The Salome Effect

By Jim Sajo

Robert Orazio sits in a strip club in Torino, Italy. He is an American military veteran living an empty life as an English teacher. Robert's only joy is Mariana, a beautiful Romanian stripper. His desire for her burns as fierce as her passion for art, particularly the works of Caravaggio.
Their conversation is interrupted when a fight breaks out between Hassan, the club's massive bouncer, and a vile customer Robert calls The Creep. The Creep slashes Hassan with a knife and flees. The next day, an episode of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD, leaves Robert flashing back to a roadside bomb in Iraq. He believes the only way to deal with his emotional trouble is through his love for Mariana.
One of his students mentions a painting by Caravaggio, Salome With the Head of Saint John the Baptist. Desperate to impress Mariana, Robert devises a plan to take her to see the priceless painting. When he hears the Creep brag about involvement with the secret transport of a famous painting, Robert's plan to take Mariana to see the art transforms into a dangerous scheme.
As that scheme unfolds, Robert's world begins to close in on him. He is threatened by thugs, chased by police, haunted by his own demons, and confused by his chances to win Mariana's affection.
The Salome Effect is a story of pain and redemption.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jim Sajo
• Release date: Jan 31, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465792648

Jim Sajo

Jim Sajo is a freelance writer living in Italy.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Tuesday Night

Robert Orazio never thought of himself as the kind of guy to hang out in a strip joint, but as he stepped off the bus in Piazza Castello, that’s exactly what he was about to do -- again. He had done it two or three times a week for the last few months, ever since he had met Mariana at a place called Fantasy Club.

He meandered south down Via Roma, the high-end shopping street of Torino, moving in the direction of the main train station. He enjoyed walking under the imposing arcades along the broad avenue, especially in the damp January chill. The annual light display called Luci d’Artista lined the street all the way to the station, a distance close to a mile. It was almost midnight, so the stores were closed. Only a handful of people wandered along the elegant boulevard; most were admiring the lights.

As Robert stood on the corner gazing up at the display, a very tall and very distinguished-looking gentleman approached. He wore a long coat of black wool and had a grey scarf wrapped around his neck to protect him from the crisp winter air. In his hands, clasped behind his back, he gripped a pair of leather gloves.

"Bello, no?" It was more a statement than a question.

They’re hypnotic, Robert replied. I worry that standing here staring at them, I look like a fool.

Young man, it is the fool who does not take the time to stop and appreciate beauty. With that, the man turned and continued his stroll.

When he was a boy, pragmatism had been driven into Robert by his Army officer father. Focus on your mission the Colonel had told him. Don’t waste effort on extra stuff.

Art, being extra stuff, was an indulgence Robert had rarely enjoyed. That was before he had met Mariana. He’d been wandering through his days, solitary, sad, and sleepless until he had found her. He still wasn’t sleeping, but was less depressed than before. In the eight weeks he had known her, she had taught him to see art not as extra, but essential. Her art school studies back in Romania weren’t much help in her work here in Italy as a stripper, but damn she was passionate about art, and her passion was infectious.

Of course, everything about Mariana stunned Robert. He thought about her every day. Like an actor rehearsing lines, he spent his idle moments practicing the conversations he hoped they would have. The practices were sometimes in his head, but other times he’d speak out loud, drawing confused looks from passers-by. He had lavished her with small gifts; a homemade CD of her favorite music, expensive chocolates, or a bit of jewelry. He had developed countless strategies on how to win her affection.

When he was with her, they talked about everything. He confided in her in a way he never had with any other woman, but even if they sat silently, he was content. He felt happy just being with her, her hand on his thigh, his resting on the back of her neck. Robert wanted to spend every day with her, every night with her, the rest of his life with her.

Robert knew it was nuts. Their relationship, if he could call it that, was exclusive to the strip club. They had never gone out as a couple. Not to dinner, not to get a coffee, not even to go to a museum. They both knew Torino had the best museum scene in Europe, offering everything from paintings to cars to Egyptian artifacts to the cinema. With her art history degree and her passion for art, he knew she’d love to go to one of those amazing museums. Tonight, he’d ask her out. Tonight he’d find out if she was even remotely as crazy about him as he was for her.

As he crossed Via Vittorio Emanuele, the smell of stale urine rammed him like a truck. He had definitely passed a border into a less elegant part of the city. He was in a neighborhood where broken windows stayed broken, where homeless men curled under worn blankets and piles of newspaper, and where a violent crime happened every day. Robert jogged to the right of the train station and resumed walking as he swerved onto the second street. As soon as he did, he saw two men lurking on either side of a car driven by a woman who looked to be in her 60’s. Based on her tight grip on the steering wheel and her wide-open eyes, she also looked scared.

One of the guys stood by the driver’s door, gesturing frantically at the woman and pointing to the rear of her car. The other hung out on the passenger side, looking almost comically suspicious. Robert had heard about this scam. One man yells that the rear tire is flat or something is wrong with the back end of the car. If the driver falls for it and gets out, the other crook either reaches in from the passenger side to grab everything he can, or jumps in and drives away.

They were so intent on ripping her off that they didn’t even notice Robert. His heart was pounding and he felt a flush of heat under his collar.

Again with the fear. Why? This is not an unidentified vehicle approaching our checkpoint in Iraq. He knew he had to focus, so Robert jerked his attention back to the now. If he lost control there was no telling what he’d do.

He really did not want to get into a hassle with these dudes. The kind of loser who would scam an innocent woman like that probably would not hesitate to mix it up with a witness. Most likely they were armed, too. Robert did not want to risk being hurt, particularly for someone he didn’t know. Have to get to the club. Have to talk to Mariana.

He noticed an empty beer bottle on the sidewalk in front of him. A light kick was just enough to send it rattling noisily along the pavement. The two thugs looked up in unison, glaring first at the bottle, then at Robert. The woman stomped on the gas, speeding away with a roar that strained the little Fiat’s engine and brought a smile to Robert’s face. She had heard about the scam, too.

He continued walking, trying to look as though he hadn’t noticed anything. The two men, still glaring, didn’t move toward him.

Heart pounding. Hands sweating. Lips drawn tight as a drum. Breathe, man, breathe.

Robert figured they were pissed off, but hopefully not too much so. He covered three more blocks before making a left turn to double back to the club. As he crossed the street, stepping wide to avoid a pile of garbage someone had thrown there, he glanced back and saw the guys still hadn’t moved. He was safe.

The predictable rush of self-loathing hit him. Damn it, he was in the Army for ten years. Fought in Iraq and Afghanistan. He had killed for a righteous cause and easily could have jumped in and beat the crap out of those two. Why was he afraid to stand up to a couple of punks like that?

At least he had been able to prevent the crime. At least he’d prevented that one.

As he passed through the doorway of Fantasy Club, Robert stopped his personal pity party. He caught his breath, content in the knowledge that he was about to see Mariana. Time to find her. Time to feel good again.

After a brief exchange with the huge Turkish bouncer called Hassan, Robert slid past the heavy black velvet curtain and into the world he had come to know so well. A long black stage ran through the middle of the room. It was surrounded by dark red, overstuffed, fake leather chairs, where a handful of customers shuffled in their seats waiting for the next dancer. He walked around to the other side of the room and stepped up to the bar. Need to wash away that experience on the street.

Once he had a rum and Coke in hand, he turned to face the room and survey the crowd. While not huge, it was a decent turnout for a Tuesday night. Enough customers in the house for dancers to perform their evening wallet-ectomies, anyway. Girls in tight gowns and five-inch heels ambled around the room, fishing. They trolled for clients willing to pay the extra euros to head into the back room, the so-called VIP area, for a private dance.

Robert settled into a small booth where he controlled a clear view of the stage, the passage to the private rooms, and the club exit. He noticed that Hassan, the huge bouncer, had taken up a position between the exit and the archway leading to the VIP area.

Robert’s was an ideal spot that afforded both good observation and clear fields of fire, rules he had learned in the Army. He used his vantage point to search for Mariana. He found her sitting with her cousin next to a customer. Seems like Mariana always starts the night working with her cousin.

When Mariana saw him, she gave a slight head tilt and smile. Robert shivered with excitement, a tingle running through his body. He clenched his feet hard, curling his toes to control himself.

A well-endowed girl wearing a leopard print wrap sat down by Robert and introduced herself as Lady Elena. Her dark hair and bright eyes were almost the exact opposite of Mariana’s. She asked simple questions, giving him the chance to be polite but distant. Elena suggested they go into the back room for a more interesting conversation. Robert exhaled loudly and explained he was waiting for another girl, expecting at least a mild protest.

With a smile, she said, "Va bene, caro. She saw you walk in, so she’ll be here in a minute, I think. Then with a squeeze a little too high on Robert’s thigh, she gave him a wink and added, Someday, though..."

A voice over the loudspeaker announced the next dancer. The deep thumping and aggressive sounds of The Pussycat Dolls singing Dontchya filled the room.

"I know you like me..."

A long and lean Albanian temptress named Wild sauntered onto the stage amid cursory clapping by customers.

"I know it’s true..."

As Wild strolled around aimlessly in what could hardly be called dancing, Robert looked instead to Mariana, who was walking away from her now former customer. That poor guy didn’t know whether to talk to Mariana’s cousin or watch Wild cruise the stage.

Robert stood up, adjusted his posture, ran a hand through his hair, and smoothed out his sweater as he watched Mariana make her way slowly over to him. She was looking right at him, right through him, really. Her long golden hair was loose tonight, flowing like a river of sunshine until it landed gently on her shoulders, giving way to the emerald gown she wore. The gown was the same color as her eyes and the effect devastated Robert.

His knees felt weak and a knot formed in his gut, but he was smiling so hard his face hurt. Mariana stopped just inches from him, put a hand on his shoulder, and drew him in for the Italian greeting of one kiss on each cheek. Robert’s hand rested on her hip and he gave her a gentle squeeze, the only sign of affection he dared show. He was certain that if he ever kissed her, really kissed her, he would not be able to stop.

Let’s sit down here. It’s a good spot, he said.

Robert wanted her engaged in their conversation, and knew how she loved teaching him about art. Tonight I walked down Via Roma. I looked at the lights you told me about.

What did you think? Aren’t they beautiful? She turned in the chair to face him directly, keeping one hand in his. Robert, feeling her warmth, was sure he was about to explode with happiness.

My favorite was the pattern of constellations. Each one is a little different, but all with the green, white, and red lights. I liked it.

Yes, Robert, but we have talked about this. What did it make you feel? What were you thinking about when you looked at them? He wondered if she was squeezing his hand on purpose. She continued, Did you think of anything more than little twinkling lights?

I was thinking about you, Mariana. Like I always do. He hoped that bit of cliche flattery was not over the top. Just in case it was, he added, But, yes. It made me think of reaching for something beyond myself. Some people look to the stars, to the heavens I guess, and they are inspired to be great. Or at least to be better than they are. That’s what I felt.

She smiled. So thinking of me, you are inspired to be better? Robert thought she was being coy and flirtatious, but the romance of her words felt like a warm blanket on this cold night.

Well it’s pretty cold out there. I was also thinking about getting inside fast. She had told him once she found his sense of humor attractive. His remark, along with a smile made her laugh and punch him playfully in the chest. He loved that. He loved her.

Buy me a drink, Mister? she asked.

I think that can be arranged. Will you continue with my art lessons?

Of course.

He flagged down the waitress, who was easy to identify as she was the only woman in the club wearing normal clothes. Mariana continued the art discussion, as usual taking it back to her preference.

I think the lights are wonderful, really. But nothing is as expressive and emotional as a painting.

Are you going to talk about that guy Caravaggio again? Robert asked, smiling as he did. I mean he has been dead for something like four hundred years. Isn’t there anyone more contemporary that interests you?

Mariana stared at him blankly. Seconds passed that felt like hours to Robert. His mind raced, desperately thinking of a way to turn his remark into a joke.

Not the way his art does, she began. His images are so -- but an ear-splitting scream from the back rooms interrupted her. Mariana jumped to her feet, but Robert kept a firm grip on her hand and pulled her back to the seat. Every head in the club was turned toward the entrance to the VIP area, where Hassan had moved quicker than his bulk would promise. Even Wild had stopped dancing and was now standing behind the pole in the center of the stage, as if using it to protect her from whatever threatened from the back rooms.

A thin, wiry customer that everyone knew and almost everyone hated came out first. He was walking backwards with Hassan looming in front of him.

I knew it was him, Mariana said with venom in her voice. That man is the most disgusting beast I have ever met.

Robert agreed. In fact the few conversations he had had with the man made him refer to the guy as The Creep. Robert rested a hand on her back; his interest right now was to keep Mariana calm. It looks like Hassan has things under control, he told her. You are safe here with me. To emphasize the point, he moved his arm up around her shoulder and added, Don’t worry.

The Creep backed away from Hassan, moving toward the exit. He shouted unimaginably vile curses at Hassan and the girl in the back. He screamed threats at the other customers and at the world in general. Robert was impressed with Hassan’s calm approach. The big Turk’s eyes never left the Creep, his hands out in an unthreatening pose that Robert was certain could move quickly into a submission hold.

The other customers had all moved well away from the action. Most of the girls were gathered on the stage, huddled together, watching in what Robert assumed was morbid curiosity. Robert felt a strange excitement at the potential for violence, something he usually avoided at all costs. Thinking back to his encounter with the two car thieves, he chastised himself again for his fears.

As the Creep reached the thick curtain marking the exit, he pulled a switchblade from his back pocket and slashed wildly at Hassan. The big bouncer raised his left arm to deflect the blow. Two girls screamed as the Creep turned and ran out.

Hassan showed no sign that he had been injured, but Robert knew the knife had found flesh. Hassan walked calmly to the bathroom amid clapping and cheers by customers and girls alike. No one had followed him, so Robert stood up and asked Mariana to wait.

He