The Pleasure's Ours

"May I have this dance, Miss Belle?" Mr. Fletcher's hand outstretched towards Serena Belle in the middle of the Michelin-reviewed french restaurant.

The price tag that was hidden inside the back of Serena's satin trump gown dug into her shoulder blade as she put her martini down on the table. She had to return this gown by tomorrow, she knew it was too expensive for her budget and her credit card surprised her with the approval at the counter.

Serena's gaze lowered and she allowed a dimpled, shy smile to find its place on her face. Mr. Fletcher was a regular at The Pleasure's Ours, the escort service company she worked in since she was rescued from a human trafficking ring two years ago. TPO found Serena in Milan, Italy strung out, seas away from her home. Every day she woke up in a different part of the world and surprised she survived the day before. Her gratitude for her everyday breath eventually turned into disgust with every other client, as they so tastefully phrased them to be, that burglarized that area of her life and being.

Mr. Fletcher tried to be decent, they met in highly rated restaurants, hotel rooms with champagne bottles, and nicely decorated towel arrangements. But after a few martinis and a blue pill or two, he was just another client she met countless times overseas. Serena's throat ached, bile forming at the base. She swallowed the rest of her martini quicker than a TPO lady should and laid her manicured hand in Mr. Fletcher's. TPO were experts at taking a broken thing such as Serena Belle and putting a big glittery bow on her, for the right price of course.

He led them in a slow-paced waltz and his hand which once sat comfortably on Serena's back was starting to venture lower, sending an unpleasant chill throughout Serena's being. She can't remember the last time she felt she belonged to herself and not to every person that felt they had the right to her. She forced another dimpled smile on her face, this was $1,000 job. After TPO deducted their cut, she would be paid $200. In comparison to the life Serena lived just two years ago, TPO at least tipped her for her... services. If Mr. Fletcher wanted to dance the rest of his allotted time, then she will give him the best damn waltz he's had yet. Serena gave Mr. Fletcher her best doe-eyed look. His adam's apple bobbed as he met her gaze.

"You sure know how to lead a lady, Mr. Fletcher." She said softly as she pressed herself to his chest. He led her into an outside turn, she turned her head to face him in time to catch his eye tracing the arch of her silhouette. She turned back into his arms and allowed her left leg to lock behind his as she arched her back in and leaned back, allowing him a full view. He brought her back up to lock eyes with him, his eyes full of desperation.

"Made you look," She teased.

"I can dance with you all night, Miss Belle, but I believe we are approaching the hour to get my money's worth." Mr. Fletcher said in her ear, his white and gray mustache sent another displeasing chill down Serena's spine. The bile attempted to creep up her throat once more and she again swallowed it down hard. He led them away from the dance floor and into the awaiting Escalade out front.

After the night's events, Serena headed to her studio apartment in New York City, which she was able to barely afford with her tips. Nevertheless, ends seemed to always meet after some overtime at the end of the month. She kicked off her heels and carefully removed the expensive gown. She checked it inside and out making sure there were no stains or tears. Tomorrow she'll return it as if it was never worn. She showered, willing the remorse of the night's events down the drain with the physical dirt as well.

The sounds of the city woke Serena from her wine-induced slumber. She checked her phone to find it was nearly noon. She only had an hour to return the gown to the mall before she had to report to TPO to do the same thing all over again. mortification wrapped itself around Serena's mind and body like cheesecloth and oozed out of her. Flashes of her dark times in Turkey, Tokyo, and other places she couldn't even remember flipped through her mind.

"At least this isn't that." She whispered to herself.

After making the return to the mall, Serena was cutting her time close and she knew she couldn't afford to be late. She jumped into the designated downtown train and headed to work. An old man with a white and gray beard that nearly reached his chest was the only one in the train cart with her. The train was oddly empty for a lunch rush hour. She ignored the man and occupied herself with the book she kept in her bag. After all the times she was kidnapped, Serena never wore earplugs on public transportation and only used books to occupy her time in public as she can still be fully aware of her surroundings. From her peripheral, she can see the older man rise to his feet and face her. His eyes were as silver as his beard. She stared back.

"Do I know you, Sir?" She said cautiously.

The train doors open and he placed a little black book on the seat in front of her.

"What will you choose?" He said and turned to exit the train.

"Excuse me? Sir --" Serena reached for him but the doors closed and the man stared at Serena with silver eyes from the other side.

"What will you choose" he mouthed once more before he disappeared out of view.

Serena's heart pounded so loudly in her chest it drowned out the noises of the train and she can only hear its thump. The small black book stared back at her. She quickly grabbed it before they arrived at the next stopped and a rush hour amount of people crammed into the cart. She opened the book through the middle and the scowl on her face deepened.

Melanie Cortez - 40°43'31"N 74°0'19"W.

Serenity Demarco - 40°44′27″N 74°00′29″W

William Ames - 52.5252° N, 13.4146° E

Sabrina Ames - 52.5252° N, 13.4146° E

Ivan Polanco - 52.5228° N, 13.4129° E

The list went on until the last page with different names listed the same way. What the hell is this? Coordinates? She thought to herself. She inputted the coordinates next to Melanie's name into her phone's GPS. It uploaded an address in SoHo NYC, just a few blocks away from her work. She followed the directions and arrived at a hotel's alleyway.

Serena's stomach churned sickly as she instinctively gripped the switchblade in her purse. She walked down the alley, looking at all angles as if she had rearview mirrors around her. She reached a dead end and frowned. She looked up and found a fire escape and climbed to the window. The windows were tinted, forcing her to touch the glass so she can see inside.

Her heart stopped for what felt like the longest millisecond of her life. On the other side of the window was a girl, no older than 17, beaten up and dirty on a concrete floor. She was shackled. It was like looking into a time space three years in the past, and Serena was suddenly looking at herself, 3 years ago. A large pair of boots entered the room and tossed a metal bowl at the girl, who Serena can only assume was Melanie Cortez. Suddenly, she can remember why that name sounded so family to her. Melanie Cortez was dominating every news channel with updates of her disappearance. After a week, they stopped reporting on the story, assuming she was dead.

She's being trafficked. Serena's head spun. Were all the names in this book people that have been missing for years, and their locations? She remembered the few time she saw someone writing in a notebook every time she woke up in a new country.

The man inside locked eyes with Serena and bolted out of the room speaking a foreign language. Serena found her way back to the ground and hit it running. She can hear motorcycles approaching, shot ricocheted off the bars of the fire escapes. Wait, are they trying to hit me? She thought, bewildered.

She ran down another sharp avenue and didn't stop running. A motorcycle at the end of the alley she was running in blocked her exit. She turned to run in the opposite direction. More bullets sounded through the air, one catching her ankle. Serena fell, her legs giving out. She was out of breath and can hear the motorcycles nearby. She forced herself up and tried running again. Her foot ached and bled, slowing her down.

More shots were fired, and she hid in another alleyway in between dumpsters. If she kept trying to run she would get caught without a doubt. Fearful tears rimmed her eyes. Please not again. I just got out. She thought desperately. Boots appeared in front of the dumpster top Serena hid behind. Serena was blinded by the afternoon's sun and then everything went black.

She woke up tied to a chair. Her eyes adjusted. She was in a room, voided of anything except the chair she sat on and a single lightbulb. Her breathing quickened as she felt a disturbing deja vu coming on.

"Please! You've got the wrong girl! HELP!" She screamed. "Please!"

She shouted for what felt an eternity before the door creaked open. A woman entered. She wore a black chiffon dress whose train dragged behind her. She wore blacked-out sunglasses, her lips were colored a dark red. She walked with a cane that echoed throughout the room with every step she took. She walked up to Serena and stopped directly in front of her, one foot away, her cane standing parallel to her. Serena swallowed loudly.

"Please, you have to understand. You've taken the wrong girl --" Serena begged and the woman held one long-fingered hand in the air to stop her.

"How did you find this place?" Asked the woman. Her voice was dry and was the equivalent of nails scraping a chalkboard.

Serena's anxious tears flowed down her face. "Please, I'm so sorry, I was just trying to take a shortcut to work."

The woman lowered to meet Serena's eyes. Serena's heart nearly pounded out of her chest. "Please, you have to believe me." She pleaded with the woman.

The woman removed her sunglasses and stared back at Serena with silver eyes, identical to the man on the train. Serena's breath hitched.

"He gave it to you. Where is it?" The woman croaked.

The little black book. Serena forced a facial expression that blended confusion with desperation. "Who? Where is what?! Ma'am, please, you have to believe me. I was just trying to get to work and thought this way was a shortcut to the cross street. I work for The Pleasure's Ours not far from here."

The woman's face became incredulous. "How much do you make?" She asked.

"I live off of my tips," Serena replied.

"How much?!" Shouted the woman.

"I don't know! I'm lucky if I get a good call, I've never made more than $200 in a night!"

The woman stared into Serena's eyes again, her gaze as color as the silver in her irises. "What is your name?" She asked.

"S-Serena."

"Serena. Give me the book, and I will change your life."

"P-Please--"

"Not in the way you think."

Serena stopped and stared at the woman in confusion.

"Give me the book and I will give you a new identity, new place to live, and enough money for you to lead this new life. Anywhere that you'd like and far away from this business."

Serena blinked. "W-what? Why would you--"

"Do you accept?"

"How much?"

"$20,000."

Serena gasped. After a moment, she looked at the woman again. "You're bluffing."

The woman's thin red lips curled into a mischievous smile. She whistled loudly and the doors opened again. Two men in black clothing entered with a duffle bag and dropped it at Serena's side and revealed wads of cash. The woman waved them away and they exited.

"You can take this bag and leave. All you have to do is leave the book and pursue this no more. Forget the names and coordinates you saw." The woman said grimly.

Serena's head swam. How many times did she wish someone would find a book or anything with her location and save her from the hell she was living for so many years? Her eyes filled with tears again.

"Well, Serena? What will you choose?" Asked the woman.