The way home is cold, windy. The Matador is brightly lit but empty. The door to the stairs to your apartment is just inside the Matador’s door. You are always safe there.
You make your way up the stairs. You shut the door. There is your perfectly adequate kitchenette, your not exactly comfortable but totally adequate bed, which is also the couch. You have tried to decorate the bed with colourful cushions, but there, in the orange light from the streetlamp just outside, the whole thing looks desperate and depressing. You feel you are about to cry.
Your phone rings. It is an unknown number, which you never answer, but a tiny hope tells you it might be the Owner, relenting, asking you out for a drink. You answer.
“Hey,” says James’s voice, and you feel sick.
“Shit,” you say.
“What’s that?”
“Hello James.”
“Hey babe. What’s up?” His voice is cigarettey. There is music behind it. He is at Totem, or in public somewhere.
“I don’t know what’s up. You called me.”
“Hey. Just wanted to see how you are, just checking in.”
“I’m fine.”
“Cool. Cool.”
There is a pause filled with rumbling bass and some chanted rap.
“So,” you say, “what can I do for you?”
He coughs for a minute. “I’m just calling to see how you are. Just a chat.”
“Well, I told you. I’m fine.”
“So fill me in. What you up to?”
You breathe heavily. “No, I’m not going to fill you in. I’m just fine.”
“Where you working?”
“None of your business.”
Another rap interlude. “You don’t need to be rude.”
“I’m not being rude.”
“You just don’t want to talk to me?”
“Not right now, no. I have to go.”
More coughing. “All right. You go.”
“Okay then.”
“You know, in this town, nothing is a secret for long.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He laughs. “Nothing. Have your little secret.”
“I have to go.”
“Go then.” Then he hangs up.
You go to the window and lower the blind. It is cold in the apartment. You go to the stove and put a kettle on, telling yourself you are safe here.
YOU ARE READING
THE PRIVATE PARTY
RomanceWhat if you never had to feel ashamed of your darkest fantasies... because you were paid to act them out, on a stage? And not just paid, but paid very, very well... say ten thousand dollars per performance? Could you say no? And what if the owner o...
