A knock woke Brynn from a deeply satisfying sleep.
Taking one look at Jean, the Artist Director of her dance troupe and she immediately ushered him into her hotel room before he collapsed from exhaustion.
"What happened?" she asked anxiously, his weary, red rimmed eyes and the grey tinged stubble on his strong chin showing he had likely been up all night. A faint waft of cigarette smoke, alcohol and sweat passed her as he moved into her single bed hotel room. The theatre had provided her the room while the troupe was performing in Caracas.
Jean, normally a poised, graceful mover dropped onto the foot of her bed like a sack of potatoes, fatigue and some deep emotion robbing him of agility. The bleak expression on his face worried her.
"What happened?" she repeated.
"I made a big mistake, Brynn" Jean said hollowly, not looking at her. "Big."
Shocked by how pathetic he seemed, the dancer went to him, sat beside him and gingerly put an arm around his strong shoulders. Over the three years they had worked together, Brynn had grown to respect, appreciate and adore the older man. The retired dancer was the best choreographer in her state and a well known, highly sought after choreographer who had taken a shine to her when they had begun their association. Because of the blonde Frenchman, Brynn had improved to the point of becoming a lead dancer in the company, which gave her the opportunity to travel the world and see things she'd never thought possible. If her mentor were hurting, she would do anything in her power to make him feel better. It was both in her nature and the least he deserved.
"Do you want to tell me about it?"
"I don't. I'm too ashamed, but... I need your help."
At last he made eye contact. Normally twinkling, blue eyes seemed watery, less vibrant as he looked into her own anxious, amber coloured eyes. The connection gave her to opportunity to show him how much compassion she felt, how willing she was to make things better if she could.
"What do you need?"
The fierce, assured way she said that impacted him, it was obvious. Taking it in, he smiled weakly, the corners of his mouth and the wrinkles around his eyes both slightly creasing with appreciation for her offer. Then he sighed heavily as he remembered what he had to ask.
"You know I think you are very special, don't you Brynn?"
"Yes, you've said so."
"But you believe it?"
"Sometimes."
The older man smiled sadly.
"You are. You have a spark, a light that shines in you."
The compliment, even coming from him in a time of stress, felt glorious to her love starved soul. Fully aware she had a father shaped hole in her life, Brynn often pretended Jean filled that space in spite of him being older than her contemporary's fathers were.
"I'm worried the favour I need from you might dim that spark..."
For all the talent, joie de vivre and intellect Jean possessed, empathy and compassion had never been his strong suit. An impulsive, selfish man, Jean's abundant charisma usually smoothed the feathers he ruffled, his intuition about people giving him the gift of being able to say the right thing to get out of awkward moments. By expressing concern for her emotional well being, he indicated both his affection for her and the magnitude of what he was going to ask.
At a loss in the face of his powerful emotions, Brynn simply rubbed his back soothingly, anxiety building in her throat.
"I was up all night. Gambling."
Saying the word gambling cost him some dignity, he glanced at her to gauge her reaction, but couldn't hold her gaze. Masking her shock, Brynn nodded to encourage him to continue.
"Some wealthy donors to the theatre asked me to join them. It was an honour... so I thought." Bitterness seeped into his tone, but then gave way to a remembered thrill as he talked about the game. "For the whole night, I slowly added more and more money to my pot. I didn't win every round or anything, but I played smart and with skill." The familiar bravado came back into his voice. "They didn't like losing to a foreigner" the Frenchman chuckled. "They poured more and more money onto the table, buying in again and again until the sun came up."
Wistfully looking at the wall, the memory consuming him, Jean lowered his accented voice. "I had a straight flush. Jack-high. A very strong hand. It was the last hand of the night, everyone had agreed. I had forty thousand dollars in front of me." The number stunned Brynn. "The odds of anyone having a better hand were astronomical, but for some reason one of the others was pushing me, adding more each card. Then on the flop, when I saw I had a straight flush, I lost my mind internally. I believe I maintained a blank visage, but my heart was pounding."
Caught up in his telling of the story, Brynn continued rubbing his back as she felt his excitement mounting.
"The last man in front of me had been losing to me over and over, seemingly unwilling to admit I was a better player. He went all in... with seventy thousand dollars. I should have known he would beat me, but the odds of it were so ridiculous... I was tired and drunk, so I went all in as well." The older man was vibrating now. "When he pointed out the vast difference in our pots, conversation around the table got animated. That should have been the end of it, but he insisted on me matching value. The others convinced me it was the local house rules. Things grew tense when I begged off, not having the money to put up. A gun was put on the table. A threat. Only then did it occur to me that these men might have been setting me up. I believe that man is a criminal."
"What happened?"
"They told me how I could make up the deficiency of my funds. A private performance by one of the dancers." Briefly his eyes met hers and skipped away. "They asked for you by name, Brynn."
"I'm happy to dance, if that will help" she offered eagerly. If the thing she was most skilled at could help the man who had trained her to be so good, how could she deny him?
"I knew you would, so I agreed, of course. With that hand it wouldn't be a problem anyway, I thought."
All the vigour drained from him at that point.
"I lost. I couldn't' believe it, but he had a
royal
flush. It's almost impossible." Sadly he turned to Brynn. "I lost."
"Don't worry. I'll dance. It'll be alright."
"No. I thought it was just a dance. He said performance, very specifically. Performance. With the gun on the table beside his massive pile of money, he told me he wants you stripped. Fully nude."
The pit of Brynn's stomach fell away, leaving her falling through sensations she had never felt before.
"Then he intends to have sex with you."
Brynn's eyebrow furrowed together in confusion as she attempted to process what he had said. The anguish in his eyes, the chagrin on his face told her he wasn't joking, but still, she couldn't accept what he'd said at face value.
"Nude?"
"And sex" he nodded.
"But..." nothing came after that.
The possibility that the man she had trusted, adored and done everything she could to earn the respect of had sold her body to a stranger because of a poker game was too giant a leap of logic to achieve in her groggy early morning state.
"The performance is to be tonight."
"Performance..." she repeated the meaningless word, her brain still not processing everything.
"Yes. There will be a crowd."
"What?!" Suddenly Brynn felt much more alert.
"He told me he'd just paid thirty thousand dollars for the performance. To get value for his money it needs to be a spectacle, so he's going to invite people and also... he's going to film it." A sickly, pathetic smile flashed across Jean's sorrowful face, a lame attempt to mitigate the impact of that last statement.
Brynn was crying even before she fully understood what Jean was telling her.
It was Jean's turn to comfort her. As he put an arm over her shaking shoulders, she began to sob, the violation of what he had done, the loss of innocence around their relationship, shook her to the core. Accepting his soothing back rub even felt wrong. For three years she had yearned to be held by him, desperate for someone to approve of her, to treat her well and it now came with an unthinkable price tag.
"Shh shh shh" her mentor shushed her, rocking her as she bawled in his arms, face buried in his chest.
The day before, the petite dancer would have thought there was no price too high to be exactly where she was at that moment, being held and comforted by the man she most admired in the world. As it turned out, there was a price, a steep price. Could she pay it?
Muttering sulkily into his chest she murmured "I don't think I can do it sir."
