Alone in Paris.

The streets of Paris have hardened me, made me impervious to life's hardships. They say Paris is the city of romance, of song and dance and laughter. Ah, Gay Paris, a place for lovers to stroll hand in hand along the river Seine, under moonlight. A place swimming in the aromatic scent of spectacular food and magnificent wines and fascinating culture. A heady mix that is sure to intoxicate the intrepid traveller causing him to fall in love with the city and its people.

Little is known of the goings on of the back streets, home to the lowly and desperate. That side of the city is ignored, forgotten, to be brushed aside like dust under the carpet. People don't want to think of the seedier side of the city they love. They eat, drink, dance the night away, unaware or conveniently ignorant that the dregs of society are but feet away, keeping out of sight, scurrying for protection from the elements like rats to a sewer. The dark side of the city isn't seen by the tourist or the rich. Oh, they know it is there, like in any city, but they like to pretend otherwise; anything to block out the truth.

When I came to Paris in my late teens, I was full of hope of what the big city could offer me, with the lights of the Eiffel Tower to light my way to greatness. I procured myself a job as a waitress to pay my way through dance school. I rented a dingy little room in a shared house. It wasn't much, but it was all I could afford at the time. I was just like any other student really, just trying to make something of myself.

I worked hard at my job and in classes. I was told I was a good dancer, could make something of myself if I put the hours in. But money was tight, I was struggling to pay the bills. The usual story for many like me. I took on extra shifts at the restaurant where I worked, which had a knock on effect to my training; my dancing was beginning to suffer. I was in debt, my morale was low, I could see my dream slipping away from me. I was at an all time low and I had no-one to turn to. I'd left my family and friends far away in the country, I didn't even have the change to make a phone call to them.

One night, the restaurant had closed and I found myself sitting alone in the dark, nursing my sorrows over a hot cup of coffee bought with my meagre tips. There were no freebies at 'Marcel's'. A noise coming from out back alerted me to the presence of another waitress. I'd thought I was alone. Antoinette joined me at the table. Working long shifts at the restaurant and drinking had taken its toll on her once pretty face. Age had not done her any favours. She was thin, pale and her face was lined. She was only thirty-five, but could have been much older. Guilt crept in as I hoped to myself I wouldn't end up like her. She'd been good to me when I started, shown me the ropes and how best to handle the regulars. She lit a cigarette offering me one, which I declined.

"What troubles you Cherie? She said, lifting my chin with a red polished fingernail.
And so I told her all my woes, tears stinging my eyes.

"Ah, I have ze solution, I know someone who can 'elp."

Antoinette continued to tell me of a man she knew who could set me up with an enterprising 'business' solution. I didn't know how it could help, I didn't have any experience in business. I told my friend this.

"Do not worry, ma chère, you don't need any experience. Just contacts. You will be earning good money in no time." Antoinette's words were full of assurance and it eased my mind a little. How naive I was.

A week later and I was presented with my first 'client'. I was petrified. I had no idea what was expected of me. All I had been told was to listen to the client's needs and provide the service. What service was it, I wondered. What if I couldn't do whatever it was?

"It'll be simple," Remy had said pushing me through the door into a small bedroom. I couldn't see how a business deal could be agreed upon in a mildew ridden bedroom, wouldn't an office be better?

I was trembling when the man, small and balding and smelling badly of BO entered the room. He advanced towards me, getting so close I could smell the metallic scent of old alcohol on his breath. It made me gag. He was leering at me and as I tried to back away, he went to grab at my arm. I was so scared of this man, I started to cry. I made an effort to stop the tears, gulping down the lump in my throat. Perhaps I sensed it wasn't wise to show weakness, I really can't tell you.

"H...how can I 'elp you?" I managed to stammer. The man was unbuttoning his trousers. As it dawned on me what it was he wanted, I was appalled, ashamed. It must have shown on my face.

"No need for pretences," the man drooled, "We both know you enjoy it, whore."

"No...I don't understand," I said, hot tears streaming down my cheeks. I was shaking so badly now, I thought my teeth would shatter from grinding together. The man grabbed my hand, but I managed to wrench my arm away from his grip. I ran out of the room and attempted to flee the building. I would have succeed too, but Remy caught me just as I'd reached the front door.

Remy was furious with me telling me the man had been a valued customer. I'd lost Remy a lot of money.

"You go back in there and wait for the next client!" he'd shouted

"But, I don't want..."

"You signed a contract, miss. You owe me. Or can you pay now?" he sneered. He knew I couldn't afford to. My rent was due along with other bills. My wages as a waitress wasn't enough to cover it all. I did as I was told, resolving to get out of my 'contract' as soon as I could. In the meantime, perhaps I'd be able to block out the awful things I was expected to do? Maybe Antoinette would help me find a way out. But I felt awful about that, she'd helped me so much already. It didn't occur to me to be angry at her – it had been her who'd told me about Remy and his so called 'business' after all. Maybe she was just as trapped as I was? We had to stick together.

I soon learned that getting free from Remy wasn't going to be as easy as I had hoped. He threatened to tell my boss at the restaurant what I was up to. I needed that job. It was my only way out. Long shifts at the restaurant and now working for Remy meant I was struggling with my dance classes; I was often too tired to concentrate, unable to remember the moves. My teacher became impatient and, after a few weeks of missed lessons, I was thrown out of school.

I was at my lowest at that point in my life. I was thrown into a whirlwind of despair. I tried to get extra hours at the restaurant, not just for the extra money but to avoid Remy. But business wasn't good, they were struggling to keep the staff they had as it was. If it wasn't for Antoinette's constant friendship, I'm not sure I could have gotten through.

Months passed and I had managed to save a bit of money. If I could save enough, maybe I could move away. Perhaps I could go back to my parents. But that was no good. I hadn't found the courage to tell them I was no longer dancing. They thought I was destined for great things. So, what to do? I'd lost a lot of weight and my health was suffering. My shifts at the restaurant were dwindling, the owner feared he'd have to close up. Antoinette had already lost her job. To make ends meet she suggested the two of us ditch Remy and go 'freelance'. With my friend by my side, I had the courage to stand up to Remy and his threats. We were finally free to earn our own money instead of the mere twenty percent Remy allowed us to keep.

It wasn't the most glamorous or desirable of career choices, but what choice did I have? I was uneducated, with no prospect of getting work. In my spare time I had gone to every dance school in Paris without any luck. No one wanted to take on a drop out who couldn't pay the fees. My dream was over.

That was six years ago. I am completely alone now: Antoinette died two years ago. I am still doing the only thing I know. I can't say I exactly enjoy my line of work, but I suppose I have learned to appreciate it for what it is. I earn good money, earned from regular grateful clients. I have tried, over the years to look for more 'respectable' work, but with no qualifications to speak of, and no experience other than the job at the restaurant that I finally lost when the owner was forced to sell, I can't get references. This is my life now. I have accepted it. I am one of the undesirable that taint the great city that its residents prefer to turn a blind eye to.

That is until the Monstrum killings. Paris was forced to wake up to the reality that the glorious city isn't as pretty or glamorous it is dressed up to be. The killings have reminded the ignorant that there is more to gay Paris than can ever be guessed at to the everyday tourist.

The streets have been deserted for weeks now. Only the desperate or stupid will venture out unless it is absolutely necessary. And of course, there's me, whose living depends on any work I can get. These are desperate times.

Which is why I was surprised to be approached by an English lady early one morning a couple of days ago. She didn't seem desperate or stupid, and by the sound of her upper class accent, she wasn't in need of easy cash. What she did require was information. She seemed very interested in the Monstrum. I didn't know or care what her business was, so I told her all I knew before telling her to move along. After all, she was taking up valuable time for this Working Girl.

Finis