The King and the Courtesan

by Angela Walker

  Cordelia eventually pulled herself together so that she could make me some decent breakfast (or lunch, considering it was now about eleven thirty). We talked and ate in front of an empty TV stand. Cordelia noticed my stare and sighed.

  “I sold the TV.” She bit her lip and refused to meet my eyes. “For money, you know.”

  I nodded. I understood.

  “Are you back with Blade?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Does he still treat you like shit?”

  I shrugged and bit a nail.

  “He know about your prostitution?”

  “Yeah, I guess. He’s no stranger to hookers, and he’d have to be an idiot not to hear the rumors.”

  “This is Blade we’re talking about.”

  We giggled and it felt good. I was sick of putting up with my sister and her indifference. She didn’t want to hear about Blade, about my job. Ignorance is bliss, she told me. In her case, complete ignorance.

  I never went home. I stayed at Cordelia’s the whole day, chatting and eating and sometimes sitting there in silence. The silence was the worst. In silence, we were forced to listen to ourselves. I hated the little voice that mocked me.

  You are nothing, she said. You deserve your poverty. You deserve Joel’s abuse. You deserve Blade’s.

  Every time the voice started up, I cleared my throat and started another conversation with Cordelia.

  Chapter 4

  I needed some good money tonight. I told Cordelia I’d help her out with her “rent,” which was the excuse she used. I knew she wasn’t going to use the money for rent, but I guess I pitied her. And I loved her. So I decided that instead of taking a few lazy tricks here and there, I’d work hard tonight.

  Cordelia loaned me her six-inch pumps, which only pinched my toes a little bit. She also gave me her silver tube top that laced in the back, the only one that fit my humble breasts. I had to use a belt with the jean shorts so that they wouldn’t fall down. We took turns dolling up each other’s faces and hair. She worked hers into a tight, frizzy bun while she helped straighten my auburn curls. I put blush over my freckles while she outlined my hazel eyes. Within fifteen minutes, we were ready to hit the street. We talked and giggled until we got outside the building. Then a somber mood fell over us as we got into her rusty silver coupe.

  “I’m glad you didn’t wear the fishnets,” she told me. “You look better without them. You don’t have cellulite like me.”

  “I don’t have cellulite because I don’t have an ass,” I reminded her. “I think I’d rather have the ass.”

  “It’s nothing but trouble,” she assured me.

  “You get bigger tips.”

  “Lot of good those do me.” She gave me a brittle smile, and my throat tightened. I turned to my window. She still hadn’t told me why her life seemed to be falling apart. What was different now? Why didn’t she look like this a month ago? Was this Blade’s doing?

  When we parked, I reached for the door to slip out. Cordelia grabbed my wrist.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Do you ever…do you ever wonder what it’s like to fall in love?” she asked softly.

  I snorted. “Everyone’s looking out for number one, and to say differently is a lie.”

  “I saw a movie. In it, a girl like—like us found a man who loved her. They lived happily ever after.”

  Cordelia and Mimi both had a silly weakness for romantic notions of life. “Girls like us don’t get that sort of ending, because good men don’t fall for whores,” I told her with an indifferent shrug.

  Cordelia blinked. “What about a woman?”

  “What?”

  “Would a woman love a whore?”

  I gaped at her in silence. “Cordelia, is there something you want to tell me?”

  “It’s nothing,” she stated firmly, throwing her door open. “Nothing at all.”

  I got out of the car and stood, slamming the door behind me. Cordelia walked quickly toward the barbershop down the street, and I followed.

  Cordelia went inside while I stood by the door and stared out into the open street. Cars crawled past, then darted into the night, as if ashamed they had stopped to look. The sidewalk was pretty empty; I only saw Yogi getting out of her car.

  “Hey,” I greeted her.

  Yogi pulled her fur coat tighter around her. Her makeup was too thick, her clothes too bright. But I guess she had to try harder than the rest of the girls, especially considering her low voice and protruding Adam’s apple.

  “Is it me, or is it freezing?” she said.

  “It’s you, I guess.”

  “Anyone in the parking lot out back yet?”

  I shrugged.

  Yogi regarded me carefully for a few moments before putting a hand on my arm. “You all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” My hand wandered toward my bruised throat.

  Yogi’s gaze went to my hand, then back to me. She knew, of course. But it was an unspoken rule not to ask about mysterious bruises and scrapes. “A regular came looking for you last night. Where were you?”

  “Poor him. What ever shall he do without me?” I sneered.

  “It’s your loss, not mine,” Yogi said, then went into the barbershop.

  I was sick of that damn barbershop. It wasn’t even a good cover for a brothel. No one in there knew a damn thing about cutting hair, save their own experimentations in the bathroom.

  I eventually went inside and hung out with the other girls, who smoked and talked about their children and dogs. In fact, a few of the children were there. Yogi took it upon herself to care for each one. She handed out candies and tweaked their noses, the kids laughing as she did. They clung to her skinny legs and asked her to tell them stories about unicorns. When someone came in the back door looking for their mothers, Yogi pushed them into the next room.

  “You know, Yogi’s as close as they’re going to get to a positive male influence,” Beth informed me as she sucked on a joint. “Which is fucking pathetic.”

  “Geez, Beth, she ain’t a man,” snapped Kerrick. “Thought you woulda known that by now.”

  When no one came for me in the first hour, I went outside to get some fresh air. My heels clicked against the concrete as I walked to the curb, wrapping my arms around myself to ward off the chill. The night stretched on, swallowing the houses that the yellow glow of streetlamps couldn’t reach.

  Suddenly there were headlights illuminating the road behind me. I turned, wiping the corners of my lips in case any lipstick had gathered there. I had expected the usual gently used vehicle, but this was something too new and shiny for Metro, a black so sleek that it reflected the world around it.

  I nervously wiped my sweaty palms on my back pockets and approached the car. The car loomed like a great beast, its bluish lights glowing like eerie eyes. I finally stopped at the driver’s window, waiting for the tinted glass to slide down. Instead, the rear window lowered and a hand gestured me forward. When I took the few cautious steps to my right, I instantly recognized the car’s occupant.

  “E-Ezekiel!” I gasped, raising my hand to my mouth.

  “Hello, Melissa,” he greeted in a voice as polished as his car’s silver grille. There was no inclination that he saw me any differently now, dressed as I was, standing on the curb popularly known for sexwork. “Why don’t you get in?”

  “Um, but—” I straightened and pushed the hem of my shorts down, as if that would make them any longer. “Of course.”

  I reached for the door, but one of the bodyguards from before at Blade’s extricated himself from the front seat. He swung the back door open to admit me, all the while staring straight ahead.

  “Thanks,” I whispered. I slid in beside Ezekiel, feeling strangely shy. The car was wide enough to retain my personal boundaries, though I suppose I didn’t take up much room. Everything was leather and gleaming wood accents, nothing I had seen outside of car commercials. The bodyguard slipped back into his place beside the wheel, and
the car pulled back onto the street.

  I sat there feeling incredibly awkward in my garb amongst this decadent luxury. Ezekiel studied me.

  “I see your life goes beyond Blade.”

  My tongue swelled as a sweat broke out under my arms. I tried to avoid Ezekiel’s eyes. They were boring deeper and deeper—so deep that I worried he’d find some scrap of emotion I hadn’t disposed of.

  I could only nod, feeling ashamed for no reason I could discern. This was how I made my living. How was that any different from any other job?

  “So,” I said thickly, trying to speak despite my dry mouth. “Where are we going to do this?”

  Ezekiel laughed lightly. It sounded a bit hollow. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry. I didn’t pick you up for that.”

  “You mean you don’t want to—?”

  “I think not. You’re far too exquisite a package to simply use up and throw away.”

  They use us like condoms and throw us out.

  This had to be a dream. Or a nightmare. I could not be riding in a car with someone as awe-inspiring as he was terrifying, someone who could afford every prostitute in the city, on the same night, ten times over. Maybe twenty times over. I had no clue how much Ezekiel was actually worth. I only knew his reputation.

  “Then, um, what exactly do you want?” And why me?

  Ezekiel didn’t answer for a long time, instead turning to the window and looking out until his whole face seemed frozen. Only when I began to wonder if he had turned to stone did he turn back to me.

  “Women is one vice I never understood,” he said. “Oh, I can see the allure of sex. I understand that quite completely. What I never understood were the men like Blade, who actually take the time to entertain women before and after sex.”

  Not really, I thought bitterly. Not much entertaining went on, at least not with me.

  “Because the women who come to men like me are…intolerable. They have no objective, only to be parasites, to eat away at wealth until their bellies are full. Tell me, Melissa. How can women further my investments? My ambitions?”

  “I guess—I guess we can’t.”

  “Exactly. They weigh you down. I’ve spent much of my life separating myself from primitive desires like sex and women. They make you weak. They cloud your judgment.” He pinched his sleeve and straightened it. “The same goes for gambling and alcohol. I am a rich man because I worked at it. Rich men, true rich men, invest money in such things as art and businesses. I invest in sure things. I invest in beautiful things. I invest in unique things.” With this, he offered me a small smile.

  I waited for him to make his point. It was going to pop up sooner or later.

  “However, as time has passed, I’ve found that even I cannot completely reject all base desires. Lately they’ve been so strong that some capitulation is in order. So I’ve started searching for a woman who would best suit my needs. But most of the women I meet are the parasites I described—no class, no reservations. Above all else, I consider myself a man of class. And a man of…unique tastes.”

  Any time now. Tell me what I have to do with this.

  “I’ve done some soul searching, and I believe I’ve identified the qualities I appreciate in the opposite sex. And you’ve got them, Melissa.”

  I blinked at him slowly. What? “But…what?”

  “I know my way around an investment, and I’m rather accurate in predicting its future and worth.”

  I was sure this guy was crazy, but he had money, and not the kind you sneezed at. I’d play along if it meant a big paycheck. “What does this mean to me?”

  “I think you are the diamond I’ve been looking for.”

  Definitely crazy, but I’d suffered worse. “A diamond? Are you sure?”

  “Surprised?”

  “I’m—I don’t see it.”

  “That’s part of the lure. Humility.”

  This was coming from a man who probably had less humility than Blade. But I suppose two egos would be a bad match. I could only stare at him speechlessly, still unable to comprehend. Maybe I should have been flattered, but I really wasn’t. He was playing with my mind. He wanted something from me, and he was too proper to ask it straight out. But what could I give him? He already told me he didn’t want the services of a prostitute. I was still doubtful of that one.

  “I suppose it was your physicality that interested me at first,” he said, ignoring my bug-eyed stare. “Many men prefer busts. Am I right?”

  “I-I suppose.” I was stuttering, damn it. I really had to stop, unless I wanted him to think I was an inarticulate moron. But he couldn’t be expecting much, picking up whores in the heart of Metro.

  “I don’t consider myself that kind of man. I think breasts appeal to men’s most primitive desires. And I am a man who can rise above such vulgarities.”

  “So if it isn’t my boobs, it’s…?”

  “Your legs.” He showed no shame, no blush, not even an uncomfortable blink. “To be perfectly honest.”

  “My legs?”

  “I find long legs elegant. Stream-lined.”

  Well, my legs were one thing I didn’t mind so much about myself. But usually people just made fun of their length. They didn’t exactly fit my body very well. With them my torso appeared shorter, making me look less like those sultry, pouting models and more like a monkey. Or a grasshopper.

  “Well…okay.” I exhaled slowly and rubbed my sweaty palms on my legs. I stopped when disdain flashed across Ezekiel’s face. I folded my hands back in my lap, trying to ignore how slick and hot my skin was.

  “Moving past physicality, I noticed your…” He tapped his lip in thought, “…obsequiousness to Blade.”

  Obsequiousness? What the hell did that mean? I probably should have paid more attention in English class when I was in high school. But it sounded like a compliment, so I nodded hesitantly.

  He knew I didn’t know the meaning of the word. His eyes glittered again, and that predatory amusement clung to his lips.

  “Though I must admit, it disgusted me, in a sense. To have a fine, superior creature like yourself servile to that…” He looked away, his top lip curling up to reveal gum beneath. His eyes narrowed, but he quickly shook it off, “…idiot.”

  Well, that’s something we agree on.

  “You’re smart. You know what’s best for you. It explains why you’re with Blade. He pays for your drugs, am I right?”

  I shifted, lowering my face in shame. “I guess he does.”

  “And you’re resourceful. I’ve noticed the bruises, despite how you try to cover them up. You sacrifice independence for necessities. What pains me to see is how much you sacrifice. Such yielding should not be necessary.” His teeth now showed when he smiled. They were pure white, the work of a true dentist. “I’m going to tell you why you’re here.”

  I nodded. I couldn’t think of anything to say.

  “I’m attending a gala on a yacht tomorrow night. It’s a little party by the Ralston docks. You know of them, correct?”

  Dear God, the Ralston docks. That was where celebrities and entrepreneurs liked to gather. You didn’t even get past the gate if you were worth less than a couple million, though it was debatable whether they’d let you on the boat or not for such a small price.

  I nodded quickly when I realized I’d been gaping silently for too long.

  “It’s common to bring a date. I usually go alone, which seems to draw unwanted attention. This time, I’d like to blend in more. So I’m asking if you’d like to attend. With me.”

  He was asking me on a date? I had to be tripping on something nasty. This wasn’t even possible. One of the city’s richest bachelors wanted me to go to a yacht party with him. Impossible! This was the stuff of movies, too good to be true. I was instantly wary.

  Of course, in movies the man was always some harmless lawyer or CEO, someone who might have embezzled money here or there but was generally a nice guy. I knew Ezekiel’s reputation, the stories of murder, extortion, and
blackmail. He was most certainly not a nice guy. Which immediately made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. He had to want something else. Maybe he wanted to kill me. While I hadn’t heard of him murdering anyone who hadn’t either wronged him or stolen money, there was always the risk. How well did I know this man, after all? He could murder for sport. He seemed like the type.

  But I couldn’t refuse. I was in his car now, in his clutches. I knew he had a gun on him. I couldn’t see it, but I’m sure it was there. And if it wasn’t, I sure as hell knew the driver had one or two. If I reached for that door handle, there would probably be a bullet in my brain before I could even raise a foot to flee.

  “Of course, I wouldn’t expect you to do this for free,” Ezekiel continued. “You are, after all, a woman of business. So we shall deal in terms you understand.”

  He reached underneath his seat and pulled out a briefcase. He slid it up onto the seat between us and unlatched it. The first thing I saw was silk.

  “What—what is it?” I whispered, reaching out a hesitant hand to touch the material inside.

  “It’s a dress.”

  He must have sensed my confusion, because he waved his hand and motioned for me to take it out. I slowly pulled the dress out and held it in the air in front of me. It was a relatively simple gown. There were no frills or bows, only an empire waistline, a fitted torso, and a straight line from the hip to the edge of the skirt. Because of its simplicity, I knew right away that it was ridiculously expensive. I glanced at the tag inside.

  Regina Queen. If you could afford Regina Queen, you had too much money. You were part of that small, superior class that controlled the world.

  You were Ezekiel, apparently.

  I had trouble breathing. I could only stare at the cursive Regina Queen on the tag, trying to tell myself it was fake, that there was no logical reason why this man, who I hardly knew, would find it necessary to buy this for me. After all, he could have decked me out in something second-rate and no one would have known. There were Regina Queen fakes, which were often as good as the originals. I ran my long fingers over the silk, which felt as light and soft as a breeze.