Young Writers Society

He hasn’t heard his real name in a year. Maybe longer. How long has it been since he landed on the street? It was just after his dad went to jail. He ran. Out-of-the-way clubs in Las Vegas aren’t particular about age when they hire their employees. They are, however, big on presentation. The persona was his first lie. 

There were days before Adonis Begonia. Hopefully, there will be days after. Too bad they’re not in view. Everything he experiences now is in segments. He’s not even sure if they make sense next to each other: just bits and pieces of reality.

Adonis heads down the street on his way to work. Vacationers and natives brush against his bare arms, but he can hardly feel their touch. At some point, his skin stopped responding to human contact. That doesn’t bother him. It just makes his job easier. 

“Hey, sexy!” a man outside a casino cat-calls. “How about a ride around the block?”

He could use the money, but he needs to get to his job for the real bucks to be raked in. Adonis ignores the man. That man, and then several drunk women. A father. A bouncer at another club. Some random dude with a handful of freshly scratched lottery tickets. Not important. 

“Hey, Adonis!” Pace greets him by the door. He’s Adonis’s roommate, and the two of them share drugs, but beyond that they’re not very close. Friends in addiction.

“Hey,” Adonis responds. 

“Your octopus is here.”

“Yeah, she always is.”

Pace gestures for Adonis to come inside. “I’m thinking I get the Appletini Lady tonight. She pays well. And you’re going to get your regulars, right?”

“I’m going to do what I have to.”

“Okay. She’s in the back, when you’re ready.”

Adonis laughs without humor. “I’m always ready for some cash, Pace.”

“Yeah, I guess we are.” Pace raises his eyebrows at a man across the room, who licks his lips in response. “I’m going to see if this guy can pay well.” Paces heads off the in the direction of the man, before leading him away for a kiss or two and maybe a lap dance. Nothing drastic. Just money. 

Adonis makes himself comfortable on a barstool for a moment. He blinks. Time goes missing. He's learned to accept that he's not going to remember.

--

Miss Roth is one of Adonis’s regulars. She’s one of the younger clients, the kind that still believe they can find something lasting and loving with a club prostitute. How adorable. Adonis would tell her no, but the money adds up handsomely. He’s gone to many a party with her as a significant other. Of course, a paid significant other.

“Going my way tonight?” Adonis asks. He took the time to apply eyeliner in the subway station. It was a good decision. He bats his eyelashes.

“Depends. Have you upped your costs?”

“Nah, baby. Not for you.”

Miss Roth furrows her eyebrows. “Not for me?” 

“Two hundred fifty an hour. Like always. For my favorite.” He darts in, pressing a palm against her chest. Her heart rate skyrockets. “Are you up for anything?”

“Aren’t I always?” 

“True.”

Adonis knows where Miss Roth wants them to go together. Her apartment. It’s not that far away from his, but it’s definitely better quality. She’s rich. Her apartment has two bedrooms, a den, a kitchen, and two bathrooms. There’s a pool out front. Sometimes, after he’s done the unspeakable, Adonis likes to go for a swim to clear his head and wash the scent of her perfume from his body. And he’s slept on her couch dozens of times. It’s a blue pull-out, and she supplies real feather pillows. 

“We’re going—” Miss Roth begins.

“—home.” Adonis takes her hand. “I know where you live. We’re going to your home.”

“It could be your home too, if you—”

Adonis shakes his head. “This is my job, remember. I work.”

“You could be live-in.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“I know.”

He knows that she knows. She makes the suggestion every single time they meet. They go to Miss Roth’s house. Blink. Time passing.

--

What happens behind closed doors stays beyond closed doors. That’s rule number one. The only things Adonis carries with him back from Miss Roth’s apartment are the ghosts of the woman’s palms along his chest and back. Nothing more tonight. Maybe tomorrow.

Miss Roth loops a protective arm about Adonis’s waist. Adonis lets it happen. When she’s in a good mood, sometimes this client throws in another bill by mistake.

Back to the club. Back to the dancers. He can’t remember what happens on the way. The world goes black. It doesn’t even surprise him.

--

“Just a little longer.” She presses her body against his, and they’re kissing again. Just inside the doors to the club. He’s not sure how she tastes. That was something he used to notice right away. When he kissed Pace for the first time (women with fetishes paid to watch), Pace tasted like watermelon and mint toothpaste. It wasn’t a bad flavor. His first client tasted like vodka. Adonis almost wishes to kiss those people again, to see if he’s lost his senses. Miss Roth gives him a pill, something small and pink. He dry-swallows it. Alcohol splatters his shirt, and Miss Roth realizes her time is up. 

She backs away from him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Ask the bartender for Adonis Begonia. I’ll be here.” Adonis winks. 

Miss Roth moves to leave, but hesitates. “Will you wait for me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Will you promise not to take any other clients? Just me?”

Adonis spots Pace across the dance floor, making out with a bleach-blonde woman in a silver cocktail dress. Pace always looks happy. How many clients does he take on a night? Adonis only takes his regulars and a couple others for trivial things.

“I can’t afford to be selective.” Yeah, and he can't even keep track of a day. He must get with dozens of people that he doesn't even remember. He sits down on one of the fine leather couches. 

“But if I pay?”

Adonis is about to deny her, but pauses to think. Maybe he can milk this for more money. He needs it, after all, to keep up with inflation in Las Vegas.

Miss Roth caves way too quickly for someone of her status. “Never mind. Forget I bought it up. I’ll see you tomorrow, yes, at the usual time?”

Adonis makes his decision. “The price might be an issue, though, if you want me to wait for you.” He’ll let her think that she’s his one-and-only. How stupid is that woman, that she’s willing to believe a teenage prostitute will only take her on as a client? Some of the people he meets are so stupid.

Miss Roth smiles and tucks several hundreds into the waistband of Adonis’s pants. “I don’t doubt it. I hear you’re pretty popular. Say… one thousand more? You can’t take more than two clients a day, right? You're young.”

“What can I say? People love a cheap thrill. That will work just fine.”

Miss Roth nods. Then, almost as an afterthought, she notes, “Your eyes are beautiful.”

Adonis laughs and runs his fingers below his eyes. Under the neon liner, they truly are. One is the color of an evening sky: dark blue with interspersed gold flecks. The other is a chocolatey-smooth brown. Heterochromia is a selling factor. Bless the genetic lottery. “Thank you. See you tomorrow?” He waggles his eyebrows. 

Miss Roth gives a nervous giggle before sprinting towards the doors and heading down the strip.

She’ll be back.

And she’ll never be his one-and-only.

Adonis spots Pace once more, kissing a young adult with hair dyed blue. The patron can’t be more than twenty-five years old. Someone fresh to the club life. He probably wants to live it up now that he can. In a couple years, he won’t be here ever again.

Adonis feels no guilt in separating him from Pace. 

“Hey, shift’s over. We can go home.”

“Finally.” Pace heads to the bar to grab his coat.

Adonis knows he keeps talking. But his mind goes blank.

--

“You’re telling me you don’t find any pleasure in it at all?” 

Now Adonis sits at the bar with Pace. They both have drinks. The box in which they keep their money sits between them, unlocked. Adonis has a handful of cash. Did Miss Roth give him this much?

“No.” Adonis fiddles with latch on the box before inserting his salary. He hands it to Pace to take back to their shared apartment. “I don’t like sex. I do it to get by.”

“Not even a little bit?”

“No.”

“Huh.” Pace runs a hand through his disheveled curls. “Didn’t think that was possible. Well, I’ll see you tonight.”

“Don’t wait up. I’m gonna pick up another client, maybe score a high-class hotel bed. Rent’s due on Saturday, remember.”

“How could I forget?” 

The club lights pulse in rhythm with the blaring music. Epileptics beware of the Intrigue II. Adonis closes his eyes to the flashing and gropes for the counter to steady himself. What was in that pill that Miss Roth gave him? Has he been poisoned? No, it must just be the weather. He always loses time. 

Pace lights a cigarette. “Anyway, I’ll be headed out. How much did she give you?”

“A bag.” Adonis fishes the package from his backpack. That’s one thing Miss Roth has going for her: heroin. She introduced it to him the first time they met up. After that… the stuff kept him going.

“Cool,” Pace says. He catches the bag when Adonis throws it his way. “All mine, right?”

“All yours,” Adonis confirms. “I’ll bring more tomorrow. See you then.”

“See ya.” Pace stuffs the bag in his pocket and trudges out onto the street. He pulls up his hood against the chill of the night wind. Winter never hits very hard in the Strip, which means every little gust is frigid for Vegas’s residents.

Adonis returns his gaze to the bar and scans it for other potential buyers. The rich men want to get it without their wives finding out, meaning they head for beautiful hotels with lavish decorating. Middle-class men might take him home, or perhaps to a motel. Lower-class folks do it in the back alley. For women, it’s almost the same, except they like to kiss more than grope. Imagine that. He spies a man wearing a suit staring his way. Perfect. Adonis waltzes his way over to this next guest. Maybe he’ll have a pillow tonight.

Miss Roth, in the meanwhile, has made her way back home for sure. Obviously, she didn’t recognize the face on the Missing Persons poster on the subway.

HAVE YOU SEEN ME? JULIAN CUSP, AGE 18.

Not like it would do her any good. He’s never going home.