The birthday girl

by Stephen Leather

  She'd do anything to make sure he stayed that way.

  'Try hiding it under your spoon, Dad,' she joked. 'It always works for me.'

  Freeman smiled ruefully. 'It's fine,' he said. 'Honest.'

  When Mersiha had finished her breakfast and loaded up the dishwasher, Katherine kissed Freeman goodbye and picked up her handbag.

  'Isn't Dad coming?' Mersiha asked.

  'Girls only,' Katherine said briskly. 'Come on.'

  Mersiha hesitated, but Freeman made a small shooing motion with his hand. 'Go,' he said. 'Enjoy yourself.'

  Mersiha wanted to protest, to say that she had no wish to spend time alone with Katherine, but remembered what she'd promised her father. 'See you later,' she said. He winked and she winked back.

  She followed Katherine to the car. They both climbed in and fastened their seat belts. 'So what's the surprise?' she asked.

  'We're going shopping.'

  'That's my surprise?'

  Katherine smiled. 'Sort of. You're going to have a makeover.

  And a new dress. And we're getting your hair done. Then you're having your photograph taken. Then we're going to show your dad the new you.'

  Mersiha beamed. 'Really?'

  Tup. Even your dad doesn't know. I want to see his face when he sees you all made up. And the dress is for your birthday dinner on Monday.'

  Katherine made small-talk as she drove to the White Marsh shopping mall, and Mersiha did her best to sound interested. She knew that Katherine was making an effort to be nice, so she did her best to respond, but no matter how she tried she couldn't get Art Brown out of her head. What she wanted more than anything was a promise from Katherine that it wouldn't happen again, but that wish would have to remain unfulfilled. There was no way Mersiha could tell her that she knew about the affair. Or that it was she who had ended it.

  The holiday her father had suggested might be just what she needed. A week away from the house, alone with her father, might push the memory of Katherine's infidelity away and allow her to start again. She hoped so.

  They were so different, the brothers Utsyev. Anyone seeing them together wouldn't have known they were from the same country, never mind the same womb. Sabatino was corpulent with the olive skin that betrayed his Italian genes, with black hair that always appeared greasy no matter how often he washed it. His face was wrinkle-free and baby smooth with soft fleshy lips, and he could go several days without shaving.

  Bzuchar Utsyev was two years older but the age difference appeared much greater; he was lean and wiry and looked as if he'd spent a lifetime outdoors. His skin was dry and leathery, his hair close-cropped and grey, and his eyes had the lifeless stare of day-old fish. But when the brothers were together, it was as if they were twins. There was a tangible bond between them which excluded everyone else, and each seemed to know what the other was thinking before a word was uttered. It was a bond that had been formed in the days of Stalin's purges, when the brothers Utsyev were orphans in a strange land, when they could depend only on each other and no other.

  The two men embraced in the office above The Firehouse, Sabatino sighing like a virgin on her first date, Bzuchar gripping his brother like a drowning man holding a lifebelt. 'Everything is okay?' Bzuchar asked.

  'Everything's just fine,' his brother said.

  Bzuchar put his hands on Sabatino's shoulders and looked into his eyes. 'My little brother, the Italian,' he said, grinning.

  'My big brother,' Sabatino replied. 'The New Yorker.'

  Bzuchar patted Sabatino's expanding waistline. 'Too much pasta,' he chided.

  Sabatino shrugged. 'Gives the girls something to hold on to.

  What can I say?'

  Bzuchar faked a punch to his brother's stomach, then hugged him again.

  'Do you want a drink?' Sabatino asked.

  'Yeah,' Bzuchar said, 'but none of that Italian fizzy wine. I'll take a bourbon.'

  Sabatino went over to his drinks cabinet and poured three fingers of Jack Daniels into a crystal tumbler. There was a bottle of Frascati already open and he splashed a good-sized measure into a glass. They toasted each other in Russian and drank deeply. 'So, what do you think of Jenny Welch?'

  Bzuchar asked.

  Sabatino shrugged noncommittally. 'She seemed efficient.'

  'Yeah. Great figure, huh? Amazing legs.'

  Sabatino shrugged again. 'Didn't notice,' he said.

  Bzuchar grinned. 'Bullshit. You wanted her, didn't you?'

  Sabatino wondered what the bitch had said to his brother.

  'Don't be stupid,' he said. 'She was way too old for me.'

  'Still go for the young stuff, huh? You've gotta watch out for that jailbait, Gilani.' He looked around the office for somewhere to sit. He decided on Sabatino's chair behind the desk. Sabatino knew better than to object.

  'Nelson won't be troubling us any more,' Bzuchar said. He grinned. 'Did she tell you how she did it?' Sabatino shook his head and took a long sip of wine. Bzuchar raised his glass to his brother. Down below, in the disco section of the nightclub, one of the disc jockeys began a sound check. Sabatino could feel the vibrations through the soles of his feet. 'She made it look like a gay suicide. Great, huh? Kills the guy and his reputation at the same time. Talk about two birds with one stone.'

  'Do you think that'll be the end of it?' Sabatino asked.

  'What, you think the bank will be too busy covering up the scandal to bother with his investigation?' He pulled a face as if the bourbon was leaving a sour taste in his mouth. 'I don't think so, Gilani. That's why I'm here in this godforsaken city.'

  Sabatino sat down on a leather sofa and waited for Bzuchar to explain the reason for his visit. Nelson had been the instigator of the investigation, but Bzuchar was right. There'd be files and notes and eventually Nelson would be replaced. Down below, rap music began to pound. Sabatino hated the music but it brought in the crowds and their money. Given the choice he preferred opera, but there was little call for culture in Baltimore.

  Rap music, drugs, cable television and baseball were the main entertainments for the city's inhabitants, and the brothers made a good living from the first two.

  'It won't take long for Nelson's replacement to realise what's been going on,' Bzuchar said. 'It won't take too much digging to discover the money your man's been washing for us. He ain't gonna have time to cover his tracks, so I've decided on a pre-emptive strike. We're going to take the company over, lock, stock and barrel. We pay off the shareholders and the banks, then it's our company and to hell with them.'

  'That's going to cost us,' Sabatino said.

  Bzuchar drained his glass, then stood up and went over to the drinks cabinet. 'I've had some number-crunchers go through the figures Anderson gave us,' he said as he refilled his tumbler. 'We can sell off the profitable parts of the business and use that to pay off some of the loans. We take the land we want and sell the rest and we'll be getting a few tax breaks as well. The total shortfall after we've paid off all the bank loans will be about three million dollars. That's chickenfeed compared with what we'll be making on the development.'

  'And how do we persuade the shareholders to sell?' Sabatino asked.

  Bzuchar's eyes sparkled like diamonds. 'Easy,' he said. 'You make them an offer they can't refuse. Just like The Godfather.''

  Katherine parked the car and took Mersiha to a boutique on the second floor of the huge shopping mall. She helped her go through the racks, suggesting dresses she thought would be suitable but letting Mersiha have the final say. Mersiha went into the changing rooms with half a dozen dresses on hangers and tried them on, parading in front of Katherine for her approval, even though she already knew which one she wanted: a short black sleeveless dress, cut low at the back, which showed lots of thigh and a respectable amount of cleavage. She kept it until the last, standing in front of the changing-room mirror before going out to show Katherine.

  'It's a little… revealing,' Katherine said hesitantly.

  'It's the style,' M
ersiha said, pulling the hem down an extra centimetre.

  'Hmmm. You've certainly got the legs for it. Turn around.'

  Mersiha turned on the spot. She knew Katherine was right – t she did have good legs, long and tanned and with small, neat ankles. Men had been turning to look at her legs since she was fourteen, especially in the summer when she wore shorts to school. Recently their gazes had been drifting higher too.

  When it had first happened she'd been a little frightened and had tried to hide the signs of approaching womanhood under baggy pullovers and jeans. It had brought back memories of what had happened in Bosnia, how women had been raped and killed by men with guns, used and abused and then killed. She blocked the memories and admired the dress in the mirror. It made her look older, eighteen maybe. It was elegant, but it was fun, too.

  She had a white linen jacket that would look just great over it, and it would be a terrific dress to dance in.

  The young assistant hovered nearby and Katherine handed over her gold American Express card.

  'Thanks, Katherine,' Mersiha said.

  'Happy birthday,' Katherine responded. Mersiha kissed her lightly on the cheek. A baby's kiss.

  Their next trip was to a shoe shop where Katherine bought her a pair of black high heels, then they had cappuccinos in a small coffee bar. 'Your father is going to love that dress,'

  Katherine said.

  'He can wear it if he wants,' Mersiha replied, giggling. They laughed together, and for a moment Mersiha felt that things were back the way they used to be. Before Mersiha knew Katherine's secret.

  'You can wear that when we have your photograph taken,'

  Katherine said. They walked arm in arm to the photographer's studio, a franchise operation at the far end of the mall between a pet store and an 'Everything For $1' outlet.

  SeveM seats were occupied by women having their hair done and make-up applied. On the walls was a series of poster-size | glamour photographs – lots of big hair, shining eyes and soft skin. 'They're going to do that to me?' Mersiha said. 'I don't believe it.'

  Katherine had made an appointment for eleven o'clock. A willowy blonde dressed all in black came out of a back room and began gushing over Mersiha, running her fingers through her hair and turning her chin from side to side. She introduced herself as Tanya, organised a cup of coffee for Katherine as she waited, and then whisked Mersiha off to a leather and chrome chair in front of a wash basin.

  Tanya lifted Mersiha's hair to see what it would look like shorter, then piled it up high on her head. 'It would look really 1 great like this,' she said enthusiastically.

  Mersiha shook her head. 'No. My dad likes it long.'

  'It's your hair,' Tanya insisted.

  'No,' Mersiha repeated.

  If Tanya was offended by Mersiha's terseness, she didn't show it. 'Okay, okay, but what about these white hairs here?' She separated the small group of white hairs close to her parting. || 'They really are white, aren't they? They're not grey. I could cut them. Or dye them so they're not so obvious.'

  'No,' Mersiha snapped, so vehemently that Tanya took a step back. Mersiha realised that she'd overreacted so she smiled as sweetly as she could. 'I like them just the way they are.'

  Tanya was quick and efficient. She was only a few years older than Mersiha and she talked non-stop about the latest Hollywood gossip. She seemed to read nothing but the showbiz tabloids.

  Mersiha let her chatter wash over her. She watched Katherine sit and read a copy of The New Yorker, taking a cigarette out and then seeing a 'no smoking' sign and replacing it.

  'Your mom said you had a black dress you want to wear for the photographs,' Tanya said.

  'Yeah, is that okay?'

  'Sure, whatever you want. You can change in the back, then we'll do your makeup.'

  Mersiha took the dress from Katherine and put it on in a changing room at the back of the store. She admired it again in a full-length mirror, sliding her hands down her hips where it clung like a second skin. 'This is one hot dress,' she murmured to herself, then felt her cheeks redden as she realised what she was doing. She'd never had a boyfriend, she'd never even been kissed by anyone other than relatives, and here she was flirting and pouting with her own reflection. It wasn't that she didn't like boys. Like the rest of the girls at school she spent hours talking about them, watching them, rating them, but unlike most of her contemporaries she'd never actually been out with one. She'd been asked, several times, but something had always held her back. It didn't need a psychiatrist to explain why. She shuddered as the memories of what had happened to her in Bosnia flooded back. The hatred, the violence, the pain. All of it caused by men, men with lust in their eyes. It was the lust which Mersiha feared more than anything. She was about to remove the dress and put it back in the bag when Tanya stuck her head into the changing room.

  'Wow! That's lovely,' Tanya said. 'It looks amazing on you.'

  The two girls went back into the salon and Mersiha sat down in front of the mirror.

  Tanya dabbed moisturiser on Mersiha's face, then picked up a pair of tweezers. Mersiha moved her head back instinctively and Tanya smiled. 'I'm going to tidy your eyebrows. I promise not to touch the white hairs.'

  Tanya plucked a few stray hairs from Mersiha's eyebrows.

  'You've got terrific skin,' she said. She paused. 'How old are you?'

  'Fifteen,' Mersiha answered. 'Well, almost sixteen.'

  'Have you got a boyfriend?'

  'No. Not yet.'

  Tanya made a whistling sound through pursed lips. 'Well, you're not going to have any trouble getting one, I can tell you.

  They'll be around you like flies.'

  'Thanks,' Mersiha said, unconvinced.

  Tanya applied foundation and Mersiha felt it tighten her skin, as if a mask were being stretched across her face. Then she applied blusher with a thick brush. Katherine came up behind Mersiha and touched her lightly on the shoulder. 'I need a cigarette, kiddo, I'll be outside,' she said.

  'Okay.' Mersiha studied her face in the mirror. The blusher had emphasised her cheekbones, giving her a severe appearance.

  She looked older already. Tanya picked up a sky-blue pencil and Mersiha watched as she worked on her eyes, opening them one at a time to follow what was going on.

  'And now, ta-da, mascara. Every girl thinks she knows how to put this on, but there's a right way and a wrong way.' Tanya pulled a mascara brush out of its tube. 'Brush from the roots to the tips, upper lashes first on both eyes, then lower. Your lashes are really long, so you should hold a rolled tissue underneath so that you don't get it on your skin. Then do the upper lashes again.' Tanya held a piece of tissue under each eye as she worked on them.

  Then she selected a tube of pink lipstick and showed it to Mersiha. 'This shade will look really good.' Mersiha watched carefully in the mirror. When Tanya had finished, she unpinned Mersiha's hair, brushed it out, and stood back. 'What do you think?' she asked.

  Mersiha sat staring at her reflection, stunned. The face that looked back was almost that of a stranger. She'd never seen herself looking so pretty. 'Wow,' she said softly.

  'Pretty neat, huh?'

  'Wow,' Mersiha repeated. She pursed her lips a little. The way Tanya had painted them made them seem fuller. Sexier.

  She turned her head to the side. Her eyes seemed bigger and brighter and the blusher on her cheekbones made her face seem narrower. The foundation looked, and felt, strange, like a mask.

  Without thinking, she lifted a hand to touch it, but she drew it back, not wanting to spoil the effect. 'It's almost too much,' she said.

  Tanya nodded. 'Oh, yeah, of course it is. What I've done is full photographic make-up. You'd use a bit less if you were going out at night, and a lot less for daytime. Experiment a bit. You'll soon get the hang of it.'

  The stylist turned the chair away from the mirror. Katherine came back into the store as Mersiha stood up. 'Kiddo, you look fantastic,' she gushed. She smiled at Tanya. 'You've done a terrific job.'
Katherine ran the back of her hand against Mersiha's hair. 'It's strange – you need make-up to look older, I have to use even more to try to look younger.'

  'Oh no, you look fabulous too,' Tanya said. 'You can tell that you're mother and daughter.' For an instant Mersiha's smile froze.

  Katherine sat down and watched Mersiha over the top of her magazine as the photographer, a young bearded guy in his early thirties, came out of his studio and introduced himself. His name was Ted and he had a nasal New York accent, though his vocabulary was often that of a West Coast surf bum. He had a goofy grin and Mersiha thought that under all his facial hair he was probably a good-looking guy. He took her into the studio, and sat her down on a green leather armchair, fussing over her until he was satisfied that she was sitting in the right position – back straight, head tilted slightly up and to the left, one hand poised under her chin. To Mersiha it felt too posed, too artificial, but Ted said she looked 'really cool, totally', and she thought that once he might actually have said 'groovy'.

  He had a large camera mounted on a tripod, but he took an instant shot with a Polaroid camera first to show her what it was 'Awesome, huh?' Ted asked.

  'I can't believe I look like that,' she said, handing the Polaroid picture back to him.

  'The camera doesn't lie,' he said, 'much.'

  He stood behind his camera and used a remote switch to operate it so that he could stand up straight and give her instructions. 'A bit more to the left, curl your fingers a bit, think beautiful thoughts, open your lips just a shade more.'

  Mersiha did as he asked. Her fingers had gone numb and her arm ached, but if the finished effect was going to be anything like the Polaroid, she was quite happy to put up with a little discomfort.

  'Have you ever thought of doing any modelling work?'