Chapter 4

Warnings for this chapter: discussion of prostitution (nothing too graphic), angst as always, grief, and some adorably awkward flirting. Enjoy :)

When I come home from Ivan's on Christmas Eve, I almost drop to the floor. I'm so tired I can't even see straight. But as soon as I open the door, Elsa tackles me. She's grinning and saying, 'merry Christmas, baby sister', right in my ear. Over her shoulder I see the most beautiful Christmas tree I've ever seen. It's not huge, but it's perfectly shaped with lights, candy canes and tinsel all over it. There's even a star on top.

I want to ask Elsa how she did this, where she got it, how she got it up here but I'm just so shocked I can't speak. Eventually I find my voice and I tell her that I love it, that it's beautiful and that I'm so excited. In reality I just want to go to sleep. I beg her to let me go shower before we finish decorating it together. Her eyes narrow at me and her eyebrows knit together but she lets me go.

After I take a shower, Elsa and I make Christmas cookies in the toaster oven. We don't have any cookie cutters but we use knives to carve the dough into the shapes we want. She makes a Christmas tree, a snowman and a heart. I make two stars and a gingerbread man. We both realize we have no frosting, so we just eat them the way they are.

Like every night, we're sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, leaning back against the couch. Even though our heat is on, we still enjoy the fire time. Elsa asks me if I remember much about Christmases from before Mom and Dad died. I have to think about it, because that's not a place I let my brain go all that often. It just makes me too sad. Mom and Dad were so great to us. We didn't have loads of money, but they always did their best. Just like we do now. It was so hard for us when they died. We only had each other, but we both grieved in such different ways. Elsa pulled in, like she always does, and hardly spoke for weeks. I went around glaring at everyone, punching walls and hurting my hand, pushing everyone away, including my best friend Hans. I have to shake my head hard to clear that train of thought.

I remember Mom and Dad got me this toy pegasus when I was little - maybe eight or nine. It had a rainbow mane and tail and glittery silver wings, like Elsa's snow angel costume from Halloween. I named it Fancy Dancer and carried it everywhere with me. It got filthy and eventually lost most of the hair from it's mane and tail, but I loved it anyway. I have it still.

Elsa tells me she remembers her favorite gift from a Christmas past: an art set that had every single color of pencil, pen and oil pastel you could dream of. It had graphite pencils in various sizes, gum erasers and a pencil sharpener. It had a set of water colors and a brush with a wooden handle. It came in a giant box with a spot in the middle for a sketchbook or paint pad. I can kind of remember that, actually, and the memories sharpen as Elsa talks about how Mom and Dad always hung her creations on the refrigerator or on the wall in their bedroom. Elsa was really talented, even as a child, and I'm willing to bet she still is.

My November and December checks from Ivan's place are even bigger than October's. The guy who has a thing for his fourteen-year-old has become a regular of mine, and he does pay nicely, just like Ivan said. Aside from him, I've gotten a few other regular clients. There's the big, reddish-haired guy with a funky accent who is nice enough but nearly rips me in half all the time from his sheer size. He says he runs a sauna for a living and I have no idea what that means, but he tells me I should come check it out sometime, free of charge. I always just nod and smile and he usually changes the subject pretty quick.

Then there's the older lady who is all angles and sneers, with black and white hair and gaudy red lipstick. She's French, I believe, and she likes to make me dress up in weird clothes and touch myself in front of her. She never lays a hand on me, just sits there across the room, her eyes glittering in the fucking creepiest manner, a lit cigarette on the end of one of those extended stick thingies smoldering in her hand. She stays half an hour, I fake three orgasms and she's out the door. Ivan says she used to run a similar kind of place to his, and this is reliving her glory days. Cha-ching.

Then there's this couple who are so dysfunctional it's almost laughable. They call themselves 'The King and Queen' and refer to each other as 'Your Majesty', but they literally cannot agree on anything. There's usually a good twenty minutes of arguing as they try to figure it out. The King typically gets his way and I'm usually flat on my back for a good fifteen minutes after that while the Queen struts around barking orders. Sometimes they switch places, and sometimes I'm the one who has to walk around and tell them what to do. I never know what the hell I'm doing so I just say whatever comes to mind, which usually works out fine for everyone.

This one day, in late January, I'm sitting in an arm chair in the lounge at Ivan's place, my legs over one of the arms and my head resting on the other, when Ivan's secretary, Ariel, comes in. She barks my name from across the room and in an instant I'm on my feet. She says there's a client for me. A new client. My stomach drops and I have to clench my fists to keep from sighing. The last time there was a newbie, it was Mr. Daddy and that's still one of the grossest things I've ever come across in my life. This one can't be worse than that, right?

As if to add insult to injury, Ariel's booked me into the Blue Room. Again. I swear this never gets any easier. I go into the room, trying to block everything from my mind. I don't want to think about anything. It's better if I'm just a clean slate when a client comes in, because I essentially have to shape shift into whatever they want. That's easier to do if I'm not thinking hard - or at all.

The door swings open and I'm expecting some really weird person or maybe a young guy who just wants to dominate someone without the fear of it coming back to bite him in the ass, but the person who walks in looks extremely timid and almost embarrassed to be here.

I look carefully at the newbie. He's tall, broad and handsome in a kind of soft, clueless way. He has shaggy blonde hair and soft brown eyes. His hands are wringing together in front of him and his eyes are staring intently at the floor. This guy, I decide, is adorable.

Demurely, I walk up to him, making sure to keep my eyes downcast until I get a better read on this dude. He's either biding his time before he breaks his shy demeanor and goes ape shit, or he really is nervous. I approach him and stop within reach of him, but he doesn't move. I know Ivan's vetted this guy, they vet everyone before sending them back, but I still don't know what to expect.

I start by asking him what his name is, and he stutters an answer. 'Kristoff.' His name is Kristoff. I invite him in, invite him to take off his coat and sit on the bed. He removes his coat but stays away from the bed, sitting instead on a chair in the corner - the one that Madame Whatever usually sits in to stare at me. Kristoff is a lot less creepy looking sitting there. He tells me he's not really sure what he's doing here and that he's sorry if this is awkward. 'Hello,' I want to say, 'you're paying for sex, it'd be less awkward if you ripped our clothes off and had your way with me instead of sitting there acting almost apologetic for showing up at my place of work.' But obviously I don't say any of that.

Well, he must be here for a reason, and I say that to him as I approach him slowly, fluidly, pulling down the straps of my tight, dark green dress as I go. His eyes flick up to look at me and then drop immediately back to the ground. I'm naked from the waist up by the time I reach him and he's not reacting at all. Now this is weird. Does he not find me attractive? That's not really an issue I've had before so I'm not sure how to proceed from here. If he doesn't want me to strip, then what does he want from me? He's only here for an hour appointment. Some people will book me for an entire morning (like Sicko Dad Guy).

Kristoff's mahogany eyes lift from the ground and slowly make their way up until we're looking right at each other. He tells me again that he's sorry, that he doesn't know what he's here for. I'm so confused by this guy that I just don't say anything. He admits, almost sheepishly, that he's lonely and would I please just pull my dress back up. He says he'll still pay for my time, which is really all I care about anyway.

We pass the hour, me sitting on the bed, him on the chair, just talking. He tells me about his life. His ex-wife left him two years ago, they'd been married just a year. He's barely older than Elsa - only twenty three - and hasn't been able to bring himself to date anyone else quite yet. He lives alone with his dog, a Boxer named Sven, and works as the owner of a commercial refrigeration company. He asks me about myself but I dodge his questions in a manner so skillful that even my sister, question dodger extraordinaire, would be impressed.

The hour passes. Kristoff stands, picks up his jacket and presses a one-hundred dollar bill into my hand. I know he's paid Ivan up front so I try to protest but he doesn't respond, just looks at me with his big, sad brown eyes and turns and leaves. I sit on the bed after he's gone and wonder what the hell that was all about.