“Your private booth, sir,” she said, gesturing through the door.
Anton nodded and stepped in. Immediately, the deafening music was muted, the dizzying array of blinding lights filtered, the general assault on the senses taken down several notches. Electronic noise cancelation and double-glazed windows, he guessed. Classy. One could at least hear in this space, speak, think.
“May I bring you a drink, sir?” she said.
“Glenfiddich, double shot, two blocks of ice.” He stepped up to the window, surmising, correctly, that its angle and mirrored surface allowed one-way vision only, and looked down onto the dance floor. The girl was still there, still dancing, although with markedly less enthusiasm, glancing repeatedly towards the stairs up which Anton had gone, her face a mix of anger, disappointment, frustration.
“And that girl I was dancing with, blonde, dark blue sequined dress, please invite her up here to join me.”
“You won’t be needing her,” said another voice, female, soft and sultry even against the dampened din of the music. Anton turned in surprise to look at the new arrival as she stepped into the booth, the door closing behind her.
“I didn’t say I need her,” he retorted, after a moment’s pause. “I want her to be with me.”
“And you are used to being given what you want.” It was not posed as a question, and Anton’s lips twitched with the hint of a smile.
“I like to get what I want. Whether given, or taken, makes little difference to me.”
“Indeed,” she muttered, moving over to also look down onto the dance floor, her gait so subtle that she seemed to glide across the floor. “I like to have what I want too. But things are so much more likely to be cherished when they are given. I like to be given the things I want. I cherish such things.”
Anton could not help but stare, drawn by the ethereal beauty of this woman. Her dress, formed from layers of overlapping bands of white satin that seemed to shimmer as she walked, was held up by an ornate lace collar around the neck and left her shoulders, arms and back exposed. The effect was exotically sensual, but she was slim, much too so for his usual taste, with skin exceedingly pale and glistening slightly, as if oiled, giving the semblance of ivory. But the ghost-like mien was dramatically offset by deep auburn hair, strands of it woven so that a golden tiara holding it in place was only just visible, the rest cascading down over her shoulders and almost down to her hips, so vividly in contrast against her dress and skin it was likely rivers of dark blood oozing across snow.
“And what is it you want?”, he asked.
“But she is pretty,” the woman continued, as if not hearing the question. “Young, vibrant. Delicious energy. I can see why she appeals to you.”
“But you were not invited here for casual pleasures,” she exclaimed suddenly, turning away from the window and looking at him directly for the first time.
“I expected that I had been invited here for business,” Anton replied. “It’s why I came. The opportunity of a casual pleasure is bonus. It makes the experience of attending to business all the more, as you say, delicious.”
She laughed, her face remaining serenely smooth even as her lips, glossy with vivid candy red lipstick, beckoned him with their warmth. But it was her inscrutable eyes, dark as the night sky, that held him as she seemed to caress him with her gaze, leaving him feeling powerless to move… feeling certain that he did not want to move.
“You came here expecting to do business?”, she asked, her voice once again soft, sultry. Anton thought he detected the hint of an accent, but it was hard to place. “That’s not out of the question, and we have time. So much time.”
“Is that so? And what business are you in? I do not believe I’ve had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.”
She was still smiling. “And I have not had the pleasure of making yours, although I know who you are, Mr Rossini.”
“Then you have me at an advantage.” His instincts alert, Anton reminded himself to remain wary, but the voice was so warm, those lips so inviting, those eyes deep enough to dive into and lose yourself in forever.
“That is true,” she said. “But not because we are not yet acquainted. Nevertheless, my name is Callidora. Now we are acquainted, and you need not feel so… disadvantaged”. She smiled, as if about to burst into laughter again.
“Callidora?” Anton replied, savouring the sound of it. “Unusual, but appropriately pretty. Of Greek origin, I suspect. Your family is from Greece?”
Her smile became enigmatic, and she looked away from him for a moment. “My family is very old. But it has always ensured that each generation takes on something from the previous, so we never lose touch with our origins.” Her eyes darted back to meet his. “That is important, don’t you think? Each of us passing along something of ourselves to the next in our family, so that you never, really… die?”
“I prefer to make the most of my life while I have it,” Anton replied firmly. “It won’t last forever.”
“It won’t last forever,” Callidora agreed, almost murmuring. Then, quizzically, as if talking to herself, “The only thing that lasts forever is death. Do you not find that profound? The very thing people most fear ultimately becomes their greatest achievement, a triumph that supasses imagining – defeating the burden of time.”
Anton shrugged, his skin suddenly and inexplicably cold, as if the temperature in the room had plummeted. “There are triumphs aplenty in life, and I am content to seek them. We were speaking of my invitation. Was I invited here for professional reasons?”
“Did you accept the invitation for professional reasons?” She stepped up close to him, slipping a finger under the lapel of his jacket and sliding it along the length of the seam. “Or did you accept because it might be pleasurable?”
“We have had the pleasure of becoming acquainted. Perhaps it is time to be professional. Was it you who invited me?” Anton’s entire body felt oddly chilled, although he knew his senses were deceiving him, the room could not be that cold. He could not decide if he was being deliberately seduced or was simply besotted by the exotic sexuality she seemed to naturally exude.
“I think you accepted because you want something, even if you’re not quite sure what that is. If you get something you want, what difference does it make who invited you, or why?” Callidora purred, leaning in an inhaling, as if to take in his scent.
“Why would I not know what want?” Anton thought he should move back to create a more comfortable separation between them, but could not, as if his brain no longer had control over his body. Every sense was alert – he could smell the sweetness of her perfume, feel the back of her finger against his chest, the calm flow of her voice was like a lullaby, and he could not tear his eyes away from her. But the cold surpassed all else, a frigidity that seemed to penetrate to his very core. “You did not mention what business you are in. Are you involved in the club?”
“I am involved in the club,” she acknowledged. “It is a place where we bring people together, people who want something more than they have. And here, we are able to give it to them.” She had both hands gently gripping his lapels now, and was looking up, as if expecting him to lean forward and kiss her. But he could not move his head even if he had wanted to.
“This is your business?”
Callidora smiled again, and began to move around him, her movements still so gentle she seemed to float.
“My business is pleasure, and my pleasure is business.” She continued to slide her finger under the collar of his jacket as she slipped behind him. “As I told you, am a person who likes to have the things I want, but I want those things to be given to me.” She leaned forward, pressing her cheek against the back of his shoulder, whispering, “That means I cherish them. I cherish everything that is given to me. Forever.”
“You want me to give you something? What is it you want?” Anton’s mouth was bone dry, and he realised suddenly that his drink still had not been brought to him.
“You accepted the invitation because you wanted something, although you are not sure what. You came hoping for a business opportunity. I will offer you both, what you want and what you hope for.” She had both hands on his shoulders now, her touch so light as to be barely felt, head still held against his back and her mouth at his ear. “And you came here hoping for at least a little... pleasure. I know it, and I will offer you that too.”
“Thank you,” Anton croaked. He felt desperate for a drink, longing for the Scotch that would soothe his parched throat and splash warmth into his icy body.
Her voice was now so soft he should not be able to hear it. “You will join my business. You will be my agent, my delegate, my envoy, my instrument. You will serve me, and I will honour you for your service and give you things you want, and things you hope for. And you will find pleasure in these things, and cherish them, as I do, because I share them with you.”
“What business? What things? I don't understand.” he sighed.
“You do not need to understand, dearest Anton, just accept. It is what you were born for, and it is what you will die for. You will give me what I want, and I will give you what you need - a gift that surpasses anything you have ever imagined. What we need, what we want, what we find pleasure in, this is our business, and we will share a lifetime of it... and then more than a lifetime.”
"I don't understand," Anton repeated, barely able form the words, his tongue little more than a dry solid lump in his mouth. “You said you wanted to be given something. What do you want me to give you?”
“Everything, my beloved.” He felt her hands now, at the top of his shoulders. He felt her nose graze the back of his ear, felt her lips against the side of his neck. “I want you to give me everything.”
A sharp pain, as if she had stabbed him with a small knife. He gasped in surprise… and then warmth, at last, radiating from that point like a wildfire set alight by a fuse within his body. He realised his eyes were now closed and, for the briefest instant, thought he was dreaming. And then, in the moments before oblivion overtook his senses, an explosion of pleasure unlike anything he had ever known.