Honey Beaumont

by Sara Bushway

  "A house?"

  "A House."

  The little man's face drooped in further disbelief. "You sold flesh?"

  Honey nodded and began to redress, the adrenaline of the dance beginning to wear off. "But I'm out of that now. I was schooled in musical arts and dance as my secondary skills."

  The little man seemed surprised. He got up and came to the main part of the stage near where Honey was sitting down, putting his belt back on. He held his hand out for a handshake. "The name's Frank."

  Honey finished fastening his belt and scooted over to take the man's hand. "Honey."

  Frank laughed. "Oh, yeah. If you had said that right off the bat, I would have known exactly what I was dealing with. Ok, Honey. How would you like to be the only male dancer in Southie who isn't a disease-ridden junkie?"

  Honey wanted to accept but knew there was more to discuss. "What about money?"

  Frank paused for a moment. Then sighed. "Well, I can't promise you you'll be here long. We get a lot of guys in here. I'll have to put out the word that we've got a new act with some stem working here now. Why don't we start with...70/30?"

  "30?" Honey asked. "As in...you would get most of the money I make?"

  Frank shrugged. "Well, only to start. I'm going to have to put a bit of money into you to make you marketable. You know, flyers, tear-away clothes, maybe a flexibility coach to keep you limber. Besides, no offense, but I can't sell that for top-dollar." He pointed to Honey's chest. "I'm sorry, kid. It looks like you've been through some serious shit and survived, but that's not just bruised apples right there. That's gnarly."

  Honey nodded and fired back, "60/40."

  Frank sputtered. "40!? No way!"

  Honey slipped off the edge of the stage and onto his feet, starting back toward the entrance. "Fine. I suppose that other place down the way would like to have a gnarly boy who can dance."

  Frank waddled after him and snatched his arm. "Now, wait a minute! Let me think here. How about, uh..." Frank looked around, clearly running the numbers and trying to figure out how much Honey could be worth. "Alright, 40," he conceded, "but you had better be worth it! Be here tomorrow, five o'clock sharp! We've gotta get you fitted for some clothes, and I need some pictures of you for advertising purposes." He looked down at Honey's open shirt and sighed. "God, I wish I knew someone who could help with that. That looks rough."

  "It was," Honey said with a smile, "but that part of my life is over now. I'll see you tomorrow evening." Frank nodded and released Honey's arm.

  Honey turned to him one last time. "Could I make a request when it comes to the costumes?"

  Frank shrugged. "Sure."

  Honey grinned. "I look pretty damn good as a cowboy."

  Chapter Fifteen

  Honey left the club feeling surprisingly good about himself. He knew that Chroma and her family would be worried about him if he gave them all of the details about his employment, so on the way back to the north end of Roxana, he thought long and hard about how he was going to describe his new job without coming out with what it was he actually did for a living. He was relieved that Frank was so understanding about his situation and wondered if there had been many others like himself who had found their way out of a House and into the real world. Where the choice to use his body for money was his own and how he did it was up to him.

  Probably not many, Honey thought. He had talked to Loretta and the girls about why some of them had signed on and why those who could have left by means of family or status stayed. Several girls claimed that the job gave them a sense of freedom, something that they felt they had been robbed of in their home life. Others claimed that they were in hiding, and even with Beaumont's lack of security, they felt very safe in the House with other girls like them and the Master of the House, who was very willing to fire a warning shot right into someone's head if they got too rowdy. That is one thing that could be said for that awful man. All he cared about was enough business to keep the girls safe when they felt like they couldn't handle something.

  It didn't take him long to make his way back to the clean air of the north end. The bell chimed seven times, just as Menna had said it would. He was already waiting outside her work when they began ringing, and Menna stepped out a few minutes later.

  "I'm sorry to keep you waiting," she said, breathing heavily as though she had run a mile to get to the door. "I had a few things to finish up before I left."

  Honey smiled and offered his arm to her. "No worries at all, ma'am. Let's go home so that you can rest." Menna nodded and took his arm as they started toward home.

  "So, how did the job search go?" She asked him. This was the moment Honey had been dreading.

  "I, uh, I found something to make a little bit of money..."

  "That's great!" Menna exclaimed. "I'm so happy for you! See! I knew it wouldn't take you long at all to find something. Tell me all about it."

  Honey decided to start his carefully-crafted explanation by admitting that it was a place in the South End but not too far from the dividing line. Menna frowned but seemed to regain some of her previous excitement when Honey explained that it was a bar, leaving out all of the titties and that they had plenty of hired protection to keep the place safe from people who might cause trouble.

  Menna sighed. "Well, that's great. I'm sure you'll do just fine there until you can get yourself some experience and make some connections that might get you a better job here in the nice end of town."

  "I hope so," Honey nodded. "I think I'm really going to like it. I'm supposed to go back tomorrow to be fitted for...uniforms."

  Menna insisted that this was cause for celebration and that Honey tell her his favorite baked treat so that she could make him some. He suspected that she had expected him to say something like cookies or fudge. Fudge would have been especially difficult to come by because of the steep price of chocolate, which had to be imported from other countries now. Honey told her about the little cinnamon-wrap cakes that Betty used to make. She didn't seem to know anything about this when he first said it, but after explaining what it was, she seemed keen on the idea of making several for the family to share.

  "We call them cinnamon rolls," she explained. "Usually, they're a type of breakfast treat, but if that's what you want, I would be happy to make some. I'll even make enough to have tomorrow morning for breakfast if you like."

  Honey grinned. "Cake for breakfast? How unusual, but I'm on-board if that's what you want to do."

  "It's settled, then."

  Menna's mood seemed to improve as they got closer to home. When they arrived, Chroma was helping Nana into some fresh clothes, having already helped her bathe. Honey was grateful for Chroma's help but also a little sad. Bath time was generally when Nana's head was clearest, and she would tell stories about life before the take-over. Things had been good for a very long time leading up to it. Then things got very, very bad for the United States. The take-over had been so much of a "take-over" as it was a hand-over after things had gone bad between the president of the US and several other foreign diplomats who were not too shy to admit that they had some serious firepower and that it was all aimed at the US. Honey enjoyed these unique history lessons because they weren't planned out the way books were, so objective and straight-forward. No, this is what the world looked like from Nana's point of view among her people, which was far more interesting.

  Chroma and Nana greeted Honey and Menna warmly, which led to Menna sharing Honey's good news. There were hugs all around, and then Menna insisted on cleaning herself up so that she could rest for a bit before making dinner. After Menna split off to go to her room and Nana had gone to relax in her chair, Honey started toward the backdoor. Realizing that Chroma was following him, he stopped in the kitchen and turned to face her.

  "So," she began, "you're a…bartender?"

  "Oh, no. I've never mixed drinks before."

  "A dishwasher?"

  "Well...no."

  Chroma cocked an eyebrow at him.

/>   ""So, what do you do there?"

  Honey looked past Chroma, making sure the older women were out of earshot, and sighed.

  "I'm...a dancer," he whispered.

  "A dancer?" She asked.

  Honey shrugged, deciding that there was no way around it. "I'm going to be a dancer at a ti--strip club."

  Chroma's mouth dropped open, and her eye grew wide. "Honey, no--"

  "Shh!" Honey came close and whispered. "Look, there are a lot of things you don't know about me, and when we have time and privacy, I will tell you everything you want to know. But one thing that I really need you to understand is that this is a good thing for me. I tried to find work at other places where you keep your clothes on and couldn't find anything. But I think this will be good for me...but...Please don't tell your mom or Nana." Chroma closed her mouth, still staring at him in disbelief. "I need a place to stay until I start making money, and...Well, I like it here."

  Chroma's smile returned. "Well, we all like having you here, so I won't tell for now. But you should tell them eventually."

  Honey nodded. "I will. I hate lying to them--"

  "A lie of omission," Chroma said.

  "Right. But I don't think they would take it well, so I need to wait until I can take care of myself, just in case they don't want me here anymore."

  Chroma nodded with what seemed like limited understanding about his situation and returned to the living room to be with Nana. Honey slipped out the backdoor and went to his little house to wash up. He was surprised at how much glitter had gotten on his body in that short amount of time he had been on stage and wondered if someone could somehow turn that into something beneficial.

  "Perhaps someone could make a type of glitter that moisturizes your skin or something," he murmured to himself as he undressed and posed in front of his mirror. He swayed a little and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to get a feel for how it might have looked when he danced for Frank, but he couldn't remember what moves he had used, just the music. That's one thing he had always been good at, feeling the music and letting it take control of him. In the many years following his training, he had never gotten any complaints about how he danced in the lounge and probably would not have cared if he did. It felt good to be controlled by something that was good and pure, like music. For once, he could just let go and not think about anything, not worry about anything. He took a moment to chuckle at himself dancing around in front of a mirror and dressed for dinner.

  *****

  Honey joined the ladies in the kitchen, where they shared his success once again. Honey blushed as Menna held her glass of water up and toasted his success. It took him a moment to catch on after the others raised their glasses. He raised his and clinked it against the others, realizing just how little he knew about the world around him.

  "Uh, look. It's just something to make me a little bit of money so that I can help with bills until I can save up enough to get my own place."

  "Nonsense," Menna said. "You'll keep your money and just help out like you have been. No one can get Nana to behave like you can." The group shared a hearty laugh, even Nana.

  "Miss Nana behaves when she wants to," Honey commented, "and I can't change that, but I can definitely try to keep her happy."

  Nana howled with laughter and replied, "The both of you could learn something from this boy!"

  They laughed in kind and took turns talking about each other’s day. After everyone had finished their supper, Menna gathered their plates and returned to the table with a platter of iced cinnamon rolls.

  "I hope you all have room for my special dessert." Honey's eyes grew wide, and his stomach growled at the sight of the beautifully crafted cinnamon rolls. They looked just like Betty's, only bigger and with a much thicker layer of icing.

  "Those look wonderful," Honey said, trying to contain some of his excitement. "I can't believe how delicious they look."

  Chroma scrunched her nose at her mom.

  "Aren't cinnamon rolls a breakfast food?"

  Menna brought the milk to the table and set a mug out for each of them.

  "Not today."

  She passed little plates to each of them and served one roll onto each plate using a set of tongs. Despite his usual need to stand on ceremony and wait for the lady of the house to start her meal first, Honey found himself unable to control himself. He grabbed his fork, used it to peel some of the outer-most layer off, and took a bite. It tasted like the light of heaven in his mouth. He had never bitten into anything so delicious in his life. He looked up at Menna, who was already digging into her own cinnamon roll, as were the others, and said, "Menna, this is delicious! What did you do? It seems like it has more...something than I'm used to."

  "It's probably the cinnamon," Menna replied. "I hear it's hard to get on the outskirts, but I can order it through my work and pay my boss for it out of my wage. It makes everything better."

  Honey nodded in agreement as he chewed the big bite.

  More cinnamon, Honey thought. That must be it.

  Based on the difference in taste, Honey guessed that Betty must have skimped a little on the precious substance and replaced it with more sugar to keep from running out. Her cakes were always delicious, but this was beyond words. Before he knew it, he had scarfed down the entire roll while the girls were still only halfway through theirs. Even Nana was partaking in the delicious spiral cakes.

  Chroma giggled at Honey as he cleaned the icing off of his face with his napkin. "Wow. I don't think I've ever seen you attack your food quite like that."

  He felt what must have been all of the blood in his body rush to his face. He didn't believe he had ever been so embarrassed in his life. "Oh, I--I'm sorry."

  "No, it's alright," Nana said. "We need to fatten you up anyway, ya bean-pole."

  "Nana!" Menna chided. "I'm sorry, Honey. She means no harm, and you go ahead and enjoy the rolls. That's what I made them for. They're no good to anyone if they don't get eaten." They sat and ate the cinnamon rolls until they had each had their fill. Menna took it upon herself to put Nana to bed, and Chroma helped Honey clean up in the kitchen. Honey took his time doing the dishes while Chroma wiped down the table. That's when he decided that it was time. He asked her to sit down at the table and explained his past. What little he knew about his origins, his life in Beaumont's House, the discord between himself and Anastasia. Everything.

  Chroma asked, "So...you don't mind stripping...because it's better than...?"

  Honey sighed, unsure of how to tell her that she was right and wrong at the same time. "I really do like dancing, and I'm pretty good at it. And I could go back to selling my flesh, probably make a fair wage at it too, but I'm trying to be a better person."

  She took his hands in hers and looked him in the eyes. "Honey, doing what you did doesn't make you a bad person."

  "But that doesn't stop some people from looking down on people who do that," he replied, shifting his gaze over to the door leading to the living room. "I know that they like me fine--"

  "They love you, Honey. And so do I."

  Honey smiled warmly at her. "I care about all of you too. I just know what I am. And I know that you guys are good people. I can't risk hurting them like that. They don't need to know what I am until I'm long gone. Promise me that you won't tell them."

  Chroma nodded and released his hands. "Ok fine. I won't tell them now if you promise that you will tell them later."

  Honey considered her offer for a moment and said, "Ok. That sounds fair. I will tell them when I'm ready before I go too far away to tell them and before Nana gets so old that I can't make sense of it to her."

  They shook on it and went their separate ways to prepare for bed.

  *****

  Honey returned to Sacred Mounds to be fitted for costumes and have some pictures made for advertising. He neared the steps leading up to one of the stages and heard his name called. He peered into a small room just beside the steps and caught sight of a seamstress and her a
ssistant, measuring tapes draped over their shoulders and pins poking out of dark purple poofs and their wrists.

  "Come in," the older woman said, waving him in. "The sooner we get started, then the sooner we can get you up there again, huh?"

  Honey stepped in and closed the door behind him. It was a small room, not much bigger than Anastasia's walk-in closet, but it was perfectly designed for housing costumes and props galore. There was even a well-lit make-up station against one of the walls where the girls could apply their make-up and body-glitter. Realizing he had spent several silent, awkward moments taking in the room, he held his hand out to the older woman.

  "Hi, I'm Honey."

  She took his hand but did not shake it. "Selwyn. And this is my niece Erywyn."

  Honey nodded to the two of them. Erywyn's wandering gaze and tense posture told Honey not to extend his hand to her, even though it went against his policy on addressing ladies as politely as a knight would.

  "It's nice to meet the both of you."

  He was instructed to disrobe down to his undergarments, stand on a short platform, and pose so that he could be measured for his wares. He did so, much to the embarrassment of the younger woman. He looked down, unsure if it had anything to do with his scars or if there was something else bothering her.

  "Erywyn!" The seamstress hissed. "Get over here and help me!"

  Erywyn had been very careful about making herself useful in ways that didn't involve touching or even getting very close to Honey, but based on her reaction, getting closer was much more preferable than incurring Selwyn's wrath. She reached out and carefully held the measuring tape for the seamstress, twitching every time her skin grazed Honey.

  He frowned.

  "I'm sorry. I know that they're terrible to look at, and touching them must--"

  "No, sir," she interrupted, "it's not that at all. It's just that...I've never touched a man's body before. Never someone I am not kin with. And definitely, never someone who was...unclothed."