by Kailin Gow
I sigh. Sometimes it feels like there will never be any relief to this madness. Sometimes it feels like I will always be in limbo: caught between worlds, caught between loves. Like I will never truly know the answer to anything, not even my own identity. How can I find Rita, I wonder glumly, when I can't even find myself?
Then the phone rings.
For a moment I think it's Terrence. My heart leaps. But when I pick up the receiver, it's a different voice I hear. One that fills me with a sensuous feeling of warmth and happiness. It's a delicious feeling: one of safety, of being wanted, needed, loved.
“Hey, sexy.”
“Hello, Mr. X.,” I make my voice mock-deep, affecting a Marlene Dietrich pose. “It's been too long. I missed you.”
“I missed you more,” Mr. X says. “I'm sure of that. Oh, Staci, you don't know how awful it is to go through meeting after meeting with no sense of relief. I missed you. I missed your face. I missed your body. It was terrible. New York was a misery without you. Next time, I think I'm going to have to send over my jet to pick you up...”
Your jet?
I don't say anything, but my mouth falls open nonetheless. Mr. X. never fails to surprise or to amaze, but I'm secretly glad he doesn't see me gaping like a fool.
“It's good to hear your voice, Xander,” I say.
“Listen, are you free tonight?”
“That's not up to me,” I say. “Ask Mrs. Walters.”
“She said you're not booked. I'm asking you what you think. You free for a date?”
“Always,” I smile, leaning back onto the bed, enjoying the feeling of fresh silk on my skin.
At least Mr. X. always makes me feel wanted, desired.
“How about seven?”
“I can't wait,” I say. It's true. Ever since that magical night at the ball, Mr. X. has represented something new to me. A feeling of truth, of comfort. He might be a playboy in the outside world, but in the world of the Blue Room, Xander is the reliable one. The safe one. The one who won't hurt me.
Of course, that could just be a game, too. Just like Terrence.
Xander shows up at seven on the dot. He's looking sexy as hell: his hair slicked back, his bright eyes glistening with desire. He hasn't shaved, and the stubble gives him a rugged look so at odds with the perfectly coiffed businessman he usually shows to the world. Just knowing I see this side of him – the side that nobody else does – excites me beyond measure.
“Oh, Xander...” I murmur. “You know how to make a girl swoon.”
No sooner do I say this than Xander picks me up and carries me to the bed.
Then we're in one another's arms.
Xander is a slower lover than Terrence, a softer one. He makes me wait, caressing my body with the smoothest and the gentlest touch. His fingers feel like velvet against me. He blows lightly across my stomach, causing my nerve endings to be set aflame. He does not try to bring me to the brink of orgasm in a straight shot, the way Terrence does. Instead he seems to take pleasure in raising the intensity to a point where I don't think I can bear it, only to slow down, cause me to lose my orgasm, cause me to wait longer for the moment of final relief that my whole mind and body crave.
Then he plunges into me, and I come with him inside of me.
“Come on,” he says, when at last I'm panting, spent. “Time to go out!”
The night is magical. Of course it is. Mr. X. always knows how to make me feel special, desired. Like the only woman in the whole world. We have box tickets to the opera: a production of La Traviata.
Figures, I think grimly. An opera about a whore.
But as I watch the story of the courtesan La Traviata and the man who is in love with her, despite her many men, I find a new perspective on the story. A possibility that love can transcend even commerce: this interaction between my body and his cash. Of course, I'm not planning on dying of consumption any time soon.
I glance over at Mr. X. He's gazing at the singers, rapt with attention. Truly affected by the music, not simply taking me for show, as so many pretentious types in this city do. He takes my hand and raises it, softly, to his lips, and for a moment I think this is a new kind of tenderness in him.
Then we go to a French restaurant: La Belle Dame Sans Merci. Another coded reference, I wonder? But the food is so delicious I forget to wonder for long. Course after course is brought out for us: quails and oysters, extra rare filet mignon and scalloped potatoes in a béchamel sauce, a fine Grand Marnier soufflé, all accompanied by the very finest Grand Cru wines.
“This is all too much,” I say, embarrassed, as the waiter pours us both little glasses of fine after-dinner port. “I can't accept your hospitality.”
“Believe me,” says Mr. X. “The gift of your company is worth more than I can ever pay. Besides, I like spoiling you. It makes me happy to see you take pleasure in all sensual experiences I can provide for you.”
That night, we go to Mr. X's beach house, where he makes love to me again. We lie together on a silk sheet he has spread out over the sand, looking out over his private beach, reveling in the beauty of the moon on the water.
“Sometimes I feel like we have a secret,” whispers Mr. X to me. “Something nobody else can ever understand. Now that you know who I am and what I'm doing at the Blue Room, it's more intense than ever.”
“Are you getting close to finding out what happened?” I ask.
“Maybe,” he says. “I certainly hope so. I'm worried, though. Once we do find out what happened at the Blue Room with Roz's killer – will I have to stop playing the part of your Mr. X? I hope not. I find myself loath to leave this whole world behind now that I know the pleasure it brings.”
“Me too,” I admit. “This fantasy, this whole world. It's part of who I am now. I don't know how I'm going to let go. I'm so focused on finding out about Roz's killer, and all the secrets of the Blue Room...what happens next?”
“If only we could just be happy together,” whispers Mr. X. “Just you and me by the sea. If only we could just live inside a dream. Would that be enough, do you think, my love? Or would your ambitions take you far away from me?”
“I could never be far from you,” I answer him. But my heart is churning like the midnight sea.
Chapter 8
My night with Xander Blue ends as beautifully as it began. We stay out until midnight, lying naked together on his silk divan spread out over the white sands on his private beach, watching the moon slowly vanish behind clouds and the light it casts on the water slowly fade. It is the most beautiful feeling in the world: being with him, being happy.
But I know it can't last. Soon it's dawn, and as the rosy-fingers of sunrise make their way across the horizon, Xander is driving me back to Blue Towers. I want to cry, although I know it's stupid to do so. This is the end of an assignment, nothing more. He slips the envelope full of cash into my hand, the way he always does. Then he kisses me goodbye: a light, tender touching of our lips.
“I'll miss you,” he says. “But Staci – I'm worried it's getting too dangerous out there. For you. For us.” He looks down at his shoes, a dark shadow across his face. “I will see you again, Staci, but I don't know how much longer it can go on...”
“What are you talking about?”
“You and me, Staci,” his voice is gentle and tender. “I'm worried this is getting intense. It's not safe for you. I'll see you again, but after that...I don't know. I'm sorry, Staci. I should have said something sooner. I just didn't want to ruin a single moment of our beautiful night together”
“No, of course,” I say. I am the consummate professional: adaptable, flexible. I know when a job is just a job. “Whatever you want,” I say. “It's up to you.”
I go to my room before he can see the tears stinging my eyes. I sit for a while by myself, letting the tears flow freely.
Stupid Staci, I berate myself, how many times do you have to be reminded that this is just a fantasy? How many times are you going to fall for the same cheap lies men tell wo
men? Didn't your upbringing teach you anything? Now both Terrence and Xander are pulling away from me: both making it clear that I'm just a good-time girl for both of them, nothing more.
I sigh. I guess I'm just the same old stupid fool I used to be on day one. Life in the Blue Room hasn't toughened me up as much as I'd hoped.
I look over at my answering machine to see a bright red blinking dot on it: one voicemail. I'm hoping against hope that it will be Xander, calling to tell me he's changed his mind, that he wants to see me again right away. But it's a woman's voice: and one I don't recognize at that.
Hello Miss Atussi. This is Beverly Scrampton from the Los Vegas Hospice Network. We're just calling to confirm that Genevieve Atussi has been discharged from our system and is heading home. Thank you very much for your time. Bye now!
My mother – discharged from the hospice? But it couldn't be! I'd been so careful, always so careful, about paying her bills on time, making sure they were paid long before the first of any given month. At least, until my father took over charge of her accounts....
I gritted my teeth. I was stupid to trust him. He'd vanished from our lives once before; how could I not have seen that he would do it again? How could I not have seen that the minute my back was turned he'd run off: leaving my mother flat broke.
Kicking a cancer-stricken woman out of hospice care – some dad you are, I think grimly.
My heart is pounding with worry. What is my mother doing now? How could she leave the hospice without even contacting me directly?
I know what I have to do. There's no choice in the matter. I don't even ask Mrs. Walters for permission. Something more important even than my life is at stake here. I march straight out of the Blue Towers, cash in hand, and make my way to the airport. Everything is passing in a blur: I barely even notice what I'm doing, where I'm going. I book the first flight to Vegas and then I'm there. Back home: in this arid desert landscape, with neon lights everywhere.
I don't even know how many car crashes I cause on the way. I drive like a maniac, speeding full throttle down the highway, until I get to my mother's house.
“Mom?” My voice is tentative. I'm terrified of what I might find. “Mom – what are you doing here?”
The door is unlocked.
“Mommy?” I cannot hide the shaking in my voice. “Are you okay in there?”
I enter the house. My mouth falls open.
The place is beyond a state.
I've never seen chaos like this: not ever. The place looks like it's been ransacked – but nothing has been taken. Instead it's like somebody went through this place, looking for something.
Panic floods through me. Who would do this to my mother: my sweet, kind, lovely mother who has never done an ill turn to anybody all her life? I can't believe it.
“Mom!” I scream. “Mom!”
“Staci...”
The voice is a weak one, but it's there. Overwhelmed by relief, I rush to the source. My mother is in her bedroom, in her pajamas, curled up in a corner. She looks so little and frail in her pajamas that I want to cry.
“Staci...I'm so sorry.”
“Mom, what happened? What's going on? Are you okay?”
“I'm so sorry....”
I pick her up. She is so light in my arms. I bring her to the bed and wrap her tightly in the covers. “Mom, what's going on?”
“I should have told you the truth a long time ago, Staci.” Tears are rolling down her cheeks. “I should never have kept anything from you. But I wanted to keep you safe so badly – I didn't know what else to do...”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your father, Staci. He's a Tennenbaum.”
A what?”
Then it hits me.
“Like one of the Tennenbaums?”
The shady banking family that makes the Blues look like paupers.
“I told you some untruths about your father, growing up. I never wanted to .But I was scared if you knew the truth it would only make things worse. You'd be angry at me for the life of poverty we led, knowing you were so close to wealth...”
“That's not true, Mom! I could never be angry with you.”
“Your father and I loved each other very much,” my mother said. “And we wanted to get married. That was our whole plan. But when the other Tennenbaums found out I was pregnant – they must have had me followed to the doctor's – they knew even before I told him, they got scary. Really scary. They offered me a million dollars to have an abortion. They said I was a no-good showgirl slut who probably slept with hundreds of other men and they didn't want me to sully the perfect, pure bloodline or the Tennenbaum name. They threatened me. They made it very clear that if I turned down their offer and refused to have an abortion then they'd come after me. They told me they had access to hit men, that they were untouchable. That you and I both would simply...disappear one day, and nobody would ever even find the body. I was scared, Staci, so scared. They were so powerful – and I was a nobody. But I knew that I would never kill you. Not for a million dollars. Not if my own life depended on it. You were my baby. You were my link to the man I loved. But I knew that if I stayed with your father, neither of us would ever be safe. So I went into hiding. That's why I gave up being a showgirl. I was afraid of being recognized, afraid of being out in public.
“But they found you, Staci. Someone found a photo of us taken in a local paper of me at your high school graduation. You in your cap and gown. Me hugging you. A beautiful memory. But somebody must have seen it – and now you're in danger. Oh, Staci, I'm so sorry. I wish I knew what do do. The Tennenbaum family is urgently trying to reach us. But I won't let them find you Staci. I won't let them have you.”
I can't believe what I'm hearing. It's one thing to have a killer on the loose in the Blue Room, but to be in danger when I'm among my own family?
“I only just got home,” my mother said. “They've already been here, looking for you. We need to move. We need to go somewhere safe.”
“Don't worry.” I hold my mom tight. “I'll take care of everything. I'll find you another hospice – for now, I can find you a furnished apartment somewhere. I'll use my Blue Room company credit card – they'll never be able to track the purchase to me.”
I try and take all this in. I'm completely overwhelmed.
There's so much to do. So much to take care of.
I go through the house after my mother falls asleep. Everything has been ransacked. Everything's been overturned. Photographs of me, my mother. I pick up one photograph, half-crumpled, of me and Rita together some Christmas. Looking like sisters. Looking happy.
Memories of a better time, I think. We may have been poor, but at least my mother had her health. At least I had my friend.
What I wouldn't give to go back to that time now!
I cry softly so that my mother doesn't hear me. I can't let her see how I'm suffering. My mother has given up so much to protect me. She's even risked her life. What could I ever do to pay her back for that dedication, that love?
What can I ever do?
Chapter 9
That day, I use my Blue Towers credit card to book my mother an apartment, furnished, secure, safe, in a gated community. I use a fake name on the booking form: “Alexandra Blue.” There are so many Blues knocking around, I reckon, that one more won't hurt.
“You don't have to do this,” my mother tries to insist. “I'll be fine on my own. I feel a lot less sick than I used to; the experimental treatment your father's been paying for is really helping me physically. I just hate to think of being a burden to you.”
“You could never be a burden,” I insist. Now, more than ever, seeing how much my mother has sacrificed for me makes me realize the depths of my love for her. She'd been offered a million dollars not to have the baby she hadn't even planned, even wanted. A million dollars or a life in poverty, degradation, and fear. And yet she'd chosen life. Chosen me. What could I ever do to make that sacrifice worth it?
Deep down, fea
r gnaws at my innards. If my mother found out what I really did for a living, who I really was, would she still be happy with the choice she'd made? Or would she realize that she'd given up her whole life to give birth to a prostitute?
Every mother's dream, I think grimly.
I look at that photograph of me and Rita together. We look so similar, I think. We could even be sisters. The same wide smiles as we hold up our ornaments: decorating our little Christmas tree. Those were the good times, I sigh. When we were eating cheap fast food, enjoying life. Not like it was when things were complicated. Not like now.
But as I stare at the photographs, I start to wonder about something. A hunch comes over me.
Rita, Rita, I whisper to myself. Where can I find you?
I say goodbye to my mother, wrapping her in a tight embrace that's practically a bear hug.
“Careful!” My mother laughs. “I'm more likely to get crushed to death by you than fall vicitm to any of those nasty Tennenbaums.” But I know she's only doing her best to make light of a terrible situation. She's just as scared as I am, deep down.
It's so hard saying goodbye to her.
But I have to go back to the Blue Room. Not just to work – if I'm paying my mother's rent again I have to earn a salary – but also to find Rita. For the first time in a long time, I'm starting to think I might have a lead.
When I return to California, I do not go to the Blue Room. Not at first. Instead, I head straight to Malibu, where I go back to the rehab clinic.
I have an idea.
Last time I was there, I asked for Rita Malone. But what if Rita used a false name – disguising her identity just the way my mother had to for so many years?
So instead of asking for Rita, I show the woman there a photo.
“Have you seen this girl?” I ask. “I've been told she was here. But she was using an alias – I don't know what name she checked in under.”
The woman behind the counter takes the photo. A shadow falls over her face. “es...” she says. “I recognize this girl...I think. Someone like her came in a few months ago.”
