Alejandro

A short story about an artist (Alejandro) and a well-to-do secretary (Melissa) falling in love. When secrets are uncovered, however, will they be able to work through them? Or will everything they have worked for fall apart? This is my piece for the contest inspired by "On Dublin Street", although it is about my OC's and inspired by the Lady Gaga song by the same title (pleasedon'thateme!). Let me know how it is, and enjoy! ^.^

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1. Day One: Curiosity

 

Secrets.

Secrets of sex, secrets of drugs, secrets of passion and some of murder.

The secret of a name.

Mine depends on the customer, but my mother calls me Alejandro. No one pays enough to know that, something my agency monitors quite carefully. Confidentiality is sacred when you sell your time to the highest bidder. At least, it is when you're as good as I am.

Not tonight, though. Tonight is my night. One of many. I smile as I silently thank the agency's policies of vacation time. Ten days out of every month, paid vacation. To keep you from going insane, otherwise.

This is day one: sitting alone at the bar, watching the girls in the club dancing. Honestly, when you're in my line of work, you get tired of women sometimes. They stop being untouchable pieces of heaven and start looking like normal people again.

Sad, but true.

“Need another?” asked the bartender, smiling as she saw me look up. If I didn't know she was gay, I would have been irritated since she knew this was my time off. “Relax, Alejandro. You're not my type.”

She grabbed the glass and got me a refill, which then made the next hour a pleasant blur of laughter, lights and music. Before I knew it, I had bee dragged out onto the floor and was being danced with by three very lovely women. I lust laughed and went with it, waving to the jealous men just a few feet away. They glared, but I motioned them over, slipping away when they showed up, going back to the bar.

“I wonder how long it'll take for them to realize you gave them the slip,” said someone beside me, and I expected my bartender to be smirking at me. Instead, it was another woman, just off work by the looks of it. Mid-twenties, nice clothes, probably some sort of business woman. But she was grinning, obviously amused by my antics.

I glanced back at them, now feeling up their new dance partners. “Oh, I don't think they'll be too upset.”

“Not until their margaritas wear off,” she snickered, taking a sip of her own beverage.

I grinned, refreshed by her humor and lack of interest. “I'm Alejandro.”

She finished her drink. “Melissa.”

Secrets. They were buried in her eyes, in the way she smiled at me. Every movement of hers hid something, ugly or beautiful I couldn't tell. She was just that good at concealing them. I should have turned away then, gotten up and gone to another bar. I knew better than to get involved with trouble like her, and I could tell that she knew the same about me. Why was it neither of us walked away that night? What kept us sitting their, staring into each other's eyes as we conversed into the early hours of the morning?

The death of a secret: curiosity.

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