John hesitated upon the sidewalk, burying his hands into his coat pockets and looking up and down the street, trying to find any telltale signs of a club they would be seeking. There were no bright electric lights, nor even the spilling out of partygoers onto the streets. John couldn't even hear the sound of music, which began to worry him immensely. Perhaps there was no club at all; perhaps Victor was leading him into some sort of arranged killing? John turned sharply to face his companion, half expecting to see the glint of a knife grasped within his hand as the cabbie began to pull away with a thrash of his whip. However despite John's panic the only thing Victor reached for was a cigarette, offering one to his companion before lighting a match and smoldering the tip to produce a fine line of grey and stinking smoke.
"Are we here?" John wondered apprehensively. Victor smiled through his cigarette, keeping the thing clenched within his teeth as his lips curled in their own practiced way.
"Yes." Victor agreed, still standing quite still as if he had no intentions of leading the way to their club of interest. Now standing alone with the other servant John began to feel incredibly uncomfortable, for the street was empty and the sidewalk even more desolate. There seemed not to be a sign of life anywhere, so how could such a promising club occupy such a lonely street? Finally Victor began to move, leaning rightwards until he had to stick his foot out to catch himself, and from there he progressed down the street with John following quietly and obediently in his wake. Victor stopped outside of a rather shabby looking door, one which was unmarked except for a bronze letter plate to allow the postman the benefit of identification. There was nothing special about this door, nothing which would make John knock on it for any reason. Though here tonight Victor rapped his knuckles against the wood, waiting for a moment as if he figured the response would be immediate. As predicted there was the creaking of a metal flap, suddenly one of the panels of the door falling away to allow the slanted eyes of a suspicious looking man on the other side. From behind him a bright light was shining, and just now John was able to hear the faint music of a piano being played from somewhere deep inside of the building. Victor didn't need to say anything, he just flashed that smile of his and the man behind the door dropped his more intimidating presence, as if he was looking upon an old friend who needn't be questioned any farther. There were a couple of clicks, as if the door had been fastened with numerous locks so as to keep any undesired guests on the street and outside of their most prestigious club. The door opened quickly, the man shuffling out of the way as Victor led John inside with a hand upon his shoulder, steering the tutor through the door as if to emphasize that he was here upon invitation.
"Thank you Charlie." Victor mumbled, using his free hand to pat the man's arm before tipping the ashes of his cigarette into a conveniently placed tray and continuing on down the hall. While the outside of the club appeared to be an unassuming townhouse the inside bore no recognizable traits to any such structure. It seemed as though there were many houses reconfigured to keep this place a secret, as what should have been skinny living quarters instead stretched down a long and widened hallway. John and Victor stood on the outside of a silk red curtain, the music growing even louder from the other side. The room was lit very dimly, and as the two recollected themselves multiple men in black suits with white gloves appeared to take their hats and coats. It must be quite the prestigious place if they would go through such trouble, for all of the bars and clubs John had visited (which was admittedly few) never bothered to cater to their guests. On one side of this hallway there was a flimsy looking wall, undoubtedly made of plaster but coated in fancy wallpaper to bear the look of being fashionable and expensive. On the other side, hidden from John's view unless he wandered down a ways and stretched his neck, were multiple rooms with silver numbers engraved into their oak doors, rooms which must have held a particular purpose and rooms that he would not ask about again. John didn't wish to know what was housed behind door number three, even though his ears might first guess some sort of wild monkey screaming for attention.
"Don't mind them; they're not why we're here." Victor chuckled, stiffening his grip upon John's shoulder now that their coats had been taken away by the obedient servants. John nodded, his face paling as he felt the tips of Victor's fingers dig rather deeply into his collarbone. He wasn't sure what scared him most, the idea of going behind that curtain or the idea of staying here alone with Victor Trevor for any longer. Thankfully the lesser of two evils was chosen for him and Victor finally took a step forward, parting the curtain back with a gentle stroke of his arm and introducing John to what might have been the strangest place he had ever laid eyes on. To begin with the entire place was sunken down into the ground, descending two or three wide steps from where the two stood. These stairs, which would have done perfectly fine in any normal fashion, instead stretched all the way around the circular styled room, eventually leading only to bare walls with nowhere to go. Upon these useless ascensions were small circular tables, each one seating two or three with candles illuminating the immediate space around them. The tables were draped with white table cloths, and in their fashion the room had a very dizzying, blurred effect on John's peripheral vision. Eventually the steps were interrupted by a wide stage, one which was now host to a beautiful woman in a long white gown, accompanied by the piano that John had been hearing from outside of the main door. She was singing in deep, sorrowful notes, and to accompany for such sweet music the busy crowd had fallen nearly silent. The stage was elevated, positioned on the topmost step and stretching even farther back into the architecture. In the middle of the large circle of tables was a white marble dance floor, perfect for the clicking of women's heels as they were flown back and forth between their male escorts within the crowd. Beneath the stage and almost indistinguishable behind the thick crowd was a single door, a white door, painted with strange red strokes trailing around the wood. From where John was standing they looked more like red ribbons, though up close he would find they resembled more of human veins. John was perfectly amazed by the design of the club, so much so that he found merely examining the structure to be rewarding enough for the evening! Where they had found the space for such an intricate design was perfectly mind bending, though John had to imagine that every corner was protected under an unsuspecting roof, hiding this arrangement from the general public. There were electric lights hanging from the ceiling above, though they were cloaked in red fabric, giving the entire place an eerie and tinted appearance, taking advantage of the candles upon each table to illuminate the space with a cleaner, white light than what the electric bulbs could provide. The atmosphere had a terribly seductive feel, and John couldn't help but look over at his companion as if to question what was next for the two of them. Certainly Victor wasn't in the dancing mood?
"John, welcome to the Dollhouse." Victor announced, letting his hand slide away across John's shoulders before he began to meander towards an unoccupied table, one on the second tier and in the middle of the circular design. As Victor seated himself a waiter came to take their order, scurrying back to the kitchens to collect their desired drinks (Victor had ordered for the both of them, for John hadn't any idea what sort of alcohol he would like or afford). John settled himself comfortably into his respective chair, rubbing his hands together apprehensively as he watched the gleam of his host's face.
"What is this place, some sort of dance club?" John presumed, looking down onto the dance floor to watch the massive crowd move almost as one.
"It's a little bit of everything. You can come for a dance, come for dinner, or just come to have some interesting conversation." Victor admitted with a shrug.
"Which of those do you prefer?" John wondered, hoping dearly that Victor would not choose the dancefloor over their comfortable and rather secluded seating arrangement. Somehow this tiered seating arrangement made their conversation feel all the more private, for even while they were surrounded with tables of similar size the others' conversations seemed so terribly far away. What words were able to drift away from the different levels of the club were lost within the music, and instead of eavesdropping John had no choice but to appreciate the singer's voice if he finally grew tired of Victor's.
"Oh I don't particularly like dancing. And the food is...well it's alright." Victor sighed.
"You come for conversation?" John decided, narrowing down each of the options to pinpoint which one his host must have been thinking. Victor's smile turned again, for a moment he stayed quiet as he stubbed the rest of his cigarette into the ash tray, his white fingers stained with tobacco.
"Not usually." Victor admitted at last. John nodded, though he had to admit that his brain was struggling to understand Victor's logic. If not for dancing, not for eating, and not for talking, well what else did this club have to offer that would draw the likes of Victor Trevor? Certainly he didn't enjoy sitting here alone?
"You're a mystery to me, Victor." John admitted at last, figuring there was no use trying to pry the true purpose of Victor's visits. Thankfully their conversation was ended by the abrupt reappearance of their waiter. The man set down two large glasses of a very sweet smelling wine, and with a mere smile Victor thanked and dismissed him, pushing one of the glasses across the white table cloth towards John as if in offering.
"What's this?" John wondered.
"Wine." Victor explained simply.
"I know that, but what type?" John clarified.
"Good type." Victor insisted, and was silent upon the topic from then on. It was probably best that he did not disclose the particular brand, for anything they stocked within these cellars was probably a wine that was unexperienced by John until now. He was lucky if he could find a bottle within his price range even within the slums of Manhattan, usually collecting his alcohol from basement breweries of particularly talented Irishmen. Certainly he wouldn't be able to place the taste of this wine to any particular brand, so it was better not to confuse him in the first place. John took a careful sip, almost worried that the drink would be laced with a strange drug of poison. To his relief he only tasted the wine, and in fact it was the best sip of wine he may have ever had. For a moment John relished in the delicacy of it, staring into the glass as if trying to find the coins and dollars buried within the drink, the ones he would have to pay if he wanted to continue on. He still hadn't a dollar to his name, as his paycheck had not come from the Holmes family quite yet. Certainly he would have to put this glass down to avoid any hefty charges?
"Victor, just by the taste of this I know I cannot afford it." John announced apprehensively.
"It's on me, Mr. Watson. Tonight is my treat, to introduce you to the better side of the city." Victor assured. John struggled to find a word, though in the end he imagined the look of gratefulness was surpassing any vocabulary he could have thrown upon the situation. Victor smiled at him, a legitimate smile rather than those cocky grins he usually wore. It was such a human expression that it almost didn't fit the man's profile, and for a moment John felt as if he had accidentally unlocked another side of Victor Trevor that was usually kept intentionally hidden away.
"You're welcome." Victor muttered at last, mumbling the words quietly to himself before taking another long sip of his wine to distract himself from his good nature. John cast his eyes back down to the dancefloor, watching as each of the couples danced together in synchronized rhythm, evidentially each pair recognizing the song and adjusting their motions accordingly. It was beautiful to watch them dance, like a kaleidoscope of different colors swirling back and forth upon the blank canvas of the white floor.
"John, I brought you here with a specific purpose in mind." Victor admitted at last, seemingly having grown bored of their silence over the now half-drunk glasses of wine. John nodded, figuring that there was something left out of Victor's intentions that he had not yet disclosed. He took another long sip of the delightful drink, just to be sure that his mind was prepared to hear what else was on this man's conniving agenda.
"What might that be?" John questioned, having waited in vain for the man to continue on. Evidently he wanted this to continue as a real conversation, with both men speaking their parts as if in a play.
"I want you to meet someone." Victor admitted, pushing his fingers into the front of his jacket to produce a crisp ten dollar bill, folded and settled neatly in the middle of the table. John was taken aback, for he wasn't sure if this money was a generous donation or if it was some tool in aiding John's acquaintance with Victor's chosen partner. Either way the servant's promises rang clear, 'tonight is my treat'.
"What sort of person are you suggesting?" John wondered nervously. Victor chuckled, leaning back within his chair and clicking his fingers upon the table, his long fingernails striking the hardwood which was hidden under the white cloth and picking up the beat of the drum set upon the stage.
"Mr. Watson, you don't strike me as a virgin." Victor declared at last. Whatever John had been expecting, it wasn't that. His face which had once been pale with hesitation now flushed to the tint of their red wine, and for a moment the man trembled to find any sort of words that would redeem his character in the eyes of his companion.
"Well...why do you ask?" John whispered nervously, his fingers trembling upon his glass of wine as he tried to force a look of normality.
"I ask because, depending on your past, my suggestions may shock you." Victor admitted with a chuckle.
"That doesn't make me feel any better." John murmured.
"Well then, may I assume that my previous guess is correct?" Victor wondered, tilting his head to the side with a most conniving grin. His blue eyes shone now like searchlights, spinning about on the shores of some perilous sea.
"Yes. Your previous guess is correct." John whispered at last. "Though I'm apprehensive as to what my answer might mean."
"It means you will at least know what to expect." Victor admitted. "You see, the Dollhouse is not named because of its interior decoration, nor of any correlation to children's toys. It's named for its dolls, a specific type if you will."
"Prostitutes." John whispered, at last seeing the connection between Victor's strange questions and those numbered doors on the other side of the hall. The servant's smile turned into a sharp laugh, though he did not open his mouth to debate. John's heart quivered, and suddenly he began to fear not only for his reputation but also for what was left of his purity. So he had been with a woman before, that was already a capital offense in the eyes of God! What now, what would he be setting himself up for if he accepted Victor's money and his suggestions for a guest?
"Most famously of all, the Porcelain Doll, the single whore who gives this place its name." Victor declared with a strong inhale, a fierce and passionate breath. "A miracle worker, if ever I've met one."
"No." John decided at last, shaking his head and pushing his wine away with a firm hand. Suddenly Victor's warm welcome meant nothing to him, his shower of gifts felt falsified and deceitful, as if he had this terrible agenda in place ever since he cornered John in the servant's hallway.
"Now now, don't be so hasty." Victor insisted, taking the money and throwing it excitedly in John's direction. "It's a gift from me to you, and it would be rude not to accept."
"Victor, I'm not about to go sleeping with a prostitute...that's immoral!" John demanded.
"Welcome to New York, Mr. Watson." Victor whispered. "All our souls are tainted."
"Yours included?" John presumed.
"Oh yes. The amount of money I've thrown away behind that particular door..." Victor chuckled, shaking his head as if he was embarrassed by the debt he had accumulated on the behalf of some prostitute. John grumbled to himself, though the money on the table had flown so close to him, an opportunity now to snatch up the cash and use it as it was intended. The promise of such bliss was a strangely tempting sensation, a bad influence that slowly spread throughout his entire body until a speck of doubt had been erased in place of a burning and almost sickening curiosity. John didn't agree with any part of this process, he hated the idea of whores; he hated the idea of any man who would fund them for a night of pleasure. Who was he now, to be a hypocrite? Yet how long had it been, how long since he had even received a passing glance from a woman?
"Take the money, Mr. Watson." Victor insisted. John looked up at him with a burning shame, his brown eyes saturated now with disgust. And yet he reached his hand upon the table, curling his fingers against the once pristine bill and crumbling it within his sweaty, shaking hand.
"I shouldn't." John muttered to himself, though even as he tried to play the innocent card his heart was already wandering, already it was trying to guess which door held the prize he was soon to receive. He had to admit, something about a 'miracle worker' got him excited.
"There we go." Victor breathed, leaning forward upon the table and staring at the way John's hands were folded, as if he loved to see his money going to a good home.
"What now?" John wondered quietly, looking about on the elevated tables to make sure no one was listening in to their most private conversation. While everyone within this club was probably utilizing each and every opportunity it provided John still felt like an outsider. Suddenly he held the rest of the crowd much higher than himself, his morality was shrinking from the size of this room into a palm sized sphere, one which could be held so easily within an attractive hand and crushed with an ounce of pressure. Could it be that the tables above and below him were listening to their conversation, waiting and watching for John to rise to his feet and excuse himself to the back hallway? What if there was an undercover cop somewhere about here, trying to find first time offenders? Or even worse...what if one of the Holmes brothers found out? Suddenly John's fingers weakened, realizing now that a whisper of this affair could land him back on the streets where he started from. Certainly Mr. Holmes would not want such a lowly creature attending to his children, one who would pay for a woman rather than court and marry her appropriately?
"I'll wait here while you go. With ten dollars you might get...well who knows how long? It depends how you are, I suppose." Victor chuckled. John's eyebrows wrinkled, his face flushing once more as he cast his eyes back down upon the floor. It was a strange thing to be talking so personally with a man he hardly knew, a man he barely trusted at all! Who knew that Victor Trevor would suddenly know the details of his romantic past, and here now the details of his romantic future!
"Victor, don't tell the brothers." John insisted, suddenly feeling as though this was a necessary detail to highlight. For a moment the man held his fist to his lips, as if he was trying to contain any face that might give away his true emotion. From what John could tell he might have been laughing, though finally he wiped his face clean with a swipe of his palm, shaking his head with a look of utmost responsibility.
"Mr. Watson, this entire affair will never leave this room." Victor assured. John nodded, still feeling his brain tearing in half with the strain of going against so many laws and so many commandments. Though how could he hesitate any longer, he was already wasting Victor's time as it was!
"Alright then, which door?" John wondered. Victor didn't speak, he merely allowed John to follow his gaze down towards the dance floor. It was there that Victor's eyes settled, past the crowd of couples and towards the lonely door underneath the stage, the most public entrance in the entire building. Anyone who was sitting upon the upper tiers would be able to see him go in there, with half of them knowing his intended purpose!
"The stage door?" John clarified fearfully.
"Yes, Mr. Watson. The Porcelain Doll is a performer, after all. Only fitting to live under the stage." Victor chuckled.
"But won't the people see me?" John muttered nervously.
"Yes of course. But only those who have tread that way before will know the significance, and they will envy you, not judge." Victor assured. "It's why we're here, John. It's why all of us are here."
"Because of the Porcelain Doll?" John clarified.
"Because sex." Victor corrected. "Humans would be stagnant without it."
"You're perfectly vile." John decided at last, getting to his feet all the same and clutching the money nervously within his trembling fingers. Hastily John tried to readjust his attire, pushing his fingers through his hair and pulling upon his jacket to yank the wrinkles into more presentable shape. He knew that this Porcelain Doll could not deny him, though it was always better to make an appearance.
"You look fine, John." Victor assured, noticing now that John was correcting his appearance using the dark red reflection found within the last drops of his wine.
"Yes, yes alright." John agreed, taking deep breaths and trying to contain his apprehension. Suddenly he was becoming nervous, not only of what was behind that door but now what was standing in front of it. The dance floor was moving at a much quicker pace, and to get to that door he would have to go right down the middle!
"I'll be here when you get out." Victor assured, as if that was supposed to make John feel any better.