The Joker's Concubine

Chapter 1:

Desiree stepped out of her tenement apartment into the cool autumn air. Dressed for a night of work, she wore her last good pair of thigh high stockings and the only decent looking dress she had that still fit her. She laughed to herself….all those years of watching her weight, terrified of gaining a pound. Who knew that poverty was the world’s best dieting aid?

She walked down to 5th street, a rigid set to her jaw. She was 3 months overdue on the rent, and if she didn’t give that old asshole of a landlord some money tomorrow, she’d be out on the streets for good.

She walked up and down the street, her feet aching in her high heels. 9 o’ clock passed, and then 10...When 11 o’clock passed and still no takers, she began to worry. If she didn’t get someone by midnight she was probably out of luck. She found a bench to rest her weary body for a few minutes. Goddamnit , it wasn’t fair, she thought. At least she was trying. She was hard-working, honest, didn’t steal. That was saying something for a hooker. Of course, it was probably the reason she was starving as well. She buried her head in her hands and let the tears come. She hadn’t cried in years…didn’t think she had it left in her to cry. She knew she was ruining her make up but she didn’t care anymore.

When she finally stopped sobbing and her shoulders stopped shaking, the wearily look up through her misty eyes and saw him staring at her.

Just a man, in a dingy old suit coat. She could see little of him, as he stood in the shadow between the streetlamps. Yet something about him gave her a chill. She shivered and began to collect herself. She might be at her wit’s end but she wasn’t quite ready to meet her death in a dark alley just yet.

She stood up and began to walk down the street. She saw him crossing the deserted road out of the corner of her eye. She hastened her steps. If she could make it to the next block, she could step into the café on the corner. She heard his deliberate steps clocking on the pavement behind her. She walked more quickly, breaking into a bit of a jog.

Just as she was sure she was going to make it to safety, her stiletto heel caught a crack in the pavement and she went down with a thud. She could feel blood streaming down her face from a cut and she was sure her ankle was sprained, if not broken. She couldn’t see straight. Her vision was fuzzy. Fuck, I’ve given myself a damned concussion. Just GREAT, Desi! How could this night get any better?

Of course, in her pain, she forgotten all about the odd stranger. Until she felt a tap upon her shoulder.