I ate my bread and sipped the tea slowly, deliberately, as Cola sat across from me, her gaze never leaving my face. Her eyes were sharp, calculating, as though she was trying to decode something hidden in me. I felt the weight of her stare, but I didn't break my focus, letting the tension settle between us like a silent battle.
A moment passed before she grew bored of the silence, her fingers moving gracefully to her purse. She pulled out a cigarette with a practiced ease, lighting it with a flick of her lighter. The smoke curled around her, and I could hear the soft inhale, the slow exhale.
I reached out, my hand catching the cigarette from her grasp. My fingers brushed against hers, briefly, and I took it from her. "This is not a nineteen thing," I said coolly, my voice firm.
Without waiting for her response, I crushed it under my boot, the sound of the filter breaking sharp in the quiet space. Then, I lifted the half-burned cigarette and placed it carefully on the table in front of her.
Her lips curled into a mocking smile as she leaned back in her seat, her eyes narrowing slightly. "What is a nineteen thing, then?" she asked, her tone both curious and condescending. "Don't act like my sister, brother, or the last of all… my father."
Her words hung in the air, sharp with accusation, and I could feel the weight of them, even if they were just a game for her.
""Cola," I began again, my voice calm, though my patience was wearing thin, "Or whatever your true name is."
She met my gaze with a defiant look. "Whatever my true name is, I shall never say to someone like you," she shot back, her voice laced with an edge of disdain.
I leaned back slightly, taking a slow sip of my tea. "Don't you have any goal in life?" I asked, the question hanging between us, "Besides, you know... working in a cathouse?"
She smirked, clearly unfazed by my tone. "My true goal?" she mused, her gaze shifting toward the window as if reflecting on something. "Yes, I want to be a Catwoman."
"A Catwoman?" I repeated, the words almost escaping as a laugh. "What's that now?"
She met my stare again, her expression suddenly serious. "It's not a Catwoman you're thinking of. A Catwoman is someone who is higher in the Cathouse thing. Like an Uber model," she said, her tone firm, as if she had explained this a thousand times.
"An Uber model... cathouse... Catwoman... what's that?" I scoffed, clearly bemused by the whole thing.
She rolled her eyes, the gesture dripping with annoyance. "You really don't get it, do you?"
"No. I don't," I said, shrugging slightly, as I took another sip from my cup.
She leaned back, her eyes narrowing slightly. "The only Catwoman that has ever been was a woman with a codename 'Kitty.'"
"Kitty?" I scoffed again, amused, "You must open a cat care center."
She gave me an exasperated look. "Hoffman, you are impossible."
"Am I?" I asked, genuinely curious now. "I am curious about this whole 'Catwoman,' 'Kitty' thing."
With a sigh, she began to explain. "A Catwoman is given to someone who has surpassed the standards of the cathouse—the secret brothel. Someone who is above the boundary. This type of woman can be seen as a legendary concubine who could choose her clients and only get the most elite clients."
"Catwoman," she repeated, letting the word hang in the air. "It's not just about looks, Hoffman. It's about power. Influence. Control. Once a woman earns that title, she becomes something more than a mere... employee." Cola took a slow drag from her cigarette, her eyes flicking over the room as though assessing every person in it, calculating their worth. "She's someone everyone wants, but no one can have unless she lets them."
I raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. "So, it's all about picking the right clients? That's the secret?"
She scoffed, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "It's not just about picking clients. It's about deciding who's worthy enough to even meet her. She's not just providing a service, Hoffman. She's shaping the game. Every man who steps through the door wants a piece of that power. But they don't get it. Not unless she allows it. She sets the terms, not them."
I sat back in my chair, the weight of her words sinking in. "So, it's all a game of manipulation," I said, though it didn't feel like a question.
"Of course it is." Cola's gaze sharpened, her voice dropping to a lower, almost conspiratorial tone. "But it's more than that. Once you reach that level, you're untouchable. You control the narrative. The Cathouse doesn't run without them, but no one sees it. You think the regulars and the clients are the ones making the money? They're nothing compared to the Catwoman."
I watched her closely now, trying to gauge if this was some elaborate story she was spinning, or if she truly believed it. But there was no mistaking the intensity in her eyes. She wasn't just telling a tale. She was giving me a glimpse into a world she knew all too well.
"And how does someone get there?" I asked, leaning forward slightly. "What does it take to become this... Catwoman?"
She leaned back in her seat, exhaling smoke slowly, her eyes never leaving mine. "It's not about doing the same thing everyone else does. It's about redefining the rules. Staying ahead of the game. Not letting anyone dictate your terms. If you can do that, if you can rise above the rest and carve your own path, then you become someone no one can forget. Someone no one can control."
Her words were like a blueprint, a strategy for how to climb from the bottom of the hierarchy to the very top. It wasn't about physical beauty or charm—it was about the ability to shape the environment around you, to manipulate situations and people until they were nothing but pieces on your chessboard.
"So, you think you could become one of them?" I asked, half in jest but also half curious.
Cola smiled, a slow, confident curve of her lips. "I don't think. I know."
I leaned back in my chair, my mind spinning. There was something about Cola I couldn't quite figure out. She wasn't just a product of the Cathouse. She was something more. Something dangerous. And maybe, just maybe, she was right. Maybe the game wasn't as simple as I thought. Maybe I was already part of it, whether I wanted to be or not.
I raised an eyebrow, leaning in slightly. "I've been a regular here for a year... except for the months I've been off. Never heard of it before?"
She studied me for a moment before replying. "I know you. You just did the deed or went after Cherry," she said, her words cutting straight to the truth. "Sonia."
She was right. I hadn't really taken any particular interest in anyone else, sticking to the regulars.
"Guess I never really cared for the whole... prestige thing," I muttered.
"Well, honestly, I am curious... who this Catwoman is?," I asked.
"Nobody knows her true name. Everyone here works with a codename which is chosen by us to protect our privacy.," she said, "but this catwoman, Kitty. She was something else."
"Something else?," I asked, "was she an alien.," I continued with a hint of sarcasm.
"She was very suspicious.," she leaned in closer.
"You know that has been missing for nearly three months. She got many warnings for giving heavy sedations to the client. She would always get heavy amount from her client."
"What?," I said, "heavy sedation?"
"And she looks like someone famous... infamous if I may add."
My eyes dilated as I never thought this thing could had been connected to the bigger picture.
[Cont]