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or the beauty of his words, or his insistence on
intimacy even as she shied away from it. Whatever it was, it
brought tears to her eyes.
    “Please,” she said. “I have to go.”
    He hugged her again, tightening his knees
around her so she felt enveloped by him. By the time he drew away,
she’d mastered herself.
    “If you want to give me money,” she said, “I
would appreciate cab fare, so I don’t have to walk home alone.”
    “I’ll take you home.”
    “No. Please. I’m sorry. I’m thankful for
tonight, but—”
    “Let me help you.”
    “I don’t need help.”
    “Your job—”
    “I’ll find another job. I have another job.
The club was for extra money. So…I’ll be okay. I don’t want you to
worry about me.”
    “But you won’t take my money.”
    “I don’t need it.” I don’t need you. She was trying to convince herself. And failing.
    He stared at her a long time, though his
expression was cloaked. She preferred that. She didn’t want to know
his thoughts. It would be hard enough to let him go without knowing
the real man, the sober, concerned, slightly heartbroken man
looking at her right now.
    “You’ll be my best memory of Mongolia,” he
said at last. “My eternal girl with the eternal eyes.” It was his
goodbye, a very poetic one. He released her and she went into the
bathroom, cleaned up as best she could, and dressed to go.
    Jason walked with her down to the lobby of
the hotel and out into the smog and noise of nighttime Ulaanbaatar.
He stood out among her fellow Mongolians, with his unusual height
and his tousled, brown-golden hair. Even the way he hailed a cab
was gorgeous…the raise of his hand, the intent expression on his
face. He held the door as she climbed in, giving her money for the
driver. “You better bargain the fare,” he said. “He’ll cheat
me.”
    I’m sorry , she wanted to cry. I’m
sorry this is a dirty, corrupt city that takes advantage of
foreigners. I’m sorry I’m leaving you alone. I’m sorry I have to
protect myself from you.
    “Thank you,” she said instead. “For making it
so real.”
    “You’re welcome. Please take care of
yourself. My last orders,” he said, waving a finger at her. Then
her beautiful Master kissed her on the forehead, closed the cab
door, and stood watching from the road side as she disappeared from
his life.
    It was only later, when she went to pay the
driver, that she realized Jason had pressed an entire month’s
salary worth of money into her hand.

Chapter Three: Sara
     
    Jason moved carefully through the
second-world circus tent, stepping over rough benches and dodging
unrecognizable puddles of matter on the floor. His Mongolian
translator pulled her scarf more tightly around her neck and gave
him an encouraging smile. He had no idea of her age. She might have
been thirty or sixty, with her smooth, broad cheekbones and
wide-set, smoky-rimmed eyes.
    She was pretty, but nowhere near as pretty as
Sara.
    She’d been gone one day. Not even one whole
day, but he still felt her loss like a hole inside him. He wished
he’d never gone to the BDSM Fun Club. If only he’d stayed at the
hotel and worked. If he hadn’t traipsed off to that damn club like
some sex tourist, he wouldn’t have met her and he wouldn’t have
gotten her fired. And you wouldn’t have had a night with her
either. You wouldn’t have known her submission, or enjoyed that
longing in her gaze. The way she’d touched him, the way she’d
responded to him…
    Now he was suffering. Sex hangover. He’d
spent all morning and a good part of the afternoon fondling her
cuffs and masturbating to the scent of her on the cane. No matter
how many he rubbed out, he couldn’t stop craving her. He couldn’t
get her out of his mind. Had she gotten home safely the night
before? Would she find another job? A better one this time? He’d
given her all the money he could while she was too upset and
distracted to notice. Did she have regrets this morning? Was