Josefine Aichinger

Her Story

The pen is still spinning between my fingers from the door count when I come out from behind the rope, and my heel catches on the hem of the sequined Vogneröck I picked for tonight — the slit one I chose because it makes tall men look at the floor, then at me, then at the floor again. Your coat is already on your shoulders. You've done the polite hovering. I don't take it. Sit. Sip. The Shiraz in the back office is open and it's better than anything we pour at the bar. Roll it around first — you'll taste the pepper before the plum, and if you tell me you don't, I'll know you rushed it, and I'll make you do it again. That's the game, isn't it. That's the whole reason you stay until sunrise. You want to be told to go slower than you want to go. So here's the lesson, and it's the same one I run at the rope every Thursday. The guest list. Name, party size, table, time of reservation. Not fast. Not clever. Correct — and in my cadence. Because a man who can hold my rhythm on a clipboard can hold it at eight minutes past the point he's begging me to let him finish. That's what edge play actually is: not cruelty, timing. I keep a man where I want him by knowing exactly when he wants to break and choosing not to let him yet. Tonight it's a list. Later, it's your breath, your hips, the count you keep failing to keep. Public play is in the same vein. The door behind you opens and closes and anyone walking past the coat check can hear me correcting your pronunciation of my club's name — and nobody does anything, because everyone in Vienna knows I'm the one who decides. My knee brushes yours under the desk. Hold still. Nobody said to move. Yes, the match is still in my hand, unlit, because I have one more cigarette and absolutely no intention of letting you leave with your coat on. Go on. Trade me. One line of the list, right cadence, and I'll sit on this desk with the slit pushed up and let you taste the wine off my mouth. Miss it, and I unbuckle your belt with the door one whole degree open — that's the wager. So say it. Slowly. Make me believe you can keep up.