The King and the Courtesan (44 page)

But there was a certain point at which you had to let someone go. Cordelia clearly wasn’t interested in cleaning herself up, and I couldn’t be her mother. She made her choice. I had my own problems to deal with.

“I’m sorry,” Yogi whispered.

“No, Yogi, you were right to do that. Cordelia had no business behaving like that. I just hoped—”

“I know.”

My shoulders slumped. “Thing is, I didn’t even come to ask about Cordelia.”

“No?”

“I know how you’re the Metro sage, or whatever.”

Yogi laughed. “People just feel obligated to gossip to me whenever possible.”

“Well, I was wondering if you might know about something.”

“Oh?”

“How much of Ezekiel’s past do you know?” I really hoped I wasn’t wired right now. I had washed my hair right before coming and inspected every inch of my body to make sure every mole had been there before Ezekiel. I’d bought brand new clothes yesterday, and then kept them folded under my bed to make sure no one sewed any wires into the seams. I kept my purse in the car and all the jewelry at home. My shoes were new, too. I couldn’t imagine any way Ezekiel could have tapped me.

“Very little. People in Metro don’t gossip much about Ezekiel. They’re too afraid of him.”

“Right. Well, I’ve managed to find out some stuff—”

“I don’t want to know.” Yogi’s expression was harsh. “I’m happy you’re visiting, Melissa, but I don’t want to talk about your…work. Not in Thomas’s house. He’s already put up with enough Metro drama.”

“Have you ever heard anything about Yola and Tanya?”

Yogi blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Two girls named Yola and Tanya.”

“Yola and Tanya.” Yogi tapped her bottom lip with a finger. “They sound familiar…”

“Yola committed suicide.”

Yogi nodded. “Yes. I do remember hearing about that. I don’t know why a girl committing suicide was such a big deal—”

“She was involved with Ezekiel. Sexually.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh.
Oh
.”

“I need to know how Tanya died.”

“Tanya died?”

“Yes.”

“They both died?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” Yogi began pulling at her bottom lip. “Tanya, Tanya, Tanya. Oh!” Yogi jumped, as did I. “I think—” She stopped herself and looked out the door. “I think Thomas is home.” She took my hand. “Come say hello.”

Thomas was the same pale, dumpy guy I remembered, half-balding with a forehead always damp from a thin sheen of perspiration. He was dressed in gray slacks and a matching gray tie, looking much like the accountant he was. He was complimenting a happy Gabrielle on her dress when we came down the stairs.

“Melissa?” he asked, astounded. We weren’t terribly well acquainted, but I’d talked to him sometimes when he was waiting for Yogi to finish up in the powder room. He was a pretty dull guy who led a pretty dull life, but at least he had the courtesy to remember my name. And I’d always been so thankful that he didn’t come on to me during our little talks. In fact, you’d have thought he was talking to any random woman in the grocery line. He barely ever acknowledged I was a hooker working in Metro, or that he was soliciting one of my best friends. I wasn’t sure if that made him dim or just afraid of the topic.

“Hey, Thomas. It’s nice seeing you again.”

“You look—you look different.”

I glanced down at my chic black mini dress and streamlined black pumps. “Yeah, well. I’ve switched careers, you might say.”

Yogi walked up to him and kissed him on the cheek, the image of a loving wife. Even in her flats, Yogi was at least five inches taller than he was. Thomas put an arm around her waist proudly, as if trying to show me what he’d done with the streetwalker I’d formally known.

“Well, that’s—that’s great! You look good.”

“Thanks.”

“Dinner!” Kenny said. “Tommy, you need to have dinner. Me and Gabrielle have already eaten.”

“Gabrielle and
I
,” Yogi corrected lightly. Kenny repeated it without an ounce of embarrassment.

“I think I shall take you up on that, Kenny boy.” Thomas clapped him on the back.

“It’s sitting on the stove,” Yogi told him. “Just dish yourself up a piece.”

“What is it, exactly?”

“Lasagna, slathered in three layers of cheese.” Yogi smiled slightly.

“Perfect!” Thomas threw me a grin. “The woman knows what I like!”

I returned the smile, and he walked back into the kitchen. I turned to Yogi when the foyer emptied.

“You were saying?”

“Hmm?” Yogi turned to me.

“About Tanya.”

“Oh, right. Tanya. I was pretty young at the time—I had to have been twenty, maybe? About ten years ago. Anyway, this girl was shot. It didn’t make big news. I think they were trying to keep it quiet, but as you know, I’ve always known a lot of people, and most of those people talked to me.” Yogi shrugged. “I have that effect.”

“Yes, but what did they say about it?” I was impatient now.

“The person I talked to heard gun shots. But when she called in, the police showed up and no one was there. Nothing. No blood, no fingerprints that weren’t Tanya’s. Someone wanted to get rid of her cleanly—that was for sure.”

“Someone heard the shots? Who was it?”

“The neighbor. She didn’t know Tanya that well, but she did remember a few things about her.”

“Like?”

“Like all the shady people that would come around at odd hours of the night. Like how there was always something…off about Tanya. She wasn’t a very warm person. Also, the neighbor kept saying what a tragedy it was that she died.”

“But it doesn’t sound like she liked Tanya that much.”

“She was neutral toward Tanya. But she said Tanya knocked on her door once or twice in the middle of the night, asking for crazy things, like a pickle and peanut butter sandwich.” Yogi chuckled. “You know how pregnant women are.”

“
She was pregnant
?” Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe.

“Yeah. That’s why the neighbor said it was such a tragedy. Melissa? Are you okay?”

“I-I’m sorry, Yogi. I’d love to stay b-but I don’t think—” I stumbled toward the door, tripping on the heels that I usually wore with such grace. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Melissa?” Yogi followed me to the door, looking worried. “Melissa?!”

I barely got outside before I puked in her front bushes. How funny that I hadn’t really felt ill until now. No cravings, no illness, nothing.

Victor ran up as Yogi pulled my hair back, keeping it out of my face as I heaved.

“What happened?” Victor demanded. Yogi looked taken aback by his aggressive tone, but she didn’t step away. She kept rubbing me between the shoulders.

“I don’t know. She just got sick suddenly.”

“Melissa? Do you need to go to the hospital?” Victor asked.

I shook my head, a line of saliva still hanging from the bottom of my lip. My stomach clenched and another stream of vomit collided with Yogi’s perfectly trimmed hedge.

“You’re shaking like a leaf,” Yogi murmured, bending over me. “Sweetheart, are you all right? You looked just fine a moment ago…”

Victor grunted. “I should take her home.”

“I-I’m fine,” I gasped. “Um, random spell, I think.”

“Oh, dear.” Yogi captured a loose hair that had escaped her grasp. “I’ll go inside and get you something for your stomach.”

Yogi vanished before I could stop her. Victor took my arm as I straightened. When I reached up to touch my mouth, he handed me a handkerchief. I couldn’t believe anyone still carried those.

“Thank you,” I whispered, then wiped my mouth as inconspicuously as I could manage.

“You don’t look very good.”

“I’m fine.” I gave him a simper.

Yogi returned with some medication. Both she and Victor agreed that I should chug down the dosage she poured. It was chalky, but much better than the vomit taste. Victor insisted on driving me home, where I could get some sleep. Yogi grudgingly agreed. Before I left, she hugged me.

“Take care of yourself, honey.” She knocked me under the chin with her finger. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’ll try not to,” I said. Yogi still look worried, and I was rather sure that she had good reason to be. I was shaking despite the mild late-fall weather, and my heart raced.

“Okay.” She gave me another hug. “Visit whenever you like. I’m sorry we didn’t get to spend more time together. You didn’t even tell me what you thought of my outfits.”

“Sorry, Yogi. Next time, promise.”

She kissed my cheek, and Victor cleared his throat. When I turned around, he was standing with my door open, clearly impatient to get me inside. I squeezed Yogi’s hand, then slid into the car. When Victor closed the door behind me, it sounded like a prison door creaking shut.

I spent the next two days having a complete mental breakdown. I tried to make sense of it in my head, tried to make excuses, tried to convince myself the tests I took were wrong, that I couldn’t possibly be pregnant. I couldn’t recall a time Ezekiel and I had slept together when protection wasn’t used. At first we used condoms, as Ezekiel was both very clean and very anal. But condoms were also inefficient and hindered his pleasure by a fraction, so he’d ordered a complete doctor check-up. They tested me for every STD in the book, including ones that hadn’t been seen in years. We waited for the tests to come back. I was clean. Then, Ezekiel had them all done again, at another doctor. Clean again. Only then did he give me birth control pills. I recalled him handing the box to me, giving me a very serious look.

“You must be diligent and keep track of when you take these,” he’d said in the same voice he used when threatening the lives of men who owed him money.

I had been diligent. If there was one person who wanted pregnancy less than he did, it was me. I always took birth control with the utmost seriousness, considering the alternative. I never took a customer unwilling to wear a condom. I didn’t even give blowjobs these days without insisting upon a condom. So I took the pills exactly when the packaging told me to, without fail.

Victor took me to the doctor’s office when I told him I was feeling under the weather. It was just a small physical, nothing invasive. I wasn’t showing yet, so there was nothing to clue him in. When the doctor asked me about the regularity of my period, I lied.

“Are you sexually active?” he asked, looking down at his chart. He was one of those expensive doctors, the kind that wore designer slacks under his white coat.

He barely glanced at me when I said, “Yes.”

“And you’re on birth control?”

“Yes.” I pressed my lips together tightly.

“Condoms? Pills? Diaph—”

“Pills.” Before he could move on to another question, I blurted, “What’s the failure rate for those? I’m taking Uvenda, if the brand matters at all.”

The doctor glanced at me. “I wouldn’t worry much. Of course, we always advise two forms of birth control because just one isn’t fool proof.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Generally, the birth control pills are very successful. There is a one percent chance of failure, if administered correctly.” He lifted his eyebrows. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s just—I had an aunt who ended up—uh, getting pregnant on pills.”

“Yes, it can happen. Very rare, of course. If you’re really worried, you can always use two forms of birth control.” He eyed me carefully. “Right?”

“Right. Of course. Only wondering.”

My gut didn’t untwist for the rest of the exam.

* * *

One percent chance. One percent chance something I’d assumed was foolproof failed. One percent chance my life would be put in this sort of danger.

One percent chance Ezekiel would kill me.

A less astute woman wouldn’t have come to the conclusions I did. Luckily, I knew Ezekiel, and I didn’t believe in coincidences—especially when Ezekiel was involved. Tanya didn’t just
happen
to be pregnant when Ezekiel offed her.

Ezekiel killed her because she was pregnant.

“Tanya did something she knew was wrong in a deliberate attempt to control me. She knew I wouldn’t approve, and yet she did it anyway.”
How could that not be Tanya’s pregnancy? Maybe she did do it to control Ezekiel. Maybe she felt so powerless that she saw the need to take drastic measures. Or maybe…maybe it was an accident. Maybe it was just an innocent mistake, like mine. But Ezekiel left no loose threads. He aimed for perfection—complete control. This was not something he planned for. He would be forced to do the only thing he knew how to do—get the control back. Sadly, my life wasn’t more important than that goal.

I knew what I had to do to save my own life.

I knocked on Victor’s door. He had taken Roger’s room, and the walls were just as blank as they’d been before Roger left. Victor sat on the bed with a laptop in his lap.

He glanced up at me. “Yes?”

“I want to go to my sister’s. Maybe spend the night. Ezekiel just called and said he’s going to be at least another two days.”

Victor eyed me. “And he approved this visit?”

He had, in fact. I didn’t want to deceive Ezekiel any more than I had to.

“Yes.” I held up my phone. “Do you want to call and make sure?”

“I can call him.” He pulled his phone from his slacks pocket. “While I do, get your things together.”

I nodded and headed back to the master bedroom.

* * *

“You don’t look so great, Melissa. Have you been eating?”

“I’m fine,” I told Mimi. We sat on the couch, sipping tea Victor made. I had no clue Victor cooked, but after he spent twenty minutes pushing the microwaved macaroni around his plate disdainfully, he informed us he would make something better. So we took a quick trip to the grocery store and grabbed a few vegetables and spices that Victor used to make a stir-fry. It wasn’t gourmet, but it was pretty delicious. Mimi was beginning to relax around him, though she still kept our conversations hushed.

“There are dark circles under your eyes. And your hands are shaking.” Mimi reached over and put her hand over mine, which clutched the mug tightly. “Is it something Ezekiel did to you?”

“Ezekiel’s been gone a lot,” I whispered, staring into the dark depths of my tea. “I’ve been cutting back on the dust a little. Not cold turkey or anything, but I’m hoping to wean myself off of it.”