Dangerous (31 page)

When she returned, I found my attention drawn to the lattice scar on her left thigh. I would never grow accustomed to it, and it looked even more fearsome in the morning light, a rune of old pain, catharsis.

She got back under the covers and speed-dialed a number. I heard a single ring before it was answered by a man’s voice, too muffled to make out.

“It’s me. Something’s come up and I need to take care of it. What’s the status?” She listened as the man on the other end spoke briefly. “So today is feasible? All right. Thank you, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She hung up the phone and said to me, “Technically I’m on call, but I doubt they’ll need me.” She reached over me to set the slim cell phone on the nightstand, next to my regular phone.

All very mysterious indeed.

Val leaned down and kissed me with cool lips, then remained bent over me. “Apart from the obvious, what do you have in mind for our day of hooky?”

“Um…” I hadn’t thought that far ahead yet. “Yeah, well, first…the obvious,” I said, running my fingers along her muscled, bare arm. “After that…hmm. I could make you breakfast in bed. Then a maybe a shower.”

“You’re forgetting an important detail,” she said, inscrutably. Was I supposed to be in doll mode? My pulse raced. I stopped caressing her arm and bowed my head contritely.

“I’m so sorry, Ma’am.”

My sudden fear made her laugh out loud. She lifted my chin, saying, “You’re fine, Koi. As you were. No, I’m thinking of something else.”

But I could not imagine what it might be. Eventually she relented, and simply told me.

“Why bother cooking breakfast when you have a doll of your own?”

“You mean Grace?” I blinked. “This early in the morning?”

“I’ve called her at all hours, you know. She may be a wastrel and a brat, but she’s almost always available. Didn’t I tell you to use her, however you liked?”

“Yes, but I thought…”

“Tell her to wear a short dress. She should expect to go out later.”

“Yes, Ma—” I caught myself. “Okay.”

“I’m going to freshen up.”

While she used the bathroom I called work and left a voice message for Carl, telling him I wouldn’t be in. He didn’t usually get in until nine-thirty or ten anyway.

Next, Grace. I couldn’t remember her number, so I retrieved my cell phone from my waist pack, where Val had set it on the kitchen counter last night. I sat on the edge of the bed and scrolled down to the G’s on my phone’s display.

As I did so Val’s own phone caught my eye.

Who had she just called?
I wondered. The question fueled a burning curiosity about Val’s work, her fortress of secrets. The number would be right there…all I had to do was take a peek. After glancing toward the hallway and still hearing water running behind the bathroom door, I decided to risk it.

In a moment I found Val’s Recent Calls display. There it was, the newest item in the list: a name,
Gordon
, and a phone number from the 213 area code. Downtown Los Angeles. I quickly keyed that number into my own phone and saved it, before placing Val’s phone back in its original spot.

Crushing guilt struck me for violating Val’s privacy, and fear that she might one day find this number on my phone and discover my snooping. That I condemned my own snooping while expecting hers said much about my doll conditioning.

For safety, I gave the entry the bland title of
Pizza
(something Val never ate), changed the area code to the local 818, and reversed the other seven digits. Saved it again. Then, on impulse, I found the Delete Number option and stared at it, knowing it was the right thing to do. The safe thing.

The sound of the bathroom faucet stopped.

Just delete it
, I thought. But I jumped when the bathroom door clicked open, and desperately pressed my hang-up button to return to the default screen.
Grace, grace, grace
, I thought, and scrolled down to her number with a trembling hand. Pressed the dial button. Waited as it rang.

Val stood beside the bed, and stretched like a cat before getting back in.

“Good morning, Miss Koishi,” Grace answered. Of course she had seen my caller ID on the display before picking up.

“Your Keepers want to see you. Are you free right now?” I asked.

“Yes, Miss,” she replied, stifling a yawn. I guessed my call had awakened her. “Are you at Ma’am’s house?”

“No, my place.” I gave her directions. “Ma’am wants you to wear a skirt—”

“A
short
skirt,” Val corrected.

“…A
short
skirt, and we’ll be going out later,” I said to Grace.

“Yes, Miss.” A pause. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

It was rush hour, and traffic was bad that morning. The trip took her nearly an hour, but Val and I scarcely noticed the passage of time, being entirely occupied with, well…the obvious.

§

When Grace called up from the front gate, I buzzed her in and met her at my front door, clad in a robe. She wore a cute lime green mini dress with a scoop neck and two-tiered, lightly ruffled skirt that barely reached to mid-thigh. I guessed that the outfit, with matching designer purse and mules, probably came to four hundred dollars; Grace never lacked for money.

“Good morning, Miss,” she said, with more cheer than she felt. Her spoiled Beverly Hills eyes took in my small living room, and seemed to judge it harshly.

“Come in,
doll
,” I said, and closed the door behind her.

Grace knelt before me, holding the purse in her lap with both hands. Her head was bowed slightly. I caught her looking for our Keeper out of the corner of her eye, but Val was still in bed, reading.“I am here for Ma’am and yourself, Miss Koishi.”

Grace’s wording and tone of voice, the brief pause after the word
Ma’am
, could almost be taken as a slight.

But I was more vexed by her reaction to the condo, as I had always been a little insecure about my modest lifestyle, compared to Val and her circle of affluent friends. Val, for her part, had never once shown the least sign of condescension.
Damn that Grace.

I pulled my robe more tightly about my body and said, “Ma’am and I are in the mood for some breakfast.”

“Where should I get it from, Miss?” She opened her purse to get her car keys.

“You’re going to fix it for us.”

She closed the purse slowly and looked up. Now it was her turn to feel uneasy. “Miss?”

Ah ha!

“Help yourself to anything in the kitchen, doll. But we’re hungry, so be quick about it.”

“Um,” she swallowed. “Yes, Miss.”

I showed her where I kept the food and cooking things, and rejoined Val in the bedroom.

“I doubt she’s ever cooked a meal in her life,” Val said wickedly.

“God help us.”

§

Grace knelt at the foot of the bed as we regarded her breakfast attempt, on plates in our laps.

It was a simple meal of fried eggs, microwave bacon, and buttered toast, but the eggs were overcooked and the bacon was burned in spots. Grounds floated in our coffee. She’d had to ask how to use my French press but clearly hadn’t mastered it this time around.

“Gah,” I said, as I crunched on a piece of shell in my bite of rubbery, crisp-edged egg. The poor girl withered as I poked at my food.

Val took a couple of bites from her toast, and set the plate aside.

That simple act, with its complete lack of drama, was the most crushing thing Val could have done to Grace, and the girl hung her head in utter shame.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am. Miss. I don’t have much practice at—”

“Shush,” Val said. “Perhaps you will do better with errands. Koishi and I are going to take a shower, while you clean up the kitchen. Then you’ll drive to my house and bring me a change of clothes, which the maid will give you. If Koishi and I are not here when you return, simply wait outside until we arrive. We won’t be gone long. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

§

While Grace went to fetch Val’s clothes, perhaps a thirty minute drive, Val and I got a proper breakfast. I took her to a small, out-of-the-way place with excellent food, on Ventura Boulevard.

Halfway through my spinach omelet, I looked down, hesitated, and spoke.

“Ma’am, I…”

“Yes?” She’d heard the note of gravity in my voice.

I wanted to confess all, then, to tell her I’d peeked at her phone, and beg for whatever punishment she deemed necessary to erase my guilt. Her wrath would be terrible, but well-deserved. The words gathered, piled up on my tongue, ready to pour out in a flood…but they just wouldn’t come.

Val waited as the moment dragged on. The silence became intolerable.

“Ma’am…Where are you planning to take us today?”

She smiled at the triviality of the question, after so pregnant a pause. She must have known it wasn’t my original reason for speaking up. But she didn’t press.

“I thought we’d go to the zoo.”

§

Because the Batmobile only seated two, the task of driving fell to me, after suffering Val’s disapproval of my Corolla’s unwashed state.

Grace sat alone in the back and simmered. Her morning had been one of tedium, frustration, and torment. She had especially resented Val’s order to make me up while we both waited for our Keeper to change, but Grace obeyed in the faint hope of winning a little affection.

The sky was unusually clear after last night’s rain, and the last clouds had blown away by the time we left for the zoo, at a quarter-to-eleven. It was a perfect spring day in Los Angeles, with the sun’s warmth perfectly offset by a cool breeze.

The drive from Tarzana to Griffith Park only took about twenty minutes now that rush hour was past. The empty parking lot was a surprise until I realized it was a Monday morning, hardly a peak time for the zoo. Val paid our admission, and we passed through the revolving metal gates.

Val walked into one of the gift stores flanking the main path just inside the front gate, and after a few minutes’ browsing bought a large Mylar helium balloon. It bore the zoo logo and had a purple nylon ribbon for a string, at the end of which was tied a disk-shaped plastic bob with an image of a panda bear.

I wondered what would possess Val to buy such a thing, but her plan was made clear outside the gift shop.

“Give me your hand,” she told Grace. “No, your left hand.”

Val tied the bob-end of the string securely around the girl’s wrist with a solid knot, and gave me the balloon to hold, which had the effect of turning the ribbon into a short leash, perhaps three feet long. The bondage was sufficiently subtle as to seem almost innocent; young children would not understand, even if their parents might. If I’d learned one thing in Val’s keeping, it was that you can get away with a lot, if you act like you know what you’re doing. I did worry about being challenged by a park official, but realized that simply releasing the balloon would nullify the problem.

What really surprised me was Grace’s reaction to this bondage. I had expected her to chafe under such a restriction, but instead she became uncharacteristically docile, obedient, even pleasant.
Ah ha
, I thought,
she really does crave a strong parental figure
. The balloon was a totem of youth, the tether an expression of control. I doubted Grace had any inkling of what Val had so masterfully done to her.

As we strolled down the main path to the exhibits, we came upon one of the park’s outdoor restaurants. Grace asked very politely if she might have something to eat, and her tummy grumbled as if on cue, reminding us she had not eaten all morning. I was moved to pity, and asked Val to hold the balloon while I purchased a kids’ meal consisting of a grilled cheese sandwich and box of orange juice. We sat around a circular, primary-colored table while she ate, amusing ourselves by feeding bits of crust to the tiny birds hopping around our feet.

It was a beautiful day. There were few people about, and a hush lay upon the park.

When she had done eating, Grace wiped her mouth and earnestly thanked us. I found myself slowly warming to her, something I would never have guessed possible.

Her meal done, we resumed our exploration. Grace held onto the map of the zoo we’d received with our admission, and pointed the way to exhibits she wished to see. We indulged her, stopping to watch the flamingos, bypassing the alligators and crocodiles, and lingering to study the seals and otters (Grace found these especially delightful). From there we trudged uphill to the aviary.

During this time Val received a few calls from work, on her cell phone. Judging by this end of the conversation it was not good news:

“I don’t
care
if the committee’s giving you crap. Convince them.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. He did what? I’ll skin him alive.”

“That’s
it
, I’m coming in. Hmm? Are you sure? Well, fine—but there’ll be plenty of ass kicked tomorrow.”

Whatever was unfolding at work left Val in a darkening mood. I knew better than to inquire. She found the snow leopards of great interest, however, and observed them with an almost brooding expression. She also made us stand for several minutes within the ringed cage of the Siamang monkeys, as they swung from ropes and branches, occasionally bursting into ear-splitting synchronous hoots, almost screams. It was appalling, and the intensity of the sound unnerved both me and Grace. Val seemed to find it cathartic.

But as we walked past a low, windowless building Val said, “What’s this?”

Grace had not mentioned it as we approached, and now seemed eager to avoid it. “The reptile house, Ma’am,” she answered in a small voice.

“Oh, well we certainly can’t miss
that
,” Val said, and strode to the entrance.

For the first time, Grace held back; I had to tug on the string to make her enter the building.

Inside, the reptile house was star-shaped, with glass exhibits spaced along its inner wall. It was dim in here, in the shade created by the low roof and slatted exterior walls. Grace’s arms were goose-bumped, and she stayed close to the outer wall, far away from the exhibits.