Paul's Pain

Paul was trying out everything and every woman after his breakup with Vie. The end of their relationship set loose a wounded animal on women in the world. Paul’s actions were responsive and never contemplative, thoughtless and violent. A woman was always hurt and depending on who she was, dictated the degree of her injury. Her level of maturity and depth of understanding the great range of possible human relations paralleled precisely the degree of injury and her inevitably bitter-sweet recovery. Paul always survived but never healed, he was in fact the walking wounded, invisibly bleeding. Though debrided, he was never whole. Paul sought Doc's counsel; he listened eagerly but never really digested it.

Pan came from a pedigree of seductive women who knew about their bodies and the men who watched them.  Her mother wanted to name her Lilia but her grandmother, who was barely 30 years old at the time, insisted that she be named Pandora owing to her mixed heritage that included French, Asian, African and Spanish. He intermittent father, if he truly was, nicknamed her Pan to ease the awkwardness of bearing an antiquated name during childhood. Though no one anticipated it, Pandora would grow up to nearly live out the mythical legend of her namesake. Looking at her you could see mixed blood, the sign of a gypsy for some stoics. Pan made those women looking down on her pay with an extra twist or sudden stop aimed at husbands or lovers who glanced at her on the sly. It was a kind of animal instinct that released an invisible pheromone like dogs marking their territory with urine. Few could resist her even though they paid for the stolen glances later one way or the other. It was said that men saw in her all themselves, their female partners would muse the same thing in their minds consoling themselves that they chose discretion over attention.

In her line of work when the tricks of the trade are cashed in it’s not usually for love or even broken-heartedness, it’s usually because of age. Prostitutes just give out or just don’t have the goods to get dollars. Not Pan, at 23 years of age she was stripped of her last and only pride, her ability to work the senses of a man beyond $500 cash for 30 minutes and the cheapest regulars that were tricked for $75, to get them hooked, came back with $300 dollars until she would see him again. The occasional tryst of this penurious few was consummated only on very slow days or better yet near PMS when her attitude wouldn’t bring one dollar.  Except for these buffoons, Pan made no money for three days approaching her period.  For Paul, Pandora pulled out all the stops. It was a mistake but no one could warn her. Paul’s clandestine meeting with Ms Betty was three women in the future and too late to help Pan. She was consumed with her plan to possess Paul. She had not tried to special to anyone since high school. Her flowing ease at living in a subculture was legendary and creative. She could care less about her client’s feelings. It was the business of getting his wallet, access to his credit or paid vacations or gifts. She was like a pro athlete at the table with brokers and owners accepting incentives and perks beyond the base pay. Only this happened weekly for Pan. So, it was not unreasonable to think that could saddle Paul like a young colt since he had a smaller annual pay than most of her client’s monthly allowance. But the beauty of her features and her hypnotic gaze lost their power with Paul. He was stone, too hard to move. The second and third gears of her maneuvers stole most men’s potency within ten minutes. She never exceeded fourth gear or found anyone who could tolerate her sensuality that included a rising crescendo of the senses that eventually erupted into a relieved and satisfied suitor.  It was said in fact that she had killed more than one man but managed to escape any charges because they were consenting adults. Regarding the case of a retired wealthy widower, the local newspaper reported that Judge Martinez was all ready to apply a stiff sentence when Pan was brought up on charges. He was halted when he discovered that no toys or accessories were used to bring Mr. Heinz to an untimely death au natural. He kindly smiled at Pandora and applied a $300 fine for pilfering and abated any idea of prison. Pan sported from the courtroom providing one last show for the staged policemen, sheriff’s deputies, detectives and a macho-looking butch bailiff named Matti who rattled keys periodically to gain her attention, but Pan resisted. She hurriedly passed the bar while folding white gloves over her palm like someone who had gotten away with murder and began to gracefully step-off 21 paces to the court exit. She was wearing a form-fitting white silk dress with black pumps. Nearing the exit, she purposely dropped a clutch purse at the door and bent over unlady-like in one final gesture to assure everybody that she was the real thing. The sound of 57 keys from the hands of Matti striking the terrazzo floor was the perfect ending to her display.