by Lexie Ray
“Is that so?” Andrew asked, his voice soft. “That will be very interesting.”
We weren’t driving for long when the car pulled off the street and in front of a very nice building. The driver opened the door for Andrew and he helped us out of the car, his hand lingering on mine. It made me shudder.
“It is cold out tonight, isn’t it?” he said, draping his arm over my shoulders. “I’ll have to find something to warm you up with, won’t I?”
“That would be nice,” Cream said.
I looked up at the tall building as we walked in the entrance. It was one of the ones that Cream and I had admired from the taxi with Jason, I thought. It was only too fitting that the elevator attendant pressed the very top floor once we were across the lobby and inside.
I’d wanted to live at the very top of one of these, didn’t I? That seemed to be exactly what I was going to get—for better or for worse.
I kept my eyes carefully averted from Andrew’s face until we got inside his home. Then, he put his finger beneath my chin and forced me to look at him. His eyes were dark—darker than mine, even—and he was clean-shaven, even with how late it was. He probably shaved two or three times a day to keep his face free from stubble, I thought inanely. His face was unlined—no frown or smile wrinkles—and his haircut probably cost more than my life. He was incredibly handsome, not monstrous, as I’d feared in the car.
“That’s better, isn’t it?” he said, smiling at me. Every single tooth was white and perfectly aligned. “It’s okay to be a little bit timid, Pumpkin, but we’ll work through it soon. Soon we’ll know everything about each other.”
“Okay,” I said, unsure of how to respond.
He let me go and I got my first look at his home as he flicked on the light. It was breathtaking, the most sumptuous materials possible present in every inch of the place. The floors were black marble, polished to an almost mirror-like sheen. Every piece of furniture looked like a museum exhibit—velvet, gold, spiraling curves—instead of things you could actually sit on. The walls were painted somewhere between red and maroon, gold-framed black and white abstract photographs dotting the expanses.
“Your home is beautiful,” Cream said, breathless.
Beautiful, true, but somehow soulless. I thought back on the apartment I’d shared with my sisters and las primas, how there was always clutter no matter how much time we devoted to cleaning and organizing. That clutter was part of its charm. It showed that we lived there, that we made it our home. My sister’s make up scattered over the bathroom countertop, la prima’s dress from last night thrown over the back of the couch, my other sister’s spike stilettos left beside the crooked mat at the door, the other prima’s fashion magazines in the seat of the chair—that was all us.
Even living in Mama’s nightclub, my roommate, Daisy, and I decorated our room with anything we could find to brighten it. She loved animals, so we always cut out puppies, kittens, and whatever else we could find to tape on our door. It was how we put our stamp on our surroundings, how we belonged to a place and also made it belong to us.
There wasn’t a single sheet of paper, magazine, or ephemera that could be considered clutter on the gleaming metallic tables that dotted the space, their shine reflected on the marble floor.
“I’ve worked hard for this place,” Andrew was saying. “Every penny I have, I earned. And I’d like to think that that means I’ve earned the pleasure of you ladies’ presence.”
I looked at the man who’d bought us and resisted the urge to shiver. Andrew Irons looked just as cold as his home, his dark red hair and black suit matching the place perfectly. I wondered if he realized it. He seemed like a meticulous man, even down to his clean, even fingernails.
Andrew caught me staring at him and I blushed heavily, lowering my eyes to the polished floor. I realized with another furious flush that he could easily see beneath my tiny skirt with the mirrored finish of the marble, and that my panties were on display. I squeezed my legs together.
“Sweet Pumpkin,” Andrew said, chuckling. “There’s no need to be afraid. This is your home, now.”
I tried to summon up some courage, to show some spunk, to pretend like I was back at Mama’s nightclub and I was trying to flirt with customers. But I was failing miserably.
“Thank you,” I said. “This is just very sudden…and very new.”
“Pumpkin will warm up,” Cream put in. “You just need to get to know her.”
Cream gave me a quick, wide-eyed glance that told me she wanted me to shape up immediately. I was trying. She didn’t understand. I was trying so hard not to run out the door. Every muscle in my body was tense, and I clasped my hands together. It was an effort to grind out my next words.
“I look forward to getting to know you,” I said, my eyes flicking back up to meet his.
“It will be a pleasure we will all share,” Andrew said, his mouth quirking up in a smile. “Now, I’m sure you ladies are worn out from tonight’s proceedings. Let me show you to your room. I hope you don’t mind sharing.”
“Not at all,” Cream said. “We’re used to it. It was usually two to a room at the nightclub. It makes us feel safe and secure.”
“The nightclub,” Andrew said, leading us down a hallway. “You two will simply have to tell me all about that experience soon.”
“We’d love to,” Cream said. “Did you ever go?”
“Regrettably, no,” he said, twisting a doorknob and pushing a door open. “The nature of my business is that I must be very discreet in all areas of my life. That means that I must tend to all of my pleasures in the privacy of my own home.”
A flick of the light switch revealed our new home—a surprisingly spacious room, the black marble still covering the floor, with one bed, a silk coverlet gracing the mattress.
“The bathroom is just through that door,” Andrew said, pointing, “so you’re self-contained in here.”
“It’s lovely,” Cream said, going up on her toes to give Andrew a soft kiss on his cheek in spite of her high heels. “Thank you.”
He looked at me and I knew what was expected.
“You’re very kind,” I said, kissing his other cheek. It was warm and impossibly smooth—not a trace of stubble. He even smelled expensive, the cologne he wore curling into my nostrils and making my nose twitch. There was a good deal of pine in it, and musk, and perhaps even a touch of apple. It wasn’t unpleasant—just rich.
“I take it you two don’t have much,” he said. “That will all be taken care of tomorrow. You’ll find robes in the bathroom. Will you be all right until then?”
“Of course,” Cream said. “We’ll be just fine.”
“I’m going to turn in, then,” Andrew said. “I’m required to be awake and alert very early. Good night, Cream. And Pumpkin.”
“Good night,” we returned in unison.
Andrew left the room, closing the door with a soft click, and Cream and I looked at each other.
“Can you believe this place?” she asked, running her hand over the coverlet on the bed.
“No,” I said honestly. “No, I can’t believe it.”
“Well, you better start,” Cream said. “This is us, Pumpkin. We’re really living here.”
We investigated the bathroom together, ogling at the black marble sink and tub and gold fixtures. I glanced at our reflections in the mirror. We’d thought we looked so hot earlier this evening, but now I thought we looked cheap in these elegant surroundings with all our glitter.
“What?” Cream said, meeting my eyes in the mirror.
“Do you get the feeling that this isn’t real?” I asked. “That we don’t belong here?”
“I mean, this is the nicest place I’ve ever seen in my life,” Cream said. “But we’re going to belong here, now. That three hundred grand says that much.”
Three hundred grand. That was a lot of pressure to belong in this rich home. I almost felt trapped here.
“You’ve got to step up your game, Pum
pkin,” Cream urged, grabbing my arm. “We have to really impress this guy.”
“I think we already impressed him,” I said. “That’s just judging from how much he paid for us.”
“We have to make sure he knows he made a worthwhile investment,” she said. “Where else could we be right now? We could be in jail or worse—on the streets. You have to make sure he knows that you appreciate him, girl.”
“Some people liked me shy at Mama’s nightclub,” I said, shrugging. “We can give him the best of both worlds. You can be outgoing, and I can be introverted.”
“I don’t know,” Cream said, frowning a little. Even when she frowned, her skin stayed as smooth as a glass of milk. “He seems to be trying to draw you out of your shell.”
“Let him try,” I said. “It’ll amuse him, maybe. Give him something to work toward.”
There were some basic toiletries organized in the bathroom drawers, so we took a few minutes to wash off our makeup and brush our teeth.
“I’m kind of hungry,” Cream admitted after we’d shed our clothes and donned the robes.
My stomach growled in response. We’d been so busy getting ready at Jason’s home that we’d skipped dinner, figuring we’d grab something later. I shook my head to think about it. A few hours ago, I’d had no idea that I was going to be sold.
“Me, too,” I said. “Let’s go to the kitchen to see if there’s anything.”
“I don’t want to raid his kitchen,” Cream said, shaking her head. “Maybe we should ask, first.”
“He said he was going to bed,” I protested. “We don’t want to wake him up. That could make him angry.”
Cream groaned. “God. All I want is a bagel or a banana or something. That’s all it would take. I hate going to bed with an empty stomach. It reminds me of my childhood.”
I frowned. I hadn’t had that problem living with my family. There were always quesadillas or flautas or tostadas.
“At Mama’s, we could eat whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted,” I said. “Are we really going to starve ourselves here, in the lap of luxury?”
“Fine,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But Pumpkin, I swear to God, if you get us thrown out on the streets for sneaking around this place, I’ll be so pissed.”
“He’s not going to throw us out just for getting something to eat,” I said.
But when we got to the door to the room and I grasped the doorknob, it wouldn’t budge.
“It won’t open,” I said, rattling the gold handle.
“Christ, Pumpkin, can you make any more noise?” Cream hissed. “Don’t break the door down. It’s probably just stuck or something. Here, scoot over.”
I watched her consternation turn into disbelief as she grabbed the door handle.
“He locked us in,” I said, feeling the blood drain from my face.
“Don’t be stupid,” Cream said. “Why would he do that? The door’s probably just jammed or something.”
Or something. That door was locked, even if Cream refused to believe it.
“I wasn’t that hungry,” Cream said. “It’s fine. Let’s just go to bed.”
I pressed my lips together to keep from saying anything and we turned the lights off, snuggling beneath the silk coverlet and satiny sheets. The material was luxurious, but it was hard to get warm in all the finery.
“Pumpkin?” Cream’s voice was no more than a whisper.
“Yeah?”
“I’m really sorry about all this.”
My hand found hers in the darkness and I squeezed it.
“Don’t be sorry,” I said. “We’re not on the streets. We’re sleeping on satin.”
“I didn’t know what Jason was,” she said. “I thought he could help us. I never thought he’d sell us—or that such a thing was even possible.”
“For all we know, he did help us,” I said. “Look at where we’re living now, Cream. We’re doing all right. We can ask Andrew about the door tomorrow—after a big breakfast.”
“Mm, breakfast,” she murmured. “That would be nice. Bacon and eggs. Fruit salad. Grits—oh my God, grits. And a big mug of hot chocolate.”
“I hope we dream about it,” I said, smiling.
We fell silent and Cream’s breathing deepened. I couldn’t help but think about the locked door. What did it signify? Was it really just jammed? I had my doubts.
After Jimmy had tried to strangle me and I’d fled to Mama’s nightclub, I more or less jumped from the frying pan and into the fire.
When you were in the fire already, it couldn’t get worse, right? There was nothing worse that we could jump into, I thought.
Wrong, I learned later. You could jump from the fire and fall straight into hell.
Chapter Four
Life at Mama's nightclub hadn't always been out of the frying pan and into the fire, though. At the beginning, my only misgivings came from the way the cab driver had introduced me to the place—or the fact that I was still shocked at fleeing from Jimmy and what he’d done to me.
But when I got out of the taxi that first night, my tote bag full of the only belongings I had anymore, I was intrigued in spite of the purpling finger marks on either side of my neck.
Even though the neighborhood wasn't very good, it was heads and tails over East Harlem and my old stomping ground.
The nightclub itself was enormous, and there was a line of people waiting to get in. I stared at the back of the line, thinking about the fact that the female contingency would always push to the front, no matter what. It had been easy enough to accompany them past all the pushing and cursing, but I didn't have the fortitude to try it here.
The vast majority of them were men, and though I had the switchblade, I wouldn't dream of sticking a bunch of guys just to get to the front of the line. I didn’t want to stick anybody ever again. I wondered if my sister had gotten all the blood off the blade. Maybe I should throw it away. Part of me didn’t want to touch it at all, even if it had saved my life. I thought of the sickening resistance Jimmy’s belly had given the switchblade, then how it had slid in. It made me feel like fainting.
"Hey, sweetheart!" Of its own accord, my head jerked in the direction of the voice, my fingers tightening on my tote bag. I inhaled, trying to calm myself, remembering that I was in public. If you were feeling faint or sickly out on the streets of East Harlem at this time of night, you were in trouble. There were people who would take advantage of you in a heartbeat. I was sure this neighborhood was no different. I had to be on my toes.
I looked around for the source of the voice and my eyes finally fell on the man, who was waving me over. It was the bouncer, trying to get my attention.
"Yeah?" I asked, approaching cautiously.
"You one of Mama's girls?" he asked, looking me up and down.
I wasn't nearly as dressed up as I should be to try to get inside this nightclub. I was wearing tight jeans in a dark wash, which I liked because it helped camouflage my big ass a little bit. My Henley shirt was nice, especially when I left the top unbuttoned, but it was clear that I didn't belong here. I looked down and gasped. There were exactly three dark spots on the portion of the shirt covering my belly. I knew they were blood drops—Jimmy’s blood. I was dressed like shit and covered in blood, trying to get into the nightclub. Everyone in the line looked like they were trying to gain access to the city's most exclusive spot—cufflinks, three-piece suits, fedoras, and everything. I looked like I’d just tried to slaughter someone.
"I'm sorry, what?" I asked, sidling up to the bouncer. "What's a Mama's girl?"
I bit my lip, hoping he wasn't teasing me or trying to flirt. I was in no mood to get into it with anyone—not with what had just happened with Jimmy. I was scared at how easily I’d wielded that knife. What was wrong with me?
"You know, one of Mama's girls," the bouncer repeated. "Do you work here, doll?"
My sister had told me that I could live and work here. Would that be possible? It sounded like it.
"Um, I'm
new," I said. "Could I talk to the manager, please?"
"You mean Mama," the bouncer said. "Owner, manager, accountant, cook, singer. Come on in."
He lifted the rope for me and I scooted by, not looking to see if I was getting any scowls from the people waiting in line. My heart lifted a little bit. Maybe I didn't need the female contingency to get into places. Maybe I could get the doors to open all by myself.
Stunned would be an understatement—I was downright flummoxed when I stepped through those doors. The nightclub was bigger than I'd ever dreamed—a dance floor in the middle, a stage, where a jazz trio was playing, and beautiful cocktail waitresses in uniform, bustling around the space and getting customers what they needed. The place was packed. I couldn’t believe that even more people were trying to get in.
The bouncer walked in behind me. “Got a new girl for you, Mama,” he said before ducking back out to manage the crowd of people.
I looked and saw the only person who could be Mama—a generously proportioned black woman wearing a sparkling cocktail dress, complete with an enormous ring on her finger.
“Sugar, you didn’t pick the best time to come,” she said, eyeing the customers.
“I’m sorry,” I said, looking at her gorgeous pumps. “I had to—I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
“I know, darling, I know,” Mama said. “Most of my girls don’t. It’s going to be fine, honey. I just don’t have the time to show you around. It’s a busy night.”
“I can wait outside,” I said quickly. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”
“You’re not going to wait outside,” she scoffed. “Come on, now. We’re going to get you fixed up. Cocoa!”
One of the prettiest girls approached Mama quickly, even though she’d been clear on the other side of the nightclub. I was surprised she’d been able to hear Mama at all over the din of the band and the customers.
“What’s up, Mama?” Cocoa asked. She had long legs and intricate hair. It must have taken her hours to braid the strands so neatly.
“New girl,” Mama said, pointing at me. “Could you run her up to your room real quick? We’ll give her the tour later, after the night’s over.”
