The Sudden Star (21 page)

"She says she has to speak to you, sir."

"I don't know her. Throw her out, or arrest her, or whatever it is you do." He waved his fat fingers lazily, as if brushing her away.

"Wait," Aisha said. Her voice seemed shrill. "I'm with Simon Negron. I'm a friend of his. He sent me to see you."

The round little man did not react. Rabe took a step toward her. "Just a moment," Echeverria said, motioning the big man back. He leaned forward slightly in his chair. "Is Simon here in Bal Harbour?"

"He's here in Miami Beach," she answered.

Echeverria rose to his feet. "I'll talk to you, but not here." He gestured to her and she followed, Rabe trailing along behind her. He led her into another room, told Rabe to watch the door, then closed it.

They were alone in a large bedroom. Echeverria seated himself in a red velvet chair near the window. Aisha hesitated, then sat down across from him, folding her hands in her lap. His face was so shadowed she could barely see it; the only light on in the room was a small lamp near the large bed.

"Why didn't Simon come to see me himself?"

"He tried to. He came here this morning, but he couldn't get in."

"He could have sent word to me, given his name."

"He did," she replied. "They still wouldn't let him in."

"I see," he said, rubbing his chin. "He's not too well off, is he? He needs favors. I sometimes thought he might come here needing advice, but I think he needs more than that."

He's going to turn us away, she thought. She'd have to be honest with him, he could easily find out if she was lying by talking to Rabe. "He was in prison in New York," she said quickly. "He managed to escape and we made our way down here. We have tourist permits, but we have to leave here at the end of the month." She thought of telling him about Rabe, but decided against it. "He told me you'd help us, that you were his friend."

"You put me in a difficult position. I didn't get where I am by giving things away. If he stays, he needs a resident permit, and probably a work permit, and that's very costly, very costly. You see my point. I haven't seen Simon in years, and much as I might like to aid someone who is at least partly responsible for getting me where I am, I don't see that I can do much."

"But he'll pay you back," she said. "He did well in New York. He can do well here, I'm sure of it."

"He couldn't have done well if he was in prison."

"It was only for practicing medicine illegally, he wouldn't even have been caught if—"

"Medicine?" Echeverria sat up. "You mean he finished medical school?"

"He was a doctor."

"I never thought he'd get through. He was still in school when I left. I was sure he'd never get the money to finish. He must have been cleverer than I expected." He paused. "Still, setting up a practice here is very expensive."

"He's a good doctor," she insisted, not really knowing if he was. "He can make a lot here. If you invest in him, you'll make a profit. He doesn't want charity, just a start. You won't regret it. You'll pay him back for helping you, and make some money besides."

He twisted a bit in his chair, looking uncomfortable. "I owe him, I guess. They say if you don't help friends when they need it, the star strikes you down, but I don't believe it." He looked as though he did believe it. "And it wouldn't hurt to have another doctor to consult." He mumbled that comment mostly to himself. He seemed healthy enough to Aisha, but she said nothing. "Is Simon still good-looking?" he asked, as if worried about it.

"I guess so," she said.

"He always was. He was always smarter than me, too. Well, maybe he wasn't, after all. I looked up to him, I always thought something would rub off on me." Echeverria chuckled suddenly. "I guess it did."

Aisha found herself thinking of Ildico, always smarter, always better-looking. She recalled the daydreams she used to have; Ildico would become successful and rich. They would live together and have everything they wanted. Sometimes the daydream would be different, it would be Aisha with the money and success, and Ildico would be with her because she wanted to share it with her friend, and Ildy would see she was smart after all, and maybe a little sorry she hadn't given Aisha more credit, and would remember how far they had come. She'd owe everything to Aisha, she'd have to be grateful.

Aisha smiled, forcing her attention back to the man in the red velvet chair. She was sure now he'd help Simon. He'd never let Simon forget it. "I want to see Simon tomorrow," Echeverria was saying. "I'm not promising anything. I'll have to talk to him."

"When?"

"In the morning. I'll leave instructions with the doorman." He peered at her. "I don't think I have to ask you what your profession is."

The comment irritated her. "I'm Simon's assistant now," she said haughtily, as if it were a fact. "I'm not ignorant. I know how to read."

"Really." He raised an eyebrow. "Don't get defensive with me. I'm not interested at the moment." He got up. "I have to get back to my party."

She followed him into the other room. He motioned to Rabe. "Take her home."

"Should I come back, sir?"

"No, I think this party'll be over early." Echeverria turned and ambled back to his chair, looking tired and bored.

They left the room. Aisha rummaged through the weapons on a table in the hall, finally locating her knife and belt. She buckled it on; Rabe took her arm. She turned toward the elevator. Rabe held her back. He signaled to a man in the doorway next to Echeverria's suite.

The man opened the door. Rabe pushed her toward it. "Go on in, Miss Aisha." She entered the room. He slammed the door behind him.

"Echeverria said to take me home," she said evenly.

"And I certainly intend to," Rabe said as he began to unbutton his shirt. "But I think you owe me somethin' for helpin' to initiate your dialogue with Mr. Echeverria." He unbuckled his belt. She gritted her teeth and turned away, not wanting him to see how much she hated him, pushing her mind outside her body, as she always did, so it couldn't be touched. She choked down despair, undid her dress, and forced herself to smile.

Aisha looked out her window. The rain had stopped; the sun was out, drying the streets. Two chestnut horses clip-clopped by, pulling a cart with two young couples. A bus sputtered past the cart, stalled, then started again. A rickshaw puller sat on the curb, eating lunch.

She picked up her purse and left the room, locking her door. She stood in the hallway for a moment. The door to Simon's apartment was across from hers. For a moment, she thought of knocking on it, just to see if he needed her any more today. She went to it, lifted her hand, then stopped. She heard his voice inside; she couldn't hear what he was saying. He probably wouldn't need her. He would finish with his morning appointments, and then see Titus, and then circulate around the Americana, making contacts.

She hurried down the stairs and out the door. She looked at the rickshaw puller, then decided against that; walking was cheaper. She passed a group of tourists, wishing she had somewhere to go.

Nothing was the way it should be. She was discontented. Perhaps she had too much time to let her mind wander. When she looked straight at things, instead of circling around them, she saw that, except for being more comfortable, her position was as shaky as it had always been. She and Simon were dependent on Titus Echeverria's good will, because he had only bought them temporary papers, wanting to see how good an investment they were. Each week, after paying Titus back a bit, and giving him his cut as well, and taking care of living expenses and upkeep, there wasn't anything left. Aisha suspected that they could remain in debt for years.

Her friendship with Simon had deteriorated also. Titus had helped Simon set up his practice and introduced him to prospective patients at parties. She had gone to work for Simon, only to discover she could do nothing for him. Not knowing how to organize a file, she lost records. She had to transcribe his notes by hand, because she did not know how to use the old typewriter he had bought. She misspelled medical terms and did not understand what most of the terms meant. She was no help at all in examining patients. At last Simon, through Titus, had hired a paramedic named Stanley Ortiz, leaving Aisha the job of receptionist. That job was only a cover for her real work. She met male patients, there and at Titus's parties. Soon she had been doing reasonably well; Simon no longer had to pay her. He was her pimp now, as Titus was, too, in a way, since she had to give him a cut. Pimps and customers; that was all men would ever be to her. She should have realized that.

She hurried across the street, darting between two rickshaws, careful not to step on the lumps of horse manure. Hawkers stood by their horse-drawn carts, announcing their wares; the street smelled of fresh fish, turds, rotting fruit, and salty sea air. A breeze ruffled her hair, the sun was already making her sweat. It would soon be summer; she wondered how hot it would get. She walked slowly through the knots of people, looking at the store windows filled with clothes, shoes, pictures of apartments and houses for sale or rent, bottles of wine and liquor, lace underwear, and other objects she could not afford. Everything had to be brought in by boat, or across the causeways from Miami; by the time it got here to Miami Beach, the price had tripled. Titus, like many people here, had invested in farms and food distribution.

She stopped in front of a jewelry store and peered at the glittering gems in the glassed-in windows. Corazon Huff, who often gave her advice at parties, had told her it was wise to coax clients into giving jewelry as gifts. "They can stop rent on an apartment," Corazon had said. "You can get thrown out of a house, and expensive clothes are hard to move. But jewels are portable, you get a certificate of ownership, and you can use them to make investments. You can keep the originals in a safe place and wear copies." Corazon had not told her how hard it was to talk anyone into buying them in the first place.

Impulsively, she entered the store, brushing past the armed guard in the doorway. Her sandaled feet sank into the dark blue carpeting. The walls too were dark blue; gilt-edged mirrors hung on them, making the room look even larger. Silvery chandeliers hung from the ceiling. She looked up and saw tiny pinpricks of light, as if the ceiling was studded with stars. Salespeople and customers murmured to each other softly, as if in a place of worship.

She approached a glass-topped counter and gazed at a ruby pendant. She recalled that Werner Takaishi was taking her to dinner that evening. If she mentioned it, just in passing, he might buy it. She felt a twinge at her temples, as if another headache was coming on; she should ask Simon for stronger medication. She decided she'd mention the pendant to Werner. She might as well find out exactly where she stood with the shy, quiet businessman. She sighed. She was still too used to the straightforward transactions at Lono's, so much for this, so much for that. When you dealt with the rich, who could buy anything anyway, you had to act like you had something worth selling for a high price.

"No, not today," a woman's voice said loudly. Aisha looked up. Isabeau Rasselle was coming out of a room in the back of the store, shaking her silvery-blond head. She was dressed in yet another of her violet dresses, the only color she ever wore. A blond salesman followed her, carrying several boxes of jewelry.

"I can show you some of our diamonds, Miss Rasselle."

"I’m not interested, maybe another time." She passed Aisha, paused for a moment, and nodded at her. Aisha nodded back. Isabeau left the store, trailed by her bodyguard. The salesman stopped next to Aisha and put down his boxes.

"Can I be of service?" he asked, brushing back a lock of blond hair. He smiled, focusing on her with his blue eyes.

"I'm just looking."

"If there's anything you'd particularly like—are you a friend of the Rasselles?"

"I met Isabeau at one of Titus Echeverria's parties," she said, pointing her chin at him. "They're going to be married, you know."

"Everyone in town knows that." He peered at her more closely. She sensed he was sizing her up. He went behind the counter and leaned against it on his elbows, resting his handsome pale face on his hands. "I suppose you go to parties often."

"Yes, I do."

He smiled again. "We like to make things convenient for you here. When we get to know you, we'll be happy to extend credit. And if there's anything else I can do for you, any more personal service you might like—"

"You're pretty blatant, aren't you."

He stood up and spread his hands on the counter. "Don't be so hard on me. When I see an attractive woman, I have to try, if I don't, I won't get anywhere. Sometimes someone is interested." He shrugged. "I'm helpful to a few of the women in your business." She stepped back, feeling angry. "Don't look so outraged. It's work like anything else. As I said, I'm helpful. Clever women can find out from me just how much their companions can afford. And I'm a very soothing friend at other times."

"For a price, of course."

"I have to live." He folded his hands. "You're obviously new here. I can help you. You don't seem as stupid as some of the others, but you're not making use of your potential."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She was annoyed with herself even for asking. She'd heard of others getting entangled with men like this one; Corazon was losing money to a swimming instructor at the Fontainebleau. But they could be useful as well. "How exactly," she continued, "am I not using my potential?"