The King and the Courtesan

by Angela Walker

  “Call me later,” Rosa insisted. “Tomorrow.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to talk to you more.”

  I grabbed my new phone and gave it to Rosa so she could put her number in.

  “Thanks,” I muttered, then slid my feet into the shoes Rosa had brought with her. After I walked out, I regretted not saying good-bye, but I figured there would be another time.

  Chapter 13

  I imagined myself with my own theme music. Each click of my heels against the floor was a rhythm to which my hips swayed. I was sick of playing the victim. Tonight was a show. I was the lead, and goddamn, I was going to act my heart out.

  The fight club was more glamorous than I expected. Even though it was in the casino/hotel’s basement, there was nothing “basement” about it. There was an arched ceiling, a chandelier, and tables staggered on different levels around the room. They all looked down at the pen in the center, which was barren right now. A cage hung above it, waiting to be lowered. So that was what all these men had gathered to watch—two men fighting in a cage like dogs.

  Waitresses circled the area, carrying drinks and dressed in tight bandage dresses. I imagined the clientele here skewed male, though I did spot the occasional trophy wife getting drunk on champagne. I thought that maybe Ezekiel would appreciate the eye candy, but he was more interested in snagging the champagne. He turned back to me when he’d procured two glasses.

  “Enjoy,” he said with a smile. “This fight is business, but it would be nice to have fun at the same time.”

  I had no interest in fights. I’d seen my share of real ones. Yet I put on a smile for Ezekiel. He didn’t seem to notice that it was fake, at least from what I could see.

  Ezekiel sat at a table with Bruce, Garrett, and Roger. I wondered if he went anywhere without his trusted bodyguards, or if I was allowed to go anywhere without mine. The only time they weren’t at his side was when he was in his own house, and even then he only really sent them away when he wanted to be alone with me. I would have liked to believe that Bruce and Garrett were brainless cronies, but whenever they lifted their sunglasses, I saw a cruel intelligence flicker in their dark eyes. I should have known. Ezekiel didn’t trust his life to morons.

  Roger sat beside me, fidgeting. I wanted to pat his leg comfortingly, but Ezekiel would probably see it, and it could come off as an inappropriate gesture. Where as Bruce and Garrett were used to excursions such as this, Roger used to be a butler. His job had been to take care of Ezekiel’s house, not fly around in his private jet and go to fight clubs. He was out of his element.

  Which was great, because that meant I wasn’t alone.

  “Ezekiel! I haven’t seen you in at least a year!”

  Ezekiel stood when an older, gray-haired man approached. They shook hands and began talking in an affable manner characteristic of wealthy acquaintances. When the man asked who I was, Ezekiel motioned for me to stand.

  “This is my friend and companion, Melissa Thatcher. Melissa, this is Jerry Broderick. He…works in the oil industry.”

  “It’s about time Ezekiel found himself a good woman. I can see that while his tastes are expensive, they are no less than exquisite. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Jerry took my hand and kissed it, nearly moving me to blush. Ha, I can have sex with a man without shame, but when one kisses my hand, I’m embarrassed.

  I had to hand it to Rosa. No one would have thought me “expensive” until she got her hands on me. While I had little trouble spotting people made of real money, perhaps the skills of those born into wealth weren’t as honed.

  Ezekiel and Mr. Broderick talked a bit. They weren’t indulging in small talk like what Ezekiel had suffered during our date on the yacht. No, I very much believed that Mr. Broderick knew Ezekiel’s true occupation. The two men were cautious of each other, inspecting each other beneath their shallow smiles. Apparently, Ezekiel saw Mr. Broderick as a threat, and that meant he was a dangerous man indeed.

  “Ladies and gentleman, the show will start in five minutes. Please take your seats,” came a sultry female voice over the intercom. Men found their tables, ending their conversation with the flirtatious waitresses.

  Ezekiel leaned over to Garrett and whispered something I couldn’t hear. Garrett nodded solemnly, then touched his headset and muttered into it. I tried not to pay attention to their scheming as I settled deeper into my chair.

  “Ever been to one of these?” I asked Roger nervously.

  Roger shook his head. “I’m not into mixed martial arts much.”

  “Me neither.” I took a sip of my champagne.

  A woman in a bikini took the center of the stage, tossing her hair at the men who watched her. I glanced over at Ezekiel, who took a nonchalant sip of his champagne as he stared down at her. As some of the older men leaned forward with obvious interest, Ezekiel had no blatant reaction. A moment later, I felt his hand fall lightly on my thigh. I scooted closer to give him easier access. He didn’t move the hand, though, which relieved me. I’d rather not get felt up as two men in a ring pummeled each other into exhaustion.

  “I introduce to you our first two fighters: Felix Thomas and JoJo Jackson!”

  “They have such ridiculous names,” Roger mumbled under his breath. He glanced away quickly when Ezekiel shot him a look.

  Felix Thomas was a big man with a shaved head and purple silk shorts. He danced in his corner, punching the air as he bounced back and forth. JoJo was shorter, but bulkier, with a trimmed beard and spiky blond hair. His face was hideous, probably disfigured by past hits. One side of his mouth was larger than the other, and his jaw wasn’t set right. He was still, the only flicker of life in his deformed figure the glare he sent across the stage to his opponent.

  “There,” Ezekiel whispered, pointing to JoJo. “That is one of the men we’ll be watching this week.”

  “This week?”

  “Didn’t I tell you? The finals won’t be held until Saturday. A week.”

  “But I thought…”

  “One of my inferiors is investing in JoJo in hopes that the winning purse will pay off his debt to me.” Ezekiel sipped his drink. “We also must watch Kennedy. But he’s later.”

  “They aren’t wearing boxing gloves,” I whispered.

  Ezekiel snorted. “Welcome to the world of mixed martial arts.”

  “Isn’t that dangerous?”

  Ezekiel raised his eyebrows. “And since when has danger put anyone off a sport?”

  “It seems dumb.”

  The side of Ezekiel’s mouth tilted upward. “Yes, well, few honorable things lead to wealth. For some men, profit is earned through sketchy business ventures. For the simpler man, it’s as easy as having your nose punched in.”

  “And we have to watch this?” If I wanted to see some testosterone-fueled rage, I could have easily watched Blade do his daily business. Of course, that was done without a large audience. Certainly some of the men in suits sitting around the fighting cage derived some enjoyment from being the spectators, drinking fancy wine, and ogling attractive waitresses who barely wore anything. It wasn’t even the violence that made my stomach turn. It was the fact that these men were beating at each other like animals for the entertainment of men whose wealth they could never touch.

  “Do you honestly think I derive amusement from this?” Ezekiel asked me.

  “Don’t you?”

  “I remain indifferent about it.” Indeed, his face was a blank mask. “Business is business. Though I sometimes find it fascinating—the savagery of human nature.”

  “It’s only fascinating if you’re outside the ring,” I said, though I saw no way anyone could construe pointless violence as fascinating.

  “Indeed. That’s why I work so hard at my job, Melissa. So I remain outside the ring.” Then he turned back to the fight.

  I looked over at Roger. He was tapping his glass, looking away. I wondered if he had heard the conversation or not. Bruce and Garrett had the same old stoic expressions on thei
r faces.

  A bell rang, and the fight began. I was shocked by how reserved the audience became. A few let out cheers and indulged in good-spirited confrontation with the men betting against them, but none showed the usual enthusiasm of the traditional boxing audiences on TV. There was no screaming or feet pounding. Such indifference seemed purposeful, as if the wealthy were drawing a line between them and the uncivilized “other”.

  As the fight progressed, I was surprised at how quickly I grew bored. For something so bloody and aggressive, it all seemed redundant. Mostly they punched each other, wearing only thin gloves that barely deterred the force of bone hitting bone. Eventually, Felix’s nose broke and he went down in a flurry of blood and saliva, and when he fell, he didn’t get back up. I sat up slightly, wanting to know if he was dead or alive, but he was quickly dragged from the ring as JoJo held his fists over his head and pumped his arms. Some of the wealthy men cheered while others shook their head in disappointment.

  So concluded round one.

  I was shocked when a few fights in, waitresses actually served dinner, as if this were simply a restaurant with an entertaining game of tennis below. I was served roasted lamb and some other dish I didn’t know the name of that tasted like potatoes and had a few little green things in it. Ezekiel later told me that the green things were asparagus.

  I’d never had asparagus before.

  I didn’t eat the whole thing, of course, because I’d lost most of my appetite. Bruce finished off what I couldn’t, looking as pleased as a kitten in a basket of catnip. He and his broad-shouldered coworker were unaffected by the violence below and shared the same straight face as their employer. Roger, though, was pale-faced as he pushed away his glazed salmon.

  “Is something wrong, Roger?” Ezekiel asked.

  Roger shook his head and took a bite of his salmon to prove how well he was feeling. Ezekiel looked suspicious but turned back to the ring.

  Kennedy was a monster that no one could fell. I wondered how anyone could bet against him. His opponents were down in thirty seconds, and few ever tried to get back up. While most of the men were somber in the ring, Kennedy wore a constant smirk. I believed most of the men did this for money, but Kennedy seemed to be here for the pure enjoyment of hurting people.

  JoJo and Kennedy were both undefeated by the end of the night, but that wasn’t saying much. They’d only fought twice. There were so many fighters, and it took a long time to eliminate a few. I thought we’d be here all night. When I looked at Roger’s watch, I saw that it was two in the morning. I struggled to hide a yawn.

  Finally, an end was called to the match, and men reached for their escorts and their jackets. The last of the dirty dishes were collected and the scantily clad waitresses came out to say good-bye to all the patrons.

  “Roger, take Melissa up to the room,” Ezekiel said, his eyes latched onto a group of men across the room, a few of whom were looking anxiously over their shoulders. I figured they were the men whose fates relied on how well they cast their bets.

  “Yes, sir,” Roger said.

  Ezekiel turned to me. He slipped hand around my upper arm and leaned in close. “I’ll be up in half an hour.”

  I nodded.

  Roger guided the way to the exit, and I followed closely behind. I heard laughter and spirited conversation, but I kept my head low. Roger looked rather somber, as well. He kept removing his glasses to clean them.

  “Are you okay?” I asked him as we weaved through the crowd to the lobby.

  “Am I okay? What about you?”

  I shrugged. “I guess the violence was shocking at first, but I kind of got immune to it.”

  Roger cleared his throat as we headed toward our private elevator. “I found it all a little sick.”

  “Of course it was. But to me, the whole world is sick. That down there was a summary for how the world works. Poor guys fighting in a pen while the rich dudes watch.”

  Roger handed the room key to the elevator operator and we stepped into the box. It shifted, then rose. We kept our mouths shut in the presence of the operator, who gave us a wink. Roger looked partially horrified, while I tried to hold back laughter. The assumption was almost flattering, considering Roger’s handsome appearance. In another dimension, perhaps, we might have made a cute couple.

  Roger followed me into the living room of the presidential suite but didn’t go much farther than the door.

  “I guess I’ll leave you here then.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  Roger watched me a moment, then cleared his throat again. “Um, Melissa?”

  “Yeah?” I had descended the three steps to the middle of the living room. I turned to look up at him.

  “Are you happy here?”

  “With Ezekiel?”

  “Yeah.”

  I shrugged. “Beats hanging around the apartment with my sister’s gross boyfriend.”

  “I didn’t ask that. I asked if you were happy.”

  Unable to answer his question, I turned it around to him. “Are you happy, Roger? You seem kinda different from Bruce and Garrett.”

  Roger was stunned a moment by the question, then ran a hand through his once-neat hair. “I guess I’m not really sure. I think I’d be happiest spending time with friends, not having to worry about money or failure. To feel in control.”

  “Huh. Control.” I almost laughed. “It seems that control is all anyone wants.”

  “It’s true. Some people want control of others, of nature, of machinery, of the future. But me, I want control of my own life. That would be too much to ask, though.”

  “Probably. I don’t think I’ve ever felt in control of my life. You learn to deal with it. I’m…comfortable. Which is the best I can do right now.”

  Roger nodded. “So you aren’t happy, but you’re comfortable?”

  “Yeah.” I gave him a small, friendly smile. “And I’d like to think we’re friends.”

  Roger blushed a little. I was struck by how much I liked him. Not romantically and not sexually, but as a person. I met few people that I genuinely liked. It felt nice. Even better, I had absolute faith that he wouldn’t pull any moves on me, which was rare.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow then?” Roger asked.

  “I think so.”

  Roger nodded and left the room, securing the door behind him.

  Chapter 14

  I found a dress on the bed waiting for me. I picked up the garment and realized it wasn’t much—it was more like a robe made of fine lace. With it was some underwear to match. Rosa must have gotten it for me, but I found no endearing note from her. No one else would have picked up lingerie for me. For a moment, I amused myself with the thought of Roger wandering around a lingerie store, confused and terrified of looking like a pervert. Yes, it had to be Rosa.

  My lingerie usually consisted of a hot pink lace bra and thong bought on a clearance rack at a downtown boutique going out of business. I only wore them at night, with customers, because despite what people thought, I didn’t walk around wearing sexy underwear all the time. I cared more about comfort than I did male attention.

  After putting the lingerie on, I looked at myself in the mirror. Eh. I looked all right. The bra was specifically designed to give me cleavage, and it somehow managed, despite how little I had to work with. I found a significant difference between something custom made and the cheap crap one grabbed off the discount rack, though I was still a long way away from being a lingerie model.

  Ezekiel arrived in a timely fashion, and when he stepped into the room, his eyes gave me a fast once-over.

  “Beautiful,” he said.

  “Thanks.”

  He stepped over to me and wrapped one arm around my waist, an arm that felt more like an iron rod than flesh and bone. There was no doubt that Ezekiel was built like a tank. He expected his employees to be physically fit, neat, and fashionable at all times, and he followed his own advice. I’d stumbled upon the gym in his penthouse, and it looked well used and
extensively stocked. Ezekiel had never mentioned it to me, so he must not have minded my lack of muscle tone.

  “I know you have not enjoyed this trip so far,” Ezekiel murmured, his nose inches from mine. “But I promise we’re not going to spend the rest of the week in that basement watching men beat each other. Goddess has much to offer besides vice. I plan on taking you everywhere this week: restaurants, the opera, the shows, even the circus.”

  “Re-really?” I was shocked that a man obsessed with his job would be willing to waste time with me on something as trivial as entertainment.

  “Oh yes. I enjoy the arts in all its forms. To me, art is the highest tier of human culture. Societies are remembered for their art above all. With art we leave our impression on the world and our name with it.”

  “I imagined someone—someone like you not taking an interest in these things.”

  “Are you interested?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t imagine someone like you taking an interest.”

  I blushed a little. “I’ve never had the money or the time. But I always felt like if I did…”

  “Leave it all up to me. I usually come to Goddess for business, but perhaps that is because I’ve had no one to enjoy the sites with.” He gently put a hand on the side of my face, and for a moment, I let myself believe he really did care for me. Even the hard edge of his eyes softened. But I knew it wasn’t true. In his most vulnerable moments, even Blade looked capable of caring. Maybe deep down, he had been. But most of the time, he was a belligerent and ignorant son of a bitch.

  Ezekiel turned from me and removed his coat. Underneath it I saw a gun holster. I knew nothing about guns, but the silver pistol in there only left his side when he was in bed with me. Ezekiel had two highly trained bodyguards, and yet he still he remained vigilant. I was shocked he removed the holster for me, as Ezekiel didn’t seem like the type to let his guard down. Maybe he was just good at reading me, because there was no way in hell I’d ever try to shoot him. If he ever gave me a reason, I’d have to fell him with one shot or my ass would be dead.