I ignored all of the stares that my "co-workers" (if you could call them that) gave me as I passed throught the living quarters of the Palace.
I trudged upstairs, closing and locking the door to my room before anyone could ambush me with questions. I hung up the man's jacket on the coat-rack that the customers generally used. After all, that was what he was, a customer. A customer who didn't stay to pay the full price. I dug through my closet and found the most concealing clothes from my wardrobe. I put them on and headed downstairs for dinner.
Angela was the first one to question me.
"So, did you know that man?" she asked. Angela was really the only person at the Palace that I really considered my friend. She was the only one that been there longer than I had. All of the other dancers and prostitutes that had been there when I came had left and been replaced. I didn't know why, but somehow that seemed to cement our relationship.
"No, he just walked in, put the jacket on me and left," I explained. "It was like the only thing that he had come here to do was give it to me. Like I was his sister and I forgot something and he was bringing it to me. He didn't even want any kind of pleasure. It was weird," I recalled. As far as I could remember, no man had ever denied any favor from me, especially sexual. I had a reputation in Vegas. It was definitely different from what I was used to.
"Odd," Jessica agreed. "I wonder if there are more guys like that out there. Then maybe we can catch a little break," she dreamed. How a guy giving you a jacket constituted "getting a break," I didn't know, but I didn't even hesitate to shatter her little fantasy.
"You don't exactly want a break in this business," I reminded her. "As much as it may suck, the less we work, the less we're paid, the sooner we get kicked out of here. And even then, what are we going to do when we do get out of here? What else are we good at? We'll just end up doing the same thing that we're doing here, only somewhere else." Trust me, I wanted to add, I know from experience.
Ever since I was eight, I knew nothing other than this life. All because of my drunken uncle, Charlie. Well, really it was more of my father's fault. If he had taken care of the mess that he had gotten himself into, AKA me, I never would have had to live with Charlie, and I never would have been sent to work for James.
I had to give Uncle Charlie credit, though. He didn't know what it was that I would end up doing, but if he wasn't so drunk maybe he would have been responsible enough to take care of me. Or he would have been sober enough to see through Laurent's lies. I knew damn well that Laurent knew what was going on, or what would go on. And looking back on it, any sober mind could see through those con artists.
The only reason I continued this line of work was to live. Ever since I began living with James, my life ceased to have a purpose, but for some reason, I didn't exactly feel like starving myself to death quite yet. But this was the only thing that I knew. And I was one of the few who had actually been "trained" in this profession. After all, it's not exactly an offered course in school.
I had only met my father once, and never wanted to again after the way he treated me and my mother. Luckily for me, I'd never have to deal with that little bastard again. I made sure of that a long while ago.
In a matter of time, dinner was over, and the work began.
This kind of work would be so much easier if we were in the 1800s. Back then, all men wanted was the sex. So in between men in the old brothels, the girls would only have to re-dress themselves in something like a robe.
But this was the 21st century. The era of the instant porn downloads and movies that aren't successful unless there's some sort of sex scene. The men wanted the added pleasure of ripping your clothes off in passion that realistically wouldn't exist on a one-night-stand. They were just trying to copy the passion and pleasure they see in the movies.
And all the men were the same.
"How do you want me to be."
"Rough."
I was brushing my hair after the second customer when the third walked in without knocking.
"Have you ever been here before? You're supposed to knock," I told him, not even turning to look at him. It wasn't even true. Nobody knocked anymore. I was more angry with the fact that he was early. I still had ten minutes of break before I had to start working again. I was still in only my undergarments from the last client.
"I'm sorry, miss, I didn't mean the intrusion, I'll wait outside," said a familiar voice.
Familiar voices were a foreign concept to me. You don't recognize voices in this business. Not unless that particular person stood out. Not unless they really made an impact, or did something that no one else had done. Such men as those that you talk about with your cohorts over the dinner table. The ones that you ponder on for hours.
It was the man who had given me his coat. At the Palace, you had to pay before you even got upstairs. Which meant that this man had paid for an hour of pleasure just to collect his jacket. That was rather nice. I got an hour off and was still paid for it. That was a beautiful thought.
"No, wait!" I ordered. Oddly, standing in front of him, I felt exposed. I guess it was the fact that the last time that I had seen him, I was covered with his coat. I grabbed my silk robe and covered myself so that I was wearing more than just my underwear. "Here's your jacket," I said, taking it off of the coat-rack and handing it to him.
"Thanks, but that's not what I came here for," he told me. Great. He was just like evey other man. He wanted the sex and nothing more. The jacket was just a way to soften me up. Clever. I had never dealt with a guy willing to think about how he was going to get the best out of me.
"How do you want me to be, mister?" I asked dully.
"I'm not here for that, either," he added.
Okay, so what are you here for, idiot? I wanted so badly to ask. Instead, I asked "Well, then. What can I do for you?"
"You can tell me your name," he told me. That was simple enough.
"Angel," I stated.
"Your real name," he clarified.
My heart stopped. No one other than myself knew my real name. Only one other person even knew that Angel wasn't my real name. And he wasn't calling me anything anytime soon. Not if I had anything to say about it. Everyone else that knew was dead. How could this strange man know anything about my name?
"We use our real names here at the Palace," I told him, and it wasn't even a lie except for my case. As far as the Palace was concerned, Angel was my real name. "And may I ask what your real name is?" I asked coldly.
"Edward. Edward Masen," he answered swiftly.
"And what do you want with me?" I asked, starting to get impatient.
"I want you to marry me," I bluntly declared. I couldn't help but laugh.
"Oh. Wow. That's my third marriage proposal today. Three for three. And this time I didn't even have to do anything!" I said sarcasticaly.
"No, I'm serious. I can take you out of here. I work at a hospital. It's really a good paying job. I can take care of you, help you get trained for a different job..." he started. I stopped listening at "I can take you out of here."
It was Jacob all over again. Jacob, the young man who had worked in the kitchens at James's large mansion. He had seen me crying on the stairs one day and asked what was wrong. I was fourteen at the time and knew that what James had been doing was wrong. But I was naive enough to think that I could do anything about it. So I told Jacob everything.
Unlike me, Jacob wasn't that naive. He knew that if he reported James to the police, I would be the first one that James came after. So instead, he did everything he could to get me going my own way. Apparently the one thing he didn't do was be careful. It wasn't long until James found out what Jacob was trying to do and "took care" of him.
Sure James wasn't there right then. But he was searching. I knew the second I was able to escape that dreadful mansion that I would never be able to live in peace. I always knew that he was somewhere out there looking for me, and probably hiding, as well as I, thinking that I had alerted the police reporting him.
If I went with Edward, even if I wanted to, and James found me, Edward would be the one to pay. He would end up just like Jacob. I wouldn't wish that kind of end on anybody. Except maybe James himself. Correction: drop the "maybe."
"Look, I really don't have time for this, so if you don't want to be pleased, please leave so I can take the rest of the hour and rest so I can give the next customer the ride of a lifetime," I requested, trying to disgust him. Any man that denied pleasure in a Vegas dance club was definitely against the idea of prostitution. Especially if said man gives a prostitute a jacket.
"See, you don't have to do this to yourself. I can care for you, I can get you out of here and help you get trained for a better job. A job you would be proud of. A job someone like your mother would be proud of," he urged.
It was almost as if someone with an impossible amount of knowledge of my past was feeding him things to say to me to get me to want to leave with him. My mother. I remembered one day when my mother and I were living near the docks of Brooklyn. She had sat me down and told me that my life would be different. My children would be raised by two parents who loved them to no ends. I wouldn't be wondering who I was going to sleep with that night in order to feed my daughter. I was only seven at the time, but I knew that she didn't want me living near the docks when I grew up.
And now I was doing worse. And my life was the exact opposite of what my mother would have wished for me. It was worse than my mother's life.
"Please leave," I asked. I really did want him to leave. With him reminding me of my past with every word he spoke. The past that, though it was so terrible, I would rather go back to any day than to live out whatever the future had planned for me.
"I will, but I'll be back, I promise," he swore. Whether or not his promise was kept wouldn't matter. I was staying at the Palace until I was to old to do them any good, and then I would leave, taking my percentage of the money that I had made, which would be enough to live off of for quite a while with the price they had me marked for.
"Don't forget your jacket," I reminded him, mannerless. He left the door open behind him and I slammed it shut.
When I didn't come to breakfast the next morning, Angela came into my room and found me sitting on my floor, leaning against my bed. She walked over to me and slumped down beside me. Angela didn't need to fill the silence with chatter. So for a while, neither of us said nothing. Angela's presence was enough to make me momentarily forget about the previous night.
"I saw that Jacket-man came to see you last night," she brought up. I knew she meant it as small talk, but it still upset me to be reminded of the man whose promise of freedom still burned at the edges of my mind. "So, was he anything like the other men?" she wondered. I could tell she was truly curious, and trying to hide it at the same time.
"He didn't even want to be pleased at all," I told her, still in awe.
"Well then, what did he want?" she asked, not trying to mask her wonder this time.
"Oh, he was just one of those men who have nothing better to do than to torture us with the images of freedom and a life that girls like us could never dream about," I explained.
"I don't know, Angel. You've never told me where you've come from, or what you've been through, but whatever your past is like, you're too good for this place. I think you should consider it. Maybe he's not lying, whatever he told you his situation is," Angela suggested. It sounded too good to be true.
"It doesn't matter whether or not he will get me out," I said. "It doesn't matter whether or not he's telling the truth. It just doesn't matter."
