Author's Notes: All dialogue in this story would be in French but I am too lazy to actually write it or to put little brackets around it. So for you not AN readers I don't want to hear about it. This is just goo from my head. I realize there are people who don't like such a dark view of things. So I guess go home and watch Friends then. Oh, yeah. The formatting looks like shit, but I don't feel like fighting it.
Raymonde invited the boy in. He was shadowy, and not just because it was late. Purple was in the hollows under his eyes, making his cheekbones stand out in relief. He didn't stand, he twitched. It made Raymonde wonder what he was fucked up on.
"Have a seat." The older man gestured to one of the only chairs still not put up on the tables.
"No, thanks. So, what did you want to do?" The boy said irritably.
"I'm not looking for sex."
The boy looked puzzled, and raised an eyebrow.
"I'm looking for a busboy, someone who can clear tables, take some orders, light cooking." Raymonde said as he took a seat.
"Heh. Well, I'm not looking for a job. And, you know, time is money. So, it's 150 for a blowjob, I blow you, you blow me. Ladies choice. Two fifty to fuck. Again, your choice. I don't do scat, fisting, pain, or bondage. I don't swallow, but you can piss on me. That costs extra though. What you see is what you get, you get to fuck a sixteen year old. What'll it be?" His little laugh was one of the driest the older man had ever heard.
Raymonde thought for a moment and realized this was going to be harder than he thought. He had picked the boy up by his restaurant dumpster. On several occasions he had seen him rifling through it, taking out some of the bread rolls. He had also seen him hanging around some of the bars, though he was clearly too young to go in.
"It looks to me like you need a job. Are you going to do this forever, fuck people for money?" Raymonde asked pointedly.
'That's the plan." The blue eyes looked dismissively around the room.
"You have savings? It looks to me like you blow it all on drugs."
"I got some money. I like to get high. I'm not stupid. Come on, guy. If were done, I'm out of here." He started for the door.
"How much to talk? For an hour." Raymonde was ready to do what it took to at least get him to listen.
"Hmm. To talk? I don't know. A hundred. Can I smoke?"
Raymonde laid a crisp bill on the table and grabbed an ashtray off the bar. "Sit please. Coat?"
The boy looked at his rather worse for wear denim jacket. "No."
"Would you like a sandwich, some chips?"
His eyes lit up though he tried to look disinterested. "Sure. How much?"
He smiled and stood up, moving towards the bar where he had some food. "It's on the house."
The youth sat cautiously in the chair, all angles even though he had a fair amount of clothes on for someone in the flesh tradeThey sat in silence as Raymonde made the sandwich, then sat back down across from him.
"What's your name?"
"What do you like?" A slight challenge. Raymonde peeled a fifty out and put on top of the hundred. The kid laughed his dry laugh again.
"Jean-Paul."
"Do you have a last name?"
He almost smiled, and put a chip in his mouth. After he swallowed he answered. "Yeah, I got a lot of last names."
"What's your favorite then?" Raymonde was as patient as a spider.
The boy cocked his head, though Raymonde doubted he had to think about a name. "Martin."
"Jean-Paul Martin." A pause. "You seem like you live awfully fast for a boy your age."
A whole smile this time, though weighted with something. "I like that. Yeah, I live fast."
"Where are you from?"
"Around." Another fifty to the stack.
"North of Sept-Iles."
"There isn't a lot north of Sept-Iles." Raymonde pointed out helpfully.
"No kidding." The boy pulled out a pack of Gitanes. He offered the man one then lit up with a plain silver lighter.
"Do you live around here?" Raymonde knew damn well he didn't. If he could afford to perhaps he really was on to something.
Denim covered shoulders shrugged. "I got a place. A roomate. We even got a kitchen. Fucking high living." The exhaled smoke joined the more solid wafts collecting over the table.
"You got a wife and kids, or something?" He looked around, seemingly expectant of people to pop out of the woodwork. Maybe it happened more often than one thought.
"No."
Raymonde grabbed a bottle of cognac and two tumblers from the corner of the bar without getting up all the way. The sound of them hitting the table seemed loud. Raymonde swore he saw the boy flinch at the sound.
He poured a two-fingers in his own glass then tipped the bottle in offer. Jean-Paul nodded his acceptance.
"Eat. You need it. You do a lot of speed or coke? You look too thin." Raymonde supposed he might as well know what he was up against.
His face faltered before answering. A crack in that confident facade. Finally. "I like to have a good time. I don't see the problem with that. Or how it's your fucking business."
"I'm curious what kids are up to these days."
"Yeah, well. It's not your concern."
"Does it work? Do you feel better?" Raymonde asked, genuinely interested.
The kid pulled the sandwich apart. Lettuce first, and pushed it in his mouth.
"Seriously. Why do you care? You honestly give a shit about what happens to some trick? You live in a nice part of town, you got a nice place here. Why?" It hurt Raymonde's heart that the idea of someone being kind was so foreign to someone so young.
"I just do."
"Well, that's pretty fucked up in my opinion. For all you know, I could murder you in your sleep." An unconvincingly menacing crossed the skinny face.
"Or I could do the same to you. Hooking isn't the safest career."
"Yeah." Back to picking at the plate.
"I'll pay you 500 dollars a week, and you can live upstairs. It's a small flat. The door is in the back. You work Saturdays and Sundays, plus after school. You can eat whatever you want, but no liquor except a beer. No drugs, no boyfriends, no girlfriends. You have to go to school. And think about quitting smoking."
"What makes you think I'm looking for a change?"Such a wary look. "Besides, I don't even know your fucking name."
"Raymonde. Belmonde. This is my restaurant."
"You really don't want to fuck?"
"No. And never ask me that again. From now on, no tricks. Got it?"
"I didn't say yes."
Jean-Paul munched the remainder of the sandwich thoughtfully. "Why? For real."
Raymonde sized him up with his eyes. Why indeed?
"Because... I just see more in you than this. There is more to life than survival." It was the truth too.
"Is there?" But it was too late. Raymonde saw the glimmer, the start of an idea that could change everything.
Raymonde just wanted to take him upstairs and dust him off. Wash all the bad off him and tuck him into bed, but he doubted the boy would appreciate the sentiment. Too world weary and wise to be able to go back to a more innocent place. But it didn't have to be so hard either. All he could offer was this, a chance at something different.
"Why don't you sleep upstairs, and think about it? We can talk more in the morning."
"Is there a bathtub?" The blue eyes were hidden by the tilt of his head as he stared at the plate.
"Yes. And lots of hot water. Have a soak."
He didn't say anything as Raymonde took him upstairs, but went into the bathroom and locked the door. The sound of water was loud in the little space of the flat. Raymonde made up the bed, and the one in the spare room where he decided he would sleep tonight. He sat up in the dark listening to the little sounds of life. Jean-Paul sat in the tub for a long time. Raymonde smelled smoke. Finally, after about 2 hours the telltale squeaks came down the hall of feet headed for the bedroom.
After he heard the light go out and the eventual cessation of rustling he began to relax into sleep. After all it was the same for him. All he could do was take a chance. Sometimes it was just as scary to offer as it could be to accept. But it was a start. For both of them.