by Gow, Kailin
I feel like Alice gone down the rabbit hole. This world of the Blue Room keeps getting curiouser and curiouser, and I still don't know what to expect. Who really owns the Blue Room – then?
I try to ask some questions, to subtly nose out more answers.
“So...” I begin. “The three of you – own the Blue Room together? And Terrence, of course.” I try not to sound too interested.
“Clarence Blue is in a coma,” says Mr. X. shortly. “It is a shame. He was a friend. And now the initial partners are left picking up the pieces. He was a great manager, Clarence Blue.”
“And his wife?”
I can't help it. Images of Mr. X. and Ronnie Taylor are flashing through my mind. I don't want to be jealous, but I can't stop myself. The images of his body against hers are tormenting me, driving me mad.
“What about her?”
“You knew her, too?”
His smile is slow. “She's an interesting woman,” he says.
That doesn't answer my question, I think bitterly.
“Anyway...” he cuts off my wonderings. “Enough questions. Enough confessions. I want to take you back to my room for the night at the beach house. And maybe then I'll distract you so much you won't feel quite so curious, eh?”
I can say nothing.
I only nod, and let him take me home.
Chapter 2
Another few days pass with Mr. X. They're as beautiful, as glorious as ever. Being with Mr. X. feels safe in a way I can hardly comprehend. His arms around me: strong and sinewy. His breath on the back of my neck. His deep, piercing eyes boring into me, filling me with his love, his need. Every minute with him feels achingly, agonizingly intense. I try not to think of my own feelings. I try not to think of where this is going, or how. I just want to feel, I tell myself. I just want to enjoy the pleasure that his body brings mine. I just want to enjoy his tongue on my thigh, or between my legs, his lips nuzzling my ear. All this I want to savor. But I cannot deny that something else is creeping in as well. Some other feeling. Exciting. New.
Do I love him? The word love hardly seems to apply to Mr. X. After all, he is a stranger to me. I hardly know him. I don't even know his name. But I do know his secrets: at least some of them. I know that he loved a woman who died on their wedding night, and that he founded the Blue Room, at least in part, as a response. Yet those facts about him make him no clearer to me. He's simultaneously more romantic, more tragic, and more dangerous than before. Is he the grieving husband – or the mastermind of the whole brothel? Or both?
You're a man of so many contradictions, Mr. X. I whisper that to him as he sleeps, splayed out next to me, his arm across my chest.
But is that so strange?
After all, I'm a girl of many contradictions too. Solver of mysteries. Aspiring singer. Whore. A girl who doesn't believe in love – and who has fallen for two men in as many months. A girl who hates the Blue Room – but is addicted to the adrenaline rush that comes from that cash in the little envelope.
I hate that I care about the money. But seeing those green bills, crisp and neatly folded, excites me. Seeing them means power: a power that I have over these men, over men like my father, who ran off and left my mother destitute. It means I'm independent, I'm free.
Free to do what? I sigh as I stare at Mr. X.'s sleeping form. I don't even know what I want to do anymore. The Blue Room has taken over so much of my life that I can hardly imagine a world without it. What would I do, I wonder – if I solved Rita's mystery, if I had enough money to get by. Would I take that nice boy from the Never Knights up on his offer and make a demo? Would I try to become a singer? Or...would I stay on in the profession I seem to have accidentally chosen, a profession that is poised to become my life.
Maybe this place gets into your blood, I think. Maybe this life infects you. Maybe there's no way out, once you've gotten in. You end up like Rita or Roz, dead or missing, down the rabbit hole of someone else's desires.
I'll never know.
But here with Mr. X., feeling his rough skin against mine, I feel like it doesn't even matter. My life has brought me here and right here, right now, that's exactly where I want to be.
I don't want to go home. But soon the time comes, the hour. Mr. X. drives me back to the hotel. “Believe me, my love,” he says as he drops me off. “I don't want to go either. But I have business in New York for a few days. And much as I'd like to take you with me, I don't think Mrs. Walters would look too kindly on me absconding with one of her loveliest girls.” He hands me a box. “But I want you to have this in my absence. To think of me.”
I open up the box, pulling aside the tissue paper, and gasp. It's the most beautiful necklace I've ever seen. Sparkling like a million stars.
It takes me a while to realize that they're real diamonds.
“You...” I breathe, in shock. “You can't!”
“I can,” his smile is light. “And I will.”
“I can't accept this.”
“I want you to have it,” he said. “I want you to always be wearing things that make you think of me.” He grins. “I want you to always be thinking of me, even when you're...otherwise engaged.”
Otherwise engaged.
I gulp inwardly. Other clients. Sex with new people. I've gotten so attached to Mr. X. that I've half-forgotten that I'll be expected to have additional visitors soon enough. I tell myself it's all part of the job. But how can I bring myself to sleep with strangers – when I'm so attached to Mr. X?
Don't get attached. Don't fall in love. The rules of the job. The rules of the game.
When I get back to my hotel room, I notice a blinking light once again on my answering machine.
Another client? I wonder nervously. But when I listen to the voice, it's not the clipped tones of Mrs. Walters, but rather a huskier, more familiar voice: weak, painstaking, but still as welcome as ever. My mother.
“Hi, honey.” Hearing her voice breaks my heart. Remembering how strong it was once. How frail it sounds now. “I don't want to worry you or anything, but...do you mind coming to visit me tomorrow? It's important.”
My heart sinks. When someone you love is in hospice and they tell you to come right away – no matter how much they say “don't worry,” you can never quite believe them. It must be serious, I think. My mother's cancer has progressed slowly up to now – but could she have declined so quickly? I feel my heart in my chest; the pounding and the terror. Tears fill my eyes.
Of course I'll go. There isn't any question of that. I ring up Mrs. Walters and tell her the situation. I need a day off, I say. I don't ask for it; I demand it. There's nothing in the world that could keep me from my mother now.
I wonder what I'll say to her. I'm not going to tell her about the Blue Room – I know that much. I'll tell her I'm a bartender. I hate keeping secrets from her, but the thought of disappointing her on her deathbed is even worse. I don't think I could ever forgive myself for that.
I take a look in the mirror as I pack. The same girl on the outside, I think. I haven't changed. But inside...the world is so different, now. Will my mother be able to tell, just by looking at me, that I'm not the girl I once was?
The idea terrifies me. I feel sick. My mouth is dry.
The next morning, as I'm leaving, I run into Terrence in the hotel lobby. His face falls when he sees me. So many expressions cross his face. Pain, fear, anger.
“Leaving, then?” His voice is cold, but it trembles.
“Not for good.” I don't look at him. “I'm just taking a day off, that's all.”
“Tired out, huh?”
“My mom's sick.” My voice is low. “I'm not sure how long she has left.”
Immediately his expression changes. His cold look transforms into one of worry. His face crumples as he envelops me in his arms.
“Staci...” his voice is soft. “I'm sorry...so sorry...”
“It's fine.” I hear my voice crack. “It's not for long. But she needs me – it's important...”
All of them? The thought involuntarily crosses my mind. Even with Mr. X?
“No need,” I say. “I'll only be gone for a couple of days.”
I see the jealousy in his eyes. I know he's thinking about Mr. X., too.
He pulls me into a side corridor.
“Listen, Staci,” he whispers. “I'm sorry – so sorry about the other day.”
“It's fine,” I say. “Don't mention it.”
“It's not fine,” he says. “How I acted – it was wrong, and I'm sorry. I can never forgive myself for how despicably I behaved. I just wanted you so badly, I was so jealous....” Already his hands are on me. He pulls me closer, pinning my hands above my head against the wall, kissing me so sensually that I ache for his fingers to touch me below. He fulfills my desire as if he can read my mind. He reaches into my panties to rub between my legs, his fingers entering me as I gasp with pleasure. I moan as he whispers in my ear, his fingers finding my G-spot as my back arches in ecstasy.
“So wet,” he whispers. “And all I had to do was kiss you.”
Before I know what's happening, he's pulled me into his office and pushed me onto his desk. He strips off my panties and throws them away. Then he pulls up my skirt, hiking it to the thigh, placing my legs on his shoulders. He comes toward me, his tongue darting between my legs. I scream again and worry that the hotel staff might hear, but I can't stop myself. The pleasure is too great. Terrence brings me close to orgasm, his tongue expertly working my clitoris, but as I tense up for the final release he moves away, leaving me teetering on the brink of that release.
“Please...” I hear myself beg. “Don't stop.”
He smiles deviantly as he flips me over, so that I am on his desk, on all fours. Then he takes me from behind. The feeling of fullness is overwhelming.
We come together, our cries melding into one single expression of ecstasy.
I can barely remember my own name.
“Do you remember how I always made you beg for more, Staci? How I made you wait before I'd fuck you?”
His words are so intense that they almost send me over the edge.
“I remember,” I whisper.
“I'll always be there for you, Staci. When you want more. TO try new things. The question is – are you ready?”
“What do you mean?”
“I was so gentle with you at first. Because you were a virgin I didn't want to overwhelm you. But I see this fire in you, Staci, and I want to know how hot it burns. Mr. S. keeps requesting you, you know. He saw you and guessed you had certain...desires you didn't even know you had. You were a virgin, but he saw the hunger in you. I see it too. More clearly than ever. You have an inner strength that tells me you can handle anything, no matter how...unconventional. And I want to explore further. Do you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean – other clients want you. Other clients hunger for you. If you remain a Blue Girl, you need to fulfill the incredible demand our patrons have for you. Mr. S. has requested you numerous times since you started here. And I can only hold him off so long. We don't allow...exclusive access to our girls. And if he were to find out that Mr. X. has been monopolizing your time?”
“How would he know?”
“Powerful men have a way of finding out things. Especially men with the insider access of Mr. S.”
Another insider? Men at the Blue Room are clearly more than just customers.
“He's fixated on you, Staci. And I think he could give you pleasure. But he will also give you pain. Are you ready for that?”
I hardly know what to say. I hardly know what to feel.
“I'll meet with him,” I say.
I see jealousy on Terrence's face, mixed with arousal. Perhaps he's less jealous, I think, knowing I'm willing to meet men that aren't Mr. X.
“If that's what you want,” he says. “And only then.”
“It is what I want,” I say. I try not to think of how flushed I'll look when my mother sees me.
“After you return from Vegas, then,” says Terrence. “I'll arrange a session. And I'll make sure that you're upgraded to first class on your flight today.”
“You don't have to do that,” I say.
“I want to,” says Terrence. “I want to make sure that you're taken care of. That's a major priority for me, Staci.”
“Thank you,” I say.
I barely catch my breath. I barely catch my flight. Terrence has once more left me disoriented and confused. I have feelings for Mr. X., but my hunger for Terrence is strong, too.
Just think about it later...
Those are the final thoughts going through my mind as I doze off on the plane.
Chapter 3
I'm nervous about seeing my mother again. As much as I've missed her, my time at the Blue Room has allowed me to shut out some of the harder parts of her illness, I realize, with a combination of guilt and relief. I've been able to pay for her hospice care – that much, at least, I'm able to do – but I haven't been with her. There to see her suffer. There to help her through the pain. Cancer is a wreckage of a disease, I've learned – a slow and horrific end. And I hate that my mother's going through it now. My beautiful mother, who developed her strength by taking care of me when nobody else could or would, who made her muscles hard and lean washing the floors of cheap hotels, who raised me alone and fed me on the milk of the dreams she would never achieve: now that she'd fallen in love, now that she had another mouth to feed, now that men were no longer to be trusted.
And now she's going through this alone, too. The guilt leaves a metallic taste in my mouth. How can I deal with what I've done – leaving my mother to suffer without me?
But we couldn't afford the hospice. Not without the money I'm earning on my back. I look into my wallet and see so many crisp, folded hundreds – immediately I start fantasizing about the things I could do for my mother with them. Ways I could make her last months, last days, more peaceful.
By the time I arrive at the hospital I feel almost sick. I'm scared to see my mother. Scared to see decline and sickness on her face. But, to my surprise, the first thing I notice on my mother’s face is her smile. A flowery smile – the smile of youth not of a sick woman with cancer.
Sitting beside her is a man I've never seen before. He is devastatingly handsome, in his late 40's, but with a boyish charm. He's wearing a crisp linen tailored suit that perfectly covers his tall, well-built frame. His hand is on my mother's hand, holding it tenderly.
He looks familiar, I think. So familiar. But why?
“Mom?” My voice wavers. “Mom…what's going on?”
My mother's face is a blend of happiness and melancholy as she turns to me. She doesn't even look sick, I think. Something in her is lighting her whole face, her whole body, from within.
Her face tells me a clear story. This man is somebody that my mother really loves.
“Hi, Staci...” Her voice is stronger than I remember it. “Glad you could make it back.”
“Of course I made it back,” I say. “I was so worried about you – you know how I worry – I took the first flight out.”
“Oh, my darling,” my mother says. “I love you so much. But you must sit down. I have got news for you.”
I look from the man to my mother and back again, trying to make sense of her secret. Was my mother hiding something from me? A new romance in these final days of her life?
I sit down and wait.
“Staci,” my mother begins. “I'd like you to meet your father.”
My mouth falls open. I'm shocked. My father? That no-good rascal who left my mother high and dry when she needed him most, who left behind his infant daughter without so much as a pot to piss in? Rage floods my face, and I can feel my cheeks burn.
So this is the man who did this to us. This is the man who betrayed us. At once I am ashamed of how familiar he looked to me.
Ashamed that I saw anything of myself in him – him, this man who was responsible for all our problems!
He's handsome, I'll give him that. But not handsome enough to undo all the damage that he's done.
I glower at him. I don't want to shout at him in front of my mother – not when she's so sick, and seems so happy to have him here – but I make it pretty darn clear from my expression that I’m not exactly pleased about his presence, either. He looks down at his feet, ashamed.
Good, I think. He should feel ashamed. After everything he's put us through, it's really the least that he can do.
“Staci...” My mother ruffles my hair. “Why don't you and your father go get some coffee at the coffee shop next door – the nurses will want me to do my check-up in a while, anyway. And this hospital coffee is so terrible; I know your father's been dying for something a little nicer.” She smiles up at him. Almost shyly, I think.
“I'll pick something up for you,” he says, beaming down at her. “Anything you want.”
Great, I think. Now he's here to provide for us. Twenty years of child support. A fucking coffee. “You know I need one so badly,” my mother coos up at him. I feel sick. Is my mother flirting with this guy?
“Whatever you need, baby.” He's looking down at her with such a look of love, a look of desire. She's sick, but he doesn't see it. She's bald, but he doesn't see that either. He's looking at her like she's the most beautiful woman in the world.
Against myself, I almost find it heartwarming.
“Yeah, let's go,” I say. I need to get out of this room, to handle my shock. “I need something strong right now myself.”
My father and I walk together to the coffee shop, saying nothing. I order a Caramel Frappuccino for me and for my mother, an Americano for my father. He pays, silently.
“I got it,” I say. I'm proud of this. I put down one of my crisp twenty-dollar bills and smile inwardly as the cashier takes it. I'm not going to let this man get in the way of my independence.
“So, Staci...” He stares at me, beaming. It makes me uncomfortable. “You look just like your mother, you know. When she was your age. You're so beautiful. And smart – too. Your mom can't stop talking about you. How you graduated top of your class.”