He first spotted her at the bar. She stalked through the crowd, sizing up her prey and her competition. It was out of curiosity that he began watching her. She was a child, hardly qualified to be called a woman. She leaned against the bar, forcing her body into an almost unnatural curve, in an effort to put herself even more on display. The bartender, apparently familiar with the girl, passed her what looked to be a vodka and water – more likely to be a simple soda water with lime – and pointed off into the crowd.  

He next saw her sitting at a high top table, feigning interest in something a round, white-haired man was whispering into her ear. She fiddled with the stir straw in her glass. The old man signaled a waitress for fresh drinks. Then, his view was blocked by a man and woman talking in the courtyard. He found it odd that this new woman gave the impression that she was hesitant and resistant to the man beside her. When they separated, the girl and the old man were gone.

“Excuse me,” he caught the attention of a passing waiter, “I’m waiting for my date. She’s tall, slender, short blond hair. Has she come in yet?”

“Sure, I’ve seen her. But if you ask me, man, you’re better off without that one.” 

That was enough to let him know that she’d be coming back to the bar, possibly to give the bartender his finder’s fee. He made certain he would be there when she did.

                Two hours later, he heard the chair next to him drag across the floor and the rustle of fabric as she eased onto the seat.

“Mind if I join you?” The flirtatious line was hollow in its delivery. He guessed it was more out of a need to sit down than an attempt to ply her trade. He knew that he wouldn’t love her. There was nothing that stirred within him but pity and sorrow at her abject situation, but those emotions were enough to compel him to act. Her youthful beauty had long since deteriorated, makeup and soft lighting her only means of reviving it. The clothes she wore were expensive but ill-fitting, a sign that they were not originally meant for her.

“It is an open seat.” Being closer to her, he saw the listlessness in her gaze. A less observant person would have mistaken it for smoldering or coy. He knew that she needed him. She had to ask for it.

“So what’s a cutie like you doing here all by your lonesome?”

“I haven’t found what I’m looking for yet.”

                She signaled the bartender, who had taken to standing at the far end of the bar, for a drink. The man seemed all too eager to continue serving them to her.

                “I don’t think you should be doing that,” he cautioned her. He stilled the bartender with a sharp glare, letting the man know that he’d do well to leave them alone.

                She laughed at him, “That’s sweet, honey, but I think I can handle it.”

                “I saw you earlier,” he spoke low and soft, “and it seems to me you had more than enough then. It’s a shame your friend didn’t take better care of you.”

                “What? You think you can take care of me,” she shot back at him with a sneer. “You’re not the first to promise me that. You’re all the same …”

                He turned himself to face her directly and then leaned forward, one arm across the back of her chair, the other in front of her on the bar. She tensed noticeably at the sudden intrusion on her personal space.

“I don’t doubt you’ve been promised a great number of things, by men far less attractive and capable than me. I don’t doubt that they all fell short, in more ways than one. I hope you made them all pay for it,” he quirked his lips into a half smile, putting her somewhat at ease.

“What do you want from me?” She was intrigued. He saw the skepticism in her creased brow, but everything in her body said she was ready. Such a curious creature she was, despite herself.

“Scratching and clawing to get what you want has gotten you nowhere. Forget about what you want, start seeking what it is that you need, instead.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“First, tell me your name.”

“Dulcie. It’s more like a nickname, but I like it better. What’s your name?”

“I want you to ask me to give you what you need, Dulcie.” He looked her in the eye. She forgot that he didn’t give her his name. The sound of his voice, deep and whispering, commanding, lulled her. The weight of his hand on her back made her feel protected. He made her feel safe.

“Will you give me what I need?”

Looking at her now, he was finally able to see what drew him to her. She had an angelic look about her. He had to wash the makeup off of her face. He gently scrubbed away the layers of garish powder and paint, taking care not to bruise her skin. It was such delicate skin, so pale that it was almost translucent. A small mouth with pink lips that spread into a girlish smile as he guided her into the hotel suite. His little Dulcie.

Taking her into his home was not even the remotest of possibilities. The suite was perfect for her. She needed to see the luxury in life, the types of things the men that used her were able to have but never willing or wanting to share with her. She skipped across the room to the balcony, in awe of the sweeping views of the city lights and Whitney Sound in the distance. From there, she bounced into the spa-like bathroom, complete with a two-person soaker tub and a slate and glass shower with multiple sprayers. She’d begged him to join her, but he declined offering instead to bathe and massage her.

She was too thin. He’d thought it before, but seeing her undressed before him he saw the sharpness in her hips and the flatness of her chest. Why hadn’t anyone cared enough to do more than give her such a mocking nickname – to be so ‘sweet’ and yet treated so poorly? He did bathe her as promised. Just as gently as he washed her face, he ran the warm, moist cloth across her body. He took care in attending to every dip and curve.

Once he was finished, he rose from the bed and watched her once more. His Dulcie looked much more at peace. That was what she needed. For once in her life, she was cared for by a man. She could finally rest; she would not need to jump from this bed, his bed, to find fulfillment in yet another.

 Pleased with what he had done for her, he rolled down his shirtsleeves and picked up his jacket and retrieved something from an inner pocket. With a final caress of her cheek, he turned off the lights and left the room. A faint click of the door lock was the only sound he made, had anyone been able to hear it.