The King and the Courtesan (47 page)

“Ezekiel!” I blurted, holding one hand to my chest. “You—you scared me.”

Ezekiel barely acknowledged me. He turned his back to me as he began pulling off his jacket. When I rushed to help him, his hand clasped down hard around my wrist. He jerked me forward.

“Ow!” I yelped.

“You’re shaking,” he said in a low, even voice. He turned to me, eyes icy. “You’re high.”

“I-I’m sorry,” I whispered, my terror amplified by the dust rushing through my veins. His eyes seemed to glow, and an image flashed in my mind of a huge, dark maw, ready to swallow me down. “I was so—I didn’t want you to see me before. It was far worse than this.” I swallowed. “Withdrawal.”

“Why aren’t you getting what you need?” he asked. “Haven’t I provided you with enough?”

“Yes, but—”

“You can have all you like.”

“Yes, but I was hoping to cut back,” I said.

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

I took a deep breath. “I don’t want to be like this anymore.”

“You should have thought of that before you started using dust,” Ezekiel said. His voice had a rough edge, like a growl. I didn’t know if he was angry, or if I was projecting. My brain felt sluggish, yet my blood raced and pounded in my ears. Normally, I didn’t feel this high from a dose so small. I guess my tolerance had lowered. “It’s too late now.”

“I can stop.”

“Some can.” He let go of my wrist with a jerk, causing me to stumble backwards. “Not you, though.”

“Why not?” I rubbed my wrist as I supported myself on the edge of the bed.

“You have no reason to stop. I’ve given you everything you’ve ever wanted. Money is no issue. What could possibly be gained from stopping?”

“I don’t want to be a slave to dust anymore.”

“So you think you’d be free without it?”

“No.” Tears rose in my eyes, but I managed to hold them back. “But it would be one less prison cell to sit in.”

I didn’t see the slap coming. I didn’t even feel it. I just felt my face move to the side, heat already fading from the cheek Ezekiel’s hand struck. It certainly shocked me enough to stop my crying.

“You think this is a prison, Melissa?”

“No—”

“I dress you, feed you, house you, give you
everything
, and you tell me I’m imprisoning you?”

“No! I-I’m thankful for all of that—”

He jabbed a finger at me. “Don’t be foolish. What you had before me was nothing. Squalor, poverty, and perverted strangers paying you to be their sperm depository.” He took a handful of my hair, but his hold wasn’t tight, nor was it forceful. “You weren’t any more free then than you are now.”

I shook my head, afraid to say anything, in fear he’d hit me again.

“Tell me why I hit you, Melissa.”

“Because I insulted you.”

“No. You
disobeyed
me. I gave you several rules before I took you on. One of them was
never
to be high while in my presence.
That
is why I hit you.”

“I had to. I was falling apart.”

“That is not my fault.” He pushed me back as he let me go, looking disgusted. “I am leaving tomorrow. When I return, I will expect you to be both sober and grateful. Do you understand? Can you understand when you’re like this?”

“Yes. Yes, I can.” The tears were threatening again.

“Good. Now grab yourself something to wear and get out of here. Find somewhere else to sleep tonight. You are disgusting when you’re like this.”

I practically flung myself at his feet and begged for forgiveness. However, Ezekiel did not take kindly to begging, pleading, or any form of hysterical behavior. It would be best to apologize in a simple, civil manner before he left the next day, when I was sober and capable.

I scrambled to a stand and went looking for my nightgown. I spent the rest of the night on the living room couch, pitching and rolling, still high and tired, but unable to fall asleep.

When I did, my dreams were not kind.

* * *

I woke early, even by Ezekiel’s standards. I crept back into his room, put on my makeup, brushed my hair, slipped into more acceptable lingerie, and approached his bed. I couldn’t believe my behavior, but I needed Ezekiel’s approval all the same. He terrified me, and I hated him. Yet, I craved his approval and acceptance with the same ferocity. I would never get it, but it felt good to try. His simple nod was all I needed to feel better for the rest of the day.

I was seated beside him when he woke, attempting to mimic his emotionless expression as best I could. I arranged myself into a position that was both sensual and professional—legs placed together and to the side, hands resting on my thighs. Ezekiel raised his head and looked me over, face blank. He was waiting for me to speak.

“I came to apologize for last night,” I said softly. “I didn’t mean to disrespect you or insinuate this is a prison. You’ve treated me with far too much generosity—generosity I do not deserve. I have been ungrateful, and I want to make it known that I’m much happier here than I was at home.”

Even though a part of me knew I was lying, a bigger part of me needed to believe it was true.

“I was very disappointed in you,” Ezekiel said, sitting up. “It is not like you to act so irresponsibly.”

“I know. It won’t happen again.”

There was a small silence. Ezekiel turned away. “You understand why I hit you?”

“Yes.”

“And you accept my motive?”

“Yes. It was my fault.”

Old Melissa hissed in anger at these words. New Melissa believed them.

Ezekiel looked at me. His face softened incrementally, and the fist clenching my heart went slack. A sick sort of happiness crawled up my throat, the kind a dog might feel upon receiving a treat from its master.

His hand reached up, and with one knuckle, he stroked my cheek. He leaned in slightly, but the distance between us remained. I suddenly understood what I was to do. I tilted forward and kissed him. I made the move.
I
kissed
him
. He was expecting it; he practically demanded it from me. I never made the moves. I never kissed men unless they forced me to. I had that pride, that part of me that fought and believed herself worth more than the approval of a stranger.

I kissed Ezekiel, and I enjoyed it. I still felt sick and depressed and filled with fear, but I enjoyed it. It was the sort of relief one received after learning she didn’t fail a test, not the enjoyment she received when she aced it.

I’d never aced a test in my life.

This type of joy was all that I knew.

* * *

It became about more than the desire to live. It became about Ezekiel. I wanted to please him, and pregnancy did not please him. So while I knew preserving my life was of the utmost priority, that wasn’t
all
it was. The logical part of my brain knew I was sick, that Ezekiel’s approval wasn’t anywhere near as important as self-preservation, but the emotional part of me couldn’t pull itself out of the mud. Was I like Mimi now? Was this why Mimi had kept going back to Joel? Did she want to make him happy despite how miserable Joel made her? Yet Mimi could have left if she wanted to. I couldn’t leave. It was either please Ezekiel or…well, what? What would he do if I told him I wanted out?

I didn’t dare contemplate it.

Ezekiel left, destined for the airport. I assumed he was going to be gone a week, but I didn’t ask, nor did he tell. It wasn’t important to him that I know. After all, what other purpose did I have, other than being here when he returned? It wasn’t like I was expected to have plans outside of him.

I found Victor and asked if I could stay over at Mimi’s that night. Victor nodded. In half hour, he waited down at the street for me, the black sedan’s back door open.

When I knocked on Mimi’s door, I heard laughing inside. Something inside my stomach tightened. I knocked again.

The laughter paused, and Mimi opened the door. She looked pretty good, wearing a clingy floral dress that complimented her thin frame. Mimi and I looked a lot alike, and no one had ever told us that one was prettier than the other. I think we were on the plain side of pretty, just in slightly different ways. Mimi’s nose was smaller, but my cheekbones were higher. Her lips were fuller, but I had what my mother called “adorable little ears.” I had big hazel eyes, while my sister had nicely shaped eyebrows. We used to joke that if Mimi took all my good features and she gave me all her bad, she’d be beautiful, and I’d be hideous.

“Hi,” I greeted with a small smile.

“Hey.” She looked me over. “You okay?”

“You always ask that.” I brushed past her into the living room. “I’m fine.”

One of Mimi’s close friends was seated on the couch, which explained the laughter. I hadn’t seen Opal in forever. Opal refused to visit when Joel was around. She said he was poison. I was happy to see them together. Mimi was happier with her quirky friend Opal around.

“Melissa.” Opal raised her glass of wine, saluting me. She was always dressed in leggings and baggy sweaters, with lots of dark makeup and a tilted beret that never fell off but always looked like it was about to. A fuzzy, lopsided scarf wrapped around her neck. Opal knitted, but no one ever said she was good at it.

“Hey.”

“And who are you?” Opal turned to Victor.

“Friend,” Victor muttered.

“Uh-huh.” Opal lifted a carefully plucked eyebrow, looking over Victor and me. “You guys just get back from a dinner or something?”

“Something like that,” I lied.

Mimi blinked, bit her lip, then rushed to the center of the room. “Drinks! Can I get you two drinks maybe?”

“Got any scotch?” Victor asked.

“Um, just beer and cheap wine.”

Victor sighed and sat down in a squished armchair. “Wine is fine then.”

“Same for me.”

Mimi vanished as Opal continued to eye Victor suspiciously. Her eyes slowly left him before moving to me.

“So, Melissa. What’s been going on with you? I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“I have a good new job,” I said. “Working in Ralston.”

There was a long silence, punctured only by the ticking of the clock. Opal gave me a knowing look. She knew I wasn’t doing honest work, but she couldn’t deny that I had a classy wardrobe.

“Huh. Neat.” She took a sip from her wine and then tossed a glare at Victor, who just looked blankly back. She didn’t faze him, which wasn’t exactly a surprise. I wondered if Victor was married. I’d found some really tough types that weren’t intimidated by anything outside of their wives. It was just as impossible to imagine him with a submissive housewife as it was to imagine him married to a woman who ruled with an iron fist.

“You glad now that Mimi got rid of Joel?” I didn’t like the tension in the room.

Opal laughed. “Oh,
definitely
. Can’t believe he shot at you at the hospital. Holy shit! What a fucking dumb-ass.”

“Yeah.” I sighed, glad to have a topic to discuss outside of my own private life.

* * *

I snuck out again.

Once more, I wore Mimi’s clothes and left my purse at home, just to make sure I wasn’t bugged. It was slightly earlier this time—everyone had fallen asleep from copious amounts of wine. I took her phone, because I didn’t want to take the chance that my phone could be tracked. In my head, I made a rather dark joke about a future career evading the government. If I could avoid Ezekiel, I could avoid anyone.

Kayle wasn’t where people said he usually was. Knowing his reputation, I decided he could only be one other place—Whore Avenue.

That wasn’t the official name, of course, but everyone in Metro knew it as that. It was alive all night, mostly full of drunken men and women in Lycra mini-dresses, laughing and stumbling toward their cars or apartments. This wasn’t the strip I had worked on. This all belonged to the pimps. You couldn’t work independently on this street, at least not without some pimp or whore coming up to you and cursing you out. I avoided this place at all costs. The barbershop had at least tried to retain some sense of dignity. These pimps dressed their girls in expensive designer leather, PVC, and lace, and often gave them both booze and narcotics to keep them feeling frisky. I did drugs, but never while I was on the job. That was just dangerous.

Blade liked this place for obvious reasons. Since that episode with Cordelia, I was sure he was either working as a pimp or partnered with one, dipping his hand into another money bucket.

I didn’t bother approaching a man—they believed any woman on this strip was for sale, whether she was dressed in baggy jeans or corsets. Instead, I talked to a small woman shivering on a corner, wrapped in a big fur coat.

“Do you know of a Kayle?” I asked her.

“Who the fuck wouldn’t?” she snapped, giving me a dirty look. Another trademark of Whore Avenue—women were the enemy of every whore. They were competition. If one girl didn’t make her quota, she was beaten. If one topped the quota, she was rewarded. Inevitably, the girls constantly sabotaged each other. Thank God I hadn’t worked on this strip. Who knows how long I would have lasted.

“Do you know where he is?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Look around. He’ll be the one with the most leeches on his arm.”

Leeches
—the Metro word for whores. You didn’t even have to be a Metro native to know that. I sighed and moved along.

I ducked into all the bars I could along with one club, but no one had seen Kayle. I couldn’t even look for him myself, because I didn’t know what he looked like. I just knew he had a reputation as being very much like Blade, except a tad less repulsive. Which wasn’t saying much.

After walking up and down several streets, I heard a familiar voice. It was a darker, quieter street this time, so there were no problems hearing—it was Blade. He was bearing down on some skinny thing, holding her against a car and screaming at her.

I almost wanted to run. I wasn’t here to get mixed up with Blade. Although I clutched his money in my pocket, I still needed it to pay Kayle. I knew that would be the first thing Blade asked for. The whole plan had been to find Kayle as quickly as possible, give him the money, and hope he didn’t require me to make an appointment at a later date. I wanted this whole thing to be over with.