The King and the Courtesan (5 page)

“Oh,” I whimpered. My throat closed up, and my hands trembled. I determined that I had to be high or in a dream, because this could not be happening. I was lucky to snatch a few grams off of Blade. A few bags would have cost me a trick or two. But here was what looked like a
year’s
worth of street dust. “
Shit
.”

“I’m going to give you the option of walking away,” Ezekiel murmured. “You can step out of this car right now, and we can both forget we ever discussed this transaction. There’s no danger for you if you walk away. I promise you that.”

Tears pooled in my eyes, tears of desire, tears of need. My whole body froze with desire.

“Melissa?”

“I—” I ran a finger over the plastic bag. I could imagine it now, the rush of blood, the lightness in my head, the feeling as if gravity were releasing its grip. My shaking hands grew worse.

A finger touched my chin and pulled my face up. Ezekiel’s amusement had slipped away to reveal hard determination.

“Melissa? Do you have an answer for me?” It was less of a question and more of a demand.

I’d lost my ability to speak, so I only nodded weakly.

“You’d like to go the gala with me?” he asked.

I kept nodding.

“Excellent.” He slammed the briefcase shut, locked it, and put it back underneath the seat. I watched him as he did it, then stared at the spot where the briefcase had been, the dress ignored.

“Melissa, look at me.”

I wanted to disobey, wanted to imprint the memory of what that much dust looked like, but my fear of Ezekiel overrode that desire, so I raised my gaze to his.

“I’m taking you to a hotel in Ralston. I will be returning to my penthouse.”

“Why different places?” I asked, finding my voice.

“There is a lot of work that needs to be done before the gala, and I don’t care for that sort of activity in my house,” he said. “This is work that I have little interest in. I’ve hired a staff that will attend to you in your room.”

“What hotel?”

“The Ivy Palace.”

I wish he’d stop trying to shock me. First, he told me he didn’t want sex. Then, he gave me the Regina Queen gown and the drugs. And now, he mentioned the Ivy Palace. I didn’t know many details about it. I did know a woman who used to clean the toilets there. She said even the shit smelled expensive.

I hadn’t looked outside since getting in the car, but now I recognized the bright lights and looming skyscrapers of downtown. Taxis inched past my window as pedestrians surged down the sidewalk. I hadn’t known downtown was still busy at this time of night because usually I was working the beat in Metro.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I prefer silence, in fact.”

“Oh. Okay.” Was it silence, or was it
my
silence? Blade would go with the latter.

I mulled over Ivy Palace in the ensuing quiet, wondering if they could sniff out imposters, if they’d shoo me away without Ezekiel flashing his wealth.

I suddenly thought of my sister and Joel. If I never came home, would they worry? I couldn’t call them. I left my phone in the apartment because I hadn’t been able to snatch it up before scampering away from Joel. I didn’t have
anything
, in fact, not even a purse. I was twenty years old, and if I didn’t want to come home, that wasn’t Mimi’s problem. But she’d worry nonetheless, because my job had a reputation for being extremely dangerous. I’d already escaped one guy shoving a gun at my head. I didn’t tell Mimi about that, so for all she knew, I’d coasted through the past four years of prostitution.

We soon ascended one of the largest hills in the city, which was where the district of Ralston sat, overlooking the ocean. The docks were at the far base of the hill east of here. I’d never been in Ralston. I’d heard rumors about it, but it had no bus route. It was well known that if you had any business in Ralston, you owned a car to get there.

The tall buildings remained, though these looked like fancy glass condos. Each unit in one of these complexes probably cost at least five million, though at that price, you’d probably get a lower floor overlooking the alley. The traffic around us made it seem like were on our way to a car convention, so Ezekiel’s sedan didn’t seem out of place now. Every now and then we’d pass a club with flashing neon lights and thumping bass, but all other signs of life were quelled. People were still awake, judging by the lit windows in every building.

The Ivy Palace sat on the top of Ralston Hill. It looked about twenty stories tall, its promenade supported by fat marble columns embellished with carvings and half-covered in its namesake.

“Is your penthouse near here?” I asked hesitantly.

“A few blocks down.” He pointed to two twin skyscrapers, each looking like tusks, their tips bent toward each other.

“You-you live in the top of one of
those
?” I gasped.

“Yes.”

The car had stopped, and my door was opened. I stumbled out, suddenly feeling uncomfortable and off-balance in my heels. My silver top and vinyl red shoes probably alerted everyone around me to
exactly
what I was and what I was doing here.

Ezekiel didn’t seem to mind my outfit as he rounded the car and offered me his arm, which I clung to with both hands. It felt hard with muscle. With all his money, he probably had a personal trainer and a strict diet regimen. His build reminded me slightly of Blade. Ezekiel was a few inches shorter, but while one had been pulled from the drain of Metro and the other from an ad for designer suits, both men succeeded in putting me on edge.

Ezekiel took me into the lobby, the bodyguard following close behind us. Real ivy climbed up the columns from pots near the white marble floor. The desks and furniture were all stained cherry wood. Most of the activity had lulled due to the time of night, but the man at the desk seemed plenty awake as he stared, eyes traveling uncertainly between us.

“Can I…help you?” he asked.

“I have a reservation,” Ezekiel said.

“Name?” the man asked, his eyes unable to leave me. I turned away, ashamed. When had all this embarrassment manifested? I didn’t blink when I faced hotel clerks in Metro. Most of them knew who I was and there was no shame involved.

“Ezekiel Maltrick,” Ezekiel stated firmly.

The clerk nodded. “I see. I’ll need to see your credit card and a form of ID please.”

Ezekiel didn’t hesitate. The clerk swiped the credit card, then nodded at the ID. He turned and snatched a key card from a slot behind him. “You have the presidential suite on the twentieth floor. The elevator operator will swipe your card for access.”

The clerk’s eyes seemed to know what was going on, though his tone was professional and clipped.

“Thank you,” Ezekiel said. “Come, Melissa.”

He led me to the gold elevator doors, where the operator stood.

“I’m going to have to leave you here. Don’t worry about contacting me. You’ll have plenty of visitors tomorrow who will inform you of everything you need to know. For now, I want you to take a soak in the Jacuzzi and relax.” He sent me another smile, though it looked strained. He handed me a slim black phone, which I cautiously took. “My number is in here. Call me if you need anything. Until tomorrow, I’ll bid you good night.”

“Good—good night,” I managed, licking my dry lips. My tongue stuck to the cheap lipstick.

He nodded and walked away, accompanied by his bodyguard, who didn’t even glance at me as he followed his boss out of the hotel.

“Ma’am?” the operator chirped.

I turned to him, flustered. “Oh. Okay. Um, I have the presidential suite.” I handed him the key card.

The operator looked confused. “The suite all to yourself, ma’am?”

“I suppose so.”

The operator glanced over my shoulder to where Ezekiel had vanished through the front door. “Hmm. Quite unusual.”

Before I could snap at him for wiggling into my business, he turned and pressed the up button. The elevator to his left dinged, and we both entered as the doors pulled away. The operator slipped the card into a slot below the floor buttons, and a tiny light flashed green.

“You’ll love the suite, ma’am,” he said as the doors closed and the elevator hummed to life. “It’s the best view of the ocean you could ask for.”

The elevator buzzed and jerked up. I began to wring my hands. In order to stop myself, I shoved them under my armpits and stood there, trembling slightly. I felt suddenly cold and wondered if it was because my heart had finally stopped thumping out of my chest.

“You all right, ma’am?” the operator asked.

Stop calling me ma’am
. I’d never been called ma’am in my life, and I didn’t like titles anyway. But I let the guy do his job.

“I’m fine,” I answered with a fake smile. “I think I’m in a dream. Or a nightmare.” I chuckled dryly. “Not really sure.”

“Are you from out of town?” he asked.

“Well…yeah, sort of.” Out of
this
town, at least.

“Is the gentleman you were with—” the operator considered his words and continued, “a relative, perhaps?”

“Why do you ask that?”

“I wonder why he is not interested in sharing the suite with you.”

The operator was trying to suggest something of the sexual nature, but was too polite to be so forward. He didn’t really have to jump to conclusions. I was a hooker. And a cheap one at that.

“I’m wondering the same thing,” I told him.

We reached the twentieth floor. The operator wished me good night and the doors closed behind me.

I stepped down a short, well-lit hall, my knees shaking. The entrance grew bigger as I came closer. The doors were made from the same cherry, the frame decorated with carvings so intricate it was hard to believe they were made from wood.

I stopped in front of the door, breathing deeply to keep from feeling light-headed. When I finally slipped my card into the slot, the light blinked green. I grabbed the handle and pushed my way into the suite.

It felt like walking into a movie. Regal windows hung with wine-colored drapes stared out into a vast panorama of city lights and the infinite darkness of the ocean beyond. Overstuffed furniture was scattered throughout the room, arranged with the same intense scrutiny as one would place chess pieces on a board. A chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling, its many crystal facets reflecting so many colors that it was impossible to name them all. At the edge of the room was a grand piano, a sacrifice to decoration because I couldn’t imagine anyone ever playing the thing. Beyond the plush furniture and elegant windows was a huge flat screen television and an electric fireplace. As if it ever got cold enough in here to be of any use. Beyond all this were doors and arches leading into separate rooms, all waiting to be explored.

I walked up to one of the windows and looked at the balcony outside. I had no desire to go out and stand over thirty stories of empty air. No, I was fine staring at the lit buildings of Ralston and downtown from inside, along with the pinpricks of light that came from farther districts. I would have liked to see if Metro was visible from here, but it was impossible to tell at night.

I went to the bathroom and bedroom to see what they looked like. There were two bedrooms, in fact, but the master bedroom was twice as large and twice as breathtaking. This one had a chandelier, too, a miniature version of the one in the main room. A king-size bed sat in the center, looking delicious with its red silk sheets and half dozen uniform pillows. I spotted a few chocolates in the very center of the pillow jungle, and I ate them with relish.

I turned and looked at myself in the mirror on top of the dresser. My makeup was smudged across one cheek, my hair was greasy, and there was lipstick on my teeth. I felt a pang of self-pity rip through me.

A pair of silk pajamas sat on the dresser. They were monogrammed in gold with the initials of the hotel. I wondered if they came standard or if Ezekiel had asked them to provide me with something of the like. I ran my thumbs over the slick surface before tossing them onto the bed. What I needed right now was a long soak in vast quantities of water that I did not have to pay for.

An enormous bathtub squatted in the corner of the bathroom, lined with more jets than an aching body could ever need. There was also a shower with four showerheads, because five would obviously be too many. The sink had golden fixtures to match the letters
IH
sewn into the towels and bathrobes.

After filling the tub with nearly scalding water, I found some bubble bath and shower salts in the cupboard and dumped it all in, not sure of how much to use. Once the water’s surface vanished beneath the swells of delicate bubbles, I stripped and sank down inside.

“Oh my
God
,” I sighed, feeling myself melt from my toes to my neck. I let the jets pummel my shoulders, back, and neck until I was nearly wincing in pain. When I’d had enough, I turned them off and began to play with the bubbles, stretching them between my fingers like webs and then blowing on the few that escaped and floated away.

I must have lay in that tub for at least two hours. I hadn’t had a hot shower or bath in at least three months, which was when the water heater broke and no amount of calling the landlord could convince him to come out and fix it. I’d grown used to jumping in and out of the shower in five to ten minutes, and it took another half an hour to warm up inside my three blankets and robe. This time I soaped up my hair as slowly and luxuriously as I could, using the entire tiny bottle. Then I sat there like a stubborn child, refusing to leave.

When my skin had gotten so shriveled that my fingertips resembled those of an old woman, I emerged from the tub at last. I shook myself off, standing in the misty room naked for a minute longer than I had to, just to enjoy the heat and steam on my skin. After drying off with a towel, I walked into the bedroom and snatched up the silk pajamas. They were like men’s pajamas, with pants and a button-down shirt; though they fit me well enough to make me suspect they were made for women.

I was so exhausted by this point that there was nothing left for me to do but collapse into bed. I’d barely pulled the down-filled comforter up around myself before I was asleep—the deepest sleep I’d enjoyed in the last few years.