Good Business

She changed her hair. The past two years, she had honey blonde locks that curled just beneath her shoulders. This year, it was black. It barely covered her jawline. Her rosy cheeks had been muted by the dark strands of hair that framed her face. It was sad.

I know she saw me enter the room early. Embarrassingly early. I had started drinking at five, much earlier than I arrived at the club, which is doubly embarrassing.

She smiled when she saw me, but she continued to dance with her friends, knowingly in the eyeline of every man that stood around her. I can’t believe she changed her hair. The black was so unnatural. It wasn’t unflattering though, she could pull off anything if she tried hard enough. In the least, I knew she could do that.

The club was illuminated in purple hues, painting the strangers that filled the room with iridescent glows of violet, magenta and lavender. Each stranger's eyes were engulfed in heavy violet tints, and each deepened with desire while their eyes panned the dancing guests. There was the overwhelming presence of desire that filled the air each time I walked in that club. It never failed–every year strangers came in packs, foaming at the mouth, choking on their desire. They could only hope it would be fulfilled by the night’s end, ringing in the new year properly.

She stopped dancing when I started making my way through the crowd. She nodded to her girlfriends, and waltzed over to me. She was much more graceful than she had been in previous years. Her heels got taller, too. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” she said in my ear.

“Quite random, isn’t it?” I flirted. She batted her eyelashes.

“Why is it I only see you on this day?” she asked. New Year’s Eve. There were many answers to such a question. Desire! Yearning! How else could you spend such a glorious night?

“It’s my favorite holiday,” I said, “One for celebrating in a special way.” In reality, my days all seemed to bleed together. The only difference on New Year's was I tried not to pass out before midnight. Isn’t that where the fun begins?

“Jonah, right?” she yelled over the music.

“Jack!” I replied. “What’s your name this time?”

“Delilah!” she yelled back.

“What happened to Cherry?” Delilah smiled at my memory. I don’t know if it was embarrassing to remember her name, a stranger I met twice before. From what I could tell, she wasn’t one to judge harshly.

“I needed a change. I even got my cherry tattoo removed,” she pointed at her stomach. “See?”

The faint scar that laid on her hip proved her statement. I loved that cherry. Two years ago, it was just an outline, the thick black lines of the cherry stem wrapped her protruding hip. Last year, it was colored in. The red of the cherry matched her pouting lips. And now it was gone. I wonder if she has a tattoo branding her in this new age of her life.

“Do you want a drink?” I asked, itching to get to the bar.

“No, I don’t drink. Thanks John,” she smiled and turned back to where her friends continuously danced in the lavender light. 

“It’s Jack,” I huffed under my breath and made my way to the bar. She didn’t seem to be embarrassed about misidentifying me. Still, she came up to me first, right? She remembered my face. My business was good business.

“Two rum and cokes please,” I ordered. I sat, and watched as Delilah danced with her friends. She was young, spiteful. She was letting loose. Each year I saw her, we were on the precipice of a new year. Each time I saw her, Delilah was ringing out all the terrible cards she had been dealt that year, and soaking in the luck she could gain for the next. I helped her, I’d like to think. My business was good business. 

There was something so sensual about seeing her these past three years. I didn’t know much about Delilah besides the curves of her body, her falsified identities drawn on her body, and the curls of her hair. I don’t know if she liked this holiday. Did she enjoy ringing in the New Year with loads of uninterested men and frolicking women? Did she have fun? She sure looked like she was having fun.

I gulped down my first drink, not taking my eyes off of her. She bent her knees, swaying her hips to the beat of the music. In the lavender light, her ever-present smile seemed to fade. In its place, a shadowed frown could be seen. Then a glimmering teardrop appeared, and raced down her face. What cards could Delilah be shedding from this year?

I began to work on my second drink, turning towards the bartender. He, too, was staring at Delilah.

“Delilah?” I said.

“No, no,” he answered. I saw his eyeline. It had to be her.

“She’s a pretty girl, I don’t blame you,” I told him. He smiled.

“Anything else, or do you want me to close your tab?” 

“I’m done,” I said. As I threw a wad of cash on the table, Delilah seemed to have caught up to me. Her hand was on my shoulder as I finished my last sip. 

“Do you want to go somewhere quieter?” she asked. It was the same way she had asked those years prior. I nodded. Delilah shot a glance at the bartender, bearing a small grin.

“Happy New Year, sir,” the bartender said, and I gave him an extra ten. My business was good business.

Delilah took me to the room on the left in the back of the club. It was covered with violet curtains, with two lights that hung above the table in the middle of the room. A couch encircled the table, blushing in its lilac form. I’m sure the couch had blushed all night, for the desire that foamed on the mouths of these strangers on the dance floor permeated into this room too.

Delilah climbed to the top of the table, and began her dance. I sat, my legs open and welcoming. She smiled as the song guided her hips. 

I took off my ring and laid it on the table. Delilah danced in front of me, her sweat curling the small, dark hairs that lay scattered across her hairline. She glanced down at the golden ring. 

“Congratulations,” she said. I smiled.

“I’m a lucky man,” I said. A lucky man ringing in the New Year. As a man should.

“Clothes off or on now, darling?” she asked. I didn’t mind that she had forgotten my name again. It didn’t matter anymore.

“Off.”