The Grind

"Back again?" Another swing of her smooth hips, a brightly painted smirk. She's lying. He knew. It was a gift. Even silent, her lies clanged against his nerves. Her every gesture was a falsehood. Her smile, her laugh. "Shouldn't you be, oh I don't know... Keeping the fairies sober so they can make all those toys, or whatever?" An obligatory giggle. "That's enough, miss," He pushed her off his lap. "Fetch another, would you? Make sure she's new." The giggle switched off like a frozen tap. Chill radiated off her glittery skin. In that moment, she looked alien, not human at all. Indignation scrawled on her face, she opened her mouth, and he interrupted. "I'm still paying you the full amount," he snapped. His temper dissolved in a sigh. "Nothing personal, love. Just need a change. You must be sick of my face." She didn't answer, but he could read her anyway. He can always tell when they're faking. Sick of the boozy stink. Sick of that ridiculous coat and beard. But not sick of your money, old man. She huffed away, and his keen ears caught snatches of the conversation.

"Yeah... old fella. Rolling in it. Generous, but tetchy. No sense of humour. Don't comment on his beard, or his clothes. No Santa jokes. Nothing about reindeer..."

The new one reminded him of a rabbit. All eyes and nerves. Shy, Bambi-like on those enormous heels, but real. Really embarrassed. Really nervous. This was better than fake chuckles, confidence with hard edges. and something jaded hiding behind the eyes.

He wanted to hold this moment, freeze it. Not allowed. Not tonight. Not yet. Not with the Talent, anyway. He'd have to try what a mortal must. Talk to her.

"What's your name?" He regretted the question as soon as it left his lips. It'll be a Roxy or Krystal or...

"Cathy."

He beamed.

"Good," he said. "That's good."

She slotted her bare thighs either side of his left knee, still wobbling in those spitefully crafted shoes.

"I'm not very good at this," she admitted matter-of-factly.

Some might ask her if she liked this. He knew she didn't, and he didn't want to hear her lie.

"Will you do something for me, Cathy?"

Her muscles tensed, wary. Little Bunny ready to bolt.

"Oho, nothing like that," he said. "Just be yourself, is all. Be exactly yourself and we'll get along just fine. If you feel bored or sad or awkward or drunk, don't try to hide it. Can you do that?"

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