Moonlight

Seventeen

Alice didn't tell herself this would be the last night at the brothel, but walking up the steps had a sense of finality to her tonight.

She stopped by the manager. As usual, the old woman was sitting at her desk, chain smoking, fiddling with a pen, looking at figures on a book. The grainy images of the club flickered on the stickers behind her.

The woman didn't spend much time with the girls. Alice was sure that she knew exactly what went on, but everything was deputised to Athena and Phil.

Only once, she had come into the girls' quarters. A girl had been stealing from customers and dealing drugs. The club, obviously illegal, could exist only thanks to a mixture of the authorities turning a blind eye, and the customers being pleased with the service. Too much noise would have made it impossible for the outside world to ignore its presence, and they would be chased out into a desert they couldn't return from.

The old woman had looked at girl, straight in the eyes. Her presence was terrifying: the room was silent; even Alice, who had nothing to lose in this situation, felt nervous.

The girl didn't say anything, but her eyes seemed to give her away. The manager looked at the girl with disgust then walked up to her and slapped her very hard on the face, then walked away.

The girl left that day. She didn't say a word to anyone.

The manager looked at Alice.

'Bright, clever. Eleven words.'

'Intelligent?'

It fit.

'I just wanted to thank you for taking me in,' Alice said.

The old woman wasn't sentimental. She looked at her with her yellow, watery eyes and shrugged her shoulders.

'I might not be good with words, but I know numbers. So, we're square.'

She stared at Alice for a moment, and you could tell that she had seen girls a million times before, just like Alice, shuffling their feet, unable to find the right words, unsure whether to thank the woman or to send her to Hell, whether she was their helper or their tyrant. You could tell that she knew then.

Alice wanted to enjoy this night. Things were going well at home, and this was her last hurray. She walked through the couches. The girls, the customers, the music, the drinks, the stench of old tobacco. Nothing had changed since her first time, and yet everything was different: she was not scared anymore; she had a welcoming place to return to. She didn't need this anymore.

The evening started on a pleasant note. Athena came up to her, followed by two customers she knew by sight. They were two young professionals, well dressed, nice looking, well mannered. You could tell they would soon move out the neighbourhood and leave it behind.

One was tall and rather skinny, with a mop of floppy blonde hair. He had a sharp look in his eye, and his face was severe, like that of a medieval saint. The other, slightly pudgy and shorter than his friend, had short black hair. He had kind brown eyes, a square face with a little button nose in the middle.

'They would like to book the two of us for an hour,' Athena said. 'Shall we use my room?'

A foursome? That would be a first. Alice was pleased: she had grown fond of Athena. She liked her honesty and how she ran a clean, straight house with the girls.

Alice smiled and followed the other three up the stairs.

Athena's room was identical to Alice's. The pictures on the walls were different, but that was all. Everything – the flowers, the towels and the linens, the toys – was kept in the same place.