Fetish

ii. aesthetic

— I'd like a private dance, if you don't mind. — Professor Russell said, handing Catherine four one hundred dollar bills in one hand while the other held a glass of whiskey. She froze for a second. Had he recognized her? What was he doing there? Well, she knew what he was doing there, but that was a ridiculous coincidence. Maybe it's just that, she thought, a coincidence. He wasn't her graduation professor, that lecture had over a hundred students present, he probably didn't see her.

— Of course. — Said Cathy, taking the money and putting it in her bra.

She turned and nodded for him to follow her. She reached the hallway of the private rooms and security gave the number of an empty room. Russell gave his hand for her to climb onto the table before sitting down and she took it. He sat comfortably on the couch with his legs spread. Catherine got on all fours, facing him. Recognizing her or not, he paid four hundred dollars for that dance and she knew there would be more where it came from. He was also quite handsome, probably in his late thirties, tall and, unless that suit had some sort of padding, pretty strong.

— Bella, huh? — He said, pointing to her necklace. — Short for Isabella?

— Perhaps. — She smiled, getting down on her knees and grabbing the pole behind her. — What is your name?

— Well, now I'm offended. — He said, taking a sip of his drink. — Not only you don’t pay attention to my lecture, you don't even bother to remember my name...

— I… — Catherine muttered, visibly nervous. — I don’t know what you're talking about.

— Relax. — He smiled. — I don't want to embarrass you. But yes. I remember well the girl who spent the entire class reading Sade.

— Right… — Said Catherine, still dancing, remembering that he probably saw her make horny faces while she was reading.

— You're not the only college girl dancing to pay off loans. But I promise I won't tell anyone, don't worry.

— I don't care, honestly. I'm not doing anything wrong… — She said, smiling. — But it will be embarrassing to bump into you in the hallways one of these days.

— It doesn't have to be. — He laughed. — Besides, I teach at NYU, I'm just a guest at Columbia. Can I know your real name?

— Catherine. — She sighed.

— Does it always work?

— What?

— Pretending to be an innocent little girl who doesn't know how she ended up in a strip club?

Cathy laughed and sat down at the table, facing Professor Russell and her back to the pole. She took the whiskey glass from his hand and took a sip.

— A performance like that belongs to Broadway. — He said, laughing.

— You're talking too much and tipping too little. — She said, smiling. Russell opened his jacket and took out two more hundred-dollar bills for her. Cathy went back to dancing.

— What do you study?

— French Literature. — Said Cathy, rubbing the pole.

— That explains that book. — He muttered. — I'm just mildly worried because you seemed…very much into that reading. As Adorno said, Juliette is the very representation of human barbarism.

— Any sane person who has read that book must have said that. — Catherine said. — Are you worried that this might turn me on?

— Yes, I think so. — He said finishing off the whiskey in his glass.

— I can't believe you mentioned Adorno to a stripper in a strip club. — Catherine said, crouching on the table. — Don't worry, professor, I was just trying to provoke the guy sitting next to me. I guarantee that I don't get off with murder, rape and sodomy. But I have to admit, I like the nuns orgy at the beginning.

— Are you a lesbian?

— Bisexual.

— You’re an interesting person, Catherine. — Russell said, taking a few more notes and tossing them. — May I know why you chose French Literature?

— It's sexy. It's the ideal diploma for any woman aspiring to be a trophy wife. — Said Cathy. Russell laughed.

— Is that what you want to be? A trophy wife?

— Let's say I could have a part-time job in a cafeteria or department store, but I heard that in this place the tips are higher. I have a lifestyle that I like to maintain, Professor Russell.

— So, you're just waiting to take a hit on the first rich man to show up?

— I'm no Justine, but I do have some virtues. — She laughed. — I just wouldn't mind having cool stuff for the rest of my life without having to do a half-naked split on a table. — Catherine said, doing a split on the table.

— Interesting that you mentioned Justine. Horkheimer would say that…

— If you give me a lecture on aesthetic philosophy now, I'll call security for harassment. — Catherine said, very serious. She and Russell laughed.

Cathy came home around 4AM with over three thousand dollars in tips - a thousand were from Russell alone. She and Ella shared a beautiful apartment at Madison Square Park. She tiptoed into the house, fearing waking her roommate, but Ella appeared in the middle of the room when the lights came on suddenly, wearing only a pair of panties and an empty wineglass in her hand.

— My God, you scared me! — Said Cathy. — I thought you were asleep.

— I was. — Ella said, yawning. — How was your night?

— Not as good as yours, it seems. — Said Cathy, laughing, looking at Ella's room and seeing a pair of feet on her bed. — Who is he?

— Jonathan. — Ella replied, taking a half-full bottle of wine from the kitchen counter and filling her glass.

— Jonathan? Jonathan from your firm?

— Yeah, that's a big mistake. — she rolled her eyes — We are working on a pro-bono case together, he gave me a ride and I asked him if he would like to go upstairs. You know the rest.

— Well, I'm definitely not in a position to judge you. — Cathy said, taking a glass for herself and pouring herself some wine. — I met a professor today at the club.

— A professor!? — Ella asked, shocked. — Like, from college?

— He's not exactly my professor, but I saw a lecture of his this afternoon and he was at the club. And he recognized me.

— Oh my God, what happened?

— We had a very strange conversation, he gave me a thousand dollars in cash and I… I gave him my number.

— Are you insane!?

— I know! — Exclaimed Cathy, rolling her eyes.

— He has two huge red flags, a client and a professor! This is not going to end well...

— He’s so hot... But yeah, I know having something with him can be dangerous.

— Which will probably make everything even hotter...

— We'll never learn...

A week later, Cathy was in Professor Myers' office discussing her monograph. Her research in French erotic literature was very good, but as Myers said “it's very plastered, your text lacks some of the artistic sensuality that you try to explain”. She wasn't wrong, Cathy knew. But she felt too uninspired at the time to write something more fluid and beautiful. Myers suggested that she take some classes at the Arts Department, or even attend some creative writing workshop; she just said she would think about it. Leaving her advisor's office, Cathy bumped into Professor Russell by accident.

— It wasn't as embarrassing as I thought. — Cathy said, smiling at him. — I mean, just a little bit, since I gave you my number and you didn't text me.

— I apologize. — He said, smiling in a charming way. — It's not a good time for me right now... Romantically speaking. How are you?

— I'm fine. — She smiled — And no need to apologize, that was a bad idea anyway...

— But I was going to call you, I promise. For another reason, I fear. I would like to make you an invitation.

— Really? What is it?

— I don't know if you know but I'm also a visual artist. I'm currently promoting a small art workshop at Rascal Gallery in SoHo. It's a small class, my work is focused on drawing techniques.

— This is amazing, I didn't know you were an artist. But… What was this invitation about?

— What do you think of posing for my class?