The Blue Room Vol. 6

by Kailin Gow

  I don’t know why I said it. I guess I wanted something that sounded vaguely plausible.

  Now her smile is sweeter, less scared. “Family’s so important,” she says as we drive. “I think that’s very sweet. I’m sure your mother must miss you very much…”

  I try not to think about my mother. I try not to let the tears well up in my eyes. I don’t want this nice random woman to see how much her words have affected me.

  “I’m sick of L.A.,” I say. I don’t look at her. “I’m going home.”

  “Poor dear,” says the woman. “L.A. does that to people, I’m told. Lucky for me I never had any dreams of being an actress, anything like that. I got my accounting degree, worked for a bit, got married – and I was happy. But I knew people who weren’t. This town can chew you up and spit you out. But you have family who love you. And that’s the important thing. Even if things didn’t work out the way you expected – there’s no shame in giving up, you know.” Her chin trembles as she gives me a sweet smile.

  I’m so embarrassed. What am I even doing, I wonder, as we drive up to Blue Towers? Pretending to be a homeless person because I’m too ashamed to admit the truth. Who would even believe me if I tried? I’m walking along the highway because it turns out one of my johns is in cahoots with my former pimp to hide the fact that my former best friend and/or P.I. Trailing me isn’t really dead, and may have kidnapped my father? I’m sure if I said that she’d drive me to the nearest looney bin clinic, for sure. Still, I hate that this kind woman is taking pity on me. I don’t need anybody’s pity, I think. Not even hers.

  “Here we are….” The woman says, trying harder than she feels to be cheerful. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything else? A cup of coffee? A sandwich.”

  I flush red as I think of all the money in my purse: cash straight from Terrence’s latest envelope. At once the money sickens me.

  “No,” I say. “Please – let me give you money for gas.”

  “You don’t have to…”

  I take out one of the crisp, shiny, hundred-dollar bills Terrence has given me. Dirty money, I think. I don’t want it now. I hand it to her.

  “Keep the whole thing,” I say. “If you don’t want it, then use it to help someone else.”

  I can’t bear to look at her face. I get out of that car as quickly as possible and back into the Blue Towers.

  Then I go to my room for what I tell myself is the last time. I sit at my desk. I start to compose a resignation letter. I’m not going to steal away, I say, even from here. I’m going to resign properly, the way I would from any other job. I won’t vanish like Rita. I’ll give my notice. Like this is just a job. Like this job hasn’t affected me the way it has.

  And who knows, I think with a grim smirk? I might need a reference from Josephine Walters one day. In case I want to go into freelancing in Nevada, who knows?

  Staci Atussi is a dedicated worker. She is incredibly talented with her hands and one of the most orally able employees we have ever hired. She is dedicated to her job and treats all her johns with care and consideration.

  I could laugh at the thought.

  Staci Atussi is a highly-qualified prostitute. If you engage her services, you will not regret it. She might fall in love with you, though. That’s something she seems to do with all of her clients. But don’t worry. She gets over heartbreak quickly. She always has. That’s one of her best qualities. Not one to dwell on past hurt, is Staci.

  I close my eyes and try to get the image of myself as a prostitute out of my head. The very thought of it sickens me now.

  I start my resignation letter.

  Dear Mrs. Walters…my letter begins. It’s on Blue Towers hotel stationary. The pen is a hotel pen with a little B on it: two shades of blue. There’s no part of my lip the Blue Room hasn’t touched. Not even paper and pens.

  I regret to inform you that I am resigning my position with the Blue Room, effective immediately. While I am grateful for the time and dedication you have put into preparing me for client-interface work, I feel that ultimately I am not psychologically up to the demands of the job, and wish to seek employment in a field that involves less face-to-face interaction.

  And what will I do next?

  I’ll run.

  I’ll head back to my mother, to the secret apartment I’ve rented for her. We’ll hit the road. We’ll use my savings to get someplace in the country, just the two of us: me and my mother, under fake names, somewhere the Blues and the Tannenbaums can never touch us. After all, I’ve been on the run before. And so has she. That’s what my mother spent her whole life doing. Running away from the Tannenbaums. Running away from the people that could hurt her. Running away from everybody.

  Like mother, like daughter, I guess.

  Both people who run away from their problems.

  In biology class, in high school, I learned about fight or flight. When faced with danger, some animals run away. And some risk their lives to fight back. Well, I think. Now I know which one I am. Running away. Hiding. Living in fear, just like my mother did. And if I have a daughter, will she live in fear, too? Will she hide? Will she do what I do all my life: trying to stay safe, stay alive, at the cost of my dignity.

  While the Blues get away with everything. While they and the Tannenbaums: the people behind Rita’s disappearance, Roz’s murder, my father’s kidnapping, my mother’s burglary exist safely behind their glass houses, protected and cosseted by their privilege and their cash.

  No, I think. Tears come to my eyes once again. No, I can’t let that happen. Not for all the safety in the world. I could live to be a hundred years old, I think, and still it would not be worth it. All those years of knowing that I could have fought back against the evil empire that’s trying to control every aspect of my life. Knowing that I could have tried.

  Maybe I can’t win against them in the end. Maybe there’s nothing I can do. Maybe “that’s that”: I am powerless against them, and they’ll kill me in the end. I’ll end up dead and on the rat heap just the way Roz and Rita did.

  But I know I have to try. At the very least. I have to fight back. Or die trying.

  Probably die trying, I think grimly, trying not to dwell too long on the possibility.

  But I’ll at least be trying.

  I take the resignation letter. I tear it up and throw it in the wastepaper basket.

  “Once a Blues Girl, always a Blues Girl,” I whisper to myself.

  It’s time to take the fight to them.

  Chapter 6

  Don’t get me wrong. I know what I’m up against. I know that I’m facing losing everything. I saw what they did to Roz. A bullet through the head. That’s something they could do to me. I wonder how it will be when they kill me. My mind races with possibilities. Maybe someone will slip into my room when I’m asleep and do it with a silencer. Maybe then I won’t notice. I won’t have to feel any fear. I won’t have any idea that I’m about to die. That might be easier. But then I won’t have those final moments: moments to say goodbye to everything I ever knew or was. I won’t have a chance to say goodbye.

  Or maybe they’ll kidnap me first, like they did with my father. Drag me down to some undisclosed location and torture me first: try to get information out of me, like how did I know about the Blue Room in the first place, how well did I know my clients’ secrets? Maybe they’ll interrogate me for hours or even days. I don’t know. I wouldn’t know. Maybe they’ll do all that only to kill me in the end: dump me in some ditch somewhere.

  Is that what they’re planning to do to my father?

  I can’t even bear to think about it. The thought brings tears to my eyes.

  Maybe they’ll give me a warning first: if that’s what happened to Rita. A “warning.” Getting beaten to within an inch of your life. Getting your face smashed in so that nobody will ever recognize you again. That’s just one of so many punishments the Blue Room can dole out. One of so many ways they can hurt you.

  If there’s one thing I’ve
learned about the Blue Room, it’s that it can never run out of ways to hurt you.

  But it’s all worth it, I tell myself. Death. Torture. Beating. I can face all of these things if it means that I’m going out fighting against this corrupt institution, this set of two corrupt families, that has plagued my life since the day of my conception, and every day since. I am happy to die if it means that I can finally live with myself.

  But it’s going to be tricky. First things first, I’m going to have to convince Xander that I’m still reliable, that I didn’t see anything on his phone. I’m going to have to act like nothing has changed to get information out of him. As long as he still trusts me, still thinks I’m stupid and naïve enough to trust him, still thinks I’m not a threat, I’m safe. Xander might keep me alive long enough for his own pleasure. And I can use our interactions now: become the savage ruthless whore I’ve always been afraid of becoming. Mining him for information, not money, but the transaction is the same. I have to act like he’s not talking to Terrence behind my back. I have to act like the beautiful Blues Girl he told me once he was falling for. Whether or not that was even true I don’t know. All I know is that I have to make it true, now, for the sake of all those who have suffered under the yoke of the Blue Room: for Roz and Rita and for Staci Atussi: the girl I once was, before the scales fell from my eyes and the Blue Room destroyed my youthful naivety forever.

  I take out my cell phone and call Xander.

  It rings three times, then I hear his worried voice. “Staci?” he says. “Staci – what the hell happened to you?”

  “I’m so sorry…” I say, adopting my sweetest voice. “Xander, I had an emergency at the Blue Room. I had to run off and I didn’t want to wake you. You looked so handsome, lying there, sleeping, I felt like it would be wrong to disturb you.”

  “Emergency?” Mr. X. notches higher. “What kind of emergency? Are you okay, Staci? What’s going on?”

  “I’m okay,” I tell him. “Everything’s fine. False alarm. That’s all.”

  “I’m worried about you, Staci.”

  Worried about me? I wonder. Or worried I might have found out something about him?

  “You don’t have to be,” I say. “The only thing you should worry about is that we didn’t get another few hours of time together. My body misses yours already. There’s a hole in me without you, Xander.”

  I try not to let tears spring to my eyes as I remember how those words had once been true, were still true, in some deep part of myself that ran beneath common sense.

  “Then I’ll come see you again,” he says. “I’ll ring Mrs. Walters for an appointment right now. We’ll do lunch today. I’ll take time off from my meeting. I don’t want to let anything happen to you, Staci. I’m always so worried about you. I need to keep you safe. Look, I know I have to put on this Mr. X. act for my investigation – but I’m a man, too, Staci. I miss you. Let me come see you. Even if it’s not as a patron.”

  “Won’t that blow your cover?” I ask as sweetly as I can. “If you’re here without making an appointment, I mean?”

  “Not if I change the rules at the Blue Room,” he says.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Some things have changed around here, Staci. I meant to tell you this morning but you went away. We’ll talk over lunch. There’s a lot of changes happening in the Blue Room, and they benefit – or hurt – me depending on how you look at it. Let’s just say I’ll have a lot more power at the Blue Room than ever before.”

  My spine tingles. Is that a threat?

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m Chairman of the Board now, Staci.”

  My mouth drops open. Chairman of the board? That means that Xander has an insane amount of power.

  What’s going on?

  “Oh my gosh…”

  “We’ll talk more about it at lunch, okay? Just wait for me in your room. Get dressed up to go somewhere nice. I’ll meet you at your room and then we can go out, okay? I miss you Staci. I hunger for you. I dreamed about making you come all last night.”

  “I’ll see you soon.” I say. I’m harsher than I feel like being, but I can’t help it. I have to force myself not to melt. Even now, knowing what I know, Xander has the power to sweep me away. When I’m with him – even last night – I don’t feel like a Blues Girl at all. I felt like a woman he truly cherishes, truly wants. How can that be a lie? How can all this be a lie?

  I decide to get ready, showering off the sweat and dirty of the night before and changing into a flirty fuschia off the shoulder dress that shows off my long, tanned, and toned legs: courtesy of the Blue Towers gym and Mrs. Walter’s grueling exercise regimen. A simple but elegant dress, I think, pretty and sophisticated enough for any date location Xander might choose. I have to convince him that I’m the perfect Blues Girl, after all. The perfect companion in all circumstances. Someone without a clue that Xander might not be trustworthy after all.

  It feels good to shower, I think. To get all the grime off my chest. To look good again. I feel a little better, looking at myself in the mirror. I look like someone with power, I think. Like someone Mr. X. could respect.

  It’s almost like another date, I think. Almost like a normal date.

  Maybe I’m lucky, I think. Even if Xander’s keeping secrets from me….he seems to care about me enough to want to keep me alive.

  Do I regret meeting Xander? Do I regret falling for him? I don’ know. Even now, I can’t forget his touch, his smile, his kiss. I can’t regret meeting Xander. Not even if I want to.

  But of course, I think, I’ll have to get used to other patrons soon enough. That’s part of the game, isn’t it? Getting used to other patrons. Will they all be like Xander? Or will they be even less trustworthy?

  I am putting the finishing touches on my makeup when I hear a knock at the door.

  “Hello?”

  I wonder if it’s Mr. X. but he’s early. I look through the peephole in my door. To my surprise it’s Julie: one of the other Blues Girls. I remember her from one of my first days here, when she was sitting with Brandi and Scarlett, making catty comments. How innocent I was then, I think.

  I open the door slowly, cautiously.

  “Hello?” I say carefully. “What are you doing here, Julie?”

  Julie looks around to make sure nobody is watching her, then pushes her way into the door and into my room. “Just wanted to see how you were doing,” she says, crossing her arms. “I hear you’re getting on nicely with Mr. X. Just wanted to confirm the rumor. S’all.”

  I shake my head. “I’m just doing my job,” I say nervously. I’m not sure what Julie has up her sleeve.

  “Well, from what I hear, you’re doing quite the job. Or jobs. Something he can’t resist.” Julie leans in. “Rumor has it you’ve been made exclusive to Mr. X. Now, that’s pretty special, isn’t it? You must know that. Never in the history of the Blue Room has a Blue client asked for an exclusive. Doing pretty well, isn’t that right, girly?”

  I blink in surprise. “Even if that is true,” I say, “nobody told me.”

  “Sure, sure.” Julie clearly doesn’t believe me. “So, share, girly. Share your tips and tricks. You’ve gotta tell me what you did to make him want you so bad. Sex stuff? Or did you fake a pregnancy. I hear guys love that shit.”

  “I didn’t do anything special.” I try to figure out a way to get Julie out of here without physically assaulting her.

  “You must have,” Julie says darkly. “I don’t get it. I just don’t get it. You’re nothing special, yet you’re getting the top guys. Meanwhile, Brandi, Scarlett, and I are all getting tossed around to patron after patron, each one with more bark than bite. Now, Mr. X. was on my list. Been trying to get on his rotation for ages. He’s mysterious. Elusive. And worth a lot.”

  “Worth a lot?” I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

  “Blues patrons like to shower their girls. Don’t play naïve with me. You’re just like us, Staci. Just like one of us. Jewel
s, trips, Louboutins, student loans paid off, apartments in NYC, the whole package. And you’re not sharing the wealth.”

  I’m disgusted at the thought, but try not to show it. “So you’re saying Mr. X. is generous with his wealth?”

  “Good. You’re catching on.” Julie’s voice drips with contempt. “Listen, girly, I have to say to you.”

  She forces her way into my living room suite area.

  “Is he here?” Julie asks me. “Mrs. Walters says he’s booked you nonstop. Solid. Is he here with you? I’ve never so much as seen him before, and I’ll be damned if I never get a chance to see him. Listen. Make it fair, sweetheart. Offer him a threesome. You and me, we can do something fun. You might even enjoy it. Both of us servicing him together. Or servicing each other, if that’s your thing. Let me in on the action.”

  “JULIE!” I’m scandalized. I’ve never been hit on by a woman before, and definitely not by someone just interested in cold hard cash.

  And Xander will be here any minute.

  She knows me awfully well, I think. She’s sitting down on my living room sofa like she owns the place. Unless…

  “Have you been in here before, Julie?”

  “What?”

  Her face flushes red at first, then goes expressionless.

  “Why would you think that,” she says.

  “Just a hunch,” I say. “Seems like a lot of people are getting in without a key these days.”

  “Trick of the trade,” says Julie, crossing her arms. “It’s easy. When the maid cleans your room, anyone can put a tab on the door or sneak in and hide. Then the maid leaves. Easy. That’s a tip for free. You want more protection, more help, maybe you should pay for it. With Mr. X’s time.”

  “You’ve never done it in this particular room? Sneaked in?”

  “Not here,” says Julie. “I just know a thing or two about this place.”

  “You never did it?”

  “Just once,” Julie says. “When I was new and lost my key to the room the patron had reserved for us. Wasn’t my room. Belonged to this girl Roz. You didn’t know her I bet. She’s dead now. Like all good girls.”