FLat 5A - Chapter 1

Flat 5A
By, Patricia Ann Meyer

Chapter 1
The name Eve hung loosely, a plastic card taped to a worn wooden door leading to one of many off Broadway dressing rooms. Yet despite the paint chips and busted lock, Eve felt like a star with a space to herself. Although Daddy never had much faith in her acting and dancing, he had tossed thousands into ballet and jazz lessons three times week; his only goal being to teach his daughter the art of gracefully stepping from a limo and gliding into box seats at Carnegie. He never intended to place his cherub before the masses or put his quiet investment on display.

Still he sent the check each week, two thousand for Genevieve, Evey as he called her, to “get those silly fantasies out of her little red head.” Dancing professionally however was not a fantasy for Eve, it was quite a reality. And although her Daddy kept her secure in a plush New York flat, Eve sought to expand her talents with a day job as a topless dancer at one of the most private gentleman's clubs in Manhattan. It may have been her looks that gained her entry through the doors of "Purgatory,"but refinement and classy confidence won her the job.

With the smoothing of her dress along her bottom, Eve slid onto a black leather bar stool. It was a rich, ethereal and perplexing place, and the vibes brought chill bumps to Eve’s soft shoulders. At the center of the club, a circular bar hosted a fantastic fountain of naked male demons. Awesome specimens of muscle, with long wild hair and empty open eyes like that of Greek statues. The three glass figures, riding upon the backs of black marble serpents, rose from a frothy, boiling sea and reached thorny fingers toward the heavens. Spiked horns protruded from their foreheads, while toe like talons clung to and pierced the under bellies of the snakes they reined.

Behind the bar, at the rim of the fountain, sat various colorful decanters of alcohol, blood orange vodka, green absinthe, purple haze, the contents known only to the masters of the spirits, otherwise known as the regular bartender. Eve expected the alcohol commission was passing a silent eye on the unlabeled bottles, surely in exchange for particular favors from the establishment. But these wheeling and dealings, of course, were common to such places serving the upper echelons of New York social circles.

A plump, older, well-polished man lounged beside Eve twisting a moist cigar between his teeth. She offered Cortner a firm lingering handshake and twisted him a teasing smile as she tipped her martini glass to the bartender. The cigar smoke rose to swirl about the gold glow of spotlights and join the gilded fog rising from the misty fountain toward the high cathedralesque ceiling. A mural of seductive angels hovered from the dome and fancy gold ironwork, arched in support of the ceiling, seemed to cage the women into a lofty eternal prison. Floating in a bed of feathers and adorned only in satin panties, they looked wantonly down begging for their release.

Directly below, their devilish counterparts clasped meaty thighs tight around the writhing serpents and arched their backs offering strong glass erections to the angels on high. These glittering organs were challenged only by the split marble snake tongues frozen in pointed teasing darts.

The fountain entranced Eve as she imagined herself up there naked in the mist riding a glass cock. Wet and slippery with sparkling rain, an awing pride of ravenous men about the bar. She would climb up and stand before a slithery forking serpent tongue. She would flick at it with her own and rise gingerly to let the tip slide teasingly between her thighs. Her audience would stomp their feet and chant a testosterone laden call to "ride the beast, ride the beast, ride the beast."

She would then rise to mount the first and largest of the three glass scaled monstrosities. Rocking hard upon the ridged shaft, mocking the angels on high, she would capture her own powerful release, then lean to kiss her lovers' empty eyes, then embrace his solid face between her breasts.

“You are just the crème we are looking to offer our clientele," grunted Cortner. "Tell me why you want to work here Miss Avery?” Thoughts interrupted, Lawrence Cortner was asking her why work here, ‘why?’ she wondered, 'why to ride those glass men of course!'

Eve had not really considered why, maybe for the thrill, maybe to stay in shape between auditions, maybe because it was the one thing that guaranteed she would be tossed out of her father’s will. “Well Sir,” her gaze fixed on the sparkling monstrosities just beyond his shoulder, she replied slowly, exaggerating the words over the rushing sound of the fountain, “I …like …to… try… everything …once.” Her china face turning sideways to propel a pouting smile, her eyes shifting back to her interviewer.

“Amazing aren’t they?” says Cortner having cocked back his head and exhaled smoke toward the ceiling.

“The Angels?” asked Eve, following the smoke with her eyes.

“Those too,” he replied, leading Eve to understand Cortner knew her attention was held behind him. “Damned if those girls don’t fly down and get a little demon dick when the club's asleep,” he chuckled.

“You think?” Eve imagined herself caged above, watching the men come alive to ride the serpents high to the iron bars, pry her loose, and pull her down upon them.

Eve looked again past Cortner to the demons. She considered the strongest tallest one. Hadn't all three of them begged the heavens, fingers to the sky? She did not remember. That one, the one with a warrior's heavy chest, his arm was somehow lower, reaching out to his side, his palm open, his chin reset downward, empty eyes fixed on her. She felt a chill. It was cold beneath the mist of the fountain. Everything suddenly seemed touched with fog; from the conversation, to the napkin under her drink, to the marble surface of the bar. Moist.

She pushed it out of her head, another display of 'Evey's fantastic imagination,' she heard her father musing, 'Get on with it girl, stop day dreaming!'

“Does the club ever sleep?” she resumed, wondering for a moment if it was more of a house of prostitution than dance, especially since there were no stages or tables in this particular room.

“We all get our share of shut eye, when the demons let us,” Cortner teased, “Plus you want the day shift? Correct.”

A bit uneased, Eve concentrated on his stubby cigar and pictured his dick, a twin, only more ragged looking from years of connived chews. She shivered again realizing she was disgusting herself, and re-focused.

“Dance in any form is self-expression, and I want to perform for varied audiences and learn to meet a wide array of expectations. To refine all genres in my dance,” she explained with an attempt toward poise and professionalism.

“You realize,” Cortner said pausing to run his hand over his bald tan head. “There is more to working here than dancing on a stage." His eyes darted about her body, examining her like a doctor or someone buying a car. "I mean, Miss Avery, you will be expected to…”

"Oh I know,” Eve interrupted. “I am looking forward to dancing at tables and on laps,” she heard the naivety in her voice as she tried not to look at that hand and those empty eyes calling over Cortner's shoulder. “I have read books about the art of table dancing, and I can’t wait to see what I can do.”

Although much more would be expected of her, Cortner brushed the details aside. She was malleable and ideal for the place. “I can’t wait to see what this sensual red head can do,” he sparked, tipping his Scotch and water to his newest employee.

“Let’s get you started, my Cardinal. First a tour, for the newest little bird in our flock." And in that moment Eve’s stage name, as well as a new part of Eve, was birthed. Cardinal, like the sin, would fly well here.
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Chapter Two of Flat 5A - Eve is watched through her Window, visit:
http://www.stories.com/main/view_item.php?item_id=207380