The Sudden Star

by Pamela Sargent

  She approached a glass-topped counter and gazed at a ruby pendant. She recalled that Werner Takaishi was taking her to dinner that evening. If she mentioned it, just in passing, he might buy it. She felt a twinge at her temples, as if another headache was coming on; she should ask Simon for stronger medication. She decided she'd mention the pendant to Werner. She might as well find out exactly where she stood with the shy, quiet businessman. She sighed. She was still too used to the straightforward transactions at Lono's, so much for this, so much for that. When you dealt with the rich, who could buy anything anyway, you had to act like you had something worth selling for a high price.

  "No, not today," a woman's voice said loudly. Aisha looked up. Isabeau Rasselle was coming out of a room in the back of the store, shaking her silvery-blond head. She was dressed in yet another of her violet dresses, the only color she ever wore. A blond salesman followed her, carrying several boxes of jewelry.

  "I can show you some of our diamonds, Miss Rasselle."

  "I’m not interested, maybe another time." She passed Aisha, paused for a moment, and nodded at her. Aisha nodded back. Isabeau left the store, trailed by her bodyguard. The salesman stopped next to Aisha and put down his boxes.

  "Can I be of service?" he asked, brushing back a lock of blond hair. He smiled, focusing on her with his blue eyes.

  "I'm just looking."

  "If there's anything you'd particularly like—are you a friend of the Rasselles?"

  "I met Isabeau at one of Titus Echeverria's parties," she said, pointing her chin at him. "They're going to be married, you know."

  "Everyone in town knows that." He peered at her more closely. She sensed he was sizing her up. He went behind the counter and leaned against it on his elbows, resting his handsome pale face on his hands. "I suppose you go to parties often."

  "Yes, I do."

  He smiled again. "We like to make things convenient for you here. When we get to know you, we'll be happy to extend credit. And if there's anything else I can do for you, any more personal service you might like—"

  "You're pretty blatant, aren't you."

  He stood up and spread his hands on the counter. "Don't be so hard on me. When I see an attractive woman, I have to try, if I don't, I won't get anywhere. Sometimes someone is interested." He shrugged. "I'm helpful to a few of the women in your business." She stepped back, feeling angry. "Don't look so outraged. It's work like anything else. As I said, I'm helpful. Clever women can find out from me just how much their companions can afford. And I'm a very soothing friend at other times."

  "For a price, of course."

  "I have to live." He folded his hands. "You're obviously new here. I can help you. You don't seem as stupid as some of the others, but you're not making use of your potential."

  "What's that supposed to mean?" She was annoyed with herself even for asking. She'd heard of others getting entangled with men like this one; Corazon was losing money to a swimming instructor at the Fontainebleau. But they could be useful as well. "How exactly," she continued, "am I not using my potential?"

  "Your accent, for one thing. You speak too quickly. You should cultivate a more leisurely manner. And you look vaguely hostile, as though you're suspicious of people. It shows you've had a hard time in life, and clients don't like that."

  "They would hardly care," she said loftily, "for someone who's too anxious to please."

  "Perfectly correct. But you should look as though you expect proper treatment, in fact as if no one had ever mistreated you. You have to seem unaware that anyone would dare to mistreat you, as though you belonged here and had never been anywhere else."

  The man had caught her interest in spite of herself. She began to resent Simon, who, with his background, could have told her some of this, and hadn't found time to take the trouble. He didn't care, she thought angrily, but he was too cowardly to face her with it. It didn't matter what he thought anyway. Her head hurt. She swallowed, trying to ignore it.

  "And your clothes aren't quite right, either," the man's light tenor voice went on. "Too cluttered and yet too functional at the same time. You should aim for simplicity, and a garment that does absolutely nothing but enhance your appearance."

  Aisha felt awkward in her beige slacks and ruffled red blouse. "You make it sound like I'm hopeless," she said, thinking of the money she had spent on the clothes.

  "If I thought so, I wouldn't have spoken at all. You do have an almost classic beauty, which is probably why your lacks haven't damaged your business. But imagine what you could do with some guidance. You should let your hair grow, too. You look too boyish."

  "That never hurt my business before."

  "It depends on what sort of client you want to attract, doesn't it? Dealing with someone who's not quite sure what he is can be unpredictable, even a little messy at times, you can't control things as easily."

  "You're right about that, I guess." She decided she would try to find out more about the salesman, while being careful he didn't learn too much about her.

  "Another thing," he said, lowering his voice almost to a whisper. "I learn quite a lot about the people who have accounts here. You might need such information."

  "I'm not a blackmailer," she said, annoyed.

  "Of course not. But it helps to know who can pay for your presents and who can't. It's very sad when a young woman discovers her gifts weren't completely paid for, and has them taken away."

  "Do you know anything about Werner Takaishi?" she asked.

  The salesman reached into the glass case between them and removed a velvet-covered tray of rings. He placed them in front of her. "Let me show you these. I suggest the garnet ring here. You need solidity, a base. Garnet provides that."

  She shook her head. "I'm not buying, just looking."

  "Excuse me. I thought you were interested in information about Werner Takaishi. Perhaps I was mistaken."

  "I see." She gazed at the rings. "You want your commission."

  "These are all quite reasonable in price. I'll be happy to open an account for you if you can provide a reference."

  "No, thanks." She pointed at a ring. "How much is the jade?"

  "You do not want to buy jade yourself. It has no power unless it is given. The same is true of the turquoise. You need a garnet in your business, or perhaps a carnelian if you have poor health."

  "Very well, I'll take the garnet." She tried it on and it fit. He took it from her and placed it in a small box while she rummaged through the small pouch hanging from her belt, trying to calculate her resources. Takaishi would feed her that evening. She could eat a lot and forget about food tomorrow and the day after, if necessary. Titus was giving a party later in the week; she could make a meal of his appetizers. If she was to cultivate this salesman, she could not have him think she had to worry about money.

  He swept her coins off the top of the counter, wrote up a receipt, and handed it to her. "I offered you this inexpensive purchase, because there isn't much I can tell you about Mr. Takaishi. He lives in a condominium overlooking Indian Creek, though he doesn't spend much time there. He seems to have investments in several businesses but no one knows the details. He owns several boats and spends part of the year in Fort Lauderdale."

  "I need to know something about his personal life."

  The blond man shrugged. "That is also somewhat mysterious. He's a shy, reclusive man. I was a bit surprised when you mentioned him before, he doesn't often have much to do with women, or with men either for that matter. He goes to parties purely for business reasons, and his only hobbies are skeet-shooting and reading."

  She raised an eyebrow. "Reading?"

  "A friend of mine who works as a maid in his building told me he has quite a collection of books. His other furnishing are apparently quite plain." He said that with a disdainful expression. "He has no personal servants and no bodyguard."

  "I don't think he needs a bodyguard. He's always armed."

  "People of standing," he replied, "always have b
odyguards. It may simply be he has nothing worth stealing, and apparently no enemies either." He glanced around the store restlessly. There were only two customers in the place now, and both were being waited on.

  Wanting to talk some more, she turned back to him. "What do you know about Isabeau Rasselle?" she asked.

  He lowered his eyelids, then peered at her sideways, as if on guard. "Probably nothing that isn't common gossip. If you attend Mr. Echeverria's parties, you must know as much as I do."

  "But I don't. I'm not about to ask a lot of questions in a room filled with Titus's friends, it might look funny. No one ever told me anything about her except that she's rich and going to marry Titus, and I always had the feeling they didn't want to say more, so I never asked about her."

  "Well, you definitely have a brain. Just why do you want to know about the Rasselles? Is it just curiosity?"

  "No," she answered. She watched him cautiously; he could be selling information to Isabeau. She considered that, then rejected the notion. Isabeau had walked away from him as if he was nothing more than a device to sell jewelry, it was the way she seemed to treat everyone. And this man had spent a lot of time selling her an inexpensive ring, something he would not have bothered doing if he had more lucrative prospects. He was only a scavenger, selling information and gossip, selling his body to women who had already sold theirs. "Titus helped me," she went on slowly, "so I'm dependent on his good will, and if he's going to marry Isabeau Rasselle, I should know something about her."

  He came around the counter and stood near her. "It's past lunchtime," he murmured, "and I'm hungry. Why don't we continue our discussion over a meal. I know a lovely place nearby."

  "Only if we split the tab," she said, testing him. He pouted. "After all, if all you know is common gossip, I could always talk to someone else. I meet enough people."

  He fidgeted a bit, then nodded. "All right."

  She smiled, reassured.

  They sat at a small, round table by the window. The small restaurant was nearly empty. A large ceiling fan hummed and sputtered. The tables, crowded together in the tiny room, looked like big white mushrooms; the green plants hanging in the corners seemed wilted. A young waitress was winding her way toward them. Aisha perused the menu. At these prices, even paying only half the bill, she would have almost nothing left.

  The waitress stared at them indifferently with her brown eyes. The salesman, who had told Aisha his name was Arne Fraydo, smiled kindly at the waitress. "I'll start with the pâté—"

  "We're all out of it."

  "Then I'll have a cup of the bisque—"

  "We're out of it."

  "Spinach salad, then."

  "We're out of that, too."

  Arne drummed his fingers on the table. "Salad vinaigrette?"

  She wrote it down. "I hope you don't want anything with beef in it. We're out of that too." She looked balefully at Arne, as if he were to blame.

  "Why are you even keeping the place open?" he asked.

  "Listen, sir, we run our business as best we can, it's not my fault when the city of Miami decides to hold back supplies until they can gouge even more money out of us, and now even the boat captains want more for what they bring." She closed her mouth tightly; two lines appeared at its corners.

  Arne settled for fish and beer. Aisha, knowing she would eat that evening, ordered a lemonade. The waitress wandered off, stopping near a table in the back where an old couple had seated themselves. Aisha said, "You were going to tell me about Isabeau Rasselle."

  "Please speak softly," he responded, glancing uneasily toward the old couple. "There are ears everywhere."

  "You said all you know was what everyone knew."

  "That doesn't mean it's wise to babble freely about it."

  She leaned over the table. "Come on, Arne."

  "I don't know if she'll ever marry Titus Echeverria," he said softly. "I hear she keeps putting off the marriage, always for some perfectly good reason, but she does. Her parents are extremely wealthy, as you know, if their daughter marries Echeverria, they will be even more powerful. He may not have their social standing, but he is influential. Some say he may have half the police department in his pocket."

  "I've seen her father," she said, "at parties."

  "Sean and Malna Rasselle are desperate for this marriage, Isabeau's their only child, and she's almost twenty years old. I'll tell you something else." He looked up as the waitress came over and left their drinks on the table. He sipped his beer.

  "Well?"

  "A woman I know once worked for the Rasselles as a maid on their estate. A couple of years ago, a very prominent man here made an offer of marriage to the Rasselles. Sean and Malna accepted. Isabeau, according to my friend, nearly went mad. My friend overheard her fighting with her father. It ended quite violently. Isabeau was apparently badly beaten. A few days later, the man arrived at the estate to make final arrangements. Isabeau was subdued by then, according to my friend, who helped serve dinner that evening. She had given in. When the man left, Isabeau kindly offered him the use of her boat; he had business in Miami and his own boat had sprung a leak during the visit. He was never seen again. Part of Isabeau's boat turned up a few days later, drifting in Biscayne Bay."

  "I see," Aisha said. She swallowed some lemonade. "Why wasn't anything done about it?"

  "Really, Aisha," Arne muttered. "Who is going to bother the Rasselles?"

  "You said this other man was prominent."

  "True, but Sean Rasselle had already gone in on several business ventures with Titus Echeverria by then, and no one was going to antagonize them both. In fact, when Echeverria decided a few months back to marry the Rasselle, no one was really surprised, it seemed a natural course of events."

  The waitress came back with Arne's fish, put it on the table, and left again. Aisha thought about what she had been told. "It doesn't add up," she said at last. "It could have been an accident."

  "It could have been. I don't believe it was."

  "Anyway," she said, "if you know about it, so does Titus, and he obviously doesn't care." She finished her lemonade and got up, leaving some coins next to Arne's plate. "I have to go now. I'm meeting someone this evening and I want to rest."

  "Will we meet again soon?" he said, smiling up at her.

  "Maybe. I know where to find you." She left the restaurant and hurried outside, striding past the well-dressed shoppers who didn't have her worries. Satisfying her curiosity had only made her feel worse. She thought of Titus and Isabeau and wished she could forget them. Her head throbbed.

  "Don't you want to come inside?" she said to Werner Takaishi.

  He leaned back in the rickshaw, his face shadowed by the night. "Not tonight, my dear." He smiled and she saw his crooked teeth. He squinted at her with tiny, almond- shaped eyes. He was an ugly man, with graying hair and stooped shoulders. She no longer cared about that. He had reached out to her that evening and with a few words removed her worries. She had even managed to forget her headache for a while. "If you like," he went on, "you can come to my room tomorrow at eight for breakfast. I have a room at the Americana for the week."

  "Sure," she said, wishing he wasn't such an early riser. He took out a pouch and handed it to her. The coins clinked. The pouch felt heavy. He patted her hand. She climbed out and waved to him as the rickshaw-puller padded away.

  She hurried toward her apartment. A small courtyard separated the two almost identical rectangular two-story buildings. A fountain, decorated with two nymphlike figures, sat in the center of the courtyard. One of the nymphs lacked an arm; the fountain was without water and encrusted with dirt. Aisha entered the building on the left, nodding briefly at the night watchman pacing in the courtyard, and climbed the stairs to her apartment.

  She went inside, closed the door, and lit a lamp; the landlord turned off the electricity after nine. She sat down and poured the coins onto the small table, counting them carefully. She leaned back in the chair, satisfied. At this rate, she cou
ld pay off her debt to Titus in a few months, take care of her expenses and still have something left over. Takaishi would take care of everything now. He might even get her permanent papers in time. He had promised her plenty of books and had even listened when she mentioned the ruby pendant. All she had to do was be around when he wanted to see her, and forget about seeing other clients, and that was fine with her, a lot simpler than going home with men she met at Titus's and never knowing what to expect. She could even forget about Simon. It served him right. She smiled and kicked her feet, wanting to laugh out loud. It must have been her talk about books that did it, making Takaishi see that she wasn't like the others, that she had more substance. Her talk with Arne Fraydo had been worth it. Otherwise she wouldn't have known about Takaishi's interest and would never have brought it up. Her literacy had put off her early clients here. They liked their women dumb.

  She heard voices in the hallway. Simon was talking to someone. His door closed and she heard muffled footsteps on the stairs. Curious about who was seeing him so late, she went into her bedroom and peered out the window facing the street.

  A dark, hooded shape scurried around the corner of the building toward the street. It paused for a moment, twisting from side to side, then ran to the curb and stopped. The hood was thrown back for a moment before the figure proceeded across the street, alone, without a bodyguard.

  Even in the dim light, Aisha had seen who it was. The silvery hair was Isabeau Rasselle's.

  Simon opened the door, and Aisha marched in, noticing that he was shirtless. She strode over to the far corner of the waiting room and sat down. A nearly empty bottle of wine was on the table near her. Two glasses were next to it.

  Simon slammed the door and perched on the desk across from her. In the dim light, his face was almost feral. He had shaved off his beard in early spring, spending several days in the sun, evening out his tan. He looked meaner without the beard. He twisted his mouth into a half-smile and folded his arms. "I don't mind talking for a bit," he said. "But make it short. I have to get up early."