Have Mercy

by Siobhán Béabhar

  "I must apologize on his behalf. He can be quite fun, on occasion," Powell said. "Ladies, I want to thank you again. Melia, my admiration. Albertine, it was a pleasure," he added, standing next to Craft.

  Red moved to stand before the departing men. "You really don't have to go."

  Baxter said, "It's quite alright. I don't think we would be good company for you ladies this evening." He threw his hand up, waving goodbye as he walked out of the parlor. I left my seat and followed him down the stairs.

  I turned to watch Red and Craft descending the stairs together. As he walked past me, I heard him say to Red, "I'll be back." She nodded, her eyes flashing in my direction.

  They opened the door and walked out of the house, taking the last of the tension with them. I locked the door and turned to see Penelope trotting down the stairs.

  "What in the hell just happened?" she asked, looking at Red.

  Red narrowed her eyes. Her lips puckered and she said, "I'll be meeting John later. Problem with that?"

  "That's not what I am talking about and you darn well know it!" Penelope snapped. She turned towards me and said, "Those men didn't show up to a party looking to drink lemonade and listen to parlor music. What in the hell just happened?"

  "What just happened?" I repeated, hoping to stall long enough to think up an explanation. "I guess we'll need hard liquor for the next time?" I said, trying to appear confused.

  Penelope rolled her eyes at me, shaking her head in dismissal. She pointed her finger at Red. "You know what this is about, don't you?"

  "What do you want from me, Penny?" Red asked.

  "Don't you dare try that on me. Everyone knows about Richard's little predilections. I knew there was something familiar about you, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Yeah, I know you. I know what you are, too." Her voice lowered, her demeanor surprisingly menacing for such a regal woman.

  I looked at Albertine and Melia, standing at the top of the stairs and looking down on the scene. "How about another song, Albertine?" I called out.

  "No. No more damn music," Penelope snapped. She stepped in front of Red, their faces just inches apart. "You're a goddamn whore."

  "Oh shit. It's on," Melia exclaimed, ambling down the steps. She moved past me, hovering close to Red and Penelope.

  "Penelope, I don't understand this. Why would you say something so hateful?" Albertine asked from her safe position upstairs.

  Red lifted her hand, gesturing for silence from the gallery. She stood a few inches taller than Penelope. She wasn't intimidated. She didn't even look perturbed when she said, "You're right, Ms. Harrison, I'm a goddamn whore. Do you have anything else you would like to say?"

  Penelope lurched back, as if surprised that Red would admit it. She turned to me and said, "Mercy, we can't have her in this house."

  "Why not, Penelope?" I asked.

  Melia gaped at me, understanding clear in her eyes. "You knew that, right?"

  "I did and I don't have a problem with it."

  "Heh," she stated, turning back to Albertine. "Did you know?"

  Albertine shook her head, saying nothing.

  "Were they really here for a party, Carol?" Penelope asked.

  "Of course they were," Red said, her eyebrows lifted.

  Penelope stepped away and turned towards me. She raised her arms, made a slashing action in the air, and said, "Mercy, having her around will cause talk. Do you want people to get the wrong idea about you? About us? My God! We all could be arrested because of her!"

  "My neighbors really don't care who comes and goes, Penelope," I retorted. "And I don't expect the clients to say anything or they would be risking their own necks."

  "But people will talk," Penelope answered.

  "What will they say? There's this woman..." I left the rest unsaid because I didn't know what else to say.

  "They're going to tell Arthur," she whispered, her fingers hovering over her mouth. Her chin dropped into her palm, and she turned away from us.

  "Do you care what Arthur thinks?" I asked. I felt concerned, watching Penny lose her shine.

  She said nothing. Glancing at the others, I approached Penelope and placed my hand on her shoulder. "Why do you care about Arthur's opinion? He left you for another woman," I whispered, hoping to invoke anger instead of sorrow.

  Her hand rose, flicking tears from her eyes. "You don't understand. My children already think I am crazy for moving out of the house. He'll use this as ammunition against me. He'll turn them all against me," she said, her voice wavering. "She has to go, Mercy."

  "I'm not going to ask her to leave, Penelope. I think you should know... I mean, I should tell you that.... I'm like Carol," I blurted out, failing to think of a graceful way of admitting my new career choice. She looked at me, confusion evident on her face. I shook my head, wrapping my arms around her. "I'm an escort, too, Penelope," I whispered into her ear.

  She stiffened and pulled away from me. Her face was emotive, shifting between distrust, disappointment, and then finally disgust.

  "This is a problem," said Penelope, her gaze dropping away from me. She refused to look at me as she pushed away from my side. She walked up the stairs, entered her room, and slammed the door.

  "What did you say?" Red asked.

  "The truth about me." Turning to Albertine and Melia, I motioned for them to step closer. "Ladies, we should talk."

  Albertine walked down the stairs, her eyes connected with mine.

  Melia turned, crossing her arms over her chest, and stared in my direction. "Let me guess, Mercy. It's your side-gig, too?"

  Taking a deep breath, I plunged ahead. "Yes. It's something that I recently got involved in."

  "And this wasn't something you could have told us before we moved in?" Melia questioned.

  "Truthfully? It's only been a week," I answered.

  "A week ago? Isn't that when you were with the General?" Albertine asked, disappointment in her voice.

  Melia turned away from me, addressing Albertine. "That's right. The night she spent talking with some new gentleman friend. He's a client, right?"

  "He was, but—" I began.

  "But nothing," Melia interrupted. "You let us believe he was some new sweetheart, but he's nothing more than a john. This is ridiculous. Look, I don't care what you do with your personal business, but that shit ain't right when you drag me and Albertine into it. I thought these guys were some friends of Carol's. I didn't know they were here looking to get laid. Fuck. Didn't you see how that Powell guy looked at Albertine?"

  "His interest made me uncomfortable. Now, I think I understand why," Albertine said. "Is this something that you truly wish to do, Mercy? Is your financial situation really that bad?"

  I looked at these women, knowing that I had betrayed them by not telling them the whole truth. They were feeling much like how I felt when I walked into that military ball, not knowing Carol's profession when others there did. I thought the get-together would be a nice way for me to meet new clients, but I should have realized that these potential clients wouldn't look at me and Carol as the only ones involved in the business. I felt angry on Melia and Albertine's behalf because I was their friend and I had taken away their choice.

  "I no longer have a paycheck from Family Universe; that's true. It's hard to explain, but I've made a rash decision. I don't regret making that decision because I think it's something that I want to do. I mean, it's something that I think will help me, not just financially, but also as a person." Closing my eyes, I tapped into emotions that I had long suppressed. "Since my husband died, I just haven't felt like myself. I felt detached from everything but sadness and disappointment. I have no friends or family that I am close to. I'm tired of being isolated. This job will bring something fresh into my life."

  Melia was skeptical. "Whoring yourself out is supposed to be some enlightening experience?"

  "Yes, actually," I admitted.

  "Have you thought about talking with a counselor?" she said.

  R
olling my eyes, I shook my head. "There's something gratifying about knowing a man wants you. Knowing that someone is willing to pay to be with you. The money is rather secondary to me at this point, but like I said, it's only been a week. I've only had one client, so I might feel differently after a spell. Don't get me wrong; the money has been good so far, but I don't think I would continue with this if I didn't think I would gain something else out of it."

  Albertine's lips disappeared into a thin line, but she nodded, accepting my words. She placed her hand on Melia's arm, and moved around her friend. She turned to me and said, "When I was a novice, I remember a Sister who worked with street-walkers. She would pass out condoms, promote STD awareness. She even collected stories about men who abused the street-walkers. I can't tell you whether or not you are making a wise decision, but I want you to make safe decisions. Promise me that."

  "I will, Albertine. I will," I said. It was something I'd already considered. I was relying on Carol to refer me clients that she had previously worked with, men she trusted. I would also not allow myself to walk into a location that was unfamiliar to me, and I would never, ever consent to unprotected sex, even if the money was right. It was an odd thing, but one of the most empowering aspects of my rash decision was that I truly understood what it meant to define my limits.

  Albertine smiled, the disappointment gone from her face. "Come on, let's go, Melia," she said. They exchanged looks, and Albertine won the silent debate. Melia shot me an unreadable glance before she turned to run up the stairs. "Good night, Mercy," Albertine said, following behind Melia.

  "I'm supposed to meet with John; would you like to come?" Red asked, startling me.

  I swung around to face her. She had been quiet for the last few minutes. I forgot she was in the foyer while I spoke with Melia and Albertine.

  "It's rather disheartening to feel like you have lost the respect of your friends, isn't it?" she asked. I met her gaze, seeing empathy in her eyes.

  "I'm sorry," I said to her.

  She brushed aside my comment. "Are you coming or not?"

  "Do you want me to go?"

  "It's your choice. All of this is," she stressed.

  "Are you leaving now?" I asked, debating whether to go or not. It wasn't so much that I wanted to be in Craft's company; I just didn't know if I wanted to be in the house any longer. I felt misplaced at the moment. It was like I was invading the sanctuary of the other ladies. I didn't want them to hide in their rooms because they didn't want to be around me.

  "You know what? I'm just going to stay in tonight. I'm feeling a bit tired," I said.

  Red studied me for a moment, and then she nodded. "I'll see you in the morning, Mercy."

  I waved goodbye as she walked out the front door. I turned around and made the long climb up to my room.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The house was quiet for most of the day. Since the confrontation last night, the ladies had dispersed to their rooms. The only time I saw the others was in passing on my way in and out of the kitchen. We'd mumble polite hellos; the tone was no longer friendly but civil and distant.

  It was how I wanted things when I thought about renting out the spare bedrooms. I didn't want to encourage social interaction between my tenants and me. I didn't want to become their friend. I didn't want to engage in conversations or care about their feelings. All of that had changed over the last few weeks, and I had taken it all for granted. Now I missed my friends, and I didn't know what I could do to end the tension.

  I was hiding in my room when I heard a knock at the door. Eagerly, I trotted downstairs, hoping it was one of the girls, looking to chat.

  Red stood there, her hand poised against the doorframe. "Be ready in an hour. We're going to a casual charity event. A skirt and blouse should be fine."

  I grabbed her arm, stopping her departure. "Have you talked with the others?"

  "Why would I?" She looked around the parlor, glancing at the piano, the bookshelves, and the lovely decorations that made this area such a welcoming part of the home.

  "I just hoped that maybe someone would have said something."

  "Nope," she said. "Not a word. I'll be driving tonight."

  I stepped into the parlor, scanning the walkway that led to the other bedrooms. Red dashed back into her bedroom. Disheartened, I turned and retreated back into my own room.

  ***

  Red and I pulled into a small parking lot at the local reception hall. There weren't many cars parked outside, but several people stood at the entrance, talking and laughing.

  As we approached the entrance, a few men stopped their chatter and nodded in greeting. Unlike our previous gathering, I felt no judgment with their stares.

  The parking lot was misleading. The venue was full of people. In the great hall, tables displayed items up for auction. Groups of people huddled around items, chatting and placing their bids. I relaxed, feeling an easy mood about the place.

  "I thought this was another date," I whispered into Red's ear.

  Shaking her head, she smiled. "It is."

  "It doesn't look like it," I said.

  "Were you expecting a seedy hotel? A smoky card room?" She grinned. "No, Mercy, sometimes we really are just escorts, attached to the arms of single men not wanting to look single." Red stopped her lecture. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. She glowed with joy. "There's John."

  His head was shoved into the opening of a large, ceramic pottery jar. He noticed us approaching. "Come here. Tell me what this smells like to you," he said, cramming the pot into Red's face.

  She pulled away. "I'm not smelling that, John."

  He glanced down at the bottom of the jar. "No 'Made in China' stamp. I think it's real."

  "How much is it?" I asked.

  "It's a silent auction. Bids are open for another hour. I like it, but people are bidding a couple hundred for it. I don't want to pay that much on some knock-off made in an Asian factory." With one final sniff, he leaned over the table and placed his bid. "Let's go before I get pissed off," he said, walking away from the table.

  Red and I followed behind the Admiral. He cut through the crowd, leading us to a back table. Powell and Baxter were there, bickering like two cantankerous old men.

  "You're a damn fool if you bid on that thing," Powell scoffed. He smiled as Red and I joined their little party. He leaned towards us and said, "Ladies, would you pay six hundred dollars for a cooking lesson?"

  "Just one lesson?" Red returned.

  "One lesson. Three hours," Powell answered.

  "Hold on," Baxter interrupted. "You're failing to tell them the best part. It's a cooking lesson with a celebrity chef."

  "Seems a bit overpriced, but that's just me," I said. That was six hundred bucks I could use on dresses, manicures, and other lovely things.

  "I'd pay it, but I would need more than just celebrity status," Red piped in.

  Twisting in his seat, Baxter scanned the room. Was he watching for other bidders? "The fun part is in the cooking."

  I snorted. "No, it's definitely the eating part."

  Baxter laughed and stood. "I'm going for it, Shelton," he said, leaving for the bidding table.

  "A damn fool, I tell ya. He's flaunting it all over the place," Powell said, looking at John.

  "I can't say that I blame him," John responded, puckering his lips.

  "Flaunting his love for cooking?" I asked, not sure how that was a bad thing.

  "No, his...you know," John said, pouring himself a glass of water.

  "His what? I don't know."

  John looked at me with surprise. He pointed in my direction, a half-smile on his face. "You didn't tell her?"

  Red shrugged. "I didn't think it mattered."

  His booming laughter filled our little corner. "Mercy, Tommy's gay."

  I mocked him. "So, because a guy likes to cook, it makes him gay?"

  Powell shook his head and leaned towards me. "No, he's really gay."

  Craft nodded, explaining
further. "He's had to hide it all these years. You know, because of 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell'. He's never been married, and when he was younger, he had a boyfriend who he called his roommate. The higher he was promoted, the more people questioned why such a good-looking officer would still be single. To stop the questions, I introduced him to Carol and some of her friends."

  I looked at Red. She shrugged again, neither admitting nor denying it. "Did you pretend to be his girlfriend?"

  "No," she said simply.

  "He escorted her to several events around town, but our Carol here has quite the reputation. It didn't fool people for too long," Craft chortled. "So we began to swap out girls, hoping to give people the impression he was simply not interested in a long-term commitment."

  "Was I part of this little plan?" I asked, wondering about the first night I met Baxter.

  "Yeah. Old habit," Craft admitted.

  There were a lot of tables, and some of them featured interesting items. We hadn't looked around much before we joined them at the table, so I wanted to get up, stretch my legs, and shop. "I'm going to take a look around."

  "Let me know if you see anything worthwhile," Red said, taking a sip from Craft's water glass.

  There were quite a few paintings and decorative items. I noticed the table with Baxter's cooking lesson. The current bid was $750. I shuddered with horror. Such a waste of good money.

  "Did you see the weekend getaway package? Only three bids for that one. Not surprising, since it's only Maryland," a voice said from behind me.

  Startled, I turned around. "I know you!" I exclaimed, pointing at the young man.

  Peeking through his lashes, he ducked his head. I would never forget those mismatched eyes. "Know me? Not really, but that can change, ma'am."

  "You look a little young for this crowd." He was out of place, standing in a room that must have had a median age of sixty.

  The corners of his mouth twitched as if he fought a smile. His tongue darted out, moistening his lips. He wore a white and blue baseball jersey shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans. His stance hinted at a tightly-controlled energy in stark contrast with the slow, laboring movements of the other people in the room.