Dangerous (24 page)

My flight was scheduled to depart Burbank at 2pm on the 21st, a Friday. I called in sick that morning, deciding it wasn’t worth driving all the way to Hollywood and back for half a day’s work.

It was a brilliant, calm, perfect March day.

Val rang from the front gate at precisely noon, and I buzzed her in. She appeared at my door with a department store bag. I kissed the pale cheek she offered and greeted her brightly.

Things did not proceed as I had imagined, of course.

First, she said I would not be taking any luggage. Stunned, I put my little wheeled suitcase in the corner.

Second, I was told to remove all my clothing and put on the things she’d brought in the bag: a clingy red mini-dress with spaghetti straps, and matching red heels. I felt nearly naked with my shoulders and thighs so bare, and nothing underneath, but at least the fabric was opaque.

Third, Val transferred the things I’d need for the trip—airline tickets, driver’s license, and passport—from my hand bag to a small red clutch purse she’d brought to match my outfit. She also tucked in a clip of bills. “This is for necessities, but there’s enough for unforeseen circumstances. Save your receipts,” she said.

“What about my phone, Ma’am?” I asked meekly.

She produced another cell phone and put it in the purse. “Use this instead. It has parental controls, so you can only call me or Milton, our home and cell numbers.”

Fourth, I would obey Milton
completely
during my stay. They had discussed my limits, and I should assume he acted with Val’s approval.

Fifth (and finally): while in Houston I was not to speak unless prompted by Milton, or those he authorized to command me. There were exceptions: Polite responses such as ‘yes, Sir’ or ‘thank you, Ma’am’ were fine. I could ask permission to speak, but must wait for it to be granted. Of course, in the case of a real emergency, the rule was suspended. But cheating, such as writing notes or playing charades, was strictly forbidden. Milton was aware of these rules and would report any violations, for which I would suffer grave consequences.

This last rule was a serious blow. Robbed of speech, how could I hope to learn anything about Val’s past from Milton? Perhaps she had devised the rule precisely for that reason. I’m sure she detected my disappointment.

When she was satisfied that I understood her rules, we stepped outside and I locked my front door. And then she took my keys, too.

§

In the Houston terminal I was met by a young Hispanic woman holding a sign with
K. Paz
written in magic marker. The letters were big and chubby, just the way my friends and I had written our names on book jackets in high school. I guessed she’d made the sign herself. But she seemed to know me on sight, probably having been given a picture or description of me in advance.

The woman was in her mid-twenties and pretty in a simple, fresh way. I liked her caramel skin, her dark eyes, and hair the color of corn silk, pulled back in a ponytail. She wore a whimsical print dress and low heels. Her figure was Rubenesque; cute, but too round for Val’s liking.

“Hi, I’m Josie,” she said brightly. “Did you have a nice flight?”

“Not really, Ma’am,” I replied, careful to stay within Val’s established protocol.

She laughed then. It was a warm, earthy sound. “Oh, don’t call me
Ma’am
. Just Josie.” Her accent was two parts Texan to one part Spanish. “It’s okay, I know you’re not supposed to talk. Do you need to use the restroom or get a drink before we go? Are you hungry?”

I was grateful for her thoughtfulness, but shook my head. “No, thanks, I’m fine.” What I craved was sleep.

With no luggage to wait for, we walked directly to the parking structure. The night was partly overcast, cooler than Los Angeles had been, and more humid. A gentle wind stirred against my bare skin, heavy with unfamiliar scents.

Her car—actually Milton’s, I would learn—was a jet-black two-door Jaguar; a perfectly maintained older model with dramatic lines and a surprisingly deep engine note. Josie was a careful driver, though, and never once came close to the car’s real potential. The soft leather bucket seats felt like paradise after my hours in a cramped airliner.

Within minutes we reached the southbound 59. Josie chatted a little at first, but she sensed my weariness and gradually fell silent. Mariachi music played quietly on the radio like a lullaby.

§

And then Josie was gently urging me awake, her hand on my shoulder. She helped me out of the car.

The nap had not refreshed me, it only gave my arrival a sense of unreality, as if I had passed into a realm of faerie.

The house itself reinforced that feeling of dislocation. I had expected a large ranch-style home, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. It was a small castle, with stone walls and at least two towers of differing heights. The detailing and ironwork suggested it had been built a long time ago, perhaps as early as the twenties or thirties.

My first brief glimpse of the property told me it was large, and ringed by trees. This was a rich neighborhood.

Josie opened the front door and admitted me to the well-lit foyer, which dazzled my dark-adjusted eyes.

Milton appeared from one of the doorways.

“Koishi, dear, it’s so good to see you,” he said, and gave me a welcoming hug. So different from Val.

“Hello, Sir,” I said.

He held my by the shoulders, in those large hands, and studied me with a twinkle in his eyes. “You’re as pretty as ever.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

After assuring him I wasn’t hungry or thirsty, he said, “Ordinarily I’d give you a tour, but it’s already past midnight. You must be exhausted. Josie will get you ready for bed, and we’ll deal with formalities in the morning.”

I thanked him again. He said goodnight, and took his leave.

Josie showed me to an upstairs room, in the smaller tower, I thought. Beside the single, arched window was an ornate four-poster bed with gauzy curtains tied up at the corners. I put my purse on a vanity opposite the bed. There was a dresser and a nightstand, too. All of it was vaguely Tudor—a style Val detested.

“Here’s the bathroom,” she said, and flicked on the light. It was very modern, all glass and tile and stainless steel, some minimalist wood detailing. “You can clean up, and I’ll be right back.”

I took advantage of the privacy to use the toilet, and then washed my face.

Josie returned bearing a tray with a pitcher of ice water and a glass, which she placed on a nightstand beside the bed. Also on the tray was something metallic I couldn’t identify.

“Here, let me help you undress,” she said, turning to me. In a moment we had slipped the dress over my head.

“Oh, how pretty. Can I see?” she asked, upon glimpsing the koi on my neck as the dress came free. Though embarrassed by my nudity, I held my hair to the side while she admired Paul’s handiwork.

After a moment she laid my dress on the bed, folded it, and said:

“We have to wear these while we’re here.”

Then I learned the identity of the glittering thing on the tray: two lengths of gold plated chain the thickness of light dog leash, each with several tiny bells spaced along their length. She put one about my left ankle and secured the two end links with a small padlock. The other went about my right wrist where, because of the shorter circumference, she left a half-inch of extra chain hanging free on one end.

Both chains fit snugly enough that I could not have slipped them off, and were sufficiently stout as to be unbreakable—at least by me. But they weren’t the least bit uncomfortable.

They did, however, make it impossible to move without causing the little bells to sound. I was unprepared for the way it amplified my already acute sense of nakedness.

“Goodnight,” she said at last and left the room, taking my dress and purse with her. Then I heard a key at the door, and realized with a start that she had locked me in.

With a delicate jangle of tiny bells, I pulled back the covers and slipped into the cool bed.

And sleep whirled me away to oblivion.

§

“Wake up, little koi,” said Val, with gentle urgency.

“Ma’am?” I was instantly awake. I sat up with the force of my surprise, and the covers fell away from me.

A strange light from the window played upon her face, a warm orange glow with a watery shimmer. There was a distant roar I couldn’t identify, like the sound of the ocean in bad weather.

Val held out her hand. “We have to go, doll. It’s not safe here.”

The air was full of smoke. I took her hand and rose unsteadily from the bed, and through the window I saw another part of the house fully engulfed in flames. Fear gripped me. “My clothes!”

“There’s no time,” said Val. Her grip tightened and I was pulled quickly into the hallway, the bells at my wrist and ankle tinkling with the staccato rhythm of my stumble. In the hallway, acrid air burned my throat and stung my eyes. Smoke flowed across the ceiling like a slow motion, upside-down flood.

“How did you get here, Ma’am? Is Milton okay? Where’s Josie?” Panic raised my voice an octave, and it echoed shrilly in the narrow space of the hallway, above the roar. Val didn’t answer.

We reached the top of the stairway, but everything below was a fury of light and heat and sound. Val pulled me back the way we’d come, only to find that way blocked by fire as well. We went into one of the rooms we’d passed, a study with windows overlooking the front yard, where the fire hadn’t yet spread. Coughing, she thrust the window open and looked outside for a means of escape. The night air was sweet and cool.

A drainpipe ran beside the window, down to the ground floor. It was old, and didn’t look sturdy. “You can climb down here,” Val said, as smoke began to pour in beneath the door. “Go. Now.”

“What about you, Ma’am?” I objected. There had to be another way. One of us might make it down that pipe, but not both.

“Do not vex me, doll. Get out and climb down.”

Crying with fear, and worry for Val, I gingerly stepped out onto the window sill and reached over to the drainpipe. It was somewhat beefier than those on modern houses, but not greatly so, and the brackets holding it to the wall groaned ominously as I wrapped my hands behind the pipe and leaned outward, to give my bare feet purchase on the rounded stone shapes. Haltingly I inched downward, expecting the pipe to give way at any moment, to send me plummeting to the ground. A third of the way down a rusted bolt popped free, then another, but miraculously the pipe held.

About eight feet from the ground, the brackets broke free and I fell the rest of the way, painfully knocking the breath out of me, as long pieces of drainpipe crashed around me. When I could breath again, I looked up to see Val watching from above.

“Val!” I shouted, “You have to find another way!”

But she did not answer. I could see orange smoke pouring from the window, lifting into the night sky. Sirens wailed distantly. “Val!”

I jerked awake. The clock on the nightstand said 4:30; there was no smoke, no fire, only the sound of wind and a light rain upon the window.

§

When Josie finally did wake me that morning, the dream still burned in my mind. But when I learned she had orders to bathe me, the novelty of that and her cheerful disposition soon dispelled my lingering melancholy.

After we had breakfasted with Milton, he sent Josie on a shopping errand and gave me a personal tour of the house and grounds. That Milton was an artist, and a highly productive one at that, was evidenced by the unique decorations found in every room: sculptures of metal or wood, sketches taped to the walls, beautifully haunting photographs. It was a living, creative space that probably changed every day, a kind of three dimensional sketch pad.

Josie returned just before eleven. Soon after, another woman arrived to help us put up decorations and prepare for the evening’s event. Her name was Lorena—black-haired, sharp-featured, on the thin side—and her demeanor that day made it abundantly clear she was Milton’s senior girl and thought herself
quite
superior to we two lesser beings. She criticized everything we did. Josie gave no response to her ill treatment except once, by making a funny face while Lorena’s back was turned. I spluttered with laughter, and when Lorena wheeled about to glare at us, I pretended to have gotten something caught in my throat. She stormed off with a
hmph!
, leaving Josie and me to giggle in a sisterly hug. I suddenly felt thirteen again, and the warm, overcast day passed all too quickly.

18     
party

I THREADED MY way through groups of masked, quietly chatting guests, taking pains not to bump my tray of wine glasses. When a man snapped his fingers to get my attention, I offered the tray so he might exchange his empty glass for a full one. His dark, narrowed eyes explored my body in a manner forbidden to civilized men, and there was gooseflesh on my arm when he stroked it, as casually as one pets a cat. Then he smiled and turned back to the conversation, and I continued my rounds.

The night was calm, cool but not chill, and there were hooded kerosene space heaters at intervals to keep us comfortably warm.

The party filled the large yard behind Milton’s huge house, which seemed half a castle to my eyes. Lines of hanging paper lanterns cast a soft, mysterious light upon an already unreal scene. The gravid moon shone bright enough to cast shadows, except when obscured by gilt-edged clouds. Music swirled in the fragrant air, a sensual ambient mix with throbbing drums and a vaguely middle-eastern flavor I’d never heard before.

Not in a million years could I have imagined the situation into which I had been thrust.

We three girls were dressed in thin, flowing silken garments of an unfamiliar style: draped over one shoulder, pinned at the sides across the breasts, and lightly belted with cord about the waist before falling to mid-thigh. Where it pressed flesh, the gossamer fabric was see-through. My garment was white, Josie’s yellow, and Lorena wore a blood-red thing that matched her alpha-bitch lipstick and nail polish.