right. It carried platters of fruit, muffins, cookies, slices of cake and pie, and candies. Shasta's mouth watered just looking at it all. She rarely got the chance to see that much food, much less eat it. Her pimp took the lion's share of her nightly take, so she considered herself lucky if she had twenty dollars to her name. Fortunately she could live on that, being as she made her home in the basement of an abandoned, rat-infested tenement. But to keep herself reasonably well-dressed and groomed, certain sacrifices had to be made, such as food. However, she didn't want to give her another chance to humiliate her, so over the protests of her stomach she politely refused more than a plate of fruit.
Ms. MacCandels, however, had no such compulsions. She took a sample of everything, big samples at that. Shasta envied how the woman could eat so much and still remain trim, but that wasn't her only desirable characteristic. She had to be at least sixty, but looked less than half that. In point of fact, she had the kind of face many in Shasta's profession, including herself, would kill for. Each feature looked delicate and finely sculptured, except for her full, wide lips and her large, soft brown eyes. Her face had a round shape with no plumpness as well as being well framed by her shoulder-length hair. Its blue-black color contrasted with her milky complexion so that her face stood out. Any prostitute could have an alluring figure, with the proper combination of costume and props, but a face like hers was impossible without measures most street tarts could not afford.
"So, my dear, tell me: what's it like to be a 'working girl'?"
Shasta grimaced in distaste. Everyone asked her that, even her johns. She got so sick of hearing it, but she realized that Ms. MacCandels also used it as part of her little mind game. Well, she felt sick and tired of playing that, too. She knew the bitch had her outclassed. She decided it would be better to go straight to business and skip all the society-style sparing.
She slowly and carefully set her fork down, trying to calm the fluttering in her stomach. Determined she might be, but it didn't relieve her anxiety. "Ms. MacCandels--"
"Oh, please dear, call me Clarrisa. We are, after all, going to be friends."
She hesitated as she did a mental double-take. The interruption startled her, but her statement unnerved her.
What did she mean by friends?
Momentarily gaining control of herself she began again. "Clarrisa, I..." She paused, her voice cracking when a stray thought occurred to her. Not all of her "clients" were men. That actually didn't bother her, but who knew what a woman like Clarrisa MacCandels considered good clean fun between the sheets?
Clarrisa feigned a concerned look. "Yes, dear, is something wrong?"
So, the bitch is enjoying this too. That made Shasta so angry that her hesitancy fled in the face of it.
Alright, damn it! Let's get this over with. Say it. The worse thing that can happen is I'll be sent back to my pimp empty-handed. Just say it.
"Clarrisa."
That's good. Sound confident, keep your face neutral, don't give that bitch any more ammunition.
"Justin, my manager, told me you gave him $1000 to send me out here. I doubt it was to have tea and make small talk. Just what is it you want from me? If it's sex, I have to tell you, I don't do anything weird or kinky."
Clarrisa looked at Shasta as if she had finally noticed her for the first time. A taut smile appeared on her face, perhaps a product of a grudging respect.
She set her fork down and pushed her plates away from her. Folding her arms across the table top she leaned forward. "Very well, dear. You want all the cards on the table, so to speak. I don't mind; in fact, I've been waiting to see if you had the backbone to stand up to me. You are the eighth girl I've interviewed, and you are the first to show both intelligence and spirit. You see, I have need of both."
That made her cautious. "For what?" Anxiety replaced her anger as it evaporated.
"You guessed correctly, I want sex, but not for myself. And you won't have to do anything you are uncomfortable with. All I want you to do is seduce my son."
Shasta relaxed as soon as she heard that. That didn't sound too bad; in fact, she had heard of that kind of thing being done, though she had assumed it was just an urban folk tale. And yet something didn't feel right. She couldn't be sure if her suspicion was real or simply part of her anxiety, but she had to make certain before she went through with her request.
"I'm sorry, but I don't know about this. It all sounds rather strange to me."
For a brief moment it looked as if a worried expression flickered across Clarrisa's face, after which it resumed its usual casual contemptuousness. "Oh? In what way, my dear?"
"Well, for instance, why are you setting this up? Why wouldn't he simply hire me himself?"
Clarrisa chuckled, as if she humored a small child, but Shasta didn't buy it, not after what she saw a moment before. "I'm afraid my son would never have thought of this himself, and besides I want to surprise him."
"Why, is it his birthday or something?"
"No, I just like to do nice things for him on occasion."
Shasta shook her head in confusion. "This doesn't make any sense. Why wouldn't he think of this himself? Why someone like me, and not some high-priced fancy escort? And why are you doing this for him? Why would you care?"
Clarrisa's smile turned into a thin, hard line. "Why would you care what my reasons are, as long as you are getting paid?"
"But you already paid Justin for my time."
Clarrisa managed to look hurt, as if her honor had been insulted. "Of course you will be adequately compensated. I had planned that all along. I will give you another $1000, which you will give to Justin as your fee. How much of that would you receive?"
"I don't know; maybe a hundred, maybe less. That's more than I would make in one night, but I would hardly call it adequate."
"I have also deposited $250,000 in a bank account under a false name. I will give you the account number and the name of the bank after you complete your task. With that money you could leave Justin, set yourself up as an independent in, say, Vail, or wherever else you like. Is that better?"
Shasta couldn't speak; better was an understatement. A new life, away from Justin, away from the streets, where she could work as often (or as little) as she pleased, accept only those clients she liked, charge as much as she could take, and keep it all. That seemed like paradise to a doxy of her status. The only thing better would be to catch a young, handsome multimillionaire like Julia Roberts did in Pretty Woman.
She realized her expression must have displayed just how much it really did appeal to her when Clarrisa chuckled with self-amused triumph. "I see that it is. Well then, if you accept my offer, I would like to get started right away. My son is taking a nap upstairs and I want you to be there when he wakes up."
Those words snapped Shasta back to reality. "Just hold it a minute. You still haven't explained what's going on. All that money won't do me any good if you son's idea of kicks is roasting me on a spit."
Clarrisa looked honestly shocked, but then she let loose a quick, barking laugh before getting control of herself. "Whatever gave you that idea?"
"It wouldn't be the first time some society bitch provided her psychopathic son with victims to keep anyone from finding out."
Clarrisa frowned deeply and narrowed her eyes, but her face also went pale. Shasta figured she had just hit pretty close to the mark, but that realization frightened her.
However, Clarrisa shrugged and looked resigned. "Very well. I suppose you will need to know anyway, to do your job properly. I hesitated only because it is personally embarrassing, and frankly I didn't want to reveal anything you could later use against me. But...no matter. It's all very simple. You see, my son is a recluse. In fact, he hasn't been out of this house his entire life. As such, he has never had the opportunity to, shall we say, gain experience."
"Never?!"
Clarrisa shook her head. "I'm afraid not. He was always a studious boy."
The whole situation had become very stra
nge. "But what does that have to do with me?" She had a suspicion what the answer would be.
Instead, Clarrisa fooled her. "To understand that, I must tell you about Peter's father--Peter's my son, by the way."
Peter MacCandels. That name sounded vaguely familiar, but Shasta lost her train of thought as Clarrisa continued.
"You see, his father and I were never married. We were not even what you would call friendly. We were lovers merely as a matter of convenience: we both had something the other wanted. He had wealth, power, and influence, and I had a womb to provide him with an heir. And I was tired of waiting on tables in truck stops. As such, when one of his associates offered me a million dollars to be impregnated, I agreed.
"Peter's...conception is the gentlest word I can think of...was not pleasant. It took several tries before I became pregnant, and his father was unnecessarily brutal. Nonetheless, afterwards he had no further use for me. He paid the million, plus an extra amount to cover the hospital expenses, and charged me with raising Peter to manhood. He provided tutors while I used my fee to become financially independent, but when Peter had learned everything his father required of him, it was left to me to prepare him to receive his birthright.
"All his father ever cared about was that Peter satisfy him that he could effectively take over and manage his affairs, but to me Peter was--is--my whole life. Everything I have done has been for his benefit, to try to make
The Adventure of the Jigsaw Dragon Page 14
