The King and the Courtesan (43 page)

He never even bruised me. Ezekiel never lost himself in fits of passion. He had himself trained like a robot.

Afterward, most men usually slept. But I couldn’t recall a time Ezekiel fell asleep before me. He knew how to exhaust me, and he knew how to keep some energy on reserve.

“Have you ever been unable to do it?” he asked as I gathered the sheets back around my naked frame.

“You mean turn a trick?” One good thing about post-sex Ezekiel was that he was slightly easier to talk to. He wasn’t so tense.

Ezekiel nodded.

“Yes.” I sat up, holding the sheets to my chest. “Sometimes if a man looked dangerous. The girls always say not to go with a man who gives off bad vibes, because instinct is almost always right. And there were a few times…they was just so disgusting I couldn’t…”

Ezekiel pursed his lips in annoyance. “Entirely understandable.” He looked down at me and ran a hand along my shoulder, so softly you could almost mistake it as loving. “It pains me to think of all the scum you were forced to consummate with.”

“Sometimes they were okay. Some were just lonely. A few were virgins whose friends hired me to get them laid. Those were probably the saddest cases of all.”

“You must have lost your virginity early.”

“I was thirteen,” I whispered.

There was a long silence as Ezekiel surveyed me. Then he reached over to the glass of wine he’d ignored since grabbing me. He took a sip, and I laid my head in the down pillows.

“Have you ever had a boyfriend?” he asked.

“A
boyfriend
?” I don’t know why, but the word sounded so juvenile and foreign to me, like a word no one over the age of fifteen used. I had to remind myself that full-grown women had boyfriends, too. Boyfriends and fiancés and husbands—men who didn’t have to pay for their attention.

Ezekiel nodded.

“Well, I suppose I had a boyfriend when I was about fifteen. But I don’t think he thought I was his girlfriend. We just messed around a few times. Oh, and there was…well,
Blade
I guess…”

Ezekiel’s lip curled. “Yes, that was a particularly disgusting lapse in judgment on your part.”

I curled my arms around my legs and stared ahead. “He was a boyfriend of convenience. It was cheaper to sleep with him to get my dust than to pay for it myself.”

There was another long silence. Then Ezekiel asked, “Do you consider me a boyfriend?”

I turned around and stared, rendered unable to reply.
Boyfriend
? Ezekiel? If my life were adapted to some movie for children—who knows how
that
would happen—
boyfriend
was what I would use to describe Ezekiel. But in realistic terms, he was farther from boyfriend than my usual clients were, despite how we lived together monogamously.

“I haven’t thought about it,” I murmured.

Ezekiel snorted lightly. “Girlfriend. Such a childish term. I certainly wouldn’t consider our relationship much like that. I can’t even imagine. Star-crossed lovers writing poetry and acting like lunatics.”

“I think it’s called love.”

Ezekiel actually smiled at that, and it might have even been considered nice. “Yes, I suppose that is what it’s called.” Then he sobered. “I like to think we’re business partners, Melissa.”

I nodded.

Ezekiel finished off the rest of the wine and set the glass down on the nightstand. “It’s late. You should sleep.”

He clapped, and the lights went out. I rolled away to face the opposite wall, but I had trouble getting to sleep. Usually, I slept alone in this big bed, and that was hard enough. It was even worse with him there, breathing so softly I could barely hear him. I couldn’t help but lament over the fact that, despite having more men between my legs by twenty than most women had in their lifetimes, I hadn’t had a single boyfriend. Pathetic, really. Not only did I simply attract lowlifes, but I was not a romantic by any definition of the word. If a man flirted, my first thought was what I planned on charging him.

Could I ever appreciate a man as a man and not as a client? I tried recalling men I had flirted with for fun, and I couldn’t think of any. But there were a few men I did like without ulterior motives. Roger, for one. I’m sure he hated me now. Ace was another. He was cute and painfully helpful. However, going to bed with him would only destroy my affection for him, not make it stronger.

* * *

Ezekiel left for a weeklong trip, and I was screwed. Upon realizing just how screwed I was, I burst into tears in the middle of the bathroom. Considering how rarely I cried, this was not some trivial matter.

I got the first inkling that something was wrong two days after Ezekiel left. Trying not to panic, I asked Victor to drive me to the store. I had him stand outside while I begged ten bucks from some guy who looked interested in me. I told him I lost my wallet but really needed money for a cab to get home.

“Ten bucks?” he asked, looking me over. I was not a bum—that was clear. He probably didn’t know these shoes cost four hundred, or that my dress cost five thousand, but even the most oblivious man knew money when he saw it. “That’s enough for a cab?”

“It’s not very far,” I said. “But I can’t walk, not in these heels.” I pointed down to my six-inchers.

The excuse was flimsy, but he ended up giving me the ten bucks. Judging by his suit, he wasn’t doing too badly, either. This
was
Ralston, where almost everyone was a doctor or lawyer or someone that worked for one. Of course, I didn’t need money. I had my credit card with me. The problem with credit cards was that every charge was saved and recorded, and there were certain things I needed to buy that Ezekiel could
not
find out about. This was why Ezekiel gave me the credit card in the first place, and no cash—he wanted to keep track of me. I’d done a sweep of my clothing, my shoes, my purse, even my hair, but I didn’t find anything capable of recording me. If Ezekiel was sneaky enough to get a device somewhere I couldn’t find it, then he’d know I asked a stranger for ten bucks. Was that too incriminating? No detail was too small for Ezekiel. I worried about it all the way home, wondering if Ezekiel would be waiting for me with questions.

Luckily, the penthouse was empty when I arrived. After using my package, I collapsed on the floor, weeping. I couldn’t stop. I almost reached for the dust tucked in my dresser, but then it suddenly hit me—I couldn’t use it. That sent me into even deeper hysterics, and by the time Victor found me, I was curled up on the bed, sobbing into the sheets.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “Should I call Ezekiel?”

“No!” I sat up quickly and tried to push my hair back. My attempts to make myself presentable were most likely laughable. “No, I’m fine. I’m just fine.” I sent him a small simper. It hurt my cheeks.

“Okay…” Victor left. He probably assumed it was some hysterical fit brought on by dust.
I wish
. I went back to crying in a pillow, attempting to hold myself together but failing even more miserably for having tried it. It wasn’t the first time I had wanted my old life back, but it was the first time I was serious about wishing for it. I wanted to be back in that piece of shit apartment with Mimi, working long nights that sucked ass, my other girls working them with me. There was no one to answer to, no one to make me so afraid I had to beg ten bucks from some old suit in a store.

I was so fucking screwed.

* * *

“I think this is the address,” I said.

Victor pulled over and did a flawless job of parallel parking. He agreed to wait in the car as I headed for the humble condo located in Northwest Zinya, a relatively nice, quiet neighborhood I’d visited maybe once before in my life. It wasn’t exactly a “happening” part of the city, mostly residential with a theater or foreign food market here or there, just to mix it up a little. But it looked like heaven to me. I couldn’t imagine anything bad happening here.

The condo in question was two floors with a strip of grass to call its front yard, connected to a chain of eight other condos that looked just like it. I walked up the three steps to its front door and knocked. Down at my feet, I found a “Welcome to Our Happy Home” mat.

The door clicked, then opened. I didn’t even wait for her to greet me. I jumped up and grabbed Yogi in a tight hug.

“Hello to you, too!” she said, hugging me back once she got over the shock of my tackle. She pushed me back, then guided me into the foyer. The condo was basic on the outside, but inside it was decorated well. Nothing fancy, but it had hardwood floors, homey pictures in matching frames, and even a coat rack. I’d never had a coat rack in my life. For some reason this impressed me. Maybe it was my current mental state.

Yogi looked wonderful. For one, she wasn’t wearing a wig. I knew it was her hair, because it was black, and Yogi never wore black wigs. It was short, almost as short as a boy’s, but it was carefully manicured, just like her fancy nails. She wore actual pearls, a lilac blouse that looked like real silk, a classy pencil skirt, and cute, matching flats. She flashed me a warm smile, one that made my throat close up. She looked so put together and happy. I had to hug her again.

“What is all this?” she asked, pushing me back gently. “Are you all right?”

I nodded glumly. “Where is Kenny?”

“He and Gabrielle are in the kitchen, eating. Would you like to say hi?”

“Gabrielle?”

“Thomas’s daughter.”

Right. This wasn’t Yogi’s house. This was Thomas’s house. Yogi was his paid wife-figure.

“Sure. I wanna say hi.”

Kenny and Gabrielle were at the kitchen table, which was covered in a flowery tablecloth and set for two. Kenny looked happy, as did Gabrielle. She had the signature facial features of Down syndrome, but she was dressed as well as her father’s pseudo-wife. Yogi did not take her responsibilities lightly, and when she agreed to be a mother, she fucking
meant it
.

“Melissa!” Kenny exclaimed, standing up. I smiled and gave him a strong hug. I went through some introductions with Gabrielle, who also hugged me. Gabrielle was younger than Kenny’s eighteen, but it was clear they were friends. It seemed Yogi’s arrangement had worked out better than anyone could have imagined.

Yogi fed me some of the lasagna she’d made, then took me upstairs so I could give her my opinion on several outfits she’d bought.

“All of Thomas’s lady friends are nice enough,” she said. “But they have absolutely no eye for fashion.”

Under normal circumstances, I would have laughed. But I just smiled at her and followed her up the stairs. Once in her room, Yogi unbuttoned her blouse and slipped it off. I couldn’t help but stare.

“Yogi, what…?”

Yogi turned around, smiling. She was wearing a nude-colored bra, like always, but this time, it was actually holding something in it. They were small, but they were bona-fide breasts.

“They’re real! Touch them!”

“Um, I’ll pass. I believe you.”

Yogi strode over to her walk-in closet. She vanished for a few moments, then emerged with another blouse, this one slinky and pink. “Thomas pays for hormones.”

“That’s—that’s great, Yogi.”

Yogi sighed heavily and leaned against the wall, her hands moving up around her breasts. “You can’t imagine how long I wanted some of my own.”

“Meh, they aren’t
that
great.” When Yogi looked at me, I rushed to correct myself. “I mean breasts in general. Yours—yours look great. I’m not used to you having…actual stuff there.” I cleared my throat. “Hormones then?”

“Yes. They took a while to kick in, but finally, I’m seeing the effects. I’ve gotten electrolysis, too, so I haven’t had to shave. It’s wonderful. Thomas and I have begun discussing surgery.” She sighed heavily.

“Something wrong?”

“Well…surgery is a tad of a problem, considering Thomas likes me best as I am.”

“Oh. Right.” Yogi catered to a certain fetish as a woman with male genitalia. Removing that genitalia would remove that allure, and she’d be just another woman. Albeit one with a bit more knowledge of male anatomy than the average female.

“Thomas insists he loves me for me. But he may just be saying that, and I don’t want him…losing interest. This is the best deal I’ve had in my whole life, and I can’t lose it. Kenny needs this. Gabrielle has really taken to me, too. And perhaps more forward-thinking women would scold me for this, but I really do enjoy being a housewife. I like cooking, cleaning, taking care of Kenny and Gabrielle. Even Thomas is kind of growing on me.”

“Really?”

“He’s not a very interesting man, nor is he very attractive or smart, but he’s sweet, and I have to appreciate that.” Yogi slipped on the top, then stretched it down over her thin hips. She looked down at the floor. “I guess you’re wondering what happened to Cordelia.”

“I asked her to stay here with you.”

Yogi shook her head, playing with the pearls on her necklace. “She didn’t last very long.”

“I figured.”

“She was fine for a week or so. She even helped a bit around the house. But I took Kenny and Gabrielle out for a picnic, and when I came back, she’d invited these people over, two men and a woman. And she was high. Very high. Her friends were, too. I’m not sure
what
they were high on, but they were drinking the wine Thomas’s
grandfather
gave him. I was not pleased.”

“You kicked her out.”

“I had no other option, Melissa. If this were my house…
maybe
I’d have tried to sort her out. But you see, Thomas, Kenny, and Gabrielle can’t be subjected to that. The neighbors were starting to worry, and I did
not
want the police showing up. I told Cordelia she could only stay if she agreed to clean her act up. She hung around for another few days, but then she vanished. About a week ago, she showed up, asking for money. She looked awful, bruised and drunk with her breasts literally falling out of her shirt. She was a total wreck. I told her I wasn’t going to give her any money, so she started screaming at me for a few minutes before she realized I was serious. She got back in her car with a man, and they drove off. I haven’t heard from her since.”

I shook my head. I wanted to worry about Cordelia. We’d been good friends for so long, and while she’d always had problems, they’d never been more than I could handle.