Have Mercy

by Siobhán Béabhar

  Taking a deep breath, I looked at his face and felt a swift kick to my gut. He was beautiful. I wasn't too old to appreciate a fine, young thang when I saw it. I smiled. His lips twitched in reaction. His black lashes were lush and curly, and his eyes, well, I had never seen the like. His left eye was a dark hazel color and the right was deep blue, almost violet.

  He didn't look at me. His attention was centered on Craft. Dazed by his perfection, I stepped back to stare into his pretty eyes. That landed me in Craft's arms. His hands tightened on me, and I flinched from the pressure.

  The young man's lips tightened. He was taller than me and Craft, maybe six-two or six-three. His shoulders were broad, tapering down to a narrow waist. He wore a black jacket with large pockets on the front. My eyes caught on the row of gold buttons. I wondered if they were real. If they were, how much did they cost? His pants were dark blue, and starched to a crease. My gaze skimmed over his private parts before darting back to his face. That was unintentional, right?

  I was awestruck. I was surprised, not only by his attractive appearance, but because the young man was rescuing me from the big bad Admiral.

  "I don't think the lady is interested," Craft said, tapping his fingers against my upper arms.

  I looked over my shoulder at Craft. He, at least, had the nerve to look sheepish. This was the end of my patience, but the young man interrupted before I could slap the shit out of the old man.

  "I think we should let the lady decide," he said, dragging his gaze from Craft to me.

  His mismatched eyes bore a hole through me. He had to see the relief on my face. "I would love to dance with this young man," I said, pouncing in his direction.

  He took my hand in his and then wrapped it in the crook of his arm. He stepped backwards, moving us away from Craft.

  "Sir?" said the young man.

  I had made my choice, but I thought it wouldn't matter if Craft objected. I didn't know much about the military, but I understood that rank and decorum meant a lot to this crowd. Craft outranked my rescuer. It would be a real dumb move to insult him.

  Craft's eyes locked on my face; the corner of his right eye ticked a bit. A look of impatience flashed in his eyes before he nodded. The young man stood still while Craft made his way towards Washington's group. Immediately, the dynamic shifted among them.

  The youngster glanced down at me. I was mistaken. His left eye wasn't hazel after all. It was a strange blend of violet-blue and light brown. His hand closed over mine.

  His lips curled as he said, "I hope you're ready for me, ma'am."

  CHAPTER NINE

  My eyes had to be gleaming as I grinned at him. He looked back at me, a frown on his face. My smile melted and my heart sank. Had I offended him in some way? I leaned into his chest and said, "Thank you. I probably would have smacked that bastard."

  He looked affronted. I sputtered, amending my statement. "I really wouldn't hit an Admiral. At least not around this many people. He deserved it, though. I just... Oh, never mind. Anyway, thank you for stepping in when you did."

  The young man said nothing as he rested one hand on my waist and he raised his other hand. I lifted my hand and placed it in his grasp, and he began to lead me across the dance floor.

  He bore down on me with a dark, intense expression. I imagined it couldn't have been fun for a young man to dance with a middle-aged broad. He was nice coming to my rescue, but now he found himself stuck with my company for at least this dance.

  "So, what's your name?" I asked, smiling at his stern face.

  At first, I thought he was going to ignore my question, but he said, "Major Jackson Ransom, at your service, ma'am."

  "I'm guessing that a Major ranks below an Admiral," I said, hoping to lighten the mood.

  He spoke with a staccato rhythm. "Yes, ma'am."

  "What branch are you?" I asked.

  "Army, ma'am," he said. His arms tightened around me as he circumvented a near-collision with another couple.

  "An Admiral is in the Navy, right? Don't answer that. I think I know the answer. So, do you like being in the military, Jackson?" I made one last attempt to strike up a conversation.

  He seemed hesitant to answer. His long lashes fluttered as he blinked at me. His mouth opened, but then snapped shut before he said a word.

  "What's wrong, dear? Cat got your tongue?"

  "No, ma'am."

  "I didn't mean that literally."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  Stopping in place, I pulled my hand from his. Speaking through my teeth, I said, "Look, if you call me 'ma'am' one more time, I swear, I'll step on your shiny leather shoes. Got it, kiddo?"

  "Yes, ma'am. I mean, pardon me, ma'am."

  I stepped away from him and glared. I noticed his lips twitch as he fought to keep a straight face. He glanced away, looking at another couple.

  "You're fucking with me, aren't you?" I blurted out.

  His mismatched eyes returned to my face. The corner of his mouth hitched up before his face went blank. "Not yet," he whispered.

  I studied him. His expression was unreadable, but I was sure he didn't mean that the way that it came out. He was teasing me, toying with an old woman.

  I waved my hands at him. "Shoo. Go back to your friends. You've earned a gold star for the day," I said dismissively.

  He cocked his head to the side, and he gave me a half-grin. "A gold star? That was easy enough. What do I have to do to earn two?"

  Laughter erupted from my belly as I looked at this handsome, young officer. I wanted to pinch his cheek and offer him a piece of candy for his pluck. Instead, I stepped away from him, snatched up his hand, and pumped it in a firm handshake. "Thank you," I said before walking away.

  It wasn't the most elegant departure, but I didn't want to give him the impression he needed to keep me company. I walked around couples leaving the dance floor as I searched for Red. I would have loved to have found General Washington, but he was gone.

  "I don't understand how you have the audacity to show up to a place like this," a voice said beside me. Glancing in its direction, I found Deanna standing with the group of women I had noticed earlier.

  "Hello. I don't think we have been formally introduced," I said, putting on my best manners. I did have some. Hidden deep, deep within me. "You are Ms. Deanna Worthington, correct? My name is Mrs. Mercy Higgins." I lifted my hand, but she looked at it and then at my face. Her sneer made it clear that she didn't intend to touch me.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I looked at the other women as they twittered and gawked at me. I felt like an insect specimen trapped inside a glass jar. My discomfort was only adding to their amusement.

  "Well, ladies, if you would excuse me, I am going to find my friend Carol and our escort Admiral Baxter," I boasted. Earlier, Deanna had gushed at him, so I thought that by invoking his name, their attitudes toward me would shift. My attempt at civility was thrown back into my face.

  "Your escort? Admiral Baxter is your escort? Is that what you call them nowadays?" Deanna smirked at me.

  I ignored her. Her words confused me, but her tone didn't. I imagined that she watched Craft's advances on the dance floor and assumed I encouraged him. I pushed through their little group as I began to look for Red. I could hear them following me, a few paces behind. They were talking to each other and their voices carried, but their words didn't.

  As I walked through the crowd, I felt the stares of other women. None of them said a word to me, but their eyes said volumes. They judged me and I had no idea why.

  I self-consciously glanced down at myself. Maybe it was what I wore. Most of the women were in ball gowns, and I was wearing a cocktail-length dress.

  Where I was from, we were beyond the rigid rules defining acceptable dress, but maybe those rules still existed in high society. The stares made me feel naked again. The men looked at me with interest and curiosity. Their wives and dates glared at me with distrust and distaste.

  My eyes locked onto General Washington and
I smiled with relief. I walked in his direction, but he abruptly turned away and began talking to another uniformed man. A young attendant noticed my confusion.

  "May I help you find someone, ma'am?" she asked. She gave me a look of pity. I wasn't sure if she felt sorry for me because she thought I was senile or if she, too, noticed the General's dismissal.

  "Where is the ladies' room?" I tried to look confident, as if I was simply looking for the restrooms.

  "The handicap-accessible restroom is in the back of the house, past the kitchens. The other is on the second floor. It's a real resting room," she said conspiratorially.

  "Thank you," I said as I patted her arm. Walking past the whispering people, I made my way up the stairs. I held firmly onto the rail so I didn't slip and fall. My mother always told me I should never give someone the stick to beat me over the head with, so I would give nothing to these people that they could use against me.

  I opened the door of the ladies' room and went in. A few women stood in front of the mirror, applying makeup in their elegant ball gowns. I felt ridiculously out of place. If I had known this was a formal ball, I would have begged Red to dress me in something appropriate.

  I escaped to a sofa in the corner and sank down in defeat. My back and shoulders slumped as I bent over to undo my shoes. Sliding them off, I wiggled my toes. Taking a deep breath, I relaxed onto the sofa.

  Just as my eyes closed, I heard a woman say, "Are you sure she's an escort? She seems kinda old." My eyes shot open and I looked, hoping to glimpse the hooker. I looked up and met the gaze of two young women. One was a tall blonde who looked in her mid-twenties. She was leaning over the shoulder of a chubby, raven-haired Asian, who looked about the same age.

  There was no one else in the room now. The tall one turned and walked out of the restroom, holding the door wide open for her friend. The Asian girl looked at me, an apology in the way she shrugged. She rushed out of the room to catch up with her friend.

  I laughed. Those girls thought I was an escort. If they thought so, I was sure the people downstairs did too. I let my head fall back onto the sofa as I fought hysteria.

  How could anyone think I was an escort? I was a middle-aged widow with antisocial tendencies. I'd only been with one man in my life, and it had been a long time since I'd had sex. Hell, I didn't even masturbate.

  I dropped my face into my hands as I realized why Admiral Craft's regard had been so blatant. Didn't he know Carol? Didn't he know that I was her friend and not some escort?

  I needed to find her. She should know the rumors about me. They were ridiculous claims, but this was her crowd. I didn't want her reputation to be tainted by their strange notion.

  Me, an escort. My vision of a prostitute was of a highly sensual woman who was confident in her clothing and demeanor. I could barely walk in my shoes, and I was sure that I looked out of place. Between the two of us, I thought Red met the stereotype better than I did.

  Oh God. Fighting the temptation to pull at my hair, I curled my fingers into fists. My mind reeled as I conjured up memories of watching Red dash in and out of the house.

  Wasn't she a consultant? I rarely saw her leaving during the day. Most of her activities had been at night. On the few occasions when her friends picked her up, I realized now that they were all men. Were they her clients? Yeah, that's what she called them. Her clients.

  My throat constricted as I fought down a wave of tears. Why didn't I see this before? Carol was an escort! And everyone assumed that I must be one too because I came to the ball with her!

  No. No. I was overreacting. I didn't know that about Carol. I didn't know shit about her background. I was wrong about her, just like the people were wrong about me. Maybe they just didn't like new, unknown women infringing upon the military elite.

  I stood and walked to the mirror. I looked at myself and I saw what others saw. Even though the red lace covered them, I could see the lushness of my breasts. The dress was tight on my body. My hair was curled in an enticing manner. I didn't look respectful; I looked sinful.

  Grabbing a tissue, I began wiping at the bright lipstick. I rubbed until it was gone from my lips. I pulled another tissue from the box and began to swipe at my eyeliner. Tears gathered behind my lids, and for the first time in a long time, I felt ashamed of myself.

  My breath caught in my chest as the emotion rolled through me. Sobbing, I rubbed vigorously at my makeup. I walked to the sink, put soap into my hand and scrubbed away any trace.

  I looked at myself in the mirror. She wasn't gone. In spite of puffiness around my eyes, and even though my nose was bright red and my checks were rubbed raw, I still saw a sinful woman.

  I heard laughter as a group of women stumbled into the bathroom. They looked at me and glanced quickly away. They avoided making eye contact as they darted into empty stalls. I returned to the sofa and slid my feet into my shoes.

  After I took a long, re-assuring breath, I made a beeline for the door. Pulling it open, I stumbled back when I noticed someone waiting outside. Leaning against the wall, across from the ladies' restroom, was the Major. He held a glass tumbler filled with amber liquid. He said nothing. Pushing away from the wall, he offered me the glass.

  Our fingers met as I accepted the drink. I smiled my thanks as I sipped the strong liquor. He was rescuing me again, and I didn't know why. This was my fourth acceptance of help this evening. A pattern was building.

  "Your friend left with Admiral Craft," he said.

  I glanced down the hall and looked back at him in confusion. "I think you mean Admiral Baxter."

  There was laughter in his eyes when he shook his head. The Major was no longer wearing his jacket. His shirt was completely buttoned and the bowtie had not been untied. I guessed that was as relaxed as a soldier could get at a military event.

  "Admiral Baxter was called away. Your friend left with Admiral Craft." Looking at me with concern, he grabbed my chin and peered at my face. His hand fell away as he stepped back. I think he felt pity towards me because he thought that Red had broken some hooker code, stealing a customer away.

  I gulped the liquor, allowing it to burn my throat. Alcohol was a good sanitizer. Maybe I would take a bath in it when I got home. I finished the drink and handed the empty glass back to the Major. Smiling pitifully, I said, "I guess you earned that second star."

  Cocking an eyebrow, he accepted the glass.

  "Thank you. Again," I said as I turned to walk down the hall towards the stairs. Because of the shoes, I had been unsteady on my feet for most of the night, and the alcohol and waves of emotion drained me of my strength. Leaning against the wall, I lumbered down the hallway.

  "You keep walking away from me. I'm not sure that I like that," he said as he followed me down the hall. His steps quickened before he slid his arm around my waist. He supported my weight as we walked down the stairs. People walked around us, staring at the young, handsome officer helping the old, pathetic hooker down the stairs. Damn. I was giving them that stick.

  He stopped at the attendant's area. "Did you bring a coat?" he asked.

  I shook my head. "A shawl," I said into his shirt. He grabbed my shawl and walked me outside. A cab pulled up and the Major opened the door.

  I stepped into the car and sat down. I looked up and saw the driver leering at my legs. The Major held the door open. "Where is your purse?" he asked.

  "I didn't bring one," I said, reaching down the front of my dress. I pulled out my fifty-dollar bill and waved it in the air. He took a deep breath, shaking his head as he muttered to himself. I must have reinforced some hooker stereotype in his mind.

  "What's your address?"

  "What?" I responded. My mind was turning to mush.

  He rephrased the question, speaking louder. "Where do you live?"

  Reacting to the command in his voice, I turned to him and rattled off my address. After he slammed the door closed, I collapsed onto the seat, curling into a ball.

  The Major walked to the driver's windo
w. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a money clip. He removed a $100 bill. Repeating my address to the driver, he handed over the money. "You make sure you get her home safe, you hear?"

  The driver tried to snatch the money from the Major's hand, but he pulled it back. The Major leaned into the driver's face and whispered something. I wasn't sure what he said, but it intimidated the driver. The man ducked his head before nodding his agreement. The Major stepped away from the cab.

  As the cab pulled away from the curb, I turned to look at the Major through the back window. I waved, but he spun away and walked up the stairs.

  I felt like a complete ass. I didn't have a purse. I had no phone. What if something had happened to me and the Major hadn't intervened?

  I was also pissed off. Carol had abandoned me. She had taken off with that creep, Admiral Craft, leaving me to find my own way home. Maybe she was a hooker? Maybe she wasn't? I didn't give a damn about that at the moment. She had talked me into going with her. I did so, as a favor, and she left me!

  "Did you have a good time, Miss?" the driver asked.

  "Do I look like a fucking Miss to you?" I snapped. I was being rude. That wasn't unusual for me, but I knew I was taking my anger out on the wrong person. I didn't apologize. I sat silently, scowling at trees and cars as we drove past.

  The driver pulled up in front of my house. He stopped the meter and began to count change. The taxi ride cost just under forty dollars. The driver was handing me two twenties.

  "What's this?" I asked him.

  "The man said that I should take twenty for my tip and to give you the rest," he said, waving the money at me.

  I looked at the money and then back at him. I shook my head and said, "No, you keep it. All of it. I'm sorry I snapped at you. I was pissed off at someone else and I took it out on you."

  The driver yanked the money back. My apology didn't mean one thing or another to him. "Thanks," he said as I exited the cab. He sat watching me as I walked up the steps. I turned and looked at him as I unlocked my door. At first, I thought of those urban legends involving taxi drivers who came back to the houses of their customers, but I realized that the Major had probably ordered him to make sure I entered the house. I waved at him, and he threw his hand up before he drove away.