The cafe was small and clean smelling, and she ate only a toasted cheese and tomato sandwich, sipping at a cup of tea periodically as he read. She'd never met anyone who read so fast. They'd been sitting there for four hours now, in silence, ignoring the glares from the waitress. He was halfway through. The crumbs and little scraps of vegetable from his club sandwich shifted from one side of his plate to the other as a burst of wind came through the door with the entrance of another customer.

Trilliny shifted uncomfortably. She'd spent the first hour repeatedly taking in her host, but there was nothing more to see. Arthur Clayton was a man of medium build, his hair would once have been black, but was now shot with silver. He was tall, but not exceptionally so, and probably nearing 50. His eyes were the deepest blue she had ever seen. Not once had he looked at her since they had entered, they were fixed firmly on her text.

She turned her head and saw the mirror again, once more thinking how out of place she looked. Arthur blended in with the setting- the other more suited customers, the pristine white plates and table clothes, and the waitress with her tight red curls and apron. The gleaming silver coffee machine. And there she sat across from him, clean enough but obviously nobody.

Her hair, pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck, was so light a gold it seemed silver, or even white- though in some lights, as she had noticed a few times in her bathroom, it did glow darker, coppery highlights haloing her face. Which itself was heart shaped, with a small chin. Somewhat cat like. Her eyes were very large, and grey. Now, in the clear white light of the coffee shop and the sunlight from the window, they were so light a grey they had almost no colour, but she'd seen them near to black once when there was a storm overhead. Funny what the light can do. Her lashes were so fine and so pale, like her hair, they were all but invisible. Not particularly becoming.

Was that an actresses face? Actresses could wear mascara though, that would help. Maybe the children who'd mocked her as a child were right. The elves had left her behind because she was almost human. She turned her head slightly, half expecting to see her ears were pointed, but blinked away the fancy, telling herself off mentally.

Her clothes were enough to null that idea. Her sandals were from somebodies rubbish. They might have been white swede, once, but now they were an ambiguous grey, and almost falling apart. Her dress had once been big for her, but she realised that it fit her now the way it was meant to. It was quite long, with a fitting bodice that buttoned, short sleeves and no collar. Cotton, from an op-shop. It was probably a quite nice dress at one stage, but now it was faded, the yellow gone out from it, and grubby looking. Yellow had never suited her at any rate.

It was getting dark. The waitress brought Arthur Clayton a bowl of soup, but Trilliny continued to sit in silence, getting up only once to use the toilet. It was increasingly uncomfortable, but she couldn't leave, it would be impolite. Besides which she wanted her script back. The last few sips of tea had gone cold in the bottom of her cup. She drank it anyway.

Finally he reached the end.

It surprised him. He raised his eyebrows, opened his mouth to comment with the soup spoon halfway to his mouth, but suddenly coughed, shoving the story towards her with one hand, and as the other jerked, the soup from the spoon flew as if magnetically attracted to his blue jacket. Trilliny stifled a smile, it wasn't really funny, but some part of her took devilish joy in seeing it. Inbred discrimination against the wealthy, perhaps.

She was grateful to him for moving her manuscript out of the way of the flying soup, and handed him a napkin. He dabbed delicately at the stain, cleaning it up as best he could before he spoke. The fingers of one hand tapped the sheaf of papers, but then his gaze strayed to her plate and his near empty soup bowl.

"Have you not ordered anything else since your little sandwich? That was nothing, aren't you hungry?"

"Thankyou Mr Clayton, but no sir. I have already eaten more today than I would normally"

He waved a hand irritably

"Call me Arthur you silly skinny girl. Waitress, please bring Miss Rowan some soup"

"Waitress, that's ok, I don't want any"

He turned to her, annoyed.

"What do you mean, you don't want any? You have to eat more than that, how do you keep alive?"

"I can't afford to eat any more. If I stretch my stomach again I'll be hungry all week until I get used to my food supply again- oh no!"

Her hand flew to her mouth. She'd not paid her rent, and the bank would be shut by now. Nor could she afford the bus back down the next day, and if she stayed in the streets down here overnight her bus ticket would be invalid by the next day anyway. Nothing for it, she'd have to do that, and walk home.

"Yes?"

"What?"

"You remembered something? You look worried"

"I didn't pay my rent"

"Oh. I see. How much is it"

"None of your business"

"Ok"

"Forty dollars"

"Oh"

He seemed surprised. She realised how little it sounded, but he was a gentleman, he did not question it. He finally turned back to her story. He picked up the sheaf of papers solemnly, and handed it back to her. She sighed. She'd known it, but still, it had been nice to hope. How kind he had been to even finish reading it. Or maybe he had wanted to get her hopes up, and then smash them. At least she'd had something to eat.

"I don't want you to think I'm going to steal it, so you hold on to it. Meet me back here tomorrow afternoon"

"Thankyou for your hospitality sir, I- what?"

She blinked, shock spreading across her face, and then pure joy.

"You mean you like it?"

"Of course my dear, I knew I would the moment I heard you speak. The smallest spark can start a bush fire, and you're already quite a flame"

She didn't bother to try and interpret what he meant. She was having her story published! Then she remembered her afternoon again, and cursed herself for ruining her enjoyment of the moment.

"They'll never accept it"

"I'll make them"

"You can make them read it, maybe, but you can't make them accept. Can't stop them copying the idea, either"

"Well then, we'll try another publisher"

"They'll react exactly the same"

"Not if you have some new clothes"

"Which I can't afford"

They faced off for a moment, him trying to work a way around it, her trying to work her way out of it.

"Are those the only clothes you have?"

"I have pants and a jacket for winter"

"I see"

Trilliny looked out the window as the sun was setting. It was a warm day, but the night would be cold enough. She ought to go find somewhere to bed down for the night. She picked up her novel, that had been such a hope to her in the morning, and stood slowly, somewhat sadly. Arthur Clayton shook his head.

"I'm not letting you get away that easily. It's not entirely the truth, but maybe this will make it easier for you to understand- publishing your story will get you money, turning it into a movie will get you more money, and the amount of pay you'll get as an actress is also a fair sum. But making your story into a movie will also get me a fair amount of fame and business opportunities. I'm not generally in the habit of doing favours to people I don't know. Even if they need it"

She paused. This was true. Although he hadn't seemed like the kind of person who was out just for money, and something about the way his words carelessly rolled off his tongue suggested that he wasn't either. Nevertheless, he was right. It did give her some sort of motive to pin to him.

"So... I'm sort of... an investment"

"Exactly. It was just you're lucky day. Mine too, once we get you cleaned up a bit"

She bristled a little at that. Considering her financial situation, she did quite well keeping herself alive, not to mention clean. And she was clean. Reasonably. She stared at the heavy packet in her hands as he paid the waitress, and followed him without really thinking about it into the street. What the hell. It was worth taking the risk, wasn't it? So without comment, she accepted the taxi ride he paid for, and they arrived at a rich looking apartment in the inner city.

"Yours?"

"Well, yes. I don't usually live here though, I have a house out of the city. I'm just down here for business. Buying you clothes can wait for morning"

"..I have to pay my rent first"

"Of course. We'll stop at the bank first thing"

The way the young womans arms cradled her precious story made Arthur stop and think about how young she was, and how old. At once she was a girl, and an old woman. In caring for herself her experience was immense, but she had few ideas of dealing with people, or at the least, seemed somewhat naive about it. What she was, was an actor. She made people believe she knew what she was doing, and that she was better than they were, and it worked. She was also utterly exhausted. Mentally and emotionally if not physically, and he felt vaguely guilty for making her sit so still and silent for the entire afternoon, and most of the evening.

She curled up on the couch, which was large and soft, and he gave her a blanket, wished her goodnight, and retired to his own room, shaking his head slightly. In the lounge room, Trilliny lay utterly still, as if asleep, eyes open just enough to keep watch on her story while still looking as if they were closed.

************

The next day was warmer again. Summer was coming on fast. Trilliny awoke, disoriented at the sight of such a clean ceiling. She sat up, and looked at the man who sat in the chair opposite her, in another clean blue suit.

"Morning Mr Clayton"

"Just Arthur"

She shrugged, and sat up, putting her shoes back on. On the coffee table was her unpublished novel, and the day seemed momentarily full of hope. She sighed, who was she kidding anyway? She could thank Arthur Clayton enough for a meal the previous day, and somewhere warm to stay the night while she was in the city, and then be on her way. She stood up, picked up the manuscript and was about to speak when he cut in.

"Don't even think about it. I'm as serious today as I was yesterday. You can go pay your rent at the bank, and then I'll buy you something to impress the publishers with"

"You've already been more than generous, I don't want to-"

"Rubbish. If you feel that strongly about it you can pay me back when your famous"

She shrugged again. She didn't really care. Growing up on the streets, you took what you could. But it was the polite thing to say. The breakfast they had was fairly average, for anyone with an average income. Cereal, fruits, coffee. It was the nicest breakfast Trilliny could remember, and she savoured every bite, half expecting at any moment to wake up from a dream.

She didn't wake up, for the man sitting across from her was quite real. Half regarding herself as if from a dream, from a third person perspective, the young woman wondered vaguely what she was doing here. Trilliny Rowan, orphan, street kid, nobody, sitting down to breakfast in a magnificent apartment owned by a handsome middle aged man who obviously had a fair bit of money, having stayed the night after knowing him for less than 24 hours, and not having had to sleep with him first.

She supposed that it was likely he would want her to eventually. That was what men with too much money did, wasn't it? Pick up poor girls off the street and do them a favour, then expect something in return? Damned if she'd go along with it. For now, she was quite content to exploit him for all he was worth, then nick off if he turned. She knew how to defend herself anyway.

A treacherous part of her mind wondered if, after all, she had anything to keep herself safe for anyway.

They took a car this time, and because he was driving, Trilliny didn't speak. She leant the side of her face against the window, feeling the chill of the glass seeping in through her temple, and the bone getting slightly bruised with the juddering of the engine that vibrated up through the door. Every time they went over a bump she bounced off it and hit it again, which hurt, but she liked the cool impartiality of it. It didn't care who she was, it just had to worry about being a window, and it wasn't going to change.

The streets rolled past them, old grey concrete, new black tarmac, white lines, yellow parking markers, silver-grey buildings. Every now and then a red or yellow post box or fire hydrant, bright in the early morning sun, provided a more interesting contrast.

"Stop here"

Arthur looked around as he pulled into a carpark, outlined yellow on black.

"I don't see a bank..."

"It's ok. I'll walk from here"

He gave her a curious and possibly confused look, but she was already out of the car, shutting the door gently and heading down the street. The doors to the bank opened with a glass and metal whoosh, and a stream of cold air that smelt of drycleaned clothes and woollen carpet puffed out to join the smoggy city environment.

As soon as she walked in, the man she always saw when she paid came down to see her. At first she'd thought that this was him being kind, but eventually it had come to her attention, through the various mannerisms of other staff and he himself (his name was Robert) that he was at the bottom of the ladder there. It wasn't that he was a rookie, but for some reason he wasn't qualified for promotion. She didn't fully understand it, but she knew that the reason she was always served so promptly was that they wanted her to finish her business and be out again as soon as possible.

"Miss Rowan. How nice to see you again"

The words dripped with falsity and left no doubt that this was a man who sucked up to his superiors. And looked down from incredible heights upon those he considered inferior.

"Here you go Robert"

"It's not enough Miss, thankyou, sorry"

She blinked for a moment, forty dollars in her outstretched hand hanging limply.

"I beg your pardon"

"Your rent has been increased to forty-five dollars per fortnight"

She half imagined her jaw dropping in shock, but outwardly her composure was cold and sure, like an ice carving, or a wax figure. She paused just a little too long, it was slightly unnerving. Robert shifted uncomfortably.

"You have got to be joking. I can't afford that"

"Then you will have to find another residence I am afraid"

Which would undoubtedly cost her more. Her eyes darkened and flashed as she snapped at him.

"I meant today, Robert. You have absolutely no legal right to demand that I pay more, I have had no notification whatsoever"

Trilliny stared the slimy man down, and her face twisted slightly in disbelief. He was trying to cheat her. He thought she didn't know anything because she was poor, and he would have pocketed five dollars. It was true that he would only try it once, so her rent really must have gone up, but nonetheless... and he was working in a bank. As she turned, speechless, and left- she knew reporting him was no good. It would more likely result in her being fined.

Her heart sank as the sun climbed higher into the sky, and she re-entered Arthur Claytons car feeling vaguely sickened. He took one look at her face and turned back to the road, quiet. Arthur Clayton was not a stupid man.

************

The first thing that Trilliny noticed when she walked into the department store was the smell. It smelt of rich. All the various new smells that came with any kind of item melted together- leather, carpet, clothes, cosmetics, shoes and jars of food that served a purely ornamental purpose. Soaps and lingerie too, everything mingled and hit the senses in one blow, wrapped in a burst of air that could itself have been ironed and laid out in a perfectly still, dry room.

The temperature was exact, so that one didn't notice it at all, and everything seemed to release bits of themselves into the air, to float around and land on unwary shoppers skin. Being in there made you feel heavy, and starched, but new. And yet somewhat worn, somewhat plain, almost like a clothes shop mannequin.

Her eyes opened in surprise, no wonder women with money always looked so glamorous. It would be so easy for them. All you had to do was walk into a place like this, and you'd come out with a crown on your head and a purple robe. In the background, subtly intrusive music played just on the border of customer's consciences.

The assistants behind the counters were young, pretty girls, probably still in high school. They were younger than her. She could have a job like that easily, but she had absolutely no qualifications. The life that fate had cast on her pressed heavily against the inside of her forehead, and she quavered for a moment. If one little thing had been different, it would all have been different. They cast superior glances at her too, but the obviously well off man beside her was already ushering her towards the female clothing section.

"We want to make an impression"

The words floated through the haze to the forefront of her mind. She blinked and returned to the present.

"Therefore, you are going to try on... this"

He handed her a pants suit, black, very simple, with a vine leaf golden brooch pinned to the lapel.

"This, and this"

A pair of jeans and a plain tee shirt, and a short spaghetti strap dress in forest green, with a slightly flared skirt. She made her way to the change room, and by the time she had reached the door and was receiving a ticket for the number of items she had, a middle aged female assistant that Arthur had had a brief word to bustled up to her, and also set a number of different styles of underwear, in black satin, on the pile of clothes.

Her mind was vaguely numb as she undressed and changed in the little cubicle. Nothing was registering. She would hardly have thought to touch clothing with such expensive material, let alone try it on. Let even further alone the prospect of buying some of it. She also felt vaguely uneasy, having left her manuscript in the Clayton vehicle. She wanted to keep it around her. The Trilliny that emerged from the change box to stand in front of the long mirror looked very uncomfortable. The waist on the suit was tailored for someone who ate more than she did. The shoulder pads were far too large, and the golden brooch looked tacky next to the natural silver-gold of her hair.

A spark unique to shop assistants lit in the eyes of the older one and she disappeared again. Trilliny shared a brief glance with Arthur, and turned away again, shaking her head slightly. The jeans fit her quite well, and were comfortable, softer than the cheap denim the pants she wore in winter were made of. The tee shirt was simple, but she felt comfortable in it. This outfit she liked quite well, but it was not approved.

"You look too normal"

"Gee, sorry to have sinned"

"Try on the dress. You can have that too, but not to try and get around publishers with"

She cocked an eyebrow regally, leaving no doubt that she thought he was being picky, but also complying, not wanting to take the risk.

"Miss, I just thought you might want to try this...can I help you, maybe?"

The lady had returned, her shop assistant badge glaring proudly from her breast pocket, hands full of make up samples, a tissue box and a hairbrush. Trilliny made a confused face, but Arthur Clayton looked delighted.

"Let her Miss Rowan. We might as well do this properly"

"Well.. I guess... ok..."

Trilliny had never in her life worn make up. The idea of it confused her a bit, she wouldn't have the slightest clue what to do with it should any fall into her less than adept hands. The shop assistant knew. She sat Trilliny on a stool, and brushed various shades onto her cheekbones, darkened her eyelids, brushed a golden toned brown mascara on. This lady had been working in the department store for years. She didn't approve of Trilliny being there, but she could practically smell the money on Arthur Clayton. Prove the quality of the cosmetics, and then coerce them into buying it. She was a very successful sales assistant.

She drew the brush through Trilliny's hair swiftly and none too gently, making it shine, then pulled it back with a carved wooden snap-clip. She exited and left Trilliny to change. The young woman felt slightly better with the closed door between her and the numerous shop assistants. It was her first encounter with predators of the kind, and she didn't like the way they tried to see through everyone.

The dress took some time to get on, because the stitching was so fine she was worried she might break it. When the zip was done up at the back, she could feel the material hugging her from chest to hips, and the soft velvety swoosh of the skirt. The peculiar expensive underwear made her uncomfortable too. And the way her hair had been twisted and clipped. She pulled the clip out frustratedly, in the momentary feeling that it was all too much, and her hair slid back like a silvery curtain, settling in gentle gleaming waves around her face.

She stepped out again, and looked at herself in the mirror, vaguely surprised. The colour suited her well, and it fit her like a glove. The shop assistant looked smug, and Arthur looked impressed. Aside from the look the majority of males gave a girl who suddenly looked the way Trilliny was looking. She smiled tentatively, suddenly shy, and blushed a bit. In the back of her mind the distinct feeling that the skirt was too short loitered menacingly.

"This will do just fine, I think. Especially if we have a male publisher"

Her comment was blunt, and seemed to shock the female assistant, but Arthur just chuckled.

"At any rate, I'm not going to change again"

He nodded amiably, and the assistant clipped the tag off the dress at the counter. Arthur insisted upon her having new shoes as well- these were black and had only a slight heel as she refused to wear any higher. The smug shop assistant was also more than pleased to sell them the jeans and tee shirt, a pair of plain sneakers, and a number of the cosmetics she had used on Trilliny, more because Arthur thought all women used them than because Trilliny herself wanted them.

Their return to the car was accompanied by very different glances from passers by than there had been before. They passed a rubbish bin, and Arthur, carrying the purchases like the well bred gentleman that he was, made to throw away Trilliny's old clothes.

"No!"

"What? Surely you can't want to wear these old things any more. You really can keep the stuff I've bought today"

He seemed vaguely amused, but there was a hint of the superiority she'd come close to hoping he was free of. She shook her head, wisps of bright hair shifting to halo her face.

"No. I can't go back to my house dressed like this and hope to avoid being attacked. That old dress does as much for me as a kevlar vest"

He tipped his head for a moment, considering the comment, and looked back up at her, nodding ever so slightly, a different respect in his eyes. The car unlocked at the touch of a button, and the boot popped open. He put the bag in as she slid into the passenger seat and protectively repossessed her manuscript. He pulled away from the kerb, heading into a still better part of town, where he knew there were a number of exceedingly competitive publishers.