Remember My Name

by Dara Girard

  But she’d had a family once and sisters.

  Sisters.

  She now only lived to see them again. They must be so worried about what had happened to her. They probably blamed themselves for leading her to the van, but they’d all been victims. They had tried to pay a ransom, but the men had been greedy. But she would escape this somehow and return to her family. She’d see her father again and stepmother and hug her little brother.

  How? The voice of defeat whispered in her ear. How can you escape here? Where will you go? Who will believe you? You are invisible, nothing.

  But every night she let her anger warm her and kill that tiny voice until it became a whimper.

  19

  “Girl!”

  Catherine paused. She’d been folding the clothes in the laundry room when she heard the command. She hadn’t heard it in a while. She walked to the living room—making sure not to hurry—wondering what the madam would blame her for this time.

  “Yes, mah-damn?” she said once she’d reached the room, where she found Mrs. Salako sitting on the brown leather love seat with another woman.

  “Mrs. Leland has something to say to you.”

  Catherine didn’t know the woman well. She’d seen her at a few gatherings hosted at the house, but like the other guests, she didn’t mean much to her. She didn’t stand out, although like many of the madam’s visitors, she was impeccably dressed. Today she wore dark trousers and long black boots, a turquoise blouse and a long gold necklace. She had light chocolate freckles on her honey skin, and her long legs and her neck reminded Catherine of a flamingo. “I was just telling Elsie what a gem you are,” she said, shouting at Catherine as if she were speaking to someone who didn’t speak English.

  Catherine cast a nervous look at madam. Nobody thought of her as valuable, let alone a gem. What was the woman on about?

  Mrs. Leland clapped her hands together and beamed. “I listened to your advice and my son’s life was saved.”

  Catherine gripped her hands behind her back. Mrs. Leland was a stupid woman. It was strictly forbidden for her to speak to anyone, especially guests. She’d only spoken to her because she’d seemed so distraught when she’d seen her alone at one of the parties. “I’m sorry, madam, me nah say nothing.”

  Mrs. Leland blinked. “But you did. At the last party I told you about my dream.”

  “No, mah,” Catherine said lowering her gaze to appear appropriately subservient. “You must switch me with someone else.”

  “I didn’t. I know it was you. I’m here to thank you, you silly girl.”

  Catherine shook her head. “I’m sorry, mah. I did nothing.”

  “But—”

  “It’s a harmless mistake,” Elsie interrupted. “They tend to look alike. She hardly talks and is too stupid to offer you anything useful.”

  Mrs. Leland frowned. “Yes, well. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

  “A visit from you is never a waste,” Elsie said with a smile. She waved a hand at Catherine. “You’re dismissed.”

  Catherine nodded and left, inwardly releasing a sigh of relief. She hoped that madam truly did believe she was stupid and that her lie would pass. She had taken a risk talking to Mrs. Leland without permission.

  At one of the parties one evening, moving around unnoticed, she wanted to announce to everyone ‘I was once just like you. I used to go to school, ride horses, swim in the ocean, play in the garden. Fly in airplanes.’ But her life before seemed like a dream. In four more years, half of her life would have been lived as a slave.

  Perhaps it was arrogance that had made her speak, as much as a desire to help. She wanted someone to see her. Really see her and need her. She didn’t expect much, surprised that the woman had even listened, let alone followed through. She was glad her son’s life was saved. But she’d put her own at risk.

  “Was she really mistaken?” Elsie asked Catherine later that evening after Mrs. Leland had gone.

  “Yes, mah-damn.”

  “I wonder why she confused you with someone else like that.”

  We all look alike, isn’t that what you said? Catherine shrugged.

  “Nobody else better mistake you for someone else.”

  Catherine bit her lip and nodded.

  20

  She hadn’t made a mistake.

  Robbie Fraser waxed the Salako’s black BMW as his mind ruminated over the conversation he’d overheard. He knew Mrs. Leland hadn’t gotten the house girl confused with someone else because he’d heard the girl talking to her that night. He’d gone out for a smoke and eavesdropped. He hadn’t thought much about it until now.

  At eighteen, he had dreamed of being a star. He’d fallen in love with films and gotten his good looks and tanned skin from his mum, an Afro-Caribbean woman, and his name from his father, a Scottish man who’d died when Robbie was nine. Life had been hard after that, but he still dreamed of making it. But although he had the looks, plenty of girls had shown him how much so, he didn’t have the drive, talent or the humility to admit to himself that he wanted something for nothing. So, by twenty-eight he ended up being a driver, still hoping that one day he’d be discovered and waiting for that special moment that would change his life.

  However, Robbie could spot star quality in others. And he saw it in the Salako’s house girl. When he’d overheard her talking to Mrs. Leland he’d been most surprised at how certain she sounded—she usually sounded halting and unsure. But that night she had a con artist’s smooth delivery. Either she was a superb actress or the real thing. He couldn’t think what she could get out of scamming the woman. He hadn’t heard her ask for anything. Maybe she just wanted to help. That kind of naiveté could be useful.

  Later that night as he lit one cigarette with the butt of another, he couldn’t stop thinking about the house-girl. That girl had a gift and the Salakos didn’t realize the goldmine they had living under their roof. Then again, they had enough dosh that they didn’t have to worry about it. However, Robbie had plenty of money worries that a girl like that could make disappear. He stubbed out his cigarette and called his cousin, Faye Randolph, a woman barely scraping by, reading tea leaves and crystals.

  “I know a girl who interprets dreams,” he said once she came on the line. “I think she could be of use to you.”

  “How?” Faye asked ever suspicious.

  “Business is bad, isn’t it?”

  “It’s just the location.”

  She’d been using the same excuse for years. “It’s because people are catching on. But instead of having to con them, how would you like the genuine article?”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Salako’s got this girl working for her, yea. And she’s good at interpreting dreams.”

  “Dreams are a hard sell, Robbie. I don’t—”

  “Come on, give us a listen.”

  She sighed heavily. “Go on then.”

  “This girl’s spot on, she is. Mrs. Leland’s been talking her up like the girl’s the bleeding Virgin Mary.”

  “‘Cause she’s soft in the head,” Faye said, unimpressed. She’d grown used to his stories about the women Mrs. Salako entertained. More money than sense most of them. “Besides, one reading isn’t enough.”

  He sighed, annoyed that his exaggeration hadn’t worked. “She’s got the gift, I tell ya. As plain as the nose on my face, that girl’s got it. You can’t pass up an opportunity like this.”

  “What opportunity? She’s not mine.”

  “I think she could be,” Robbie said, glad she finally sounded interested.

  “I don’t have that kind of money. Unless you’re planning on robbing a bank or something.”

  “Don’t worry about money. I plan to get her another way.”

  “How?”

  “You leave that to me. Just believe this. This girl is going to be our ticket. Just you wait and see.”

  “I think you’re dreaming too much. Mrs. Salako won’t let you have her.”

  “Don’
t you worry. I’ll get the house girl without paying a thing.”

  “How?”

  “By promising her what she desperately wants.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Freedom.”

  “How much do they pay you?” Robbie asked Catherine when he caught her taking out the trash and recycling. He looked around to make sure they weren’t spotted. He knew the mistress was away and the master at work. But he had to act fast. He tightened his red scarf and rubbed his hands together against the cold.

  She shook her head, dumping the bottles into the recycling bin, letting them clatter together, sending a scared sparrow off into flight, and causing a striped stray cat to lift its head in interest as it lazed under the car. She turned to return to the house.

  “They don’t pay you anything, do they?”

  She stopped.

  That was good. “How would you like to get out of here?”

  She spun around.

  Robbie smoothed down his hair, knowing he looked his most dashing and trustworthy in his crisp uniform. “I can make that happen.”

  “How?”

  She was talking to him, that was even better. “I have ways, but you’ll have to do what I say.”

  “What do you want?”

  He hesitated, doing his best to look confused. “What do you mean?”

  “Why would you help me? I have no papers. I have no money.”

  “Don’t worry about that. Things can be arranged.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Nothing.”

  She turned.

  He silently swore. Wrong move. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lie to you.”

  She slowly turned back to him and waited.

  “I help you and you help me.”

  She measured him up and down; for some reason the assessment made him nervous. Although she didn’t look older than seventeen, she had an unsettlingly keen gaze. “You’re married?”

  “Yeah,” he lied, hoping she’d trust him more. He’d come up with a story of why he didn’t wear a ring if he had to.

  “Yet you want to sleep with me?”

  “No,” he said, waving his hands, and flashing his most charming grin. “No, that’s not what I mean. Listen, I help you and you can help me. How would you like to get paid? Aren’t you sick of being here? Don’t you want a new life?”

  Robbie held his breath, hoping she’d taken the bait. He saw the desire in her eyes but though she was young, she was still sharp. He had to be cautious.

  “Yes,” she said in a soft voice.

  He fought not to look visibly relieved. Getting her to say yes was one thing, getting her out of there was another. “Good. Then you have to do exactly what I say.”

  Catherine didn’t move, she just stared at him, making Robbie wait five excruciating seconds before she nodded her head.

  21

  Catherine couldn’t sleep that night. Had it been a dream? Had the conversation with the driver really happened? Was he going to help her escape? What work did he want her to do? It didn’t matter. She could earn money and find a way back home. The plan on how she would escape seemed rather simple and crude, but if it worked that was all that mattered.

  Two nights later, Catherine crept through the silent, dark house and got to the alarm system at the front door. She carefully put in the numbers until it disengaged, then she used the key the driver had given her to get through the gate that covered the door entrance. Once she’d gotten past that she saw his car parked out front on the curb. She raced to it, jumped into the back seat as instructed and squatted low on the floor. Suddenly bright headlights lit up the interior of the car.

  “Shit!” Robbie said as the headlights swept past then turned into the residence.

  “What is it?”

  He didn’t turn to look at her. “Just stay down,” he said then got out of the car.

  Catherine heard the other car hum to a stop and then a door close. Mr. Salako had arrived home a day early. Would he notice the gate, the alarm?

  Robbie put on a performance like none in his life. He smiled at Mr. Salako as he hurried and took his bags. “Allow me, sir,” he said taking the keys and pretending to open the gate.

  “Lucky she didn’t set the alarm yet. Sir. Have a good evening.”

  “Thank you.”

  Robbie hurried back into the car and started it. It wouldn’t take long for Mr. and Mrs. Salako to exchange stories and question his presence there, but he wouldn’t be around to care. He sped down the street, knowing they wouldn’t try to find them. What could they tell the police? Somebody stole my slave?

  They would just get another one. He didn’t have to worry, but he still didn’t breathe until he was several miles away.

  “Did you get her?” Faye asked, meeting Robbie at the door.

  “Yeah, I got her,” Robbie said, walking into the flat, which was crowded with more furniture than one woman—or flat—needed. He stretched over an ottoman and squeezed between two coffee tables.

  “Then where is she?”

  Robbie turned, surprised by the question, then realized Catherine wasn’t behind him. He raced out the room, hitting his knee against the arm of a couch and swearing, before he reached the hallway. His heart returned to its regular rhythm when he spotted Catherine slowly shuffling down the hall like a patient in a mental hospital drugged up on pills. “Come on,” he said, making sure to sound patient, although he wanted to yank her inside and not let her out of his sight. When she reached the doorway, he held his hand out to her, but she recoiled from his touch. That was a first, women usually liked an invitation from him, but he knew he had to be different with her. He opened the door wider. “That’s right. You’re safe now.” He looked at Faye, triumphant. “See? No trouble.” He closed and locked the door behind him.

  “Did you tell her about me?”

  “Only the basics.”

  “She’s a bit timid.”

  “Only ‘cause she’s scared, but I’m telling you our fortunes have changed.”

  “And I thought she’d be prettier.”

  “She’ll clean up fine.”

  Faye motioned Catherine towards her. “Come here, love. That’s a girl. I don’t bite and I don’t have fleas so you needn’t worry,” she said then laughed at her own joke.

  Catherine glanced at Robbie, then gave Faye a considering look. “What do you want me to do, madam?”

  “Oh, aren’t you keen,” Faye said, pleased. “That’s good. No, darling you don’t have to clean up round here. We’ve got something else in mind for ya. Sit down and I’ll tell you.”

  Catherine cautiously sat, keeping her gaze on the woman. She hadn’t taken offense by her comment about her looks; she was used to being assessed then dismissed. She wondered how alike or different she’d be from her two last mistresses. Not that it mattered, she was to be free. She wondered how much the woman would pay her. In looks she was strikingly different, pale skinned with dark, curly hair, moss green eyes and wide shoulders. She looked several years older than Robbie, but every year looked good on her.

  “I’ve heard you have a gift for interpreting dreams.”

  Catherine shrugged.

  “That kind of service should be paid for. How would you like to earn some money?”

  “I would.”

  “Good,” Faye said, glancing up at Robbie and the two shared a private look before she returned her attention to Catherine. “Because from now on you’ll earn a mint.”

  And she did.

  But she never saw a pence or a pound.

  Robbie and Faye treated her better than any other mistress or master. They dressed her up in fine clothes—silks, satins, cottons so fine it felt like air—fed her foods she’d smelled but never had a chance to taste—Greek kebabs, Indian masala—and gave her a room with a real bed and mattress. With sheets that kept her warm. But for all their care, they never let her have any money. They told her that they had to deduct the clothes, food, sh
elter from the profit, calling them unavoidable expenses. They talked about how they had to pay fees and were working hard to make sure that the business ran well and that with all the work they did there was hardly anything left, and when they started making more money they promised she’d get her due share.

  It was after six months of their empty promises that Catherine realized she’d never see any money. That they were content to make money off of her and, like a prized horse, she was property they planned to profit from. She’d traded one cage for another.

  She didn’t have to work as hard as when she was with the Bandeles or Salakos and that was a relief. There were no foul moods, shouting and no beatings, but she was still weary and owned. Robbie and Faye made sure she was dependent on them. She never knew where they were—what city, what town they were in. Every few months they’d leave one town and settle into another. She didn’t know how much money they made, but as time passed the accommodations became more appealing. From cold water flats underground to ones above ground with expansive views.

  Her new routine was pure performance. They’d even given her a stage name—Epic—and a costume. She always wore an elaborate mask that covered her eyes.

  “That’s part of the appeal,” Faye had told her. “People like the mysterious. Now you’re the woman behind the mask who can interpret dreams.”

  The days were long for Catherine, with many clients, but after years of hard labor she found it manageable and for the first time in a long time started to feel human again. She felt that she had something of a life. She didn’t take for granted her regular meals, the sight of the sun and the feel of it on her skin when they took her on drives in the new car they’d bought. Plus, she could talk to people and be of service. They didn’t pay her, she knew she was still property, but they valued her enough not to mistreat her.