A Little Maintenance

Though he knew he was expected to get comfortable, Jackson remained standing, hands in pockets. Rain scoured the window - his first Miami thunderstorm - and he ran a hand back through his dampened hair. The Keefe job was a promising, exciting one, and he could not wait to get his teeth into it. But first, there was one thing he had to do for himself; something he might not have again for some time…

"So… what are we doing?" the girl asked, coming up close behind him. She was young, with long black hair and sweet, rosebud lips.

Smiling, Jackson met her eyes in the mirror on the wall, enjoying the preliminaries; on the instant, her grin widened flirtatiously. Her sultry voice seemed beyond her young years, and Jackson wanted to hear more of it. He pretended to consider her question. "Are you good at this?" he asked.

"Well, of course," she said, with a haughty tilt of the head.

Jackson held her gaze. It had been many months since he'd come to this sort of place, and it was visibly obvious. Accustomed to men in such a condition, the girl waited with understanding patience. "If you're that good," Jackson challenged, "then you'll know exactly what to do for me."

Corkscrewing a long tendril of her hair around her finger playfully, the girl pondered this. "Well, I'm good… but I'm not a mind reader."

Watching her hands, Jackson noticed her French-manicured nails - he had always found them sexy on a woman. Classy. His eyes skimmed her body in the mirror. "Okay, I get that. But you're an artist. Or at least, you prefer to be seen as one, isn't that right?"

The girl glowed with pride. "Well, don't you know all the right things to say."

Jackson laughed, then became serious once more. "So, being the artist that you are - I trust you to do what's right for me." He allowed his voice to carry the faintest hint of menace.

The girl circled him, undaunted, with a mischievous smile. "If you want my honest opinion, I don't think you needed to come here at all."

"It's not about what I need. It's about what I want," Jackson asserted.

She looked him up and down; for the space of a heartbeat she was captured by the stealthy glint of the Rolex on his wrist. She raised her eyes back to his. "And do you always get what you want?"

"Yes."

There was a silence, punctuated by the hammering of rain against glass. Jackson evaluated the girl, searching her eyes for the bare minimum of trust their shared act required. She might disappoint him, as other women had in the past. He was hard to please, he knew. But something about this girl - her unwavering confidence, her teasing smile - eased his mind about her ability. Slowly, he took off his jacket and sat, signaling his readiness to her.

Pleased, she smiled. "I don't think I've ever had a client talk so much before we start. Are you nervous?"

Jackson bristled slightly. "No. I already said I trust you to give me what I want. If you don't, I'll stop you - I'm not shy."

"You know, most men are in a hurry to get this done."

"Well, then they're missing out on your company, aren't they? I can't imagine why someone would deprive themselves of that," Jackson said with a wink.

She moved away, and Jackson thought he discerned a faint blush in her cheeks. His eyes roamed her little domain. There was a shelf nearby on which a few small candles flickered: aromatherapy, women liked to call it. His ex-wife had been into that shit. But it did smell good.

Her fingers settled on the controls of the nearby stereo, the girl turned to him, long hair half-obscuring her face. "Music on or off during?"

"On."

The girl came back to him and ruffled his hair in her fingers. "Okay… let's get you fixed up," she breathed.

Jackson closed his eyes, enjoying the fresh, clean scent of her nearness as she ran her hands though his hair: this would be an all too short-lived indulgence he should allow himself more often. After this brief, pleasurable session, it would be nose to the grindstone for him.

At last, she revealed her plan of attack. "I'm only going to take off a little… you look so good with some hair around your face. I don't want to go too short with it. What do you think?"

Eyes still closed, Jackson relaxed into the chair. His lips curved in a satisfied smile.

"Sounds good."