Class

Class
The water from the snow pattered down through the gutter. He felt the cold of brick against the back of his t-shirt, smoking a cigarette. He’d chosen this place special, farther from the heroin addicts on the public sidewalks, in their big black coats and their bulging eyes. He straightened his hat, the one that made him look like one of the Beatles. He smiled on his cigarette, holding it between his teeth, then pulling it from his white lips. He didn’t shiver.
“You must be freezing.”
He didn’t look up at her for a moment.
“You’re back.”
She didn’t say anything, and he couldn’t help a smirk. He looked up to her and held out his cigarette.
“It’ll help the nerves.”
She took the pale stick from his hand. She held it to her red painted lips and averted her eyes. She didn’t breathe in, and instead blew out enough so the cold made her breath look like smoke. He noticed.
She kept the cigarette in her hand and sunk deeper under her heavy white scarf and trench.
“Why here?” she muttered, “Too much pride for downtown?”
“To meet fine uptown ladies like yourself, m’ am,” he chuckled out, looking down at her stilettos.
“Or better begging?”
“Richer just means tightfisted, darl.”
“Well are we going?” her lips pursing. She threw the cigarette on the ground and stomped it out.
“Yeah. Uh, yeah.”
He stood and made his way deeper into the alley. He realized he couldn’t hear the clack of her shoes.
“Well, are you coming?”
She hurried forward and he opened the door to the warehouse and she stepped in.
“Surely the lighting isn’t as good?” she turned to him.
“It’s fine.”
The light came down in shallow streams through broken wood panels in the ceiling, illuminating her face in stripes. Something in her eyes looked wild. Perfect.
“Stay right there,” he directed her.
She listened, and dropped her coat and scarf.
“Trousers and an oxford? Really?”
“Well I’m coming from work.”
“Well alright, it’s how you’ll be seen then.”
“Okay.”
“Your shoes are too tall. Take them off.”
She was shorter than him now, standing lean in front of him. His easel was already set up, and he brushed the bits of charcoal off the stool. He placed it behind her, and went back to his easel.
“Sit.”
She did, and waited expectantly. He lifted a shard of charcoal, but didn’t begin yet.
“Should I talk? Like before? Or…no?”
“Yeah, go for it,” he said, “it makes you look more natural. Tell me how your day was.”
“My day was alright. My boss is a bitch,” she spit the words.
He began curving his arm around her form on the paper, “Well that’s too bad.”
“You’d think such a supposedly esteemed editor would have some class, really. You should see how she hollers about the office.”
“Right,” he drew the buttons one by one down her shirt.
“Do you think I have class?”
“Don’t move a moment,” he smoothed a few marks, and ignored her big eyes, “Okay, go on.”​
“What do I talk about now?”
“Anything you like.”
“Should I tell you my name?”
“Why?”
“It just seems strange, all this time, I mean, after everything, and you don’t know-“
“Don’t move a moment,” he shaded where her ribs poked out, “After what?”
“Can I move?”
“Yes.”
“I mean, like, on the bridge.”
“Look, you came back. If it was for an apology you can go.”
“Why would I want one?”
“Keep that face, it does your eyebrows justice,” he smudged them in.
“Can I know your name then?”
“What difference does it make?”
“We’ve never been properly introduced.”
“You didn’t come for proper, did you?”
“No.”
“What did you come here for? Tell me what you came for?”
She bit her lip and he rested the charcoal in his clenched palm.
“Wait,” he muttered, and coughed through his tightened throat, “Don’t move.”
She didn’t. He disappeared into the darkness for a moment and came back with a wet towel. He held it to her, she didn’t take it.
“Take your makeup off,” he said softly.
She took the towel slowly.
“Do I have to?”
“Yes.”
She began at her red lips, next her eye shadow, her liner. He took up the charcoal again and brushed out her elbows and her hips, her kneecaps, her twisted torso and gently slumped spine. When she was finished her eyes were red.
“Do I look alright?”
He examined her. There were still small smudges of liner under her eyes. He didn’t tell her so.
“Beautiful.”
He began on her eyes, and stopped. He approached her and took the towel. He was careful, he gave the cloth a small lick and brushed it against her lips, getting the last smudge of lipstick. He dropped the towel but remained. She closed her eyes.
“What are you doing?” he said bluntly.
She opened her eyes, and immediately looked down, avoiding his.
“Oh, I thought, well I thought you were going to- sorry.”
“Would that make you more comfortable?”
The poor girl looked like she was about to cry. He backed off to his easel. He drew in the little tear wells while she was silent. He gave her a few minutes before speaking.
“Can you talk some more?”
“Can I know your name?”
He stopped drawing. He looked down, avoiding the eyes of his own work.
“Get out.”
“Tell me, I want to know!” she raised her voice and stood.
“This is business, darling, nothing but business.”
“Business?”
The tears dipped down over her cheeks now, and he raised his charcoal again to draw them. There was nothing for moment but the scratch against the paper.
“Yes, darling. Business.”
“Business?” she yelled again, “Business, like being paid, and shit?”
“I have nothing to offer you.”
“I’m not asking to be paid, for money or anything.”
“I know,” he paused, “But it always comes down to that, doesn’t it?”
“Money? No! What are you talking about?!”
“I have nothing to offer you!”

He slammed the charcoal down on the easel, with a sudden force that knocked the easel and the picture with it onto the floor. She stared down at it through the stripes of light, eyes wider and wilder as if for the first time she realized where she was. As if, as she saw her own face on the page, it hit her that she had agreed to come here, to this dirty warehouse with this strange man. She couldn’t move, and he unfroze her.
“Get out,” he whispered, gently.
She grabbed her coat and scarf and shoes, not bothering to put them on until she was lost back into the daylight. He sighed.
“Good girl.”
He stayed in the low lighting and knelt down to continue the picture where it lay on the floor. He shaded a tear with his finger, as if caressing it off her cheek. He sat back, and lit a cigarette. He was silent as he blew smoke and stared down at his work. He put it between his teeth and smiled around his cigarette.
“Such a good girl.”