was clear from the outset that the location held no special significance to him, was chosen precisely for this characteristic.

He was a tall man - a head taller than Dorien -- gaunt rather than slim and impressive rather than handsome. His age indeterminate, anywhere between late forties and early sixties, Dorien thought. His grey eyes were his most impressive feature - they were intense, penetrating, almost discomfiting.

She'd felt uncomfortable from the first moment.

He'd greeted them warmly enough, but she had the feeling that it was a shallow welcome, no more than a façade. As soon as she'd entered Dorien had been struck by the strange atmosphere, a feeling she couldn't shake. She kept thinking there was someone else present - someone glimpsed in shadow from the corner of her eye - but every time she turned, nothing. It didn't help to put her at ease.

"Miss Janssen?" His voice disturbed her reverie, pulled her back to the room. He was staring at her, leaning on the windowsill, wearing a determined smile.

"Sorry... I was thinking." She tried for a smile - made it halfway, into a kind of grimace.

"You understand, Miss Janssen, that the timing of this...event...is of paramount importance?"

His voice was accented, but it was no language with which she was familiar - more eastern European, she thought.

She nodded. "So Margaret led me to believe. She wasn't...uh...specific about what or why."

"No. I asked her not to be."

Abruptly he seemed to reach some kind of resolution - returned to the desk, taking a seat behind it.

He exuded power, she thought. Not physical power, more the power of a senator or of royalty. Someone who was used to people doing what he wanted and expected everybody to do as he said. She didn't like him - felt a little intimidated by him, in truth.

"Margaret tells me that you have no particular taboos."

"That's right. I'm, uh, fairly open minded," she blushed a little at that, "um, what did you, uh, have in mind?"

For a moment he looked at her, his face blank; then he laughed - a genuine chuckle of amusement.

"Charming as I find you Miss Janssen, it is not me who will be taking your virginity." She looked at him, nonplussed. He smiled warmly at her - warm like a cat at a trapped mouse, she thought. "No. Your virginity is a Valentine's Day gift - for my son," he said at last.

Dorien blinked, looked at Anna. This was even weirder.

"What do you get for the man who's got everything, right?" Anna said, grinning.

He laughed harder at that. "Quite so."

Finally he opened a drawer on the desk drew out a Manila envelope, placed it on the desk.

"I think it is time we 'talked turkey' as you Americans are so fond of saying," he said, tapping his lip with his finger. "You appear to meet my needs, Miss Janssen, and I am willing to enter into this contract with you. It is only fair that you understand my requirements before you agree - they're quite particular and not open to negotiation."

He paused, looking directly at her with those intense eyes of his; it was hard not to flinch, impossible to hold his gaze for more than a moment.

"Firstly, introductions. My name is Ivan Alexandrov. Who I am and what I do is unimportant. I ask you to respect my privacy on this matter. What is important is that I am willing to pay you five million dollars, US, for you to lose your virginity with my son. Is this acceptable to you, so far?"

Dorien swallowed, nervous. Nodded.

"Excellent. This is my first requirement. The deed will be done on February the fourteenth, on Valentine's Day. Does this pose any difficulty for you?"

She shook her head.

"Good. Second requirement. He is not to know that I am paying you or the nature of this transaction. He must think it a romantic assignation, even after the deed is done. Is this clear to you?"

"Yes..." Her mind raced. "But how -" He held up his hand, interrupted her.

"You will have time to question me in a moment, allow me to lay out the details of what I require first. Agreed?"

She nodded.

"This last part is most crucial. I will require proof that my son has taken your virginity." He looked at her so intensely she could almost feel it -- like the legs of insects tickling her skin. "You will use a condom. After the deed is done you will bring this used condom to me, on the morning of the fifteenth. Is this absolutely clear to you?"

Ughh. "Yes."

"Good. As you see, my demands are simple. You may ask questions now."

Dorien looked at Anna. She shrugged.

"How do I get to..." She paused, feeling momentarily embarrassed, struggled to find a suitable phrase. "To, uh, sleep with him, if he isn't expecting me - what if he doesn't, you know, want to?"

"For five million dollars, Miss Janssen - be persuasive," he said, his tone mocking. "You are a very pretty girl, you will have fewer troubles than you imagine. I will arrange for you to meet him, the rest is up to you."

She swallowed her irritation. "Does it have to be the fourteenth, I mean, what if he's sick or something?"

He looked at her for a long while before answering. "Miss Janssen, you are a Valentine's Day gift. He will be in Venice on the sixteenth, the date is non-negotiable."

"Okay, right."

The silence stretched. Dorien turned to Anna. She raised her eyebrows, shrugged but said nothing.

"No more?" he said at last. "Good. In this envelope," he pushed it over the desk towards her, "you will find pictures of him - so that you can identify him."

Dorien opened it, expecting to find the Hunchback of Notre Dame looking back at her. Instead she found a good looking man in his early twenties, though his age was hard to place. Fine, prominent bones, dark hair, a strong jaw - a touch of melancholy around his eyes, perhaps. His face was intriguing, she thought.

"What's his name?" she said absently. It was pretty clear that the man in the photos didn't know that they were being taken.

"Nikolay."

She nodded. Put the photos back, there was little chance she'd fail to recognise him now. "Okay, Mister Alexandrov, I'll do it, I accept."

Anna giggled slightly.

"I didn't doubt it," he said, glancing briefly at Anna. "Mikhail here-" as if on cue the door behind the desk opened and a man in a light suit walked in, "-will see to payment. I suggest one million now - deposited into the bank of your choice - four more when I receive my proof. Is this acceptable?"

"It is." She could barely keep the excitement from her voice. Five million dollars. How bad could it be?

"Good. Mikhail will give you a number to call when you are ready. I think that concludes our business, Miss Janssen."

"Yes." God, his eyes were so intense.

******

"Well?" Anna said.

Dorien swallowed, disconnected the call. "It's there. One million dollars," she said, smiling slightly, eyes a little wild. "My God, I'm rich."

Anna laughed. "You don't seem that happy for a millionaire."

"I haven't earned it yet," she said, shrugging.

"So, what did you think?" Anna said, lying back on Dorien's bed, stockinged feet wriggling in the air.

"I don't know... It was weird," she said. "But, then, what's normal about any of this?"

Anna giggled loudly, put on a reasonable approximation of Alexandrov's accent: "I am eccentric billionaire, last year I buy Dubai, this year I buy virgin for son-"

"For five million dollars he can have me..." Dorien said, speaking over her.

"-you must fuck him and bring me condom, is all part of weird family ritual..." she said, laughing.

"Anna!"

"Oh, alright," she said at last, sighing. "You rich kids are no fun. What's this son of his look like, anyway?"

Dorien handed her the envelope. "He's not Quasimodo, at least."

"He's probably got terrible BO." Anna pulled the pictures from the envelope, leafing through them. "Actually, he's not bad looking... Makes you wonder why he can't get his own virgins a bit cheaper."

"Will you stop saying that?"

"What?"

"Virgin," she said, blushing slightly. "I don't want the whole campus to know."

Anna looked at her, laughed. "You won't be for much longer, Dorien!" she said. At that Dorien looked so uncomfortable that it stopped her laughter. "Hey... You haven't got to go through with it, you know," she said seriously. " You could just say no, forget the whole thing."

"I know that, I know I could. I've thought about it, I have. But it's five million dollars, Anna," she said quietly, sitting next to her on the bed. "Five million -- think about what that means."

"Have you?"

Dorien smiled. "I don't know... Not really, I guess." She stared off towards the window, watching the drapes stir gently. "He kind of freaked me out..."

"Who? Alexandrov?"

"Who else?" she said, taking another drink. "Didn't you feel anything weird about him?"

"A bit, I suppose. He was a little intense... But I don't suppose you get to be rich enough to buy virgins without being focused," she said, smiling wickedly up at Dorien, saw the merest ghost of a smile in response.

"No... It was more than that. Just a feeling..." She saw Anna looking at her, smiled. "Probably nothing, just nerves." She shook herself, brushed the feeling away. "Anyway, I thought we would go meet Nikolay here," she pointed at the top photograph - in it he was just coming out of a shop, his face smiling easily at someone out of shot - "see how I feel about it then..."

"Okay, your call Dorien."

******

She had two days left. Two days until Valentine's Night.

For five evenings she had been coming, sometimes alone, sometimes with Anna. On each of those nights the same routine, sit at the bar, or a table, drink soda, wait until it closed. The bar was quiet enough that the barkeep didn't seem overly keen to examine her fake ID. For the first couple of nights she or Anna'd had to rebuff advances from men, but their presence was quickly absorbed by the locals and the advances had slowed, then stopped. On each night, no Nikolay.

For a time she had been uncomfortable with the thought of what she'd agreed to do. The concept of selling herself, her body, did not sit easily with her, would have horrified her family, her dad - the American dream's last true believer - had they known. Something that weighed heavily on her. Then as time passed and she had come to realise that Nikolay might never show, she had developed the opposite anxiety - that she would lose the money altogether, that her life would return to the humdrum stress of always being one bill away from dropping out.

To make it worse, the routine itself was enervating. On the first evening she'd felt the thrill of something new, some obscure excitement embodied in the act of offering herself to a stranger. His absence had gradually worn that down, blunted her excitement along with her anxiety. Now it was just a bar, just another night. Nikolay was a shadow, unseen, unexpected; more legend than reality - the one conclusion that she was able to draw being that Ivan didn't know his son nearly as well as he should.

So it was that his sudden arrival out of the winter rain on this Friday night produced a muted reaction. For a moment she didn't notice him amongst the scattering of figures in the shadowed interior, then for a while she refused to believe that it was him - though she knew it was, knew his face better than her own.

He wore a dark suit, a white shirt, open neck. Hidden from sight, she watched him buy cigarettes from the machine, select music from the jukebox - melancholy songs rich with guitars and blues' beats - and take a seat at the bar, sipping from a bottle of beer. He was alone but he betrayed none of the self-consciousness that usually embodied, sitting instead with an assured confidence.

His pictures didn't do him justice, she concluded. He looked younger in the flesh, only a little older than her she suspected, and he was better looking than his pictures suggested - lean and tanned, with close cropped black hair.

With a deep breath she slipped onto the stool next to his, crossing her long legs, hooking one ankle behind the other, and leaned on the bar. He glanced across, the tip of his cigarette glowing in the dark. He had his father's eyes. Storm grey, intense, direct. She shivered.

"Get you something, Miss?" the barkeep said.

She looked at Nikolay. "Whatever he's having, please."

Nikolay looked at her again, his face neutral, his eyes cool. He had something else in common with his father, she thought. Like Ivan he seemed to exude power, but in Nikolay's case it was more immediate, more present - the sort of feeling you'd get from standing too close to a tiger, she imagined.

The barkeeper placed an opened bottle on the bar, smirked, went away.

"Uh, hi," she said, smiling at him.

His expression didn't change. For the longest time he stared at her, his bottle held in the same hand as his cigarette, smoke drifting aimlessly through the air. She fidgeted uncomfortably.

"You are an exceptionally pretty girl," he said at last, his voice educated, precise, no accent. "And clearly not used to approaching men in bars. So?"

She slugged a big chunk of beer, unsettled. "Uh, you're right..." she said, her mind racing. "I've, uh, just broken up with my boyfriend and, uh, you know?" She swallowed more beer.

He stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray, drunk a little beer, his movements precise, fluid. "Attractive as you are, I'm afraid I'd be poor company this evening."

Her heart lurched nervously, this wasn't going as she'd planned. "Now you've intrigued me, saying that," she said. "Why?"

For a time the silence between stretched, but she didn't sense him dismissing her, or shutting her out; he seemed to be thinking. Finally he spoke, not looking at her: "I had to kill a man today."

For a moment she didn't react, her mind struggling to understand what he'd said in the absence of any context. Then a thousand things raced through her mind - shock, fear, horror, curiosity all warring together. Strangely, curiosity won. Perhaps if it hadn't been for the five million she'd never have approached him, but something else possessed her now.

"That's not an answer I expected," she said. "Why?"

His eyes regarded her evenly, but with more interest than before, she thought. "Do you like this bar?" he replied.

She looked about. In truth she hadn't thought about it before. It was where Ivan had said she would find Nikolay. Beyond that it held little interest for her. Now she looked at it with fresh eyes. It was better than the student bar on campus - full of shadowed recesses, where that was too brightly lit - it had a small dance-floor, a decent jukebox, a serviceable bar.

"I have no strong feelings," she said.

"Me neither." He sipped his beer, eyes never leaving her. "Fancy a walk?"

She looked out through the window. "It's raining."

He shrugged.

"Okay," she said at last. "I'll walk with you."

A slight smile drifted across his face. "Aren't you scared? I've just told you that I killed a man."

"Are you planning on killing me?" she said, wide eyed.

"Not yet," he said, smiling.

And then, like that, she knew she had him. She didn't know how she knew, or why. But she did. Like she knew when a key fit a lock, or a hand a glove. A pleasant, warm feeling, like finishing a piece of music when you know you've done well.

"Then I'll take my chances," she said.

He smiled at that. She was surprised when he offered her his arm, more surprised when she realised how much she liked holding it.

He led her into the rain.

The streets were slick, traffic hissing past on the wet road surface, tail lights reflecting like red jewels. Those few people still walking were busy rushing from shelter to shelter, umbrellas, hoods or jackets held desperately against the cold rain. Somehow, the two of them didn't seem to be getting wet, little more than an occasional windblown drop troubling her; nor did she feel the cold.

They walked for a while in silence, Nikolay smoked a cigarette. It was strong, pungent but not unpleasant.

"You look cute when you do that," he said into the silence.

"What?"

"When you wrinkle your nose like that. Makes me want to keep smoking."

She smiled warmly, pulling him closer. "So, are you going to tell me your name?"

"Nicholas. Nicholas Alexander."

"Dorien Janssen," she said. "So, where are you taking me Nicholas, or shall I call you Nick?"

"Which one do you think suits me best?"

She looked at him, the tip of her tongue touching her upper lip thoughtfully. "You look like a Nicholas; so I'll call you Nick."

"Why?"

"Because I'll be the only one doing it - everybody else can call you Nicholas."

They crossed the street, dashing between almost stationary traffic on to the opposite sidewalk.

"Where are you taking me?" she said again.

"To get a donut."

"A donut?"

"Wait and see."

The cafe had a frontage that was a long expanse of glass, two windows curving into the central door, gold lettering on the pane. The window on the counter side was filled with stands covered by cakes and pastries, their warm colours seeping into the night through the rain streaked glass. The other offered a more conventional view of tables and chairs, secluded booths. A bell tinkled lightly when Nick opened the door, guiding her into the shop. Inside the walls were panelled in dark wood, hung with black-framed pictures depicting European landscapes in black and white and sepia. A long, old fashioned cafe counter ran the length of the room, tables and booths of leather and scarred wood scattered opposite.