Page 2 of Skin
“Yes.” The voice that comes out of me is now confused, indignant. “You’re a paying customer. I want to make sure everything is alright, sir.”
“I like that,” he growls.
Shit.
“If everything is okay with the service, I’d like to ask you to lie down again so I may continue with the massage. The massage you are paying for, like you said,” I remind him.
“Nosirthis time?”
I freeze. He shifts onto his arm that’s farther away from me. His hand comes forward on the table, about mid-thigh height on me. His face comes forward toward me as he puts his hand on my thighs, between them, his eyes never leaving mine.
Sickness hits my stomach like a boulder’s been dropped down my throat.
I step back.
His hand stays where it is.
I move away from him, faster, as I bolt toward the door. I see my shadow rush across the wall and I hear him laugh behind me.
I look down the long hallway, toward the reception area, and look past it out the window. It’s begun snowing, and the windows of the parlor are beginning to fog up, the cold air outside meeting the warm air inside, colliding at the thick pane of plexiglass covered with ornate metal grating.
It’s beautiful, but it’s there to be pretty. It’s there for protection.
The door creaks open next to me, and I’m still frozen on the inside. I feel my body turn to see the man from my table. He grins down at me with a lurid smile plastered on his face.
“I need to speak to your manager, miss,” he says mockingly. He shrugs his jacket on and turns on his heel, heading down the narrow, dark corridor lined with purple velvet above the waist and tufted leather below. He looks like he belongs here, and I’m just passing through, trying to get a crumb that some rich dickhead in a suit will throw to me on a whim or because he feels like being charitable.
He breaks left toward my boss’s office, despite the protestations of the girl currently hosting the front desk.
Shit.
My boss comes out of his office. It’s dark inside. I don’t know what work he was doing in there, or how work would be possible in a darkened room like that.
When I see his face, the situation is thrown into harsh relief. His grimace tells me I’ve made a mistake, an error in judgement.
And I know I’m about to lose this job.
Gabe
The freezing rainbeats down on the limo in hard sheets. The ice pellets sound like they could slice through glass, threatening to split the car in two.
My driver turns down one of the shittiest-looking alleyways off the shittiest stretch of Canal Street, where the neon lights are on all night and the trash bags are piled up higher than the phone booths. Shit, there’s still phone booths down here. It’s dirty, and it stinks, and there might be rats here.
But it’s dark, too. There’s no neon lights inthisalley. One of my business partners sent me here. His idea of a Christmas gift. He says I have to relax. I don’t even have a business card to confirm the address. He texted my driver the address and told me they don’t have a card because the name of the place and the phone number are always changing. They don’t have a website and you can’t look up reviews. This seems like the kind of low-class shit he’s always telling me about, but he insisted this place isn’t like that. He laughed when I said he’s used to low-class shit. He said again I’d like it.
There’s no bright flashing lights on this street. Only one storefront, down a few steps, covered with the first dusting of the season’s snow, which has quickly turned to freezing rain. Glass, covered with a metal grating, no doorman or bouncer out front.
I get out of the car and hesitate as I’m about to go in. The windows to the place are full, floor-to-ceiling, the entire facade just glass and then that shitty metal covering it up. To me, that means this place must have a lot of cash on hand. They’re careful about locking up at the end of the day. They want to keep people out.
There’s something happening just beyond the windows. There’s a young woman inside, and the first thing I see is that she’s hiding something. It’s theonlything I can see, now that I’ve glimpsed her. I can see it in her eyes.
It’s not fear, though, just a secret that I can’t unravel. Not yet.
There are two men next to her, and they’re discussing something. They’re discussingher, and she’s just standing there.
What the hell is shedoing here?
The men don’t notice me as I come through the door, despite the clicking of my shoes on the knotted wood floor.
