His Privilege, Her Pleasure

Chapter 1 - Requiem

It's been a hell of a night so far. Work is still the more grueling part of my day. As a server, the days are always crazy. But today is Friday, a day everyone in town is ready to get drunk and score a late meal. I work in the heart of New Orleans on Bourbon Street.

I see many creeps and weirdos come in and out of here. Hell, I've had some guys try to follow me home from work. My manager, Franky, tells me it's because there's not a piece of ass in town that can compete with mine. I know I'm pretty. Some men have said I'm impossibly pretty with a waist and figure that resembles Jessica Rabbit's. My gorgeous bronzed-ebony skin, long curly locks that were full and soft, full lips, and green eyes, I know men will pursue me.

My eyes drew men in the most. Guys would often tell me my eyes made them pursue me. Now that I was working more nights, it would be harder to stay safe and not be so paranoid. Especially now that the last few nights, I feel like someone has been watching me. Even when I'm at home, I feel eyes on me.

As I finish clocking out for the night, I look over to booth nine. I see the same man who came in a few hours ago; he hasn't moved since he walked in and ordered a coffee, no cream, just sugar. He always came in on Fridays in the evening, oddly. The stranger ordered nothing but a coffee, no food, and no alcohol. It doesn't help that all he ever does is stare at me when he does come here. He doesn't even hide that he's watching me, when I catch his eyes lingering; he doesn't turn away.

The man's expression gives nothing away about what he wants from me, but I know it's nothing good. My coworkers and the customers don't even notice the tension between the man and me. Everyone is in their world doing what they do every weekend. The stranger and I are the only anomalies.

As I walk from behind the bar and head towards the front door, the stranger still looks at me. He takes a slow sip of his coffee but never drops eye contact. I feel weird when he does this every Friday; he only stares but won't say anything like some stalker. The surrounding atmosphere seems to move slower than the actual craziness that's happening between us.

A drunk couple lock lips in the other booth behind him, a few crackheads share a hearty helping of gumbo in booth nine. Their booth sits across from the stranger sitting parallel on the other side of the entrance. Other drunk patrons all sing or dance, play pool, brawl, and come close to killing each over. Typical dive-bar shit, but the handsome stranger is the only one who seems out of place.

I reach the door and pull it slightly ajar, no longer worried about looking into his eyes. The cool spring-air hits my face, and I am relieved. I close my eyes for a second as I walk up the steps that lead from the bar to the surrounding street. Pre-Mardi gras celebrations have already started, and for the next two weeks, I'll have to serve food, alcohol, and clean vomit off my shoes. It sucks to think about sometimes, but the money is beyond excellent at this time of year.

I made out with a little over two hundred and seventy-five dollars in tips tonight, so maybe moving away from this city won't be so hard. After Katrina hit, the city became even more raucous and sinful, so that was my meal ticket to more money. Since turning eighteen, I have never stayed in one town for long. With moving around a lot, I tend not to get too comfortable in one place. Being an orphan, I've had no place in this world to call my own.

But moving to different cities and earning money so that I could get to LA was my goal. Since I was young, I wanted to be an actress, and if I can do that, I can finally have the peaceful life I've always wanted. The surrounding streets are just as busy as the bar, but all I can think of is how I'm going to get to LA. Suddenly, I hear footsteps that are a little too close to me. I brush it off as another drunk person stumbling around on the street.

Upon listening closer, though, I hear a steadiness no drunk could ever have. The pace is very close to mine and loud. It's like someone is following me. I know what my gut tells me, but I look behind me, anyway. My worst fears confirmed, the stranger is walking right behind me, and we lock eyes again. I stop walking, but he doesn't; he only slows down his pace.