Genesis Girl

by Jennifer Bardsley

  I feel their presence before I see them. Older, experienced Vestals step from the shadows and flank us in a larger ring. Together we form two concentric circles, our billowing white robes hovering over the pavement, reflected in the water.

  “The candle please.” Headmaster Russell turns to look at Ms. Lydia, who stands nearby.

  She is beautiful in the moonlight, her heart-shaped face a mask of serenity. When she reaches out her candle to touch his, the sleeve of her gown slips down below her elbow, exposing a platinum cuff against creamy skin. “The beacon of light,” she says. “We are a sacred fire that will not burn out. Those who came before you welcome you into our Brethren.”

  Soon the flame is passed from candle to candle. The dark circle of Tabula Rasa graduates illuminates in a warm glow. When Fatima tips her candle to mine, she struggles to smile. She hasn’t spoken one word to me since the auction. My harvest price was double hers. But I know that’s not the real problem between us. It’s because I’ve gone Geisha.

  Headmaster Russell’s voice is solemn. “Vestals are a beacon in a dark world. We alone stand together. We are living sacrifices for all that is pure and all that is sacred.”

  An older Vestal steps forward with a silver tray. Nine golden cuffs sparkle in the candlelight. The single platinum cuff beckons to me. I am the top pick.

  Ms. Lydia selects a golden cuff. “It is time for the vows. Master Ethan, do you solemnly swear to uphold the Vestal order?”

  “I do,” says Ethan, stepping forward.

  “Will you consecrate your body? Will you promise to never be marked by ink, stain, piercing, or technology? Will you give your highest self to our cause?”

  “I promise,” says Ethan, holding out his arm.

  Ms. Lydia snaps the golden cuff on his wrist.

  “And now, for the sealing,” says Headmaster Russell, who approaches with a small blue flame. There is total and utter silence for this, the most sacred part of the ceremony. Headmaster Russell singes the metal, searing it shut. Ethan’s golden cuff now marks him for life. The whole world will forever know he is a Vestal.

  The sealing happens eight more times until finally, I am the only graduate who remains.

  Ms. Lydia picks up the platinum cuff and holds it to the light. “There are many paths a Vestal can take, but one thing is constant: the world relies on us. We are the last guardians of private living. When we sell our reputation, it is with purpose and thought. We do not give it away freely like the masses of humanity. To be purchased privately is a holy act within itself.”

  My tears start when she says this. They roll down my cheeks, washing away the shame. It’s like a window has opened in my heart, releasing all the pressure. I feel joy again. Joy and pride for being a Vestal, no matter what.

  This is my time. This is what I have lived for. When Ms. Lydia snaps the platinum cuff on my wrist, it is the happiest moment of my life.

  Chapter Two

  My new identity as a Vestal Geisha begins today. The road to McNeal Manor is about a million miles long, and it’s lit up like a candelabra. There are cameras everywhere, and they are terrifying. Somebody is watching. It’s a good thing my Tabula Rasa limo has dark windows.

  Eventually the driver parks, and I have to get out, pretending like this smile on my face is genuine. Before I know it, I’m standing on the threshold of my new home. The mahogany door in front of me is massive. The limo is already driving away.

  I lift my fist to knock, and the door swings open.

  There, standing in front of me, is my purchaser.

  Mr. Calum McNeal is shorter than I realized. My white leather boots have two-inch heels, and they put me at eye level with him. He’s simply dressed in wool slacks and a button-down shirt. There are lines around his eyes, his face cracked from too much sun. But his smile is kind.

  “Welcome to McNeal Manor.” He steps backward, inviting me into his space. When I walk past him, I smell the soft, woodsy scent of his aftershave.

  “I’d shake your hand, but —” Mr. McNeal wiggles his fingertips. “I had surgery yesterday. All my finger-chips were removed. I lost a day at the office, but I thought you would be more comfortable this way. Now you know I’m not connected.”

  I smile quickly, fleetingly. At least he can’t take pictures of me with his hands, no matter what else he does with them.

  The great hall is gigantic. There are three stories of innately carved wood. Tapestries hang from the ceiling. An enormous fire burns in the hearth. The whole room is warm, and heat radiates through the marble floor.

  “You have a beautiful house,” I say. It’s the truth. Everything about this place is stunning, except for the security cameras in the corners. Mr. McNeal notices my glance.

  “Deactivated. Nobody needs to see you but me. At least for now. I’m sorry, but there was so much retrofitting needed for your arrival that the workers didn’t get to those yet. But I want you to know that when you’re in the manor, your privacy is completely secure. That’s as important to me as it is to you. The indoor cameras will be removed tomorrow, but the security cameras will remain outside. Let me show you around.”

  He offers his elbow, and I link my arm with his. It’s strange to be so close to the person who controls my fate for the next twenty-five years.

  Mr. McNeal leads me down the hall. “All of my employees have gone through the strictest security clearance and are entirely trustworthy.”

  “That’s good to know, Mr. McNeal.”

  “Please, call me Cal.”

  “Yes, Cal. Of course, Cal.”

  We move through room after room, all filled with artwork and antiques. Most of the rooms seem quiet, as if they have been unused for some time. Boston ferns grow in porcelain planters by every window. The red carpet cushions my footsteps.

  “The house is still connected, I’m afraid,” Cal says. “There’s no way to run a household Net-free anymore without major remodeling. That set-up you have at Tabula Rasa is practically archaic.” He looks at me quickly. “I don’t mean any offense by that.”

  “None taken.”

  We’re on the second floor now, approaching a metal door that appears newly installed.

  “I want you to be comfortable, Blanca, so this suite is all yours. Your rooms are lined with lead. No electronic device will work inside them.” Reaching into his pocket, Cal pulls out a key.

  I guess this is the part where I get locked up.

  “My own cloister?” I ask.

  “Yes.” But then Cal does something shocking. He places the key in my palm. “You have full access to the entire estate. I hope you will be happy here.” He smiles again, kindly.

  I don’t know what to say or do next. We are both silent for a moment, his hand still in mine. I know I don’t have a choice. This is my lot in life as a Vestal Geisha. It doesn’t matter that Cal’s over fifty.

  That’s when the silence is broken by a buzzing sound coming from his wrist.

  “My old chip-watch,” he says. “A high-school graduation present from my parents back in 2030. The staff had to dig around in the attic to find it, but it still works great.” Cal glances down at the message and scowls. He types something quickly with his knuckle, his fingertips too bandaged to function.

  “I’m sorry, but I have to go. There’s a problem at work. I’ll be back for dinner, okay? We’ll get started then.” Cal leans in and kisses me on the cheek. “I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been waiting for someone like you for a long time.”

  As soon as he turns away, I shudder.

  I don’t completely relax until I’ve deadbolted the door behind me. Cal said I have free range, but maybe that’s a test. I’d better stay put.

  My new room is quiet. One entire wall is full of books, the old-fashioned kind with actual pages. Another wall has windows, shielded by a massive stone-wall courtyard below. A third wall is completely mirrored. In the center of the room is a canopy bed with a velvet coverlet. By the d
oor is a glossy white desk, stocked with stationary.

  Somebody has thought of everything.

  I take off my traveling cloak and lay it across the bed. Then, looking down at it, I lie down too, burying my face in the fabric. I can still smell the faint scent of Tabula Rasa. I’m cut off from everyone, exhausted by the unknown. Thinking about the familiar brings tears. But when I wipe my eyes with the hem, I feel a folded sheet of paper slip out of my cloak pocket.

  Dear Blanca,

  My favorite words Barbelo Nemo ever spoke were: “See with your eyes. Hear with your ears. Listen for the directions that will come.”

  I share that wisdom with you now because anticipating your purchaser’s wishes is the most difficult part of being Geisha.

  But remember: clarifying questions are your friends.

  Follow your Vestal training. Keep yourself private, and everything will be all right.

  You are lucky, my dear girl. Nobody will ever know if your life is a success or a failure. Whichever path your life takes, it won’t be your fault.

  I’ll make sure you get invited to the Vestal corporate banquet in a few months, one way or another. Hold on till then.

  Ms. Lydia

  I fall asleep with Ms. Lydia’s letter in my hand. I dream about her heart-shaped face blessing me and my new life.

  Sometime later when I finally open my eyes, the afternoon is fading. Dust motes float in the air as the last rays of sunlight pour through the window. That’s when I notice hardware handles on the wall of mirrors. They’re actually doors, and they open to a large dressing room. There’s an entire wardrobe of white! At least I’ll be able to honor my Vestal vows of dress.

  Vestals forsake all color. We wear white as a symbol of purity and trust. If Cal had dressed me in color, I wouldn’t have been able to return to Tabula Rasa when my contract was fulfilled.

  But maybe these clothes hold other keys to my future.

  I walk past each row of clothes and run my hands across the garments. There are skirts and dresses of every length, plus leggings and jeans. Each item hangs neatly on a wooden hanger. These clothes tell me nothing about what Cal wants from me.

  Maybe I’ll have better luck with intimates.

  The top drawer of my new bureau is lined with cedar. Silk, lace, and chiffon are nestled in sachets of lavender. Everything is much finer that what I’m used to, but again, I learn nothing.

  From my bedroom, a clock chimes five o’clock. It’s time to prepare for the night.

  When Cal knocks on my door about an hour later, I’m sitting at my desk, wearing a silk skirt, camisole, and cashmere sweater. I’ve spent the past ten minutes trying to compose a letter to Fatima, but the words won’t come.

  Cal is wearing a tweed jacket, the kind with patches at the elbows. He seems nervous as we walk through a series of drawing rooms to dinner.

  Neither of us says anything.

  Before we turn into the dining room, Cal stops. We pause in front of a beautiful painting of a young woman. She has brown hair, like me, and is standing barefoot in a field of flowers. A golden pendant hangs from her neck.

  “My wife, Sophia,” Cal says. “A beautiful person, on the inside and out. She could play the cello and harp. She could,” Cal stops himself, without finishing his sentence. “She’s gone now,” he says simply. Then he clears his throat and leads me into dinner.

  When Cal pulls out the chair for me to be seated, I see small beads of sweat at his temples.

  Dinner is not the plain fare I’m accustomed to. Fish, vegetables, the occasional piece of fruit; Vestal training dictated every morsel of food I ever ate. The spandex Tabula Rasa uniforms are unforgiving.

  Now that I’ve been harvested, I’m supposed to eat whatever my purchaser provides. There are platters of roast beef smothered in gravy, golden yams, and Caesar salad. Cal’s eating a dinner roll lavishly spread with butter, so I do the same. The taste is so rich that I forget my fear. I lose myself in the pleasure of eating.

  But before long I remember who I am and what I’m here for. So I put down the bread and get to work. I give Cal the full force of my smile. “I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Cal. I’ve never had my own room before.”

  “I’m glad you like it. I used Sophia’s old decorator. She has exquisite taste.” Cal takes a large drink of wine. When he sets down his wineglass, it hits silverware, making a clinking sound. “I need to show you something. Will you be offended if I show you a website?”

  My silence is so thick you could cut it with a knife. Cal activates his chip-watch and displays Veritas Rex, the blog that broke my picture. I can see myself now, floating on the silvery screen coming from Cal’s watch. If he moves his arm to the right, it will look like I am kicking my water glass.

  There are a bunch of non-Vestal advertisements on it and other junk like that, but the thing I notice the most is the inky black snake that slithers across the page. I’ve seen that snake before. It was on a face, staring up at me from asphalt.

  “That’s the Virus who took my picture!”

  “Yes,” Cal says, “and now he’s in jail.”

  “Good.”

  “It’s more complicated than that.”

  “How can it be more complicated? That Virus can rot forever, as far as I’m concerned. He stunned two security guards, broke into Tabula Rasa, and stole my privacy. Jail sounds like justice to me.”

  Cal winces like I struck him. “That Virus is my son.”

  Well then. I scrape my fork across my dinner plate like there’s something left to eat. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t know.”

  Cal scrolls the pages until his son’s picture appears. Of course I look at it. I have to.

  The Virus is dressed in leather, covered in tattoos, and sitting astride a motorcycle. Dark hair sticks up every which way, and there’s a defiant edge to his face.

  “So that’s your son.”

  Cal nods. “Yes. He calls himself Veritas Rex now, and has been a viral blogger for the past five years. But his mother and I, we named him Seth.” His voice catches a little bit. Then Cal taps his watch and closes the visual. He pours himself another glass of wine but doesn’t offer me the decanter. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll come out with it and leave it at that. I purchased you as bait.”

  Bait? My stomach feels too full. The rich food is catching up with me.

  Cal sweats harder. He speaks in a rush. “My son hasn’t spoken to me in five years. But I know, I know, that with you living in my house, it will be impossible for him to stay away. A blogger like Seth won’t be able to resist easy access to a Vestal.”

  I consider this. Before I can say anything, Cal hurries on.

  “We’ll say you’re my daughter,” he says. “That I’m adopting you.”

  “But really you want me for your son?”

  “Exactly! I want you to bring Seth back into my life, one way or another.”

  A Vestal should never be with a Virus. But Cal’s paid thirty-two million dollars to say otherwise. And I’d gladly play with a son instead of an old man.

  “Pull up the picture again, please.”

  Cal shoots off the picture of Seth one more time. I lean across my dinner plate to examine it closely.

  Seth’s eyes are dark, not like Cal’s at all. They are rimmed with black, almost like he’s wearing eyeliner. A scar cuts across the bottom corner of his chin. A pendant hangs across his neck, tied with a red cord.

  I’ve seen that necklace before. It’s the same lion-faced snake medallion that Seth’s mother was wearing in her portrait. It’s the same animal on his website and on his face.

  “What happened to your wife?” I ask point-blank.

  Cal takes another long drink of wine. “She left us too soon,” he says. And then he tells me the whole sordid story.

  Sophia McNeal is never coming back, that much is clear. But maybe Cal is right. Maybe his plan will work. Because I can
be anyone Cal wants me to be, especially a daughter. Ms. Lydia made me practice that role extensively.

  I can do other things too. I’ve been trained for every possibility. I can hurt, I can heal, I can hook, and I can release.

  If Cal wants me to lure Seth back into his life, I can do that.

  The only thing I can’t do is fall asleep on my own.

  My cloister is quiet and darkened by shadows. I know the door is bolted shut, but it doesn’t help. There’s no murmur of breathing, no shuffling of feet.

  Rolling on my side, I pull the covers up tightly around my shoulders. If I concentrate hard enough, maybe I can still picture it. The Tabula Rasa bunk beds. My old black sleep shirt. Ms. Corina wandering the aisles, giving instructions.

  “Relax your forehead,” she’d say. “Then your cheeks, then your smile.” Ms. Corina’s voice was always sickly sweet. “Lie back and straighten your spine until you feel yourself lifted from above. You’re a little cloud floating in the sky above the whole world. And you’re placid. Perfectly placid.”

  Fatima used to mock her for using the word “placid” so often. “Charming Corina is such an idiot,” she’d say. “Why can’t she say ‘calm’?”

  But I’m trying not to think about Fatima or Ethan, Beau, and the rest. It’s too hard, thinking about my friends.

  So maybe if I try hard enough, I can still do it. I can be calm, I can be placid, and I can fall asleep all by myself.

  I’m still a Vestal even though I’m alone. I’ll always be a Vestal, no matter what happens.

  I have everything I need to achieve happiness.

  Chapter Three

  Vestals don’t usually free people from jail. But if this is what Cal wants, I have to do it. He asked Headmaster Russell to send over the paperwork this morning, dropping all charges against Seth for the crime of trespassing on Tabula Rasa property with the intent to cause harm.

  Thankfully the car Cal’s provided me with is pretty opaque. That’s good, because I’ve never been out in daylight before, except that one ride from Tabula Rasa to my new home at McNeal Manor.