The Dragon's Skin. Ross Gray

hair sat at the piano playing ‘Honeysuckle Rose’. Neither of the two young newcomers could have identified the song: it was just some old shit.

      There were two or three fully-clad males in the room and a half dozen or so females in various stages of undress. A redhead in a black baby-doll negligee sat by the piano sipping coffee and watching the pianist’s hands move over the keys.

      ‘Shit,’ said one of the boys. ‘Looks just like one of the old man’s business meetings.’

      ‘Bit of a fuckin’ disappointment, eh Ray?’ said the other.

      ‘Seen one fuckin’ whorehouse, you’ve seen ’em all,’ said Ray.

      ‘Seen one fuckin’ whore, you’ve seen ’em all,’ said the other.

      They spoke loudly intending the room to hear. The male clients turned and stared. The boys mugged goggle-eyed faces at them. Other than a brief glance, the girls paid scant attention. The piano player seemed not to have heard at all. They sniggered at their wit and punched each other lightly in self-congratulation.

      Charlotte appeared at the parlour door and sized up the situation. She couldn’t smell booze, but suspected they’d been popping something.

      ‘Gentlemen,’ she said crisply but sweetly. ‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting, if you’ll come with me? We like to get the financial side out of the way first. Then you can relax and enjoy the evening. Have you had a good look at the menu? Cash or credit?’ She turned her smile on them and tripped it to high beam. Usually the threat of getting down to business and the mention of money was enough to scare the tourists off.

      They turned to face her. They were built like ruckmen who’d been ducking training. She felt the unsettling stare of the dark one on her again. He was handsome in a steak and eggs sort of way, and now she noticed the pocks of old acne.

      ‘Gentlemen?’ she prompted, the cheery professionalism of her voice masking her growing disquiet. She was distantly aware that ‘Honeysuckle Rose’ had segued into ‘Your Feet’s Too Big’.

      ‘Are you on the menu?’ the dark one asked and the pink tip of his tongue slipped wetly along his fleshy lips.

      She’d heard this question before and learned to deal with it. But the tongue gesture shocked Charlotte because she was sure it was an unconscious one. If he had pantomimed licking his lips it would have been ludicrous, adolescent.

      ‘No!’ she said more abruptly than she should have. She heard herself and she sounded alarmed, not in control. ‘No, I’m the receptionist I’m not a … a sex worker.’

      ‘Oooh, Chas, I reckon we’ve got fresh meat.’ He reached into his jacket and pulled out a wallet. He fanned it open to show an array of credit cards. ‘Fetch the boss. I wanna fuck you, baby, and I can pay whatever he wants.’

      Charlotte realised the music had stopped. There was a sudden loud chord. Everyone looked towards the piano. The pianist was sitting facing the room; he had a friendly smile on his lips.

      ‘Gentlemen,’ he said. ‘I can see you aren’t familiar with the rules in an establishment like this.’

      ‘Shit, Ray, it talks,’ said Chas.

      ‘One of the rules,’ said the piano player, ignoring him, ‘is that, ultimately, it’s ladies’ choice. If a lady doesn’t want to take you upstairs she doesn’t have to.’

      The two men regarded him indulgently with arrogant eyes.

      ‘Does anyone want to entertain these gentlemen?’ the pianist asked the room. All the girls flicked their eyes over the two, their expressions deadpan. Charlotte noticed Yasmin had one hand behind the bar. There was a button there. There was a similar one behind the reception desk. ‘So you see, gentlemen, there’s no point in your lingering.’

      Chas’s and Ray’s smiles were twisting into sneers.

      ‘You want to fuckin’ try and throw us out, Elton?’ said Ray.

      The pianist shook his head and turned back to the keyboard. Ray and Chas looked at each other as if they were trying to work out if this was a sign of cowardice or contempt. Before they could make up their minds there was another voice in the room.

      ‘That’s my job, fellas.’

      The man in the doorway looked like a huge skittle in a suit. But one that only a wrecking ball could knock over. His skull had been dipped in black shoe polish and buffed to a shine. His smooth brow was pinched in an expression of mild perplexity and his gaze held Ray and Chas as if they were the answer to Life, the Universe and Everything. He wasn’t very tall but he seemed to fill the doorway.

      ‘There’s two of us, short arse,’ Ray said.

      Skittle man stepped forward so that they shielded him from the eyes of the others in the room. He opened his coat just enough to give them an exclusive view of what was under his armpit. ‘There’s two o’me too,’ he said and stepped back to let them pass through the door.

      Ray looked back at Charlotte. ‘I still wanna fuck you,’ he said. Skittle man nudged him through the door.

      ‘Are you okay, Charlotte?’ the pianist asked gently as he approached.

      ‘I’m fine thanks, Mr E.’

      ‘You handled that well,’ said Mr E, the pianist.

      The girls gathered around praising and patting her. The redhead hugged her and said, ‘Goodonya, Charlie.’

      ‘Would you like to go home early?’ asked Mr E, the pianist, Rose’s partner and Charlotte’s other employer. ‘Yasmin can fill in at the desk.’

      She shook her head. Then the phone rang. ‘I’ll get it,’ she said and hurried back to reception.

      Rose interrupted Charlotte’s story. ‘Had David just dropped in?’

      ‘No. Mr E had been playing the piano all evening. Mostly Blues and stuff. I think the girls would have liked something livelier. He was in an odd mood.’

      Rose couldn’t fathom why Charlotte persisted in calling him ‘Mr E’. All the girls called him David. ‘And he stayed to walk you home?’

      ‘He told me to take a taxi and charge it. Apparently he was very upset when he found out I was walking.’ Charlotte had difficulty disguising her pleasure at this. ‘Tess said he just grabbed his coat and bolted after me.’

      Charlotte had been standing at the entrance to the park. It was reasonably well lit and normally she would cut diagonally across it. But tonight she hesitated. She was trying to convince herself that she was being silly, that the events of the evening had unsettled her and stirred shadows in her imagination, when she heard the running footsteps. At first that sound scared her more than the park, then she saw the blond head bobbing under a street lamp and heard her name. She felt a thrill tingle through various unmentionable parts. He’d run after her!

      The mist of his breath haloed around his head as he reached her. ‘Disobeying a direct order from the boss, I should ask Rose to dock your pay,’ he said, showing scant sign of his exertions.

      Charlotte giggled and silently upbraided herself for doing so.

      ‘Where do we go from here?’

      He’s going to walk me home, Charlotte squealed in her mind. ‘I usually go through the park,’ she said. ‘It’s quicker.’

      He looked into the darkness under the trees, then turned to her. ‘It’s cold. Best take that route tonight.’

      As they started on the path that curled between the shrubbery he said, ‘Why are you working at The Rose Garden, Charlotte?’

      She held a long shrug. Her collar brushed her ears. ‘I was desperate for a job, but it was an accident really,’ she said, wondering if she should tell a story that made