Dangerous (16 page)

“Really? You’re shitting me,” he said in disbelief.

“No, she really does call me that. So I guess you are a bit psychic after all.”

I found I liked Paul, despite my initially sour mood.

When we parted, he gave me his card and offered to do a tattoo for half price. “Just as long as it’s not an RIP,” he said. Nice of him, but I’d never take him up on it.

“What I really need right now is a killer red dress,” I said. “Know where I can find one?”

Predictably, he did not.

§

“The last portrait’s done, Ma’am,” I lied, over the phone. I felt there was still another day’s work left on it, but it was Sunday evening, my absolute deadline. “I don’t know if you’ll like it.”

“That’s for me to decide,” she said. “Is the file the same size as the others?”

“Yes, Ma’am, about a hundred megs. But I also made a jpeg.”

“Very well, upload it to my ftp server. And stay on the line.” She gave me the address and log-on information. I started the transfer, which would take about five minutes, according to the progress bar. “Have you found your dress, Koishi?”

“No, Ma’am, not yet. I’ve been too busy working on this.” I was tempted to ask for a store recommendation, but held my tongue. This was my responsibility.

The silence stretched uncomfortably. I thought perhaps she was annoyed, but then she said, “Pardon my silence, I’m working at home tonight.” I heard a short burst of typing.

“On a Sunday night, Ma’am?”

“My work is extremely time-sensitive.” But she said nothing more.

I played computer solitaire as the file loaded. Finally it was done, and in a second she had it open. Here is what she saw:

A large, dark chrysalis rests on an operating table. It is four feet long with a glistening, mottled surface. Spiky ridges trace two seams arranged in a T, one around its upper circumference, like a cap, the other running down its length.

Beside the table stands a woman in a surgeon’s gown, whom we see from above and behind as she faces the chrysalis. We know it is a woman because of her slender gloved hands and long white hair. She is not wearing a surgical cap.

Bloody scalpels on a nearby tray were obviously used to begin the operation, but now the woman wields a frightening, Gigeresque spreading device to open the chrysalis further. And we see a slight, luminous fairy—as developed as a teenage girl—with still-damp wings weakly struggling to emerge from her metamorphic prison.

It is an uncomfortable image, filled with all the pain of birth without a mother to hold the newborn fairy afterward, and melt trauma into bliss.

The amount of work required to create this image had been nearly as painful. I’d spent a couple of sleepless nights finding the right images on the internet and making them work. When I looked at the piece, all I saw were problems, things I could have done better. But time had run out.

I waited for Val to say something. The silence lasted a full minute. Finally she said:

“Who is the real subject of this painting, I wonder? Me, or you?”

My heart raced. I hadn’t expected this particular challenge. “Ma’am, I’m not really satisfied with how it turned out. If you want me to do another—”

“Hush. It was a rhetorical question.” I heard the hint of a smile in her voice. “It is acceptable, doll. Not your best work, but it complements the other images. And you have finished your task on time…just barely. I would have been very upset had you missed my deadline for the printer.”

My relief was enormous. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

“I am satisfied with your efforts. I’ll mail your check in the morning. Well done.”

I had actually forgotten about the money, I realized with a shock.

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

She cut me off. “Yes?”

“…Nothing, Ma’am.”

“Good doll.”

Now to find a dress.

12     
debut

I RODE MEEKLY in Val’s electric black car as it glided down the eastbound 101 to an unknown destination. Without saying a word Val made it clear she found the dress entirely unsatisfactory. So I sat with my hands in my lap, wilting in the heat of her silent displeasure as she drove.

Outside my window the dusty brown hills slid past, pale masses in the twilight. I feared to look at her.

My dress had cost five hundred dollars. It wasn’t exactly what I’d wanted, only the best I could do in the time I had. It was satin, ankle-length with gathered straps, and it wrapped around the waist, letting the extra material hang from the left hip. To my eye it seemed an interesting hybrid of Sixties-era Jackie Kennedy and ancient Greece. But Val’s face had curdled at the sight of it, devastating me.

Traffic slowed as we entered the San Fernando Valley proper. The thought of wearing this object of loathing for an entire evening was more than I could bear. I pulled a tissue from my clutch purse and wiped away tears, sniffing loudly in the quiet car.

“I’ll pay you back for the dress, Ma’am,” I offered.

“Do you think this is about money?” she said coolly.

“No, Ma’am.”

And then Val slowed, changed lanes to the right, finally coming to a stop on the emergency lane. She activated the hazard lights, and I was afraid. Without looking at me she said, “I took the liberty of ensuring a doll could not disgrace her Keeper on the night of her debut. Check the trunk.” She gave me the keys then, because the car lacked an inside trunk release.

I swiftly opened my door and walked to the rear of the car. Within the narrow trunk I found a gold garment box, which I brought back inside the car with me.

“Ma’am?” I said, as I returned the keys.

“Open it.”

Between crisp white sheets of tissue was another red dress. I held it up; it was stretchy and much shorter than mine, with crossed spaghetti straps and a scooped neckline.

“It’s beautiful, Ma’am.”

“Put it on.”

“
Here
, Ma’am?”

“Outside, you fool. There isn’t room in the car.”

I was paralyzed, felt myself contracting, shrinking.

“
Now
,” she said.

“But Ma’am—”

“You can get out and change, or you can get out and walk home. Either way, you’re getting out of the car this instant.”

I clambered out, box in hand. The car was very small; the roof was lower than my waist and offered no protection. In the freeway’s rushing, chill wind I turned away from the oncoming cars and reached back to pull the zipper down.

Please, god, don’t send a highway patrol car.

I couldn’t bring myself to let the dress touch the filthy concrete, so I slipped the whole thing over my head rather than stepping out of it. A passing car honked and flashed its lights.

Now wearing only panties and heels, I ducked down to toss the dress back into the car, one arm covering my chest.

Another car slowed and honked as it approached, and the passenger window opened to let a young man wolf-howl at me. I saw the flash of a camera, and knew that photo would end up on the internet. From somewhere upstream there came the screech of tires and angry honks, but thankfully no impact. I began to fear for our lives.

After quickly orienting Val’s replacement dress, I pulled it down over myself with a desperate shimmy, then leaped back in the car before the next rubbernecker could trigger a massive pileup, and take us both out.

I sat trembling with the first dress gathered in my lap. The whole change of clothes had lasted maybe forty-five seconds, though it seemed an eternity. I smoothed and arranged the new dress as well as I could, in the confines of the car.

“Seat belt,” she reminded me, and we rocketed back onto the freeway as if nothing had happened. “And fix your hair.”

§

Val took the White Oak exit and drove south to Ventura Boulevard, turned left, and then left again onto Encino. It was an unlighted residential area with few entry points; this particular street was lined with million-dollar mansions hidden behind walls and hedges. I
knew
this place; Brent’s mansion was on this exact street, just a mile up the road. But then, a lot of other celebrities lived here as well. I wondered if we’d drive past his gate.

But as we drew near, Val slowed and turned up to the very gate I’d been watching for.

My disbelief was sudden, and total.

She reached out to press the buzzer on the intercom, mounted on a post beside the driver’s window.

“Hello?” came a man’s voice from the intercom. It sounded like Brent’s assistant of the last few years.

“It’s Val and Koishi,” she answered. The gate unlocked and swung open, silently.

I made an inarticulate sound. My debut was taking place at
Brent’s house
?

There was no mistaking the pleasure in Val’s voice as she said to me, “I wonder if you recall the task I released you from, at the brunch?”

She’d commanded that I choose a friend to whom I might disclose my relationship with Val and all its details. And I promptly forgot, and ended up in a hotel pool for it.

“Oh my god. Oh my
god
,” I whispered.

“I simply took the matter into my own hands and chose for you. Your friend Brent was quite intrigued. He was even gracious enough to offer the use of his home for the occasion. I expect you to show the proper gratitude.”

The sudden collision of my two formerly separate worlds left me reeling. I felt my soul cast off its moorings to drift far, far out on unfamiliar seas. None of this was real. It couldn’t be.

I had trouble getting out of the vehicle, even when steadying myself on the car door. Val passed her keys to the valet and circled the car to assist me.

We ascended the steps to the huge front door, and passed into the house, where chamber music gently floated in the air. Brent was standing in the foyer, talking to an older couple, and excused himself to greet us.

“Valerie. Koishi. It’s good to see you,” he said warmly. His smile spoke volumes. I felt naked before my old friend and former lover.

“How do you do, Brent?” said Val.

“Hi, Brent,” I said, hands clasped primly before me.

Brent took us in with a long look.

Tonight Val, in a modest gray dress, was more feminine than usual. But as we stood together, there was no mistaking who was in charge, and who was being shown off.

“You must be thrilled,” Brent told me. “I’m looking forward to seeing your work.”

My work? I turned to face Val with questioning eyes, but held my tongue. My paintings?

“Now, Brent, you’ve gone and spoiled my surprise,” Val scolded playfully. “Please don’t breathe another word.”

Brent was instantly apologetic, but in truth Val didn’t seem to mind his slip of the tongue. Rather, she delighted in my struggle to deal with tonight’s unending surprises.

Brent took my arm (how long had it been since he’d last touched me that way?) and slowly led us down a hallway, introducing us to the guests who chatted in small groups along the way. They were either friends of Val’s or Brent’s, but all were strangers to me, and exactly the sort of upper-crust people I disdained at his Christmas parties: producers, a doctor, actors, writers, a lawyer or two, among others.

Tonight I had been released from the strict protocol Val usually demanded. No hand signals, no commands. When I quietly asked about it, she replied, “This night is for you, not me. It is enough that you be charming and pretty. But give a good account of yourself, and remember I’m watching you closely.”

Of that I had no doubt, nor the consequences a blunder would bring, later.

We entered a large hall, full of people. I saw five framed pictures hanging on the wall, four in a line, and one centered above the rest. But each was draped with a cloth, hidden from sight.

“Are those mine, Ma’am?” I asked in a whisper.

“Yes,” she grinned.

I wondered which of the paintings had been given the singular upper position. It was wider than it was tall, which meant it had to be either the doll, or the chrysalis. She hadn’t liked the last one as much, so I guessed it was the doll. It had certainly provoked the strongest reaction from Val.

But I was not to find out just then, as Val introduced me to an old friend of hers.

“Milton, I’d like you to meet my latest discovery, Koishi.”

Milton was a man of perhaps fifty. He was dressed very sharply, and while he wasn’t especially handsome, I detected an energy about him that commanded respect. He made no attempt to be discreet; rather, he studied me with the same scrutiny a judge might give a show dog.

“You’re a pretty one. How do you do, Koishi?” He spoke unhurriedly, with a slight Southern accent.

“I’m well, thank you, sir.” I said, with a curtsy.

“Where did you find such a creature?” Milton asked Val, as we took champagne from the tray of one of the girls circulating about the room.

“At this very house, last Christmas,” Val told him. “She has many talents.”

“Hmm, indeed.”

“Milton is an artist,” Val said, by way of introduction. “And also something of a mentor to me, many years ago.”

“A mentor, Ma’am?”

Milton seemed to gaze back across the years. “I met Valeria in ’95, I believe. At the time we both worked for Pala—”

Val cut him off. “I recall you liked my shoulders, Milton.”

“Ah, yes, you were such a
muscular
girl.”

“And one day he asked if I beat people up on a regular basis,” Val said with a shark grin. “When I told him no, he asked if that bothered me. And soon after he offered to teach me what he knew.”

“I had an instinct about you,” Milton said with a raised finger. His hands were large, callused, strong.

This was a bit of news, but I had no time to mull it over because Brent called for everyone’s attention. The ambient chatter slowly faded, leaving the Bach piece to shimmer unmolested in the hush. Val took my half-full champagne glass and placed it on a passing tray of empties. The action annoyed me vaguely.

“I hope everyone’s had the chance to meet the star of this evening, my good friend Koishi Paz,” Brent said with a gesture in my direction. All eyes turned to me, and there was some light applause. I smiled shyly. “She has always been artistic but I am told these new works chart a brave new direction for her. I haven’t seen them yet either, so this will be a surprise for all of us. But first, let me introduce you to another friend of mine who has been intimately involved in helping Koishi find her new artistic voice. Valeria?”