The Lady in Red

“Put that away.”

You looked up, startled and embarrassed, to see a svelte woman standing before you, with her hand gently covering the bright screen of your Blackberry. She was stunning—eyes like deep pools of black, set above high cheekbones, framed by flowing hair the color of blood. A dress of thin, red fabric cascaded from her shoulders, moving slowly with the pounding music and caressing her figure, highlighting for you the peaks of her breasts and the swell of her hips. A relatively modest slit up the side revealed tantalizing glimpses of her alabaster legs. She looked unabashedly into your eyes and you felt your stomach quaver. It was as if her gaze was a physical force holding you before her.

“I’m sorry…. I’m sorry. I’ll put it away,” you stammered, clicking off the Blackberry and slipping it into your suit pocket.

“Good boy. Is this your first time here?” Her breath was heavy and sweet, like dark cherries, and you felt your confidence slipping away. You felt cowed that just minutes after walking into a club, a few words from a woman could send you back to fifth grade, when your adolescent hormones regularly turned you into a stammering mess at the slightest contact with a girl.

“Yes,” you answered, trying to talk your way back to steady footing. “Yes. I work downtown and a couple of guys at the office mentioned this place. I thought I’d come by and have a drink or two on my way out of work.”

“What does the gentleman drink?” As she spoke, she slipped her arm through yours and drew you closer to her, prompting you to gasp, before walking the two of you along the railing towards the back of the room, where there was an enormous bar, the hundreds of bottles of liquor backlit and gleaming in different colors.

“Scotch with a single ice cube and a splash of water. My name is John, by the way. Do you come here often?”

“John, it is my distinct pleasure to offer you your first drink at SALIGIA,” she said, her low and confident voice raising goose bumps on your neck. She nodded at the bartender, who quickly slid your drink across the bar. “My name is Lilith. I’m the hostess at SALIGIA. For all intents and purposes, I live here.”

She handed you the glass. For a moment as you received it from her, your fingers brushed against hers and you felt a rush, as if the blood in your body had come alive. Anxious, you lifted the glass to your lips and took a sip of the drink, hoping to take the edge off your nerves. The drink was rich and smoky, and crept down your throat with purpose. The knot of nervousness in your stomach evolved into a feverish urge for action—to dance, to sing, to move… to be absorbed by the throbbing music and entangled dancers just a few feet below you. You felt your knees buckle just slightly from the intensity of the sensation.

“Lilith, is there some place I can sit for a second? The music is getting to me a little bit.”

“Of course.” Lilith again took your arm and led you away from the bar, into an alcove against the wall. The area was shrouded with dark red satin curtains, and as Lilith drew the curtains back for you, you saw that it was a private booth, luxuriously appointed with two plush couches, satin pillows, and candles, overlooking the dance floor from a slightly elevated and removed perch.
You settled yourself into one of the couches, your head spinning and stomach turning.

“This is a strong drink,” you murmur, holding your glass up to examine it in the dimly lit club.

“It is,” replied Lilith. She floated into the entryway with her arms raised, holding the curtains parted. The swaths of her dress rippled as she moved, the dark red of the fabric melding with her blood red hair. “It’s the house drink—Temptation in the Wilderness.” Her eyes, seemingly darker and deeper by the minute, penetrated yours. She stood perfectly still in the entryway, her confident form contrasted against the sea of dancing, twisting bodies behind her.

“What’s in it? My tolerance isn’t what it was in college,” you mumbled. Your face felt flushed and you were aware of perspiration in your armpits. You planted your free hand against the arm of the couch to leverage yourself up, but in a flash, Lilith’s slender fingers were on your chest pressing you back into your seat. Her face was up close to yours as she leaned over—her eyes were locked on yours and her lips were slightly parted, whispering something you couldn’t quite hear—her dark cherry breath weaving its way into your mouth and nose, adding to your overwhelming sense of intoxication.

And then she was behind you, her delicate but strong fingers on your shoulders, pushing you deeper into the couch. Her hair, soft like silk, gently touched your ear, and you were aware that her face was next to yours—though not touching, you could feel on your skin the coolness of her skin just millimeters away.

“Give in. Abandon your life of grace and charity. Your humanity is in vice. Your manhood is in vice. Embrace your passion, your flesh, your blood—your mortality.”

You weren’t sure if Lilith was whispering or screaming. You were disoriented—the beat of the music in the club seemed louder, and to be coming from inside you. You noticed that despite the darkness you could see clearly the dance floor below you. What seemed like a thousand intertwined bodies moved in concert, the swirling arms and glimpses of flesh blending into a mosaic of lust and sex. As the strobe light provided slashes of legs and shoulders and faces, you noticed that each of the dancers below you were gazing up at you.

It was too much. You pitched forward and vomited on your shoes. You wiped your mouth on the cuff of your sleeve and raised your head up to see a woman alone, walking up the steps from the dance floor in your direction. Even in your distressed state, you recognized her as the woman who had bumped into you on her way in. Her eyes were fixed on yours as she strode, slowly but purposely, towards you.

“Oh shit,” you muttered.

“John,” whispered Lilith in your ear. “I want to introduce you to Lujuria…”