Page 2 of Shame

I stiffen. “I’ll have her delivered for you, sir.”

“Atta boy. Now get the fuck outta my sight. You’re too pretty. I don’t like it.”

I hurry toward the kitchen, frowning. He’s such a weird man. Weird and scary. But he owns everybody and everything. He’s gonna be my way out of poverty and boredom. I want something to happen. I’m ready for adventure.

Carmen

I don’t recognize myself anymore.

I stare at the image in the mirror, of the girl I know is me. My normally curly, unruly black hair is hanging sleek, straightened and shiny over my shoulders. I have discreet makeup in earthy colors, where I usually use vibrant shades of green, pink and orange. The dress feels expensive in how it sensually caresses my curves. Black, shiny, not something I’d ever waste money on, but the matron lent it to me. Gold sandals, bare legs. No panties.

Naked. That’s how I feel. Vulnerable. As if I’m a piece of meat, placed like a slab on a chopping block at the butchers. I don’t know why. He’s just a man, like any other man. Why am I so intimidated by this one in particular?

Luciano Salvatore.

Is it because he literally is the whole organized crime on the West Coast of this country? Because he owns the house I live in, with all the girls working for him? Because of the gossip? The girls who get sent there coming back with frozen faces, never ever mentioning what happened? We always gossip about the johns, but no one dares to say anything about Mr. S.

Yes. I’m afraid. I’ve worked here for three months. Before that, I roamed the streets for two awful years. I should be overjoyed. Not many girls in my situation get a chance like this. Maybe he’ll like me? Maybe he’ll make me a regular? I’ve heard those girls come back with gifts, money. On the other hand, I also heard that some just disappear, and I don’t know what happens to them.

I don’t recognize myself.

I look beautiful, but my eyes are huge and haunted.

I know I’m pretty, but I’ve never looked as elegant, as luxuriously affluent as I do right now. Still, I’m filled with nothing but dread, my stomach in a knot, my heart pounding heavily. I feel as if I’m walking to the gallows.

Looking around the fairly cozy room, bright, a bit old-fashioned, with old wooden furniture painted white, and fabrics with little roses on them, I wonder if I’ll return here, if I’ll see it again.

Dear God, let me see it again.

Dear God, make him not like me.

Three harsh raps on the door make me flinch. The matron enters before I even have time to answer.

“It’s time, Carmen. The driver is here.”

It feels as if all the blood drains from my face. The matron gives me a look that briefly tells of pity, then her features harden.

“He’s just a man. They’re all slaves to their cocks in the end. You know the trade. Work that lush mouth of yours. Ride him. Take command. You know what to do, how to make him relax. Make him come again and again, until you’ve spent him. He won’t have time for any games. He’ll be satisfied and send you on your way. Don’t ever show your fear, don’t bare your throat to him. You hear me? You’ll be back here before you know it.” She strokes my cheek. “You’re a stunning beauty. He’ll love you.”

My stomach clenches. I think I’d prefer if he didn’t. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I force a smile and nod.

“Think of all the money, love. He pays well.”

“He’s just a man,” I repeat, then I follow my matron, my teacher, caretaker, my new mother. It’s harsh love, but it’s what I have.

As I pass the common room, the conversations go silent and all faces turn toward me. I hold my head high. I have no choice, so I better make the best of it.

He’s just a man.

Lucas

At six-thirty sharp, I’m waiting outside the house on the outskirts of the foggy city. The air here is cleaner. To the far west the sun glitters on the ocean. Closing my eyes, I enjoy the warmth on my skin, and the sharp, sweet smell of newly cut grass. A moment later the front door slams shut. I jerk and look toward the source of the sound. A tiny girl, woman I correct myself, comes down the stairs. Her steps are hesitant, her face frozen in a mask of the same trepidation I feel when I get too close to Salvatore. When our eyes meet, my gut clenches. She looks so shy, so young, so innocent. What is she doing here? Why the hell am I taking her to the monster in the white mansion?

Miss Moreno is the most beautiful woman I’ve seen, and I’m overcome with a protection instinct so heavy I’ve never experienced anything like it before.

Carmen

On the driveway waits a black limousine with tinted windows. A shorter version, not one of those ridiculously stretched ones. A man stands next to it, his arms crossed, leaning back casually against the side of the limo. He’s tall and blond, blue-eyed, tanned. He looks like a Viking to me. I’m his absolute opposite. Short, even though the heels make me somewhat taller, Colombian and dark. His nose looks as if it has been broken a couple of times and it gives him a bit of a brutish look, but he has kinder eyes than most men I come across. Well, the men I come across all want something from me, their faces hungry, sometimes vicious. I rarely meet anyone who looks at me as if I’m a person. This man does.