In a dimly-lit club, a woman in a glistening bodysuit dress gently pushed a suitor’s face away.

 

“No kissing.” 

 

The man’s face was permanently at least half in shadow. The other half was lit by the violet-and-green light scheme of the club, twisted by dozens of gyrating bodies into a hallucinogenic pattern. It reflected maddeningly off glasses, countertops, the lenses of glasses, slicked-back hair and glossy lips. But most of all, the light lived in the eyes. Dots of bright venom, looking back from dancer to bouncer to bartender. 

 

“Fine.” The man muttered. “That’s fine.” He swiftly wiped the disappointment off his face, and adopted what he thought was a non-threatening smile. To the woman, it was clearly more of a leer. “What’s your name, baby?”

 

“Sharpe.” She shuffled her distaste like a deck of cards, and palmed the 2 of diamonds to the bottom of the pile. Her mother had named her Saori. Her father had wanted a boy. She adjusted her left shoulder-strap the wrong way, so it slumped slightly down the top of her shoulder blade.

 

“And what are your rates?”

 

“150 an hour - But for you? You can have the last-minute special. 125 for the first.” She licked her lips slightly. Her mouth was dry. “And I might even extend the discount.”

 

This, of course, wasn’t true. Her actual rate was 125, flat, and any discounts had to be negotiated with her “supervisor” first. But he doesn’t know that, Saori smiled internally. And this was a real smile.

 

“God. You’re just my type. There’s just something about -” He tries to trace the line of her cheekbone delicately. Saori lets him, but it’s not what he thinks it is. His finger is slick with condensation from his beer, and his nail is longer than it should be. “Asian chicks.”

 

She can’t say much to that, but she can slide her fingers in between his. As she does, she touches a smooth, round object on his wrist. A luxury watch. Just from the feel of it, the straps were real leather for sure. 

 

“Why don’t you take me back to yours?”

 

____________________________________________________________

 

At 1:33 AM, after she had made sure her client was asleep, Saori shuffled out of the double-queen bed and cast a look around the apartment. 

It was an upscale downtown locale - maybe not “CEO”, but “upper management”, for sure. The master bedroom branched off from the combo dining and living room, with a full kitchen and bar flanking a round table. It was glass, with a small doily and vase in the center. The flowers in the vase - peonies - were beginning to wilt. 

She hop-stepped her underwear, on the floor near the bed, back into place on her way to the bathroom. Although the lights were off, they hadn’t drawn the blinds. Saori shivered as she imagined some enterprising pervert with a pair of binoculars on the far roof, or maybe on the street. An ambulance wailed in the distance.

 

She looked at the man, sleeping. He looked much smaller without his suit, a downy layer of graying hair covering his chest and back. She grimaced. He’d wanted her to moan in “her language”, wherein she’d just made some random, accented mewling. It’d been disgusting. Degrading. He’d grunted something about her “Jap cunt”, just before he came. 

 

“Racist piece of shit.”

 

Her phone vibrated on the nightstand. She debated looking for pasties, thought against it, and decided to just steal the oldest coat she could find on her way out. She picked up the phone.

 

“Saori!” The voice was sharp, high-pitched and tinny through the phone’s speaker. Only about three-quarters awake, Saori flinched away. “You’re fucking late! Again!”

 

“I know. I’m sorry. Listen, I know you’ve got things to do, too. But you know I can’t just leave Hideo.”

 

“Hideo is six fucking years old, Saori.” The voice nearly rose to a shout, but quieted to a whisper. “You can just plant him in front of the TV and he’ll be stuck to Cartoon Network for the next few hours.”

 

The word escaped her like a breath. “No.” 

 

“No?”

 

“No, I’m not letting Hideo watch that brain-rotting crap. He’s smart. I know.” 

 

“Okay.” The voice sighed.

 

“Elaine.”

 

“What?”

 

“You’re not supposed to let him watch TV.”

 

“I didn’t, Saori. I’d never do that. Unlike someone,” Saori could hear her raise an eyebrow, “I keep my promises.”

 

Saori shook her head, and felt a little foolish when she realized Elaine couldn’t see her. “Sorry, again. But a client got interested.” 

 

“Rich guy?”

 

“Downtown apartment. Maybe six, seven hundred square feet.”

Elaine wolf-whistled. “Damn.”

 

“550 for three hours of work isn’t bad.” 

 

“How’d you swing that?”

 

“I told him blowing him was extra, and I let him do it raw for a bit. For extra, again.”

 

“Mm.” Elaine pursed her lips over the phone. “No. That was stupid.” But she softened her tone. “You can’t keep taking risks like this.”

 

“Thanks for understanding.”

 

“Cut that shit, Saori. I just want you to be safe, okay? Get back here soon. Love you.” Elaine hung up. 

 

Saori slipped her heels back on, and a faded old college hoodie from the back of the man’s closet. Not “the guy”, she told herself. Brian. I think. 

 

He wanted me to call him “Bri”. 

 

____________________________________________________________

 

It was officially Saturday morning when Saori relieved Elaine of babysitting duties. Hideo was asleep in another room, tucked in safely in a bed starting to get too small for him. Saori’s apartment was decidedly less upscale and more of a mess than Brian’s, although - 

 

“You cleaned up.” Saori’s question came out as a statement. 

 

Elaine wore her hair in a tight bob. She had rolled her leather jacket into a makeshift lumbar pillow, and was watching late-night reruns of old movies on the lowest volume setting. Her sneakers were neatly arranged next to the door. Around her, the magazines on the coffee table had been shuffled into place. The floor was swept and mopped, and Saori didn’t doubt that the bathroom had probably been cleaned, too. The dishes had been washed and the trash taken out. 

 

“You’re welcome, babe.” Elaine crossed her arms, and leaned back on the couch.

 

“Sorry. Thanks.” Saori tossed her heels aside, then reconsidered, and set them down next to Elaine’s shoes. 

 

She went to Elaine, but stopped short as Elaine crossed her legs as well. She was wearing cute socks with little rubber ducks on them. For Hideo, Saori thought. A sour bead of guilt welled up in her chest. He loves those. 

 

Saori instead sat down about half an arm’s-length away. She felt a little chill. The lights of the docks blared a block away, sharpening the shadows to blades of light and dark. The multicolored glare of the TV did do a little to soften things, though.

 

“I’m not mad, Saori.”

 

“Yes, you are.”

 

“I’m not.” She shook her head exasperatedly. “I just don’t want you doing stupid shit like this. You know as well as I do how much we have to lose.”

 

“We?” Saori snapped. “We? Really?”

 

Elaine raised a single eyebrow, and Saori felt the heat of her outburst be smothered by icy scorn. She swallowed, and tried her best to plead her case.

 

“Hideo’s my son. I pay for school, I pay my bills, I pay for my fucking weekly Planned Parenthood visit so I can still go to work -”

 

“You don’t have to.” Elaine’s voice was ice. A blizzard atop an Alaskan mountain. “I’ve offered to help you financially. At least five times, now.”

 

“And I’ve said I don’t want it!” Saori tried to hit the couch in frustration. But she was tired, and her fist thumped dully on the old faux-leather. “I don’t need your money. I won’t take it. Ever.”

 

Elaine’s brow folded in genuine puzzlement. “Why? You’re my girlfriend. I might not be rich, but you’re on a call girl’s salary -”

 

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

 

“Sorry. Sex worker. A sex worker, with a six-year old, who’s only going to need more and more time and money.”

 

“Stop.”

 

“Who told her girlfriend she was having unprotected fucking sex at one in the morning, when she was supposed to be back home taking care of her kid an hour ago.” 

 

“No, you’re chill. All good.” Elaine’s expression had lapsed into unreadability. “You’re grinding, right? Securing your bag. For Hideo.”

 

Saori felt hot tears come to her eyes, and blinked them away impatiently. She found that what she wanted to say could only come out in a strangled whisper.

 

“I’m not a whore.”

 

“I never called you one.”

 

“I don’t take money for nothing. I’m not gonna take charity from you.”

 

“Saori.” Elaine uncrossed her legs. “What are you saying?”

 

“I’m -” Saori’s blinking had been ineffective, and rogue tear spilled from the corner “I’m saying, I’m not gonna let you pay me to fuck you.”

 

“Jesus. Is this seriously what you think we’re about?”

 

“I don’t know!” Saori furiously swept her tears away, smearing her heavy mascara. “I don’t know. Maybe. God, I hope not.” She gasped. 

 

“I - I can’t really deal with this right now, Saori. I’m gonna go.” Elaine finally stood up.

 

“No. Wait. I’m sorry. Don’t.” 

 

“You need a shower. Both of us need to go to bed. Talk to me in the morning.” She spoke without looking at Saori, putting on her shoes to go. 

 

“Elaine. I need you here. I’m a fucking mess. The guy was a huge asshole. I didn’t -” Saori drew in a ragged breath. “- didn’t want to do any of the shit. Please.”

 

“You’ll survive. Because you’re so strong, right? Don’t need money. Don’t need help with your kid. Don’t need anything from anyone.”

 

She hesitated at the door, for a second. “See you tomorrow.” 

 

As the door shut, Saori slumped backwards. She felt a shard of forlorn ice lodge itself in her heart. She closed her eyes, and though she couldn’t see it, a thin sheen of frost began to form on the surfaces she was physically in contact with. Rivulets of blue light ran through the black streaks the mascara left, and tears flaked off her face into delicate puffs of snow. Cold vapor, then frost, then ice began to ooze up the window panes.

 

Upstairs, Hideo began to cry.