Luci told time by the shades of the street. She listened to the voices around her and decided if it was time to rise or sleep. The beauty of her profession was that she didn't need order in her life, the only repetition being the rapping of a fist against her door, at which point it meant "time for work."

She had just sent off that same young man from the morning. Not because he'd been screwing her that long, but because he'd paid for the time to stare at her. And there's nothing sadder than the look in a dumb lad's eye when he's fallen in love with a whore. All the while she pretended to sleep, she let him gaze at her with stars in his brown eyes like a dog with the severest form of separation anxiety. Luci wasn't one to refuse the good money, but pretending to sleep was much harder than actually sleeping. She felt his hot breath against her cheek and held perfectly still. She knew this is how he wished to see her, precious and silent, like the wife he would sound be forced to take. She was happy that she could do him this favor, but today was different. A knock came at her door. Her young lad jumped up and yelled at the intruder and was answered by Madam Jacqui's scratchy holler. She was telling him his time had to be prematurely cut short, because Luci needed time to rest. The lad argued he would pay more but was refused. Luci pretended to wake, stroked the boy's head tenderly, and reassured him he could come back tomorrow. There could have been no dog with a lower hanging tail.

Luci went downstairs when he was gone and was pulled into Madam Jacqui's office by a heavy hand.

"Sit down, Luci."

Luci sat down in the lounge chair and threw her right leg abruptly over the arm of the chair. This was her signature move, the one that put off all the nice boys and excited well-mannered men. She lit a cigarette and looked at the Madam expectantly.

The Madam lifted her wrinkled hands to her chin and scratched it, like a man. Luci had joked that Madam Jacqui had once been a man. She resembled a man. She had the broad shoulders, the long torso, and the faintest hint of a hair above the corners of her upper lip. She shook hands like a man, did business like a man, and knew how to talk to the girls like a gentleman. She provided the security to these poor whores that their own fathers did not.

"I'm concerned about a new fellow who's been asking for you."

"Oh?" Luci pulled the smoke between her lips and exhaled before inhaling. "Who is he?"

"A freak of nature. You will have to see for yourself."

"Will he pay?"

"An unheard of amount of money for a wine he has not tasted," Madam Jacqui licked her lower lip subconsciously, "Even for my best wine."

"You know I am an equal opportunist, Madam."

"Tell me about him, after."

Madam Jacqui motioned for Luci to follow her out of her office to the guest room, a gaudy, red, crushed velvet draped box that resembled the inside of a cheap jewelry box. Gold tassels dangled from the curtains, and candles perched from every flat surface. It could almost pass for some fantasy vampire palace, had it not been so obvious that the color and materials were strewn together purposely to distract you from the tastelessness.

"Here she is, Monsieur." The Madam's voice slivered in bluntly. "She will show you to her room."

Next to the piano that couldn't play, stood the man who Luci had been thinking about in her sleep: Mister G. Capeless and hatless, he appeared more human up close. More vulnerable. She looked him up and down, subtly, and then caught his eyes.

His eyes appeared to droop at the ends, and this made him look sad. But upon closer inspection, they looked quite awake, hyper-aware even. They were dark, deeply buried in his head. They were gold, then hazel, then green, depending on where they caught the light. They were wondering, questioning yet resolute. They were knowing and cold. They were beautiful.

This is the moment Luci realizes the mysterious Monsieur G is wearing a mask. It had been shielded by the fedora the other night.

Luci had entertained theatrical men before. Sometimes they wanted to play Opera Ghost, and covered their face with black silk to steal Luci from her spotlight. Or they didn't trust her with their identities. No matter. Even if he was hiding something hideous behind that mask, she's been with acid-burned, sun-burned, flesh-freshly-sowed-onto-the-cheek men before. She knew Madam Jacqui's "freak of nature" comment was not directed at his face. Everything about this man, his gestures, voice, appearance, were not entirely of this world. Somewhere in the plane of metaphysics, there is a name for how he made her feel.

Regardless of how she felt, she knew how to act. All men, she was convinced, were the same. They come in all kinds of absurd forms, but in the sack, what they really wanted was to lay their heads in her bosom and have their hair stroked by her hand. It was about attention.

"Monsieur G," Luci extended her hand delightfully as he took it and kissed the back of it this time. "Please follow me."

"I prefer to stay right here, Miss."

She smiled politely. "Alright. Would you like something to drink?"

He shook his head slightly.

"Then please, have a seat." Luci gestured to the crushed velvet red couch against the floor length curtains of the same material.

He sat, leaned back, and crossed one leg over the other in a fluid motion, but his eyes never left hers.

Luci was having a difficult time closing the space between them. She considered sitting across from him, and then reneged and plotted herself firmly to his left, leaving a good half-person's distance between his leg and her knee. She leaned in, respectfully, because she had a sense that this man wasn't asking to be fondled, and said truthfully, "I'm glad you changed your mind."

He didn't move, but his eyes softened a little. "I would have come sooner."

She was surprised at the warmth of his tone. She wasn't expecting reciprocation so soon. "Why didn't you?"

"Affairs."

"Of the heart?" She joked.

"Yes."

The honesty stunned her, too. She was immediately aware that the mask had nothing to do with concealing his identity.

"Tell me about her."

"Is that what the other men ask of you? To listen to their woes, trials and heartache?"

"Rarely," she replied after a moment of hesitation. "They mostly prefer the doing over the asking."

He smiled. "Men are such simple creatures, aren't they?"

She laughed her infectious laugh. "Why say that, Monsieur? You are of their kind."

"Am I?"

"Are you not?"

"I'm not so sure, anymore."

"Would your affair of the heart have anything to do with the uncertainty?"

He shrugged, opened his hands, and placed his left arm upon the back of the couch. "Maybe."

Luci looked at his arm and those long fingers, and she couldn't resist the chance to feel their boniness under her skin. She lifted her hand and cupped his hand in hers carefully, as to not alarm the spider attached to the wrist and frighten it away.

"Your hands are so cold."

"Yes."

"Did I offend you?"

"No, not yet."

She moved closer to him so that she could peer deep into his sad eyes.

"Who are you, really?"

"It's a bit too early to ask, don't you think, Luci?"

"Aren't you full of delicious melancholy?"

He looked at her, genuinely confused.

She shook her head. "Forgive me. I haven't met with someone interesting in so long; I'm a bit overwhelmed."

"Likewise."