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“Close shutters.” He said, bored by the view.
Tollin's life was what it was. Ambivalent at best. As an industrialist of cutting edge technology, he lived to make money--at all cost. He never aimed to hurt others--but in his line of work; venturing into the unknown, and testing untested limits--this is where he’d been his most successful; and it made sense that politics would become his next aim. Tollin had approached his political ambitions similarly to the way he’d earned his millions. Head on--no distractions--ignoring all the naysayers. That’s what Eliza had said on the eve of their last night together. She had reminded him about her objections and the cost of his over zealous nature; then without uttering another word, she’d left him, when he’d needed her the most. Without Eliza, Tollin had become a broken man. During this past year, the chaos of his life had reached a deadly peak. There had been an accident and the memory tormented him practically every waking hour. So much had gone wrong and when the dust had settled, and the shit ultimately hit the fan; as it often does in cases like this--Tollin had been jerked by a dull familiarity. A jolt swept throughout him, like a bolt of lightning; leaving him confused and uncertain of the outcome. At the time, he’d clearly heard Eliza’s words; “leave it alone Tollin, or else you’ll regret it and they’ll be no turning back”. She’d begged him, saying that there would be consequences. He couldn’t imagine his life being any worse than it had been and still, he didn’t fully understand what she’d meant. Maybe she’d been talking about heaven and hell; because as he saw it, those had been his only choices. Over the past six months his life had been hell on earth and he’d doubted if he’d ever experience a sense of peace, making him feel like he’d reached a heavenly plain. Tollin never believed in much. Not a god or the divine devotions that struck so many other people, causing them to fall on their knees, seeking enlightenment, and a higher sense of consciousness. He didn’t see the wisdom in placing one’s hope outside of himself. This explained his current predicament and his nightmares. Self preservation explained the Panic Room--but the itch in his pants explained Holly. At the last minute, he’d decided that he didn’t want to spend New Year’s Eve alone. He’d needed the company to ease unsettled nerves. He’d needed a woman to help him forget Eliza. What a fucking joke. No woman could ever replace Eliza.
Tollin advanced into the outer room but he froze seconds after hearing a sound. He needed a reason to escape from his dreams and when he saw her; for a moment he forgot about his worries.
“Tollin.” Holly stood there in all her beautiful nakedness; backlit by the low lights ru
“If you won’t come to me--” she crossed the room, swaying her hips sultrily to tempt him.
“...then I’ll come to you.” She finished her sentence.
Holly stopped by the bar, filled two flutes with champagne, then she came to join him in the middle of the room.
“Toast.” she said.
“Holly--the holiday isn’t for another two hours.”
“I know but...” she lifted up on tiptoes. “You haven’t asked me to stay for your New Year’s Day party. And if I’m not being invited to your party--I’d like to be the first to wish you a happy New Year.”
Holly handed Tollin the glass. He watched her sip the bubbly, while her eyes remained trained on him. She’d been fishing when she’d mentioned his party. And, yes, she was correct when she said that he’d not invited her. Tollin never invited the help. He suspected tomorrow he would be busy as most wealthy people like him would be. New Year’s Day parties had become the in thing to do, and these events were as fashionable as couturier designer outfits are essential to the rich. And by default, he refused to host the hordes who sought to regain level prestige. A rye grin twitched his lips because he wondered if she’d ever crossed paths with any of the Samaritans. In his mind, girls like her were down on their luck and could use some help. He imagined the dreary faces belonging to the religious Samaritan’s--this group of people did not celebrate New Year’s Day by observing fixed practices and traditions. Every year, at first daylight, the moral consciences of society would orderly file onto their ferry, arriving in the city like a bloody horde of do-gooders, determined to fix the ills of the world.
Long red colored nails snapped inches from his nose. Tollin twitched. His head jerked unsteadily, angling him off balanced.
He glared at her angrily saying...
“Fuck...don’t do that.” he spat.
He was a pint short three sheets to the wind, and he didn’t need her to remind him that he’d drank to much. If it weren’t against her Madame’s rules, he had a good mind to toss Holly out onto the street. But he couldn’t. From the second he’d called her, he’d known exactly what he’d been in for. Holly was his to deal with until daylight and not one second earlier. If she left his home before sunrise, on a day like this; she could easily be killed by a rowdy partier, or some other foolish drunk shooting the New Year in. He’d heard tell of things like that happening--people finding themselves out on the street, then unintentionally getting caught up in jubilant crossfire. Then he considered that perhaps he was being overly paranoid.
Tollin forced the glass back, causing her to reflexively grasp hold. Fluid splashed, wetting her hand and toes.
“What’s wrong with you? I just thought...”
He abruptly cut her off.
“With all due respect honey--I didn’t pay you to think.”
“Well...” she replied, “If you didn’t want the champagne, a simple no would have sufficed. I know how to take a hint”
A push of changing pressure jostled his i
“Honey...it’s nothing. This place is tighter than Fort Knox.”
He stared at her, refusing to shield his a