Gala

   A gala party. Masked faces everywhere.
   My beautiful black dress,
   Their shimmering costumes.
   My boredom amongst the rich; the contemplation of what money does to one's taste.
   Champagne refills from every garçon j’ai vu devant moi.
   Tipsy and complaining in what I think is a silent tone,
   The conversation groups complaining about me,
   And they know I know,
   And I pretend I don't.
   I pretend the murmur cannot be heard through the calm piano on the background,
   And I know I can't just go fetch my boss and implore him to take me home.
   He's not my dad.
   I don't even have a dad.
   I'm just an escort looking for a pimp to adore and,
   Hell! I wish I had a double jumbo slurpee cup to fill with champagne. 

   I slur back to the dining room.
   Back to the dry fish and politics.
   Back to the "For Christ's sake, Annie, don't embarrass me.
   I know you don't wanna be here, but you're my only option."
   "As long as that Christmas card comes with some extra bucks
   My entire self is yours." 

   This entire place could easily be in a The Square scene.
   Goddamn, I'm happy for having brought my notebook.
   I wish I had some dry fish on me right now,
   A pack of smokes — in the big city —
   And some condoms and quarters
   And a card with my number on it, inside mon soutien
   So I can hand it out to the fine gentleman that’ll show up in ten minutes "LA style". 

   The fine gentleman showed up
   The million dollars did not.
   The hand resting on my left shoulder.
   "The Square, eh?"
   "Yeah... The Square."
   "Palme d'Or [2017]?"
   "Thought you would say nominated best foreign movie 2017."
   "But I didn't, did I?"
   "You did not."
   "I can't get you a double jumbo slurpee cup,
   But what about a bottle and a fancy straw?"
   "I don't want to be of any trouble, fine gentleman."
   "Oh, so I am the fine gentleman.
   Thought you were the fine gentleman."
   My legs start shaking lightly.
   "Are you the fine gentleman?", he asks again
   "I don't know what you're talking about."
   And my hands started shaking but I couldn't hide it between my thighs because of this stupid dress, and I knew he knew, and I knew he was mocking me, and I knew there were no straws...
   "Wait a minute"
   ...But I'm no champion, but I don't fill no holes, but I can't stand for myself and I have no excuses whatsoever, and I shouldn't even be here, what would momma think?
   "Here you go, m'lady."
   But the straw was as real as the fine gentleman that came back after a five.
   "Merci beaucoup."
   "Don't go french on me, sweetheart."
   "Bon, je ne vont pas."
   "The waiters always have straws in their pockets. Emergency straws."
   "Sure."
   "Any plans for later?"
   "Now is already later.
   Way past my bed time."
   "So you're a child now?"
   "Someone's."
   "What about bedroom plans?"
   "I'm gonna cry myself to sleep.
   Is that enough bedroom planning for you?"
   "You could cry with me tonight.
   I won't bite."
   "I like it when the bed bug bites."
   "And I like you, mademoiselle.
   La plus belle femme at this party."

   And there it was.
   The shit I live for:
   Compliments.
   The feel good pill to immerse moi in a warm pool of nectar.
   I smile.
   He notices.
   I blush a little more than the drunk red.
   He notices.
   He smiles back.
   I feel trapped. Gotta find a way to get out of this situation.
   What a pickup artist this motherfucker is.
   What a hypocrite I am.
   "So, what you say?"
   He asks for my hand.
   I give him my hand.
   I can't look him in the eyes.
   "So, what you say?" He repeats slowly, now closer.
   I'm scared. I don't know what to say.
   "I'm scared. I don't know what to say."
   "Say nothing, then. Do something."
   I'm gonna punch your guts.
   I punch him in the stomach with the strength of a desperado.
   He embraces himself as if to prevent his guts to fall on the ground.
   I am sorry, but I could beat the shit out of him right now.
   "I’m sorry, but I could beat the shit out of you right now."
   "Why did you do this?"
   "Because you told me so."
   "You are insane."
   "Yes."
   "So... what you say?"
   "I don't think you'll like me if not after two bottles of wine."
   "I'll drink them, then."
   "And I want the keys to your apartment so I can escape in the middle of the night with your valuables."
   He throws them to me.
   "They're yours."
   "And we can't let my boss see me leaving."
   "I can take care of that."
   He pulls a card with his name and phone number out of the tissue pocket."
   "It's not a soutien, but serves me well. 'LA style'." 

   He managed to get through both bottles.
   Too drunk to get it hard,
   Too drunk to stay awake,
   Fell asleep mid-strip.
   I took his wallet and fled
   Locking him inside.

   

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