(Andresh 1) “Please… Just let me explain.”

Her pumps were whiter than the softest cloud but lacked all of the subtlety while strutting down a golded paved iron cage. It was a runway, not unlike the ones at the airport in that it had lights running down either side; glowing cigarette tips stuck out like hot pokers from the darkness. From the darkest corner the room had to offer, Andresh imagined the dancer could smell the occasional cherry Krests or the rare clove still scented with it’s port of origin’s original flavor. The crowd was encapsulated in the smoke, hazed in it, held up and possibly even kept down beneath the weight. Nobody stirred and this wasn’t the type of peeler bar where people moved around much anyway. All of the action was up on stage. All of it. A blonde girl that couldn’t be a day over 30 danced within the body of a 13 year old pedophilic wet dream, fulfilling dreams for many of the men that had to come miles to the playground to see one. Orphans don’t get into town much, the local security aren’t too fond of the subculture they carry in their wake.

This girl carried herself like a diva, strutting back and forth and lip-syncing with the music that played harshly from resonating tone-deaf speakers. At times, she would splay herself out, fingers running down her body and bent back with the ease of a contortionist. Fingertips would come in contact with bikini bottom, and if the audience around the stage was offering enough chit to her, it would be peeled back ever so slightly to offer a view of her Nirvana. It was a retro tattoo done in twinkling glitter and showing off the faded face of a long dead rock star. This was most often a distraction for all but her most avid customers, whom knew to look beneath it and into the darkly shadowed folds of her skin to see the prize they coveted and would have ravaged if not for the steel bars in their path.

Andresh was amused despite his nerves, watching the newer customers tapping violently on their Aeos while still trying to watch the dancer. Their fingers touched screens, made offers and with the aid of a nearly microscopic earpieces that she wore, she would entertain them. If it was enough, she might even venture toward their edge of the runway long enough to offer them a peek or a sultry soprano lyric while grinding against the bars. Andresh found the most of his amusement during those moments where a customer became entirely too enamored, too engorged on the show, adrenaline risen through the roof and all sense of self preservation absent for the equation. It was at those times when a fan, possibly even a potential stalker, would reach out to try to grab at her and discover why it is that she never took off her heels. A spark of electricity would arc from her skin to their fingertips, her whole body in union with the electrified cage and grounded on the metallic stage. She felt nothing, but the grabby patron would need to see someone wearing a red cross before morning. Yet still, they kept tapping over and over, trying to get her attention and continuing to be shocked.

Only the rare and most brazen of the girls ever ventured into the audience, braving the sea of bristled militia bodyguards and pawing blue collar rebuilders. One of those most jaded beauties made her way toward the pit of self-loathing that was Andresh’s table, she even managed to walk a straight line despite the strong drugs her eyes danced to. Her widely dilated pupils even managed to hold his attention for a full ten seconds before he took in the rest of her, smoke blowing from overbit lips and down his chin onto his chest. It would be rude to blow smoke at her, even if she wouldn’t be able to tell it from the cloud she called work. He glanced down at his Aeos, suddenly calming and resolved himself to action. A few taps and a flick of his eyes to direct the transfer and the girl’s head whipped toward him suddenly, their eyes almost meeting if not for a curtain of raggedly cut (in the new style) black hair. She regarded him with a wariness, eyes squinting from behind the ebony curtain but relaxing to approach his table.

She had accepted his offer.

The girl walked up to his table not a day over nineteen and showing the poise of what would someday be a full blown woman. Andresh couldn’t help but think that she must make a poor living here on The Playground, even at a place as dive-like as 2 Inches. Her body was clothed in dark red PVC and her belt wasn’t meant to conceal the tazer tucked behind it. In some ways, despite her breasts almost bursting the vinyl-like material, she didn’t look entirely up to entertaining… But behind dilated eyes, Andresh could see her curiosity. A man had just offered her enough chits to eat for months, a once in a lifetime offer that comes with dangers. After all, he might want her to take him in back so he can have his way with her, or even want her to leave with him to some dark room where when she comes out, much of that chit would be traded away for surgery to repair the damage. For a moment, he entertains the idea, the image of this young woman under him in the backseat of his economy car all tied down and grinding beneath his weight. The image is all at once cramped but alluring enough to cause sweat to form on the back of his neck, and he taps the seat next to him in the round booth. She accepts it skiddishly, preparing to bolt even though he makes no threatening move. She hesitates, but does not slip back away, their transaction not yet finalized.

Green eyes. Yes, green, Andresh thinks to himself. They relaxed just enough to show their color, and he finds himself offering a timidly tired smile. She relaxes, and he thinks to himself that she probably feels she has him pegged. Locked on like a target, she moves closer and leans against him. Her body curved and gifted with ripeness presses against his, and he has to keep from smirking. “That’s a big transfer… What are you looking for?” she asks, her lips peeled back from bleached white teeth. He stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray and sits back, letting her get as close as she can before turning his head.

“It’s my birthday-” he gets out before she cuts him off with “I don’t do free dance-” only for him to cut her off with a quiet but bitter laugh. “Not asking for free, girl, just bear with me. Please… Just let me explain.” Smoke curled from Andresh’s lips with his words and he leaned toward her, lips coming up close to her ear. He knew that someone in the control room would be monitoring everything she heard, feeding her the data pulses relayed from the Aeos payments, providing feedback on the offers and whether they could be backed up or not. He knew that, but he talked anyway. “I want you to sit in my lap, all night, and drink with me.”

The girl cocked her head to one side as if to ask if that was all. He pursed his lips and breathed deeply, a ragged breathe wrought with anxiety. “And I want you to listen. Someone has to listen… you might as well get payed big. I won’t keep you past closing, and if you listen close enough, I might even give you a tip.” Her eyes squinted, not really familiar with the idea of tipping as peeling has become a more direct and less friendly business since the old days.

“My name is Gabriele… and thats all you need to know. I’ll take your offer, but if you do anything funny, I’m not afraid to stick you with both leads.” she said, looking at him warily while tapping the tazer under her belt. Andresh got the impression she had done it before, and might have been more comfortable with the request that she come out to his car with him.

Andresh slid his hand around her middle and helped her into his lip, looking her in the eyes up close while his fingers teased down the inside of her thigh. Through the thick material, he was pretty sure she couldn’t feel it, but he loved the idea. It was rare that he got to act out, to let any form of emotion take hold of him and he was sure she realized that by how she shifted her weight to press down more on the raging and confined aspect of his sexuality.

“Well, Gabriele… Do you play the horn by chance? No, nevermind, you wouldn’t get that joke, would you? You don’t really want to know all of this, but I really need to tell someone. I work for the government, well, what’s left of the government. I sit in a cubicle all day, never guaranteed the same one from one day to another. They’re sort of determined by who gets to work first and rotate around a giant hollow warehouse like a ferris wheel. That look tells me you do recognize that bit of history… Well, today is my birthday and to celebrate my birthday I did something monumentally stupid. Mind you, it wasn’t really my idea… When God talked, I decided to listen.”

She blinked at him, ignoring the bulge in his pants below her all of a sudden. It didn’t make her a fiftieth as uncomfortable as the words he had just spoken to her and she turned, putting her back to his chest to wave down one of the heavily protected waitresses, “How about those drinks, huh?”

This entry was posted on August 14, 2007 at 11:16 pm and is filed under Short Fiction. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response or trackback from your own site.

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