Persephone

Chapter 14.0

The door chimed, and I looked up from the ledger.

"Ms. Grace, how are you?"

I stared at Mr. Russo mutely.

My throat suddenly felt dry and an ache began at the back of my head.

I looked back to the ledger, writing the sales for the end of the month.

There was another week to go before I was due to send him his portion of the cheque.

"I asked how you were, Ms. Grace," Mr. Russo said, walking towards me.

"I am well, and you," I told him, slowly closing the book.

"Have you still not found a way to pay me my money?" He asked, standing just in front of the counter.

I looked up, saying, "I told you, I don't have the ability to pay you back that insurmountable sum of money. Each month it's getting worse."

"You're not working hard enough, Ms. Grace," he breathed, leaning forward.

"What will you have me do to get you your money?" I asked, looking him in the eyes as best I could, but looking at him made me feel like a mongrel looking for praise.

"I have yet to hear your voice. Clubs are becoming more popular, and showgirls are becoming a craze. I'm not asking you to sell your body," he said lowly.

"And how much would one show make me?" I asked.

"If you're good? If they like you?" He asked, leaning back to stand straight, "A hundred every night."

It was December, and my debts have reached so high, and yet I expected more for January.

Six thousand dollars was the mark I was going to reach in debt, and if I danced and sang every night, gave the men in his clubs what they wanted... well it wouldn't be in the next few years I would be clean of debt but possibly I have the opportunity to be.

"If I may, Mr. Russo," I murmured in a whiskey-soaked voice. I couldn't say how I looked to him, but I gained his sole attention at that moment.

"If I worked in one of your clubs, could you promise me a few things?" I asked, leaning forward.

He swallowed, looking me over uneasily.

"That you provide me protection, that I earn a base salary and get to keep any tips I receive, and that I always wear a mask," I requested.

"I would have to hear your voice myself to know what you should be paid for a single show, and you can't just sing," he said, straightening his blazer as he turned away.

I leaned back in my seat, morose.

Mr. Russo sniffed the air, and he whirled to me, asking, "Have you been drinking?"

"The nights are cold, and I can't sleep," I told him, looking back to the closed ledger book.

My mind was dull, and I wanted it to be, but it was still sharp enough to catch the flicker of remorse in Mr. Russo's eyes.

"So the devil does feel guilt," I thought as I eyed him with loathing.

"Visit your siblings tonight, I promise it will do you well," he said, sounding more like a man with each word.

"Enough of your ploys and games, Mr. Russo," I said tiredly. I shook my head, sighing, "You've won. I'll sell myself to negate this debt. You've gotten what you wanted, must you savor this moment of my despair?"

Mr. Russo seemed taken aback by my words, and I had hoped he would say something more, drag this mind-destroying conversation out further.

"Telegram! Telegram for Ms. Grace and family," a mailman said, stepping through the door.

I stood up suddenly, knocking the chair to the ground.

I hurried to the man, taking the telegram from him without a word of gratitude.

"My condolences," he said with a tip of his hat.

I ripped open the envelope, and opened the contents.

"My colleagues and I send our deepest sympathy... in great... bereavement you have sustained in the deaths of your gallant father Christopher Grace and compassionate mother Elaine Mary Grace."

I didn't see anything other than 'deaths' as the room began to spin.

It tilted, and I felt my head tilt, but I couldn't move, I couldn't breath. I couldn't do anything other than hear the word 'deaths' over and over in my mind.