Johnnie’s heart jumped to her throat. She opened the door and stepped into a hallway with several doors. Her senses keyed in, and she was poised for noises. But there was only silence. She took a step and focused on the first door to the right. It was open. Warm light seeped into the harsh fluorescent hallway, lulling her forward. The sharp, spicy scent of cinnamon hit her before she stepped into the doorframe.
“Did you sign the bottom?” a throaty voice asked from inside.
Johnnie stopped and stared into the room. A large, deep red sofa sat off to the right, bookshelves lined with dozens of books sat straight ahead, and what appeared to be a well-polished desk to the left, just behind the door, hiding the voice.
“You can’t come in unless you sign.”
Johnnie inhaled the cinnamon, stared into the lit candles, and eyed the luring sofa.
“Come inside, Riot. We have a lot to talk about.”
With a slight tremble to her hand, Johnnie signed the last page and took a step inward.
“Good. Now come in farther and close the door.”
Johnnie licked dry lips and stepped in farther with the clipboard, nervously tapping her outer thigh. She closed the door but still could not bring herself to face the voice. She hoped to get lost in the flicker of candlelight. To somehow ooze into the dancing shadows of the wall.
“You don’t want to look at me?”
Johnnie pushed out a breath that shook. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
Johnnie struggled for the right words but found none. “I’m nervous.”
“Because of me?”
“Because of this.”
Johnnie heard movement from behind the desk. The thrumming of her heartbeat muffled out the rest.
“I won’t bite.”
Johnnie let out a laugh before she could stop it.
“Glad to see you have a sense of humor. It makes my job less tedious.”
“Tedious?”
“Did that also amuse you?”
“I just can’t imagine this being tedious.”
The voice was silent. “What exactly is this, Riot? Do you know?”
Johnnie flushed and searched the wall of books. There were numerous books on psychology, philosophy, and then she noticed the books on sexuality, the Kama Sutra, and several more. She had no idea what to say in regard to her question or what to think in regards to her books. “You know—what it is you do.”
“And what is that?”
Johnnie closed her eyes and tried to slow her breathing. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do. You’re just afraid to say it out loud.”
Johnnie stood very still. Had she insulted her?
“Tell me what you think this is.”
“I-I’m not sure exactly what this is,” Johnnie said softly.
More silence. More movement behind the desk.
“You don’t have to look at me. Not if you don’t want to.”
“I don’t.” It came out before she could stop it. If she looked she’d panic. The woman sounded like sex on a stick. If she was, it would be too much, and she would either run or pass out right there on the expensive looking rug.
“I do, however, want to look at you, Riot.”
“Why?”
“Because, unlike you, I cannot help myself. I’m curious. And intrigued.”
“I feel underdressed,” Johnnie stammered, suddenly worried about it.
The woman laughed. “I’m not worried about your clothes. They are the least of my concerns. What I want to see is…you.”
Johnnie felt herself tremble. She could feel the weight of her words, her stare.
“Close your eyes, Riot.”
Johnnie closed her eyes.
“Now, turn and face me.”
Heart hammering, Johnnie turned. She struggled to breathe and nearly dropped the clipboard as she allowed herself to be analyzed.
“Can you feel me looking at you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you sense my gaze traveling up and down your body?”
“Yes.”
“What does it feel like?”
“Warm. Heavy.”
“Electric?”
“Yes.”
“Almost as if I were touching you.”
“Yes.”
“Very nice. You can turn and face the couch now.”
Johnnie turned and opened her eyes. She felt dizzy and stirred.
“We will do things your way today.” More movement and the sound of a chair wheeling. She knew the woman had stood.
“I’m behind you now, coming up very slowly. I’m pushing my chair. Can you hear it?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I’m behind you now. You can sit.”
Johnnie sat very slowly, very carefully, as if she didn’t trust her own legs. She could feel the woman behind her. Her presence infiltrating hers. Warming it, caressing it, welcoming it.
“Hand me the clipboard and pen.”
Johnnie did as requested and realized that the tendons in her hands and fingers were sore from her tight grip.
She heard the woman flip through the pages.
“You’re an artist.”
“Yes.” Johnnie’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t put that in there.”
“Your jeans and your hands give you away I’m afraid.”
“They’re clean,” Johnnie said quickly. “Just the paint is hard to get off…”
The woman laughed, rich and deep. “I’m not complaining.”
Johnnie burned.
“You’re a worrier,” the woman said and tossed the clipboard back onto the desk, causing Johnnie to jerk with surprise.
“No, I mean, not really.”
“You’re a worrier,” the woman said again, this time leaning down near her ear. Johnnie could feel her breath, and gooseflesh erupted along her skin as if she’d just licked the length of her spine.
Johnnie straightened and cleared her closing throat.
“No need to answer, my dear. I already know.”
A touch came, light and singular and ran around the rim of her collar. “You’re depressed. Very sad.” The touch halted. The woman leaned in again, this time breathing upon her other ear. “And very lonely.”
Johnnie felt her skin erupt again, and she gripped the armrests for some sort of control.
“You don’t have to answer. You don’t have to look. You just have to listen. And feel.”