Peasants and Kings

by Emma Slate

  “Black, please. Earl Grey if you have it.”

  “Excellent. I’ll have that for you soon. Jase will be along shortly. She’s still talking to Genevieve about what to do with your hair.”

  I swallowed nervously and hoped they left my hair intact. I loved the length and style, but I was a canvas for them to paint, a lump of clay to mold. They would make sure I was attractive enough to draw the attention of men who I’d be spending time with, and they knew what those men wanted.

  My hands were clasped in my lap as I waited for the desk attendant to come back with my tea. She returned with an elegant silver tray and a delicate white cup with a silver rim and a steaming pot of water with loose-leaf tea steeping. Milk, sugar, and honey adorned the tray in small containers with spoons. I strained my tea into the cup, added some honey, and stirred it. I lifted it to my nose, inhaling the soothing aroma. It was still too hot to drink, but it was enjoyable to have something to hold.

  After a few minutes of sitting in a chair in the empty salon, a woman finally strolled toward me. Her brown hair was cut into a severe bob that highlighted her cheekbones and warm brown eyes.

  “Hi. Eden? I’m Jase.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I murmured, taking a sip of my tea, trying to remember to answer to my new name.

  “Sorry for the wait. Gen was talking to me about your hair.”

  “You’re not going to do something really dramatic, are you?” I blurted out. “I’m sort of fond of my hair.”

  She removed my ponytail holder so that my dark locks spilled down my back. Jase ran her fingers through my mane in an almost seductive manner as she examined me, but otherwise didn’t answer.

  I looked at my reflection in the mirror and waited.

  Finally, Jase nodded. “I’m going to give you a gloss to bring out the richness of your hair. I’ll take it up about four inches from your last cut—right now you’re overwhelmed with length and it’s too much for the shape of your face. I’ll add in some light layers and give you some frames.”

  I let out a breath and nodded. “Okay. Yes. That sounds—well, I was worried you were going to chop it all off and I was scared.”

  She let out a laugh. “Very few of the girls get their hair chopped. Need to have something to grab onto.” She winked and I felt my face flame.

  I really needed to get over blushing every time someone at The Rex alluded to anything to do with The Fifteenth Floor.

  “Holy crap,” I murmured after Jase turned the salon chair around to show me the final result.

  She laughed. “Well? Didn’t I tell you to trust me?”

  “You did,” I said, swiveling my newly styled head from side to side. My maple syrup colored hair now fell a few inches past my shoulder blades; the face frames highlighted the wings of my eyebrows and somehow drew everything all together.

  I ran my fingers through the rich glossy locks and marveled at the change. It wasn’t super dramatic, and yet, the effect was stunning. I wondered how I’d look with a full face of evening makeup and a dress for the occasion. If anything, I could believe I’d look like a woman headed to a night at a gala and not really what I was about to become.

  “Thank you.” I looked up at her and smiled. “I’m overwhelmed.”

  She bowed mockingly. “It’s not exactly what Gen had in mind, but I know she’ll be happy with the results.”

  “You went against Genevieve? Are you even allowed to do that?”

  Jase chuckled. “This is one arena where Gen yields to me. She trusts me. After all, I’m the best in the business.”

  My stomach rumbled, reminding me that it was lunchtime. I’d been in the salon chair all morning and I wasn’t even close to finished. The afternoon would be spent getting waxed, a manicure, pedicure, facial and skin treatments, a massage to relax my posture and then for the final addition, I’d see Gen to be dressed.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Starving,” I admitted.

  “I’ll have the restaurant deliver food here.” She opened a drawer at her station and pulled out a menu. “Choose what you want.”

  We chatted over our salads. I liked Jase. She was friendly and confident, and I hadn’t detected an ounce of judgement about The Fifteenth Floor.

  “I’ve been working here for five years,” she stated. “I’ve styled a bunch of girls.”

  I itched to ask questions, but something told me my curiosity wouldn’t be welcomed. There was an air of mystery at The Rex.

  I wasn’t naive enough to think that Jase was my friend. If anything, she was another test I had to pass. Any questions I posed to the stylist were bound to get me into trouble with Genevieve.

  If I wanted answers, I’d talk to Tiffany, and even she had to talk around some issues.

  After I ate my salad, Jase led me to the spa area. She put me in a room with a table covered in a sheet.

  “Thanks again for the amazing haircut,” I said when her hand was on the doorknob.

  “You’re welcome.” She smiled and closed the door.

  An hour later, freshly waxed and groomed, the esthetician showed me to the nail station for a pedicure.

  Tiffany and another woman were sitting next to each other, talking in hushed tones. When Tiffany saw me, she gasped. “Oh my God!”

  “What?” I asked in trepidation.

  “Your hair! It looks amazing!”

  I relaxed and smiled. “Thank you. Jase did a good job, didn’t she?”

  “Such a good job!” Tiffany’s companion said. “I’m Julia.”

  “Hi, I’m…Eden,” I said, going toward her with my hand out.

  Julia shook my hand and then pointed to the chair next to her. “Sit here.”

  “Okay, thanks.” I climbed into the chair and rolled up my jeans. Tiffany and Julia were both dressed casually in floral print dresses, their toes soaking in tubs of water and essential oils.

  I glanced at Julia’s yellow gold key and smiled awkwardly before shooting Tiffany a pleading look for help.

  “So, Eden is working her first event ever at The Mansion tomorrow night,” Tiffany said, effortlessly turning attention away from my gawkiness.

  “Ah,” Julia said with a secretive grin. “Parties at The Mansion are always a good time.”

  Tiffany laughed like they shared a secret I wasn’t privy to.

  “What can I expect?” I asked. “I’m nervous.”

  “Don’t be,” Julia said. “But remember, what happens at The Mansion stays at The Mansion.”

  “That’s reassuring,” Tiffany muttered, looking around. Satisfied that we were still alone for the time being, Tiffany continued, “You should just wait and see what goes on. It’s really hard to explain. But don’t be afraid. You have to remember you’re a Rex girl now. You’re safe, always.”

  “We’ve all walked into it completely blind.” Julia winked and then leaned her head back against the massage chair.

  Three technicians appeared, and we all fell into silence. Tiffany and Julia were finished before I was, and they left, leaving me to sit and wonder about what I could expect.

  The wardrobe room on The Fifteenth Floor rivaled a magazine stylist’s closet. There were rows and rows of high-end designer clothing on racks and heels to match every outfit imaginable. It was like the hotel’s own personal department store.

  “I think silver,” Petra said, holding a clipboard in her hand.

  “Silver is perfect for her coloring. Plus, it’s her first appearance and it will help her make a splash,” Genevieve said.

  “What do you think? Audrey or Liz?”

  Genevieve looked me up and down. “Definitely Liz.”

  “Liz?” I piped up, feeling like a mannequin in a store window.

  “Elizabeth Taylor,” Genevieve explained. “All of our gowns are designed after the Golden Age of Hollywood stars, but with our own Rex flare.”

  “Oh. I see,” I said with a nod.

  “Definitely Liz. With vixen curves,” Petra said to me, but then she dir
ected her next statement to Genevieve. “Sultry eyes and pout. A modern Liz Taylor.”

  I blinked. I’d never heard of myself talked about in such a way.

  “Too bad she doesn’t have violet eyes. It would’ve been perfect.” Gen shrugged. “Oh well. What do we think then? The Maggie Pollitt?”

  “Absolutely,” Petra agreed. “She’ll make an entrance.”

  I thought about what Julia and Tiffany had been talking about and the air of mystery surrounding The Mansion party.

  Genevieve gave me a lingering look and then turned to Petra. “Why don’t you get the dress?”

  Petra nodded and left the room.

  Genevieve faced me once she was sure we were alone. “You’re nervous.”

  “Uh. Little bit,” I said.

  “Why?” Her gaze shrewdly narrowed. “What did Tiffany say?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “No, really.” I bit my lip, not wanting to throw Julia and Tiffany under the bus, but damn it all, I was still curious. “She was vague and cryptic, and said nothing specific, only that the party is always a good time.”

  “You want to know what you’re walking into,” she stated. “I was going to tell you tomorrow right before the event. I didn’t want you to have too much time to overthink things. But I guess you’ll overthink this no matter what.”

  She gestured to the white L-shaped couch. I took a seat.

  “Just like there are different keys for the girls, there are different rooms in The Mansion. Each of them caters to different tastes. Some are tamer than the others.”

  “Tamer,” I repeated. “Like one room is a sex dungeon or something?”

  She inclined her head in affirmation.

  I swallowed. What level of debauchery was I walking into?

  “Like I said, you have no reason to be nervous. You will be wearing a rose gold key. Our clients know what that means. Should you wish to explore and…observe…you’re welcome to, but it’s not mandatory. I need to reiterate here that you will not be forced to do anything you don’t want to do.”

  Petra chose that moment to return with the most gorgeous dress I’d ever seen. It looked exactly like the dress Elizabeth Taylor had worn in the movie Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, except it was silver instead of white. It was a chiffon, knee-length cocktail dress with a low neckline, cinched at the waist.

  I reached my hand out to touch the fabric. “It’s incredible. Are you sure—I’m afraid I won’t do it justice?”

  “Try it on,” Petra said.

  I needed both their help to slip the dress over my head. I stood in front of the mirror, and even without my hair styled to match the dress and still barefoot, I couldn’t help but love what I saw.

  I felt like I’d been transported to a different era. Back to a time when women were encouraged to be beautiful and feminine; where dressing well wasn’t seen as anything except a way to compliment the wearer and fit in with societal expectations. A time when women wanted to be wanted.

  I clasped the rose gold key pendant around my neck, and it rested against my skin. It felt like it belonged there.

  “Oh,” I said, coming to understand why The Fifteenth Floor was different.

  “I never get tired of seeing a girl try on one of our dresses for the first time,” Petra said with a knowing chuckle. “It’s always incredible watching their transformation.”

  Genevieve pushed against my hip with her hand to get me to turn. “I don’t even think we need to take it in.”

  “No, it’s perfect,” Petra said. “I brought the crystal slippers.” She picked up a shoebox, pushed back the tissue paper, and pulled out a ballet slipper garnished with tiny crystals.

  “I guess they’ll work,” Genevieve said, a frown marring her face. “I would’ve liked for her to wear a heel of some sort.”

  “I think these work better.”

  “You’re the stylist,” Gen said.

  Petra knelt in front of me and helped me step into the ballet flats. They were comfortable, yet oddly heavy due to the crystal beadwork.

  “I think the shoes look fantastic,” Petra stated, rising. “Besides, I think they offset the vixen quality of her persona with an air of innocence.”

  “No, you’re absolutely right,” Genevieve said.

  I turned back to look at myself, marveling at the changes in such a short amount of time.

  Vixen? No one had ever used that word to describe me.

  My mother had been the one to turn heads wherever we went. I swallowed, thinking of her. She’d left Italy, pregnant, and on the run to protect me. She’d been seventeen and she’d done what she had to do. I was twenty-five. I could do this.

  I could be Eden.

  Chapter Eight

  After I changed into my street clothes, Genevieve told me to follow her. We left the wardrobe room and headed through the hallway back into the reception area. Annika wasn’t at her desk and Genevieve pushed open the door to her office.

  I followed her inside. “Should I sit?”

  Genevieve shook her head in negation as she went to her massive ornate desk and picked up a brown leather binder that resembled a photo album.

  “These are the photos and personas of the girls who work The Fifteenth Floor. You’ll need to memorize their names.”

  I took the binder. “You want me to learn all these names and faces by tomorrow’s event?”

  She smiled. “There are only thirty women in the binder.”

  “So few?”

  “Exclusive and elite.”

  “Ah, right.”

  “All the ladies working tomorrow night’s event are sleeping here tonight.”

  I frowned. “Why?”

  “Call time is seven a.m. for the stylist chairs. We fly down to Austin mid-day. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.” She paused. “And a longer night. Take the binder, memorize the faces and names. Annika will show you to your suite.”

  “But I don’t have a change of clothes—or pajamas.”

  Genevieve grinned. “We’re a luxury hotel. We sized you during the dress fitting. You have clothes waiting for you, and every comfort item from a toothbrush to room service is now at your disposal. You’re completely provided for.”

  The idea of ordering every dessert on the room service menu made me giddy.

  “Sleep well,” she said.

  I inclined my head, wondering how I was possibly going to sleep with the adrenaline coursing through me.

  I left Genevieve’s office. Annika was back at her desk, her bun compact and devoid of flyaways. I wondered about her. She had a key to The Fifteenth Floor. Was she just Genevieve’s assistant, or would I find her face in the binder?

  “I like your hair,” Annika said, rising from her desk. “I don’t remember if I told you that.”

  I blinked. “Thank you. Jase did a great job, didn’t she?”

  Annika nodded. “She’s a master.” She waved me down the hallway. We passed the wardrobe room and then turned the corner. There was a door at the end of a short corridor and as we entered, the decor changed immediately. It finally looked like a hotel floor complete with numbered wooden doors.

  “This floor is reserved for our girls. No clients are allowed in these rooms, even if you want them to come, so don’t bring them.”

  “What happens when there’s an event at The Rex and someone wants to be with a girl for the night?” I asked. There was no end to my questions. As soon as I had one answered, a few more popped up to take its place.

  “Girls only go into our clients’ hotel suites.”

  “And there’s no worry about mistreatment?”

  “No. Our clients are vetted. They’re screened thoroughly as a prerequisite to entering our world. These are not random men from the streets. Besides, security screens every room for cameras or anything suspicious or out of place. So you don’t have to worry about a video of your night with a client hitting the internet, and neither do they. Everything we do is cont
rolled.”

  We arrived at suite number twenty. She inserted a universal key into the lock and pushed the door open but made no move to step inside.

  I went in and looked around, listening with one ear as Annika continued to speak.

  “Key to the suite is on the coffee table next to your new cell phone. It’s been pre-programmed with all the numbers you’ll need. Genevieve is speed dial one. I’m speed dial two. You contact Gen for high-level inquiries or major problems only, and me for everything else. I’ll answer any questions you have about scheduling and the like. New clothes are in the dresser. Dinner will be brought up for you at seven. Anything you need that is standard hotel fair, dial the front desk and The Rex will see to it. Food, towels, clean sheets, etc. Got it?”

  “Gen for the important stuff, you for admin, The Rex for comfort. Got it. Thank you,” I said, marveling at the decor. Cream and gray lush carpet and furniture adorned the room. I wondered what the bedroom looked like but would wait to explore until Annika was gone.

  “I know this is daunting and overwhelming,” she said. “If you need to talk to someone about all of this, please know that you can talk to me.”

  I said slowly, “No offense, but I hardly know you.”

  She smiled.

  “Sorry, I know that was rude, but I—”

  “Genevieve is the Madame. She’s our boss. She’s not a Girl Scout leader. She won’t offer you platitudes or sit with you while you process this very out-of-the-box situation.” Her face hardened. “She won’t be there for you the morning after your first time with a client.”

  “But you will be?” I pressed.

  “Yes. I have a master’s in psychology with an emphasis on post-traumatic stress counseling. That’s my real job here; the rest of what I do just fills the gaps between the time I spend with the girls.”

  A laugh escaped my lips. “You’re a counselor to courtesans?”

  Annika’s stare was penetrating and finally she said, “Speed dial two, Sterling.”

  “My name is Eden,” I corrected.

  Her stare was intractable. “Speed dial two,” she repeated softly. “I’m here for you when you need me. I hope you remember that.”