When He Forgot Her Name

Fifty thousand dollars. Cash. One dance. Maya Reynolds stood motionless with the half-scraped make-up on her face and gazed at her manager in the mirror of the dressing room. These words mean nothing. No one ever gave a figure of fifty thousand for a single show …. Not even in the Diamond Room, the most exclusive of the New York gentleman's clubs. You lie! She gasped, although the expression of Tony with his gold-filled teeth told her the truth. Dead seriously, Jade. Other suits are in the VIP. Not even a bat in my eyelids when I quoted the price. Maya clasped her robe while her hands were shaking. She had five years dancing as Jade where she could identify all manner of clients who came through those doors. The frantic people who tossed in their cramped twenties. Predators who believed that money bought ownership. The poor delusional souls who simply hoped someone would give a damn. But fifty thousand? That was not the same. That was risky. "I don't do private," she said mechanically, as she had said so many times during the last five years. Tonight, you did. There was a hardness in the voice of Tony. This might be able to cover the medical expenses of your mother and more. Do not be a dim wit. There was a choking feeling in Maya chest. Medical debt of one hundred and eighty-six thousand dollars. The bills just come the way a ghost does when three years have already passed since her mother died. She had been sending a portion each month, and had seen her balance dwindle away at a rate that seemed exquisitely slow. Who is he? Does that matter? Green money, honey. Still, it counted. When she was performing two minutes ago, she could sense that she was being stared at, not the normal hungry looks but something deliberately aimed. More intense. She looked through the crowd till she saw him, a man with an expensive suit on, sitting alone in the darkness glaring at her, and an expression that had nothing to do with lust. He had gazed at her as though she was a puzzle which he was solving. Maya replied, at last (after considering a moment), Ten minutes. “No touching. No exceptions.” Tony smiled more. “Platinum room. He’s waiting Maya rose, draping her silk robe with practiced ease. She beheld in the mirror Jade smoky-eyed, painted-lipped, sharpened to control. No, not Maya Reynolds, the small-town girl who had once fantasized about dancing with the American Ballet Theater. The kind who had seen her mother shrunk into a hospital bed, buried in a debt she would never get rid of until the end of her days. Just Jade. Pretty, unattainable, very high-priced. Her heels clicked on the marble floors as she went down the corridor towards the platinum room. She looked in the frosted glass door and could see his outline…tall, broad-shouldered, absolutely motionless. Maya stopped at the door handle. Fifty thousand dollars. A lot to be able to breathe in. A lot to perhaps, one day walk out of this life. She swung the door. The man was standing when she opened the door and Maya gasped. Close up, he was still more impressive… a high gleaming blade of a cheekbone, dark hair, neat cut, eyes like storm clouds. His bearing betrayed him, though... the rigid shoulders of a man who had never learned how to slacken, the precise poise as though he were constantly being observed. Old money. Real money. That type was accompanied by expectations and responsibilities which destroyed the souls of men. "You are Jade," he said in a low, cultured voice. And you are a man with expensive taste. Maya stepped to the halfway point on the floor and muscle memory placed her in the optimal place. What are you interested in? He did not reply at once. He looked at her, rather, as she had felt him study her across the club. You are not what I expected. So, what did you expect? “Someone harder. More… artificial.” This was a sharp smile on Maya face. “Disappointed?” “No.” He approached nearer, hesitated, as though looking through the rules. Can I know your name? You can ask. It does not mean I will answer. His composure shook, for the first time. There was a smile in the corner of his mouth. “Fair enough. I’m Jackson.” “Hello, Jackson.” Maya went to the music system and her fingers danced over the controls. “Any preferences?” “Something slow. Something real.” She chose a song, not the accustomed beating bass but a milder, more personal one. When the music started to play, Maya started moving, finding the rhythm with confidence. This time it was different. She did not have to dance to the faceless crowd but to one person. And Jackson Winters, she was positive that was his full name now, stared at her like a man drowning. "Why are you here?" she said, speaking through the music and moving. "I do not know," he said, and it was a frankness in his voice which caused her to hesitate awhile. Men of your stamp do not generally go to places like this.” What sort of man am I? Maya turned slowly, and her robe swirled about her like water. The type that never made a decision on his own. The type that pays out fifty thousand dollars like it was nothing because he was never taught what money meant or what freedom was all about.” Jackson clenched his jaws. You think you know me? I understand your kind. She stepped near him, within arm's length. “Rich boy. Daddy’s expectations. Mommy’s disappointment. A life completely planned from birth up to death without an escape.” “Stop.” His voice was tingly, though it had a hurt in it. “Why? Yes, because I am right?” Because you are not. He rose abruptly, and Maya wondered whether he was going to leave. Instead, he turned and faced her. And you are not right about everything, anyway. Of course, I have lived a life according to the plans of other people. No, I never chose, in real life. There is one thing, however, that you are wrong about. “What’s that?” I do understand the worth of freedom. I do not know it, because I never had it.” The music was still playing, but Maya was no longer dancing. Hanging in the low light, the pair faced each other, strangers in need of a way to relate to the pain of the other. "The fifty thousand," Jackson said in a low voice. It is not because of the dance. It is because of honesty. Who told you the truth about yourself last? Maya choked in her gullet. Last time someone told you? “Never.” He sat back, and his composure had been complete. “Please. Continue.” Maya could not move. There was something between them in the room, some change in temperature. This was no longer a business deal. It was something much more ominous. Instead, she said, Mr. Jackson, your time is almost done. Then I will add additional time. It does not work that way. Then explain to me how. What shall I do to see you again? Her heart pounded on her ribs. I should not see you anymore. Trust me. “Why?” Just because i am not the type of person you think i am. Jackson stood again and went up until he was now right on the periphery of her personal space. Neither am I, he said. Time came to a stop, with the music finished. The mind of Maya raced with risks and possibilities. One dance. One conversation. One of the men who gazed at her as though she were something extraordinary, more than just a fantasy. She said, in a low voice, "I have to go. “I know.” His voice was also a soft voice. “I will see you tomorrow night though.” “Jackson” I will come at night every night until you say yes. Yes, what? He smiled, and his smile showed in the eyes. To that which comes next.” Maya did not reply. She couldn’t. She tightened her robe around herself instead, and strode to the door. Then, with her hand upon the handle, she stopped. As she did not turn around, she said, 'My name is Maya.' She made him stand in the platinum room alone, but she could still sense his eyes upon her long after the door closed both of them.