She made her way to the bar on the side of the room. She asked the bartender for some fruit juice, then noticed a nearby table with appetizers. She looked at the tasty morsels and her stomach tightened; she was too nervous to eat. She clutched her glass, feeling almost naked without her knife. It had been taken from her at the door and she wasn't sure her blue silk dress looked right without it. She peered at a small group in front of her; only one man among them was wearing a knife. Either styles were different here, or he was trusted.
Someone brushed against her. She turned and saw a short, chubby redhead, one of the women who had been with her on the elevator. The redhead smiled, showing tiny, perfect teeth. "Hi, you were on the elevator with me, weren't you?" She picked up a meatball and tucked it into her mouth. "I'm Corazon Huff," she said with her mouth full.
"I'm Aisha Baraka."
"Have I seen you here before?" Corazon picked up a little sausage wrapped in pastry. "You should try one of these."
"This is my first time," Aisha said cautiously.
"It's a good thing you got here early. The ones who get here late just lose out. Of course, this party isn't that big, so some girls just didn't come at all. Titus is really very generous. He always feeds you, and you can drink all you want, even if you don't find a client. I sure do feel sorry for those poor things who'll wind up standing around in the lobby." Corazon brushed a few crumbs off her pink dress. "You a worker or a tourist?"
"Uh, a tourist, I guess."
"Don't you know?"
"I'm visiting the city."
Corazon gulped down another meatball. "Let me give you some good advice. Don't undercut anybody. The rate's fifty dollars, and if you take less, not-nice things happen to you. We like to keep the price up, you know. If one of the working ladies introduces you to a client, she gets ten percent for her trouble. And if you cut someone else out of a possible deal she might have had if you weren't here, it's nice to give her a ten. You tourists owe us that, after all. We could keep a closed shop if we wanted to at these things."
"Thank you," Aisha said, trying to smile and feeling she was out of her depth. "I don't think I'll be any trouble to you anyway. I only came to see Titus Echeverria."
Corazon's mouth dropped open. She stared at Aisha, batting her long eyelashes. "Oh, really," she said. "You only want to see Titus. My God. I suppose you just think you can stroll right up to him."
Aisha drank her fruit juice quickly and put down the glass, trying to think of what to say. "I shouldn't have put it that way," she said at last. "What I meant was, well, it's just my system, you see. I aim high. If it doesn't work out, I make an arrangement with somebody else, but if you start at the top and work down, you know, you might do better than—" She paused, smiling again at the redheaded woman.
Corazon chuckled. "It makes sense. It might just work for you. You're not Titus's sort, but you're probably one of the best-looking women here."
Aisha sighed, relieved. "Which one is Titus?"
Corazon stood on her toes, straining to see. "He's over there, in the corner by the window." Aisha looked and saw a short, round man in a white suit; his lightly tanned forehead glistened. A handsome, gray-haired man, also dressed in white, stood next to him, draping his arm over the back of Echeverria's wicker chair. Echeverria lifted his hand; two men and a woman went to him, hiding him from Aisha.
"Can you introduce me?" she said to Corazon.
The redhead giggled. "If I could introduce people to Titus," she said, "I'd be a lot richer. Sorry. You'll just have to wander over and hope he’ll notice, but he usually doesn't. He certainly isn't going to with his future father-in-law standing there." Aisha assumed she meant the gray-haired man. "Just be subtle about it. Don't keep loitering or he might have you thrown out. I've seen it happen."
"If anything happens," Aisha said impulsively, "I'll give you a commission."
"I really don't expect anything to happen." Corazon finished another sausage and wandered off.
Aisha, trying to look inconspicuous, circled the room, moving toward the window. The window was open. She looked out and saw the pale beach far below. She sniffed at the salty ocean air. For a moment, at least, she could pretend everything was all right. She listened to the sea rolling in, heard the murmur of the voices behind her, punctuated by laughter. She wanted to stay here; she imagined the party continuing, the sun never rising. She sneaked a glance at Echeverria; he was still busy with his friends.
A woman was standing near her, also staring out the window. She glanced at Aisha quickly, with violet eyes. She wore lavender; the silver knife belt around her hips looked more decorative than functional. Her skin was pale, as if she never went outdoors. Her silvery-white hair was pulled back from her face. Aisha opened her mouth to speak and then closed it. The pale young woman seemed surrounded by an invisible wall.
The woman turned and walked toward Echeverria. She nodded to the older man, who took her arm. Echeverria rose, kissed her on the cheek, then patted her rump. She stiffened, as if not wanting him to touch her, and left with the older man. She must be, Aisha thought, the woman Echeverria was to marry.
One of the men near Echeverria looked at Aisha suspiciously. She moved away from the window, recalling Corazon's advice about loitering. She almost bumped into a thin, bald man. He smiled down at her. "Can I get you a drink?"
"Maybe later," she answered, smiling back.
"Don't wander off. I'll be looking for you."
She retreated to the table of appetizers, feeling that she must force herself to eat something. The room was growing warmer, the smoke and noise was making her weak and disoriented. She ate a sausage. It sat in her stomach like a stone. She thought of the bald man. She could leave with him, or with someone else, get some money, buy more time for herself and Simon. She toyed with the idea; she could come back to another party some other time. She could take care of herself and forget about Simon. That was probably the smart thing to do. She felt a pang at that, not sure why. He trusted her, no one else had; anyone else might have abandoned her during the hardships of their journey.
A big man was weaving his way through the knots of people toward her. She watched him, not recognizing him at first until he came up to her. He wore a wrinkled gray suit and a revolver at the waist. His freckled face wrinkled as he smiled. "Well, well," he said, standing with his thumbs in the belt that circled his wide waist. "I see I'm not the only one moonlightin'."
She clenched her hands behind her back. She said, "Hello, Officer Rabe."
He signaled to the bartender while Aisha felt the muscles in her face grow tight with despair. She tried to make her mind blank, knowing she wouldn't suffer as much if she didn't think.
He swallowed his drink in one gulp, then leaned over her, one large hand on the wall. "Now, I sincerely hope you're not workin' this party here, 'cause that's illegal. You see, we like to protect our residents from any possible extortion or blackmail attempts."
"I'm not working."
"I really can't see why else you'd be in attendance."
"I'm visiting," she said desperately. "I came to speak with Titus Echeverria."
He drew back a bit. "Is that so? Well, then, why aren't you over there visitin' with him?"
"I haven't had a chance," she said weakly.
Rabe grinned and took her arm, clutching it tightly with his calloused fingers. "Then let's remedy that, Miss Aisha. If I had known you had friends here of that caliber, I certainly would have had a more congenial discussion with you and the doctor. I hire out as a guard sometimes to Mr. Echeverria there, and it's about time for me to be at my post." He propelled her across the room and past the knot of people gathered in the corner. An armed man near the wicker chair stepped away and Rabe took his place.
Echeverria raised an eyebrow. He glanced idly at Rabe, then at Aisha. His chubby face looked petulant. "Who's this girl, Rabe?" he said in a high tenor voice. The people near him looked coldly at her. Her cheeks burned.
"She says she
has to speak to you, sir."
"I don't know her. Throw her out, or arrest her, or whatever it is you do." He waved his fat fingers lazily, as if brushing her away.
"Wait," Aisha said. Her voice seemed shrill. "I'm with Simon Negron. I'm a friend of his. He sent me to see you."
The round little man did not react. Rabe took a step toward her. "Just a moment," Echeverria said, motioning the big man back. He leaned forward slightly in his chair. "Is Simon here in Bal Harbour?"
"He's here in Miami Beach," she answered.
Echeverria rose to his feet. "I'll talk to you, but not here." He gestured to her and she followed, Rabe trailing along behind her. He led her into another room, told Rabe to watch the door, then closed it.
They were alone in a large bedroom. Echeverria seated himself in a red velvet chair near the window. Aisha hesitated, then sat down across from him, folding her hands in her lap. His face was so shadowed she could barely see it; the only light on in the room was a small lamp near the large bed.
"Why didn't Simon come to see me himself?"
"He tried to. He came here this morning, but he couldn't get in."
"He could have sent word to me, given his name."
"He did," she replied. "They still wouldn't let him in."
"I see," he said, rubbing his chin. "He's not too well off, is he? He needs favors. I sometimes thought he might come here needing advice, but I think he needs more than that."
He's going to turn us away, she thought. She'd have to be honest with him, he could easily find out if she was lying by talking to Rabe. "He was in prison in New York," she said quickly. "He managed to escape and we made our way down here. We have tourist permits, but we have to leave here at the end of the month." She thought of telling him about Rabe, but decided against it. "He told me you'd help us, that you were his friend."
"You put me in a difficult position. I didn't get where I am by giving things away. If he stays, he needs a resident permit, and probably a work permit, and that's very costly, very costly. You see my point. I haven't seen Simon in years, and much as I might like to aid someone who is at least partly responsible for getting me where I am, I don't see that I can do much."
"But he'll pay you back," she said. "He did well in New York. He can do well here, I'm sure of it."
"He couldn't have done well if he was in prison."
"It was only for practicing medicine illegally, he wouldn't even have been caught if—"
"Medicine?" Echeverria sat up. "You mean he finished medical school?"
"He was a doctor."
"I never thought he'd get through. He was still in school when I left. I was sure he'd never get the money to finish. He must have been cleverer than I expected." He paused. "Still, setting up a practice here is very expensive."
"He's a good doctor," she insisted, not really knowing if he was. "He can make a lot here. If you invest in him, you'll make a profit. He doesn't want charity, just a start. You won't regret it. You'll pay him back for helping you, and make some money besides."
He twisted a bit in his chair, looking uncomfortable. "I owe him, I guess. They say if you don't help friends when they need it, the star strikes you down, but I don't believe it." He looked as though he did believe it. "And it wouldn't hurt to have another doctor to consult." He mumbled that comment mostly to himself. He seemed healthy enough to Aisha, but she said nothing. "Is Simon still good-looking?" he asked, as if worried about it.
"I guess so," she said.
"He always was. He was always smarter than me, too. Well, maybe he wasn't, after all. I looked up to him, I always thought something would rub off on me." Echeverria chuckled suddenly. "I guess it did."
Aisha found herself thinking of Ildico, always smarter, always better-looking. She recalled the daydreams she used to have; Ildico would become successful and rich. They would live together and have everything they wanted. Sometimes the daydream would be different, it would be Aisha with the money and success, and Ildico would be with her because she wanted to share it with her friend, and Ildy would see she was smart after all, and maybe a little sorry she hadn't given Aisha more credit, and would remember how far they had come. She'd owe everything to Aisha, she'd have to be grateful.
Aisha smiled, forcing her attention back to the man in the red velvet chair. She was sure now he'd help Simon. He'd never let Simon forget it. "I want to see Simon tomorrow," Echeverria was saying. "I'm not promising anything. I'll have to talk to him."
"When?"
"In the morning. I'll leave instructions with the doorman." He peered at her. "I don't think I have to ask you what your profession is."
The comment irritated her. "I'm Simon's assistant now," she said haughtily, as if it were a fact. "I'm not ignorant. I know how to read."
"Really." He raised an eyebrow. "Don't get defensive with me. I'm not interested at the moment." He got up. "I have to get back to my party."
She followed him into the other room. He motioned to Rabe. "Take her home."
"Should I come back, sir?"
"No, I think this party'll be over early." Echeverria turned and ambled back to his chair, looking tired and bored.
They left the room. Aisha rummaged through the weapons on a table in the hall, finally locating her knife and belt. She buckled it on; Rabe took her arm. She turned toward the elevator. Rabe held her back. He signaled to a man in the doorway next to Echeverria's suite.
The man opened the door. Rabe pushed her toward it. "Go on in, Miss Aisha." She entered the room. He slammed the door behind him.
"Echeverria said to take me home," she said evenly.
"And I certainly intend to," Rabe said as he began to unbutton his shirt. "But I think you owe me somethin' for helpin' to initiate your dialogue with Mr. Echeverria." He unbuckled his belt. She gritted her teeth and turned away, not wanting him to see how much she hated him, pushing her mind outside her body, as she always did, so it couldn't be touched. She choked down despair, undid her dress, and forced herself to smile.
Aisha looked out her window. The rain had stopped; the sun was out, drying the streets. Two chestnut horses clip-clopped by, pulling a cart with two young couples. A bus sputtered past the cart, stalled, then started again. A rickshaw puller sat on the curb, eating lunch.
She picked up her purse and left the room, locking her door. She stood in the hallway for a moment. The door to Simon's apartment was across from hers. For a moment, she thought of knocking on it, just to see if he needed her any more today. She went to it, lifted her hand, then stopped. She heard his voice inside; she couldn't hear what he was saying. He probably wouldn't need her. He would finish with his morning appointments, and then see Titus, and then circulate around the Americana, making contacts.
She hurried down the stairs and out the door. She looked at the rickshaw puller, then decided against that; walking was cheaper. She passed a group of tourists, wishing she had somewhere to go.
Nothing was the way it should be. She was discontented. Perhaps she had too much time to let her mind wander. When she looked straight at things, instead of circling around them, she saw that, except for being more comfortable, her position was as shaky as it had always been. She and Simon were dependent on Titus Echeverria's good will, because he had only bought them temporary papers, wanting to see how good an investment they were. Each week, after paying Titus back a bit, and giving him his cut as well, and taking care of living expenses and upkeep, there wasn't anything left. Aisha suspected that they could remain in debt for years.
Her friendship with Simon had deteriorated also. Titus had helped Simon set up his practice and introduced him to prospective patients at parties. She had gone to work for Simon, only to discover she could do nothing for him. Not knowing how to organize a file, she lost records. She had to transcribe his notes by hand, because she did not know how to use the old typewriter he had bought. She misspelled medical terms and did not understand what most of the terms meant. She was no help at all in examining patient
s. At last Simon, through Titus, had hired a paramedic named Stanley Ortiz, leaving Aisha the job of receptionist. That job was only a cover for her real work. She met male patients, there and at Titus's parties. Soon she had been doing reasonably well; Simon no longer had to pay her. He was her pimp now, as Titus was, too, in a way, since she had to give him a cut. Pimps and customers; that was all men would ever be to her. She should have realized that.
She hurried across the street, darting between two rickshaws, careful not to step on the lumps of horse manure. Hawkers stood by their horse-drawn carts, announcing their wares; the street smelled of fresh fish, turds, rotting fruit, and salty sea air. A breeze ruffled her hair, the sun was already making her sweat. It would soon be summer; she wondered how hot it would get. She walked slowly through the knots of people, looking at the store windows filled with clothes, shoes, pictures of apartments and houses for sale or rent, bottles of wine and liquor, lace underwear, and other objects she could not afford. Everything had to be brought in by boat, or across the causeways from Miami; by the time it got here to Miami Beach, the price had tripled. Titus, like many people here, had invested in farms and food distribution.
She stopped in front of a jewelry store and peered at the glittering gems in the glassed-in windows. Corazon Huff, who often gave her advice at parties, had told her it was wise to coax clients into giving jewelry as gifts. "They can stop rent on an apartment," Corazon had said. "You can get thrown out of a house, and expensive clothes are hard to move. But jewels are portable, you get a certificate of ownership, and you can use them to make investments. You can keep the originals in a safe place and wear copies." Corazon had not told her how hard it was to talk anyone into buying them in the first place.
Impulsively, she entered the store, brushing past the armed guard in the doorway. Her sandaled feet sank into the dark blue carpeting. The walls too were dark blue; gilt-edged mirrors hung on them, making the room look even larger. Silvery chandeliers hung from the ceiling. She looked up and saw tiny pinpricks of light, as if the ceiling was studded with stars. Salespeople and customers murmured to each other softly, as if in a place of worship.
The Sudden Star Page 15
