Adam strolled quickly up the dark avenue, past the slumbering outlines of other campers and vans, the polished toes of his loafers glinting in the light of a distant streetlamp. Under his breath, he counted the vehicles he passed, his sleek head turning sharply at the slightest sound.
He reached the end of the row and his steps faltered. Peering out into the darkness beyond, he could just make out the faint, blue aura of a neon light and, looking back longingly at the paved campground, stepped off into the bushes in search of the distant glow.
It was a small caravan, like those of gypsies in old fairytale books. Adam guessed he shouldn't have been surprised at the fantastical appearance of the wooden trailer, only he had never seen anything like the detailed silver flowers and creatures etched over the surface of the woodwork before. Smoothing back his hair subconsciously, the man knocked quietly on the red door.
"Come in," purred a velvety voice. Adam held his head up higher and turned the brass knob.
The room was dim and draped with velvety curtains, but otherwise had the interior of the average camper, equipped with a small table, a sink and stovetop, a door leading to a bathroom, and a bed tucked away on a risen platform. At the table sat a young woman with brown curls who was staring at him, unmoving. Adam jumped sharply as his brain registered her presence, but masked his shock with what he clearly thought to be a smooth nod. The woman chuckled.
Now that he was here, his nerves were starting to twitch and his face felt hot. He inserted a finger into his damp collar and cleared his throat.
"I, uh...I was the one who called. I called about my uh...a problem."
"You're Adam," said the woman, leaning into the light streaming from the hanging lamp above the table and he saw clearly that she had a sweet, kind face and a smudge of shadow rested above her small, pert breasts.
"Yes," he said, the air escaping his lungs in a sharp puff of relief. Some of his awkwardness dissolved and he smoothed his hair out of his face and managed a smile.
The woman motioned for him to sit on the booth seat opposite her. He stepped smoothly over and sat. The velvet of the fabric draped over the bench felt soft and cool against his trousers and back.
"Your name was?" asked Adam, injecting a note of cynicism into his voice, hoping to make it clear that he was no fool where business transactions were concerned and that he expected some kind of references from this supposed professional.
For the first time, the woman's gaze turned sharp and Adam knew he was being sized up. He had seen that keen glare on the faces of the men who came to his office; old men, grizzled and accustomed to the shark tank who shouted questions and distrusted the notion that a Facebook page would do anything for their business.
The woman moistened her coral lips with her tongue and replied, "You may call me Miss."
Adam shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat, but said nothing. He supposed dealings such as these did not follow normal business protocol.
"Now," said Miss briskly, the air quivering with a kind of energy with every word, "You're here about your penis if I remember correctly."
Adam breathed sharply, staring into Miss's fawn-brown eyes and feeling a hot prickle crawl over his lower back as he broke out in a sweat. He wasn't going to let her see him falter, though. "That's right," he supplied as quickly as possible, giving her the steely look he reserved for his toughest clients.
