Anne knows she's a good waitress. Neat and quiet, attentive but never pushy, with a good memory for faces. Quick and precise with orders and clean-up. She can smile when necessary, and in the constant flux of activity, no one notices how empty her smile is. It's about as sincere as she can be, though. Later, in the dingy room she lives in, when she's alone, she never smiles. She just strips off the uniform and curls up in the corner of the bed, as far from the sagging, smelly center of the mattress as possible.
She's a good waitress. Bright, clean, quick, nearly invisible. But no waitress, no matter how good, deserves a $20 tip on a check of black coffee and dry seven-grain toast.
The bill is tucked under the saucer, folded tight, and the customer is long gone. Anne knows exactly who it was. She's been around several times in the past couple weeks. Rich bitch, all perfect glossy hair, wide green eyes, cheekbones sharp enough to cut flesh. Whiskey-honey voice and dressed impossibly well for the grotty diner, all microfiber and silks. She was probably industry, film or music, and likes to slum now and then. Remind herself why she'd worked so hard to get where she was, remember how shitty it felt to be ordinary and lost.
Anne tucks the bill into her apron pocket and swipes the table clean. Leans over to get at the back corners, and feels someone press up against her spine. Leaning against her ass, patting the front of her apron. Brief weight, slither of silk, and husky whisper in her ear: "More where that came from, baby."
She grips the rag hard in her hand, not breathing. Blinks, and when she opens her eyes, she's alone again. The bell over the door ringing, and the bitch is gone.
X
A week later, and no sign of the bitch.
Lunch shift over, she's all cashed out and hanging up her apron. The loose change of all her tips makes the front pocket of her denim skirt sag. Her feet are aching and the oil soaking every molecule of the diner's oxygen has infused her skin. All she wants is a shower and a good long nap. A bath is too much to wish for in the boarding house; it's hard enough to step into the shared tub. She'll never lie down in it.
Walking slowly home, blinking against the glaring smog, she's in her own world. She doesn't notice the sleek black car tailing her until she stops at a light three blocks down and it glides up next to her.
Smoked window goes down, and the bitch is looking at her. "Get in."
Anne obeys. She has no good reason to refuse, and the blast of air-conditioning makes up her mind for her. "Thanks."
"Don't thank me," the bitch says. She flips a toggle on the dash, and Anne hears the door locks engage.
And then they're driving, and Anne tips her head back against the soft leather seat, feeling the A/C eddy over her skin. She doesn't open her eyes until the car pulls to a stop. Anonymous parking garage: white concrete walls, fluorescent lights.
"Look at me."
Anne turns her head. The bitch is twisted in her seat, elbow resting on the steering wheel, head cocked as she looks Anne over.
"What do you want?" Anne asks.
"I don't want anything from you."
"Right."
The bitch laughs, low in her throat, husky and mean. "No, really. You offering? Because I can't imagine you anything I might want, sweetheart." She brushes Anne's hair off her face, two fingertips sliding down her cheek, cupping her chin.
Anne's not scared. She knows she used to be strong, and if this does get scary, maybe she'll remember how to fight. For now, though, she's seesawing between the gentle touch on her face and the harsh, mean edge to what the woman is saying. Back and forth, up and down: gentle, then mean. Then gentle again.
"What's your name, baby?"
"Anne."
She laughs again. "Plain name for such a pretty girl." Pinches Anne's chin, and one finger slides down her neck, taps the top of Anne's collarbone. "I'm Lilah."
"Pretty," Anne says. As she breathes, she feels her chest rise against Lilah's hand. Her hand is chilly and soft, and Anne knows that if she keeps touching her, she'll be cleaner and colder than she's ever felt.
"Are you a good girl?"
Anne tries to look away, but Lilah's eyes, green and cat-like, hold her still. Not a good girl, not anymore, she's not. She shakes her head.
"But you know how to behave, don't you, baby?"
Anne nods.
"Good."
And Lilah's moving away, out of the car, in a flash of short skirt and long, long legs in smoky stockings. Anne struggles out of her seat and follows.
X
Lilah leads her through the department store, moving quickly and expertly, letting Anne stumble her way behind.
Anne has forgotten how many colors there could be, all the textures of leather, all the shades of red and purple and gold. Silk scarves longer than she is tall, tiny linen camisoles, snug velvet pants. So much richness in the world, spread out on display, begging for her to touch. Every time she reaches out, though, Lilah's there. Clucking her tongue against her teeth and slapping Anne's hand back down.
Anne looks around, fingertips itching, eyes glazed, and finds Lilah staring at her. Twisty little smirk on her face.
"Like what you see, baby?"
Anne nods and swallows. She thinks she knows what's going on; everyone's warned her about disgusting dirty old men who want to be your sugar daddy, buy you things. Tall, gorgeous young women, apparently, can go for the same thing. "You don't have to buy me--" she tries to whisper, but Lilah laughs, cutting her off.
"No, I don't. I don't have to do anything I don't want to," she says, taking Anne's hand. Mean, then gentle again. "In this world, you earn your keep."
X
Lilah pushes her into the dressing room. Anne backs up against the wall as Lilah reaches toward her, unbuttons her cardigan, pushing it down her arms then unzips her skirt. Anne feels the denim slide off her hips, hears it hit the carpet, change spilling. Lilah picks it up and Anne shrinks back. That meanness is back in her eyes, calculating, appraising, her gaze sweeping over Anne shivering in her panties and bra.
"Just checking your size," Lilah says. And she is, reading the label, nodding as if she approves. "Why don't you sit down?"
Anne perches on the edge of the padded bench, getting colder under the glare of the fluorescent lights. Lilah touches her face again, and Anne wills herself to stay still. She can't remember the last time she was touched like this, so gently and yet so firmly that her mind freezes and all she feels is the pattern drawn under Lilah's finger.
She shivers as Lilah presses her hand against her cheek. "Sssh," Lilah hums. "It's okay, baby. Ssshh." Lilah's hand moves down her neck, brushes her collarbone, and Anne feels everything start to lift away: the job, the shitty room she's supposed to call home, the hunger pangs that twist her awake at night. The guilt that's like the oil from the fryer, impossible to wash off. The loneliness. When it's all gone, what will she be?
X
Lilah leaves her there, tells her to wait quietly, and Anne is trying to be good. She really is. She can be good again.
She's also getting bored. The dressing room is larger than most, but that's because the store is so expensive. When you have money like Lilah does, you get the best. The last dressing room Anne was in was a curtained-off stall at the Los Feliz Goodwill; it was barely wide enough to turn around in, and she could see the thick yellow toenails on the person in the next stall.
Her nipples are hard in the cold and Anne shifts on the seat uncomfortably.
X
When Lilah comes back, she knocks but doesn't wait for Anne to answer before slipping inside.
"Here," she says, holding up a pale blue sun dress. "Try this."
Anne backs up against the wall, crossing her arms over herself.
"On second thought," Lilah says, tilting her head, taking in Anne from head to toe. "Don't." She tosses the dress on the floor and Anne freezes as Lilah's eyes roam over her. Her eyes gleam, growing brighter and bigger as she moves forward. She moves quickly and liquidly, as if she has fewer bones than regular people, sinking to her knees before the bench. Before Anne can fully notice, Lilah is cupping her breast, rubbing her thumb over the thin fabric. She smiles slowly when she feels how hard Anne's nipple is already.
"Eager, baby?" Lilah whispers.
Anne breathes in short, shallow gasps as Lilah pinches her nipple and rolls it between her fingers. She's just about to moan, can feel it building in the back of her throat when Lilah drops her hand.
"Sssh, sweetheart. Can't make any noise, okay?"
Anne nods, pushing her chest back against Lilah's hand. Lilah chuckles, a sound like whiskey tumbling over ice cubes.
"Stay still, baby. Be a good girl." Her hand brushes over Anne's stomach. "So soft--"
Lilah's nails are perfect against the white of Anne's stomach, and she watches, fascinated, as those nails draw swirls and ellipses over her skin. Her nails are blunt and squared off just over her fingertips, glossy, the color of dark red wine. Anne used to have nice nails, too, well-shaped and long enough to be pretty. She painted them all shades of pink, rose and carnation and bubblegum. Now they're cut to the quick, scrubbed with the harsh generic soap in the employee's toilet, and she never thinks about them.
Lilah runs her thumb around Anne's navel, smile playing over her face. Anne shivers and tries not to buck when her thumb presses into the navel and works in and out. Lilah glances up at her, and smiles more widely. "Good girl."
Anne bites her lip, heartbeat pounding in her head, as Lilah presses her open palm just over her mound. "No, no," Anne whispers desperately. She tries to cross her legs but Lilah's other hand holds her knee tightly. "You can't--"
Lilah pulls back, and Anne's skin howls at the loss of contact. Eyebrow raised, Lilah sits back on her heels. "I *can't*?" she asks disbelievingly.
"No," Anne says, reaching for Lilah's arm but Lilah just leans back farther. "It's not like that. You can't. I'm cursed--"
This is what she tells herself every day. She was cursed, not him, it could never have been him. It was her fault, all her fault. "You can't touch me," Anne whispers. "You'll--"
"You worried about me, baby?" Lilah sounds almost bored, contemptuous.
"No--. Yes." She hates Lilah, but like everything else these days, hate is a vague emotion for her. It's more like she's supposed to hate Lilah, that's the role, and she's playing along as best she can. "I don't know."
Lilah shakes her head. "Nothing's going to happen to me."
Anne's throat is dry, her skin flashing hot and cold, and she can barely speak as she swallows the lump in her throat. The absence of Lilah's hand burns like a brand on her stomach.
"Let me guess," Lilah continues. "You were normal. Happy. Then the white picket fence caved in, monsters came out from under your bed, and your whole world went to hell."
"Yes," Anne whispers.
"I thought so. You have any idea how common that is? How ordinary that makes you?"
"No."
"Pretty fucking ordinary, baby." Lilah leans back in and kisses Anne's knee with a wet, open mouth. Her hand moves up Anne's thigh as she raises her head. "Nothing to worry about."
Anne gulps as Lilah's hand spans her thigh and squeezes it. "No," she says, arching a little when Lilah's other hand brushes against her achingly sore nipple. "You don't understand--"
"Tell you what," Lilah says and stands suddenly. Her elbows rise like wings as she unzips the back of her skirt and shimmies out of it. Her hips are wider than they looked, curvy in the dark stockings. She's not wearing any underwear, and tiny curls of her pubic hair peek out of the sheer fabric. Anne turns her head away, but Lilah grabs her chin and pulls it back.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you."
Anne nods, feeling the burn of tears in the corner of her eyes.
"You're going to make me come in--" Lilah checks her watch. "--ten minutes. And if nothing happens to me, well, then I'll think about returning the favor." She unbuttons her silk shirt, but leaves it open, her full breasts spilling out over the dark bra. "Hmmm?"
She traces the outline of Anne's lips with her finger, waiting for the answer. Anne's lips purse, pressing against the shiny nail. Lilah chuckles again.
"You have to say something, baby. It's not an oral contract if you're not willing to open your mouth."
Anne gazes up at her; she can't really be here, she thinks, it's impossible that this beautiful woman is touching her like this, talking to her. "Okay," she whispers, and Lilah smiles.
"Good." She bends over, retrieving a pager from her skirt. She taps its buttons and shakes it. "Ten minutes," she says. She leans over Anne, bracing her arm against the wall.
Lilah's dark shirt closes like curtains around Anne's head, and the dark makes this slightly easier. Anne kisses her stomach lightly, tentatively.
She feels Lilah stroking her hair. Braver, Anne kisses her stomach up to the little hollow between her breasts. They are so much fuller than she'd ever expected, always hidden under Lilah's severe jackets. She turns her head, kissing the warm swell that presses back against her face. Anne reaches her arms around Lilah's waist, hugging her tightly.
Lilah tugs her bra up, and her breasts bounce against Anne's face. She closes her mouth on one side, suckling gently. Lilah's hand goes back to her hair, petting her more roughly.
"Good baby," Lilah breathes, gazing down at her. Anne captures the dark, hard nipple in her mouth and keeps suckling, holding Lilah's eyes. "Oh, good girl." She presses Anne back against the wall as Anne feels her spit soaking the nipple. She bites it lightly, and Lilah's hand closes in her hair.
The tug on her scalp sends fiery shocks through Anne, and she digs her fingers into the soft skin on Lilah's back, sucking hard until Lilah yanks her head back and repositions it over the other breast. Anne brings up one hand to knead at Lilah's wet breast as she starts sucking the new nipple.
"Fu-uu-ck," Lilah breathes. She moves back a bit, guiding Anne's head down her stomach. Anne drags her tongue down the skin until it runs over the elastic of Lilah's stockings. She sucks through the sheer knit, feeling Lilah's nails dig into the back of her scalp.
Lilah's skin tastes so clean and sharp, like some herb whose name Anne can't remember, and she holds Lilah by the waist, feeling her hips rolling against her mouth.
Anne has no idea what she's doing. She's just a stupid, bad girl, trying to do what she's told for once. She alternates little butterfly kisses over Lilah's mound with long licks. She's read Cosmo and Glamour enough to know that women are supposed to like variety.
"Baby, baby girl," Lilah whispers harshly, putting one foot up on the bench beside Anne as she rolls her stockings down. "Oh, sweetheart--"
Anne nips at the hair there, breathing in the heat rolling off of Lilah. She heard Billy Ford and his friends joking once about this, how boring it was to kiss a girl here. Anne can't see how that's true; every time she moves her tongue, Lilah shivers and moves under her hands, sending double-strength flashes back through Anne's body.
Lilah pushes Anne's head down and spreads her legs. The heat and wetness envelop Anne's face, soaking her as she moves her lips desperately. She's going to do this wrong, and Lilah's going to leave her here. She finds herself lapping up the valley between Lilah's inner lips until her front teeth hit Lilah's clit.
The woman bucks her hips hard, groaning, bouncing Anne's head against the wall, and Anne sucks one lips into her mouth, worrying at it with her tongue. Lilah tastes like heavy cream and a hint of the sharp tang of whiskey. Anne sucks the wetness, swallowing greedily.
Ford said he just traced the alphabet with his tongue to keep himself interested. Knowing the minutes are ticking down, Anne tries that and gets stuck on J: a nice long hook, corkscrewing her tongue into Lilah's hole, that sends rapid shudders through Lilah, tightening her grip on Anne's hair, keening under her breath. She shoves Anne back and forth, spreading her legs, and Anne scrolls her J's as fast as she can.
Lilah yanks Anne's head back with one hand and pushes one of Anne's hands down with the other. Anne stares up, breathless and dazed, her face soaked, licking her lips. Lilah's eyes are dark and glittery. "If you don't fuck me in about five seconds," Lilah hisses, squeezing Anne's wrist hard enough to pop her knuckles, "all bets are off."
Anne's index finger slides inside Lilah and the sensation is overwhelming: slick and softer than velvet, fiery with her pounding heartbeat.
"More, baby."
Anne crosses her fingers and pushes three inside, rotating her wrist. The heel of her palm hits her chin as she leans back in, closing her lips around Lilah's clit, its swollen head pulsing into her mouth. Lilah is rocking back and forth so Anne keeps still, sucking hard, occasionally twisting and wriggling her fingers. She is flushed and panting, her own pussy painfully tight and throbbing as Lilah shoves one more time, pinning her against the wall again, rubbing herself hard all over Anne's face.
Anne's fingers are trapped in the vise of muscle and wet heat, sucked in and out as Lilah starts to come. Anne shakes under the assault, feeling every twitch and shudder that runs through Lilah. The hood of her clit is caught in Anne's teeth, her hole spasming until Anne's fingers, cramped and twisted, are propelled out. Lilah gasps once, hard and deep, and bucks one more time.
Lilah holds Anne's head as her hips rock more slowly, twitches racing up and down her thigh where Anne rests her cheek. She sighs, and Anne echoes the sound. Her fingers are wrinkled like raisins from Lilah's cum.
They stay still like that for a long time.
Finally, Lilah pets Anne's hair gently and tilts up her chin. Her cheeks are red, eyes still glittery, but the familiar, contemptuous smirk is back on her lips. "Good girl," she whispers. "Such a good girl."
Anne closes her eyes, resting her forehead in Lilah's palm. Her own body feels twisted and torqued beyond belief, alight with tension. All at once she feels hollowed-out, agonizingly empty, and yet tight and thick with need.
The pager rings out its harsh alarm, and Lilah moves back, turning it off. When Anne opens her eyes, Lilah across the room, rolling her stockings back up. Her shirt is buttoned and hair rearranged.
"Very nice," Lilah says, tugging her skirt up over her hips. "Sure you've never done this before?"
Anne shakes her head. She can't meet Lilah's eyes. She feels worse than ever. All the tension flaring between her legs and up her chest is starting to hurt, sharp and shameful. Lilah touches one fingertip to the drying cum on Anne's cheek. "You might want to get cleaned up, sweetheart."
Anne accepts the tissue and swipes it across her mouth. She's not going to cry, even if the tears are gathering in the corner of her eyes and her nose is stuffy.
She hasn't cried since May, and she's not about to start now. When she speaks, she's amazed at how normal, how angry, her voice sounds. "You promised--"
Lilah shakes her head slightly, smirking. "All in good time, baby. I think I'd like to get you home first."