by Sara Bushway
"See what?"
Her approach could have been missed in the blink of an eye. Her nose mere inches from his, and she whispered, "I heard what happened. Let me see."
Honey was lost in her dark chocolate eyes, but some part of him was still working on whatever lie he was going to tell her to make everything seem alright. It wasn’t his job to worry anyone. He was to bring them pleasure, even if it meant he had to do things he didn’t really like doing.
"It's nothing," he lied. "Beaumont had a few too many hits of opium, and the girls got scared."
Anastasia's eyes burned holes through him as she began to unbutton his shirt. He didn't stop her; despite the tears he could feel welling up. She pushed the shirt off of his shoulders, and it fell to the floor. As much as Honey didn't want her pity or her worry, some part of him wanted her to know. He wanted someone to know what had happened to him and very likely many others. Her stare softened as she released him from her gaze and looked at Beaumont's handwork. Her voice was trembling.
"How far does it go?"
He knew what she meant, and saying the words hurt almost as much as the wounds themselves when they were new.
"All the way down," he whispered as he wiped away a tear that had escaped the corner of his eye.
"This isn’t right," she whispered with a shake of her head. "No one should have to go through this hell. How could he…" She sniffled as she looked down at the healing gashes again. Her already-pale features somehow seemed to give way to an even lighter shade as she put her hands-on Honey’s face and leaned in.
"I know it’s already too late to stop...this..and I know it isn’t ideal...but I can save you."
A glimmer of hope returned to Honey’s eyes. "You can save us?"
"No," she shook her head in dissent, "but I can save you."
He reeled at her insinuation. She continued.
"I’m not saying I’m glad for it, but...your price should have gone down. I could...maybe I could make an offer and get you out of here."
"The girls--"
"These girls aren’t being slashed to bits, Honey," she argued. "They’re all still sitting pretty in their big, fancy rooms up on the second floor, where you used to be. They’ll be fine. Come with me."
He stared at Anastasia, but his mind was on Loretta. Who would mend her dresses when the clients got out of hand? Who would tighten her corset and help her put her hair up when she was expecting her more well-to-do johns? She was his best friend.
"How can I abandon her?"
"Who?"
"Them," he corrected himself. "I can’t just abandon them! They’re all I know of family!"
Anastasia stared at him as the reality sunk in. Honey sighed as he remembered just how much of a piece of property he really was. She could buy him, with or without his consent. He was a product and a service all in one, and it was Beaumont who determined which one was worth the coin being offered.
"You’re going to buy me?" he asked, and she nodded. "Then, someday, I will come back and save these girls. I swear it."
She nodded again.
"That’s fine." She took his hands in hers. "Pack your things. I’m going to go make Beaumont a generous offer and still end up overpaying for you, but you’ll be free." Honey nodded in understanding and watched as she opened his door and disappeared out into the hall.
He started to look through the closet and toss the occasional article onto the bed.
It’s not ideal, he thought, but this does get me out of here. From out there, I can find a way to save them. Maybe I can find a way to make really good money and buy the mansion and girls off of that horrid man. Then, they could all have their freedom...Well, at least the freedom to decide which House they want to work for.
It occurred to him before that, much like himself, many of the girls had few marketable skills in the real world. That’s why it wasn’t uncommon for young women to seek out a House to join of their own free will. It was a last-ditch effort to not end up homeless on the street or a slave to an arranged marriage to a much older man who was otherwise incapable of wooing a woman himself.
Honey smiled to himself. He continued building his fantasy and packing his things.
We would have a live-in tailor and seamstress, and all of the rooms would be nice. Oh, and days off. We would have Sundays off so that the girls could go to church in the morning and the farmers market in the afternoon and anywhere else they wanted to go, I guess. And I wouldn’t be the master of the House. I would just do the important paperwork stuff like pay the House bills and make sure the kitchen’s cinnamon buns are meeting House standards, but everything else would be decided as a group because the girls deserve to have a say. And--wait a minute...Didn’t Anastasia say she was married? What will her husband think?
He allowed the thought to pass, deciding it was best not to worry about that now, and glanced down at his side table. A little green-glass bottle sat among his things, like a diamond in the rough. Honey picked up the little perfume bottle and plucked the tiny cork out of it.
Rose oil, Honey thought. Loretta's favorite. She had given it to him after the move to the first floor so that he would remember her. At the time, Honey thought she was silly, but switching floors had made spending time together much more difficult than he had expected. The little bottle had been a huge help during his first few nights in the discount wing. Now it was just a pretty, little relic that represented their friendship. He plugged the cork back into the bottle and wrapped it in one of his socks before placing it among his other things.
Honey's door flung open. He spun to see Beaumont stepping in and examining the room, paying little attention to Honey himself.
"Just taking your stuff, right?" he growled.
Honey nodded. "Yes, sir."
Beaumont walked through the room, eyeing the furniture and closet.
"You left clothes in the closet."
"They don’t fit," Honey sighed as he looked out the door at Anastasia. "Haven’t for a long time." The stack of papers in her hands were stained and uneven. Though he hadn’t witnessed the transaction, it wasn’t difficult to see that Beaumont had been none too thrilled to let him go.
"What's the matter? Got fat?"
"Got taller."
She must have offered him a small fortune, Honey thought. It must have killed him to accept. In my current condition, I’m barely worth a week’s worth of opium, but that monster... she must have paid a heavy convenience tax to cover his losses.
"What about these?" Beaumont barked as he kicked the corner of the trunk that had been peeking out from under the bed.
Honey turned and shrugged. "What about them?"
Beaumont’s eyes narrowed. "Did you take any of them? Your stank may be all over them toys and such, but those are technically my property."
"No," Honey replied. "I didn’t take any of them."
Honey secretly hoped he wouldn't need them anymore. Even if they were his, he wouldn't have taken them. Though he wasn't so naive as to think he wouldn't have to earn his way in Anastasia's house, their night together led him to believe that she wouldn't require much if any extra equipment, and he wouldn't dream of using the same toys on her as he had used with all of his other clients. She was too good for that.
Beaumont sucked his teeth as he eyed the young man and barreled past him.
"Fine," he growled, stepping back into the hall.
Honey started to gather his things, shouldering as many bags as he could manage and stacking the boxes one atop the other. Anastasia snapped her fingers. Her houseman, an older gentleman wearing a fancy uniform, quickly rounded the corner of the doorway and, to Honey’s surprise, took the bags from him, picked up the stack of boxes, and disappeared once more. Honey gazed around the room in surprise. His few belongings had been snatched in the blink of an eye.
"He’s taking them to the car," Anastasia said reassuringly. "I thought you could use a hand, but it seems his two were more than enough."
Honey blinked, s
till confused by the swiftness and strength of the man. "Shall I give him a coin for his service?"
"No," she chirped. "You belong to my house now. I pay Gerig to serve us, and he serves us well."
Honey nodded and took one last look around the room. He knew he wouldn’t miss this room much. The run-down first-floor room had never felt like home anyway, and he already mourned the loss of his second-floor suite. It was the girls he would miss the most. Loretta sneaking into his room to visit and play cards, Violet’s jokes, Lania’s singing, Betty’s cooking.
Perhaps I could come back to visit, he thought. Even if I had to pay for the hour, I could spend that time catching up with them.
"Well?" Beaumont said. "You leaving or what? I’ve got a business to run."
Honey stepped out into the hall and looked up at the man with all of the humor of a stalking tiger.
"I’ll be seeing you," Honey whispered ominously.
Beaumont smirked, "Of course you will. When this old hag gets tired of you and realizes what a nasty little cum-dumpster you are, I'll be waiting right here to tell you, 'We ain't got room. Go sell it on the street.’"
Honey’s glare pierced the eyes of the man who ruined his body as he recited his silent vow to destroy him someday. Anastasia placed her hand on Honey’s shoulder and flashed a facetious grin to the master of the House before leading her new boy back to the main hall.
"It will do us no good to make an enemy of him," she said after they had gained some distance from Beaumont.
"He’s no good to anybody," Honey quipped, "and I will be back. He’ll be sorry for everything he’s done. I’ll make sure of it."
Anastasia sighed and continued leading Honey to the front door. The upscale girls were still working the floor, and all but the five beauties were busy with clients. They turned and looked as Honey and Anastasia appeared from the hall, with Beaumont following close behind. A slight wave and half-hearted smile from the young man caused them to abandon the banister and run over to shower him with hugs and goodbye kisses. It would have only meant more to him if one of the girls had been his dear friend Loretta.
Beaumont groaned and folded his arms. "Imma have to ask you to quit handling the merchandise. If you ain't buying, you need to leave."
The girls pouted as Honey pulled himself away.
"You’ll come back and visit, won’t you?" one asked.
"Yeah," Honey nodded and smiled. He wiped a tear away from his eye, unsure if he was crying because he was going to miss everybody or because he was so relieved to be leaving all of this behind for something that could only be better. Or maybe he was crying because he feared that he would never be back, that his promise was a lie that had yet to unfold. It didn’t matter. It made the girls all weepy just the same as they wiped their own tears away and walked back to the staircase to await any potential clients that might walk through the door.
Anastasia took Honey’s hand and started leading him to the door.
"Come on, Honey. Let’s get out of here."
Honey looked over his shoulder one last time as Anastasia opened the door. His voice shook as he waved again and said one final goodbye.
Honey followed Anastasia out to a long, black auto with shiny, silver handles on the doors. The two doors on the side that Honey could see opened out from the middle. How odd, Honey thought. The feeling only worsened as he looked up and down Central Avenue, the street he had lived on for most of his life. He had lived in Alton as far back as he could remember, in this House, on this street, without ever really knowing where he lived in relation to anything else. Even now, he couldn't seem to focus on any of it.
He marveled at the strings of autos moving about on the streets. Red, black, and white. Those were the only colors autos were made in anymore. Betty had explained to him that autos used to come in as many colors as he could imagine, but with the changing times, autos became a symbol of status. Black autos were for military personnel and non-magical government personnel. White autos were for the magical government personnel and religious officials. The red autos belonged to citizens of high status that had not given in to the pressures of the church and state. Betty had a theory that the red autos were meant to stand out and make those people targets for thieves, charlatans, assassins--pretty much anyone who might be interested in what those people had or what it was worth for someone to kill them. Honey wasn't sure that he believed that. If the government wanted them to be poor or dead, it seemed to him that there might be easier ways to achieve that.
The buildings up and down the streets ranged between small parlors that advertised lewd magazines and minutes of looking through a peephole to larger establishments that housed exotic dancers and served spirits to mansions like Beaumont's that didn't need advertising. Mansions were always full of flesh to be bought, from what Honey had heard. Young women wearing tattered dresses stood on the corner of the street, smoking cigarettes and itching at dirt caked onto their legs and arms. They often went weeks or even months without a good wash with nowhere to wash themselves unless one of their johns was good enough to take them to an inn with a shower or bring them water to wash before their bout. It was the least they could do. Honey couldn't decide if the fumes from the autos were rising or falling. The air smelled like a combination of burning rubber and stale air from a room that hadn't been opened in years. The sky was grey like it wanted to rain, but the air was warm and seemed to be slowly robbing everyone and everything of moisture. People out on the street stopped and looked at Honey, still in his costume. He might have felt embarrassed if he hadn't recognized several of the onlookers, who seemed a bit embarrassed themselves by the way they stared dumbly and then turned away as if they hadn't seen a thing. Honey smiled and tipped his hat to them, opting to steer into the skid.
No point in being coy, he thought. They know where they are, and they know who I am.
Gerig opened the rear passenger door and waited as Anastasia carefully lifted her skirts off the ground and stepped in. Honey followed, making sure not to sit on her beautiful dress, and watched Gerig close the door. Butterflies fluttered in Honey's stomach. Gerig turned the car on, and it began to move.
"It’s not very far," Anastasia said and squeezed his hand. "We’ll be home soon."
Honey nodded and managed a smile, but inside, he could feel himself shaking. He hadn’t left the House more than a handful of times, and now, he was on his way to somewhere new to start a life.
"So, you own the house we’re going to?" he asked, trying to break the uncomfortable silence.
She beamed. "Yes, I do. Well, my husband does."
Honey nodded. "Does it bring in a lot of money?"
She stared at him for a moment, then devolved into giggles. "Oh, no," she said. "It's not a whore house. It's just a house. A family home."
Honey felt some relief at her explanation. "Oh, I see. I’m sorry. I misunderstood." Suddenly a thought crossed his mind. "Wait. What will I be doing for you then? Why would you buy me if I’m not to... service you?"
She seemed taken off-guard by his questions, but her smile persisted. "Well, you’ll be like… my house-boy."
"House-boy?"
"Yes," she said. "You’ll do some of the same things you did before, but you’ll also have some duties around the house like tidying up and such. Nothing you can’t handle, I’m sure."
Honey nodded again. "I suppose that sounds reasonable. I had assumed that I would have to earn my keep in your home. I guess I just wasn't sure about what sort of things people needed doing in their homes."
The car came to a stop.
"We’re here," Anastasia said in a sing-song voice. "Are you excited?"
"Yeah," he nodded. "Excited. Nervous. Kind of nauseous."
She laughed in her deep velvety tone and looked past him as Gerig opened the door. Honey carefully stepped out of the vehicle and took Anastasia's hand to help her out. As she stepped out, she put a hand on Honey's shoulder and guided him to turn around. His eyes widened at the large
white house with blue shutters and a red door. The bushes out front were neatly trimmed into perfect squares, and the lawn mowed down so short that it might as well have been plush, green carpet. It was perfect, just like the other houses around it. They all varied in color and structure, but the neighboring houses seemed to exemplify the same regal feeling as Anastasia's.
"This is where we live?" he asked quietly, still taking in the perfect scene. "It’s amazing."
"It’s all ours," she said and led him up the perfect concrete walkway and up the three steps onto the porch. Gerig, meanwhile, went back into the car and parked it in a garage on the side of the house.
Anastasia took a gold key from her little purse, unlocked the door, and pushed it open. Inside, the walls and floors were perfectly white with the occasional picture frame or vase atop a tiny table, creating gold and red accents to please the eye. Plush white sofas and matching armchairs littered the living room area, but none of those things immediately came into focus for Honey.
Atop the comfortable-looking couches and chairs were several men of varying ages and body types, lounging in the well-lit room. One was sitting in an armchair with his feet propped up, cleaning the dirt from under his nails with a switchblade. A pair of men who looked uncannily similar, twins Honey guessed, were sprawled at either end of a couch, their legs intertwined on the middle cushion; one was drawing on a sketch pad with a pencil while the other was playing with some sort of puzzle comprised of colored cubes that shifted. Another man was lounging on the other couch, holding an improperly folded newspaper and a pen.
Honey's breath caught in his chest as he looked in at all of them, and one by one, they looked up at him too. He struggled to calm his mind enough to turn his scattered thoughts and feelings into words, but he finally did manage to get something out.
"Ms. Anastasia...Who are they?"
Chapter Five
Gerig sped past Honey and the lady of the house with some of the boxes containing Honey’s things in hand and took them up the stairs to the living quarters, or so Honey guessed. It was odd to see him only carrying some of the items, considering how he had managed to take all of it out of the mansion, but Honey decided that maybe Gerig was taking extra care so as not to drop anything on his way up the steps.