The King and the Courtesan (52 page)

I had been at South Glenwood for two months when Floyd visited. He’d stopped by several times before, to offer his support, gain further understanding of my predicament, and inquire about my progress. I tried to figure out if he had ulterior motives, but as far as I could tell, he had no sexual interest in me whatsoever. In fact, he talked about Trixie with the affection of a newlywed, so I imagined he was happy with her. I couldn’t imagine that Floyd had no motive at all, because all rich men had motives. Yet beyond kindness, I couldn’t figure out Floyd’s.

“Well,” he told me as we shared some takeout he’d brought, “I think I’m prepared to give up on this whole personal secretary business.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve interviewed several so far. I’m very picky, you know. Not so much about resumés and portfolios, because I think all of that is irrelevant. I think what’s in
here
is what’s relevant.” He tapped his head. “All of these people come into my office with some scripted interview in their head, and whenever I veer off topic, it’s like they’ve suddenly suffered brain failures. They can’t think for themselves, nor can they think on their feet. I have my hand in a lot of money jars, and I can’t afford to have a robot in charge of my personal affairs.”

I nodded.

“Not only that, but I’m short a bodyguard, too. My last one retired.”

“You need a bodyguard?” I asked.

“Usually. How do you think I got like this?” He motioned to his wheelchair. “Bullet in the back. I don’t want to take my chances again. I’ve made a lot of enemies since I gave so much support to the anti-Yentis movement.” He shrugged. “Things have calmed down since then, but I don’t want to take my chances.”

I swallowed a piece of chicken. “I know someone.”

“Oh?”

“Well, I may know of someone. Though his past employer was…shady.”

“So he’s worked for Ezekiel.” Floyd lifted his eyebrows. “Doesn’t sound like the best prospect, considering Ezekiel and I were on opposite sides of the law.”

“No.” I shook my head. “Roger only worked for Ezekiel because his wife was very sick and it was the only way to pay her medical bills.” Medical bills that—with Ezekiel gone—would go unpaid.

Floyd eyed me suspiciously. I knew he didn’t like the idea of a prospect previously hired by Ezekiel, but he also had a strange inclination to trust whatever I said.

“If I could find him,” I said, “I could ask him.”

“Do you know his last name?”

“No.”

“Doesn’t give us much to go on. There are a lot of Rogers in this city.”

“I know where his house is.”

Floyd’s brows lifted. “Is that so?”

“It’s in Alpin. I don’t know the address, but I remember what the neighborhood around it looks like. Maybe Rika would know.”

Floyd nodded. “She’s lived there a long time. I’ll call her.”

“And if you’re still looking for a secretary…” I took a deep breath and decided the time for bravery was now. I had taken the back seat in my own life enough—I was ready to start driving. “Maybe I could try my hand at it.”

Floyd looked at me with enough skepticism to make me feel foolish. “Do you have any secretary experience?”

“No, not really. But I learn fast, and I can think on my feet. I know you have a million reasons not to consider me, but I want to take this long shot. I want higher expectations for myself, and that means taking risks. I figure the worst you can do is tell me no.”

Floyd was silent for a while before sighing. “Give me a day to think about it.”

“That’s all I want.”

“You’ve got guts—I’ll give you that.” Floyd smiled, and I felt he was already telling me yes.

* * *

The day after I got out of rehab, I got a call from Floyd.

“You know, I’ve done a lot of thinking. The most important thing for me is a person who is trustworthy. As a major contributor to anti-Yentis efforts, a secretary would deal with a lot of highly secretive information, so I need someone I know won’t talk. I think after dealing with Ezekiel, you know what I’m up against, and you probably won’t be swayed by promises of money.”

“Certainly not.” From what I’d experienced so far, the only conclusion I’d come to was that money turned people into monsters. “Does this mean I’m hired?”

“Take some time to get your life back together,” Floyd said. “I know you just got out of rehab, and you’ve got a pregnancy and more therapy to handle before you can turn your focus to something like this. When you feel like you’re really ready to start, give me a call, and we’ll set something up. You’ll have a three-month probation period until I can make sure you’re a good fit, but I’m willing to give you a shot.”

I could barely keep myself from pumping a fist in joy. I somehow maintained a cool demeanor as I replied, “That sounds wonderful. Thank you so much.”

“Don’t make me regret it,” Floyd joked, and I could hear the smile in his voice before he hung up.

* * *

Once I’d gotten set up in my sister’s new place, Floyd and two others paid me a visit. I recognized them as Rika Milford, his sister, and her husband, Wes, the police detective I met when I was stranded at Juri’s place.

“Melissa, take a seat. We have something to discuss,” Floyd said.

I slipped onto the couch and waited.

“I know you’ve mentioned your pregnancy to me and your ambivalence on the matter.”

I nodded.

“Well, you voiced your doubt that anyone would want to adopt the child of a drug-addicted prostitute, and I told you I had someone in mind.”

My eyes flickered to Rika, watching me with kind, blue eyes. Her husband was much more stoic, but I was sure he was a good man. I couldn’t imagine a sweet soul like Rika marrying anything other.

“Them?” I whispered.

“We married two years ago,” Rika told me. “And we’ve always entertained the idea of adoption. I always thought it was a better alternative to having my own. Not only because I’d like to keep this lovely form of mine”—she laughed—“but because I know there will always be a child out there who needs a family.”

“They live in a good part of Alpin,” Floyd explained. “Several blocks from a nice park with a playground. The neighborhood is quiet, and the nearby school has always been praised.” His eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Your child would be happy with them.”

I was stuck at a crossroads. As I worked toward weaning myself from this parasite I called my drug addiction, I’d begun to entertain the idea of being a mother. I had to. I worked so hard, withstood torture every day, broke into tears on the difficult nights. I felt like I needed to be doing it for
someone
other than myself, because I ceased to see any worth in myself. But the baby—it had worth. I would be doing all this work for
the baby
. That made the exhausting days worthwhile. The thought calmed my tears, made me strong. The idea of motherhood, something I never wanted for myself, suddenly became attractive. I dreamed of the baby, dreamed of holding it and singing it to sleep. I dreamed of the love most of all, that unconditional love I could
hold
. It would be pure and innocent, ignorant to the horrors of Metro and the men that ran it. It would be a diamond resurrected from the ash of tragedy.

Yet…I knew better. I was no mother. Fresh out of rehab, what could keep me from relapsing and returning to my old occupation? No child deserved a mother like that. My mother had been a wonderful woman, stronger than I was, but she made significant mistakes. Neither of her daughters became much of anything. If I kept this baby, there was a very high likelihood that she or he would become just another Metro gangster. We’d grow to hate each other, and every time I looked at him or her, I’d feel a deep shame, knowing I destroyed the only person who could truly love me.

If I gave away the baby to Rika and Wes, then I could go work for Floyd and forge a better life, one without complications or attachments. I would only have to worry about
me
and what would help me improve. But the baby…it would grow up loved and taken care of with two stable parents. It would have a fabulously wealthy uncle who could spoil it. It would go to the park on weekends, go to a nice school on the weekdays, and make friends—kids who were also loved by two stable parents with good jobs.

“There could be complications with the baby,” I whispered.

“We’ve talked to the doctors. They’re very optimistic.”

“But what if…?”

Rika walked past Floyd and stood before me. She took my hands in hers. Both her wrists were decorated in hemp bracelets and beads. She would be a very hip mother, I could tell. She’d be the cool kind who let the kid play hookie once a semester, who took him or her surfing, and who waged war with water guns in the living room on hot summer days. She’d grown up knowing none of the horrors that I had. She was still free and unhindered by the past. I lifted my eyes to hers.

“What if the doctors are wrong?” I whispered.

“We’ll take that chance.”

“Don’t you want a baby guaranteed to be healthy?”

“We’d rather know its mother is awesome,” Rika joked with a grin.

“Can I—can I have some time to think about this?” I asked.

“Of course,” Floyd said. “You can call when you’ve made your decision.”

“And my job—the one you offered me—”

“Melissa, whatever your decision is, the job will be open to you if you want to accept it.”

I nodded, biting my lip. I had no idea what to do.

* * *

I was watching television when there was a knock on my door. Ace stood there, dressed in the torn, baggy clothes that marked him as a Metro native. Since Ezekiel’s demise, I’d been concerned for him, afraid Ezekiel’s operatives would seek revenge. Ace didn’t seem to spend as much time worrying about it as I did, and so far, he’d managed to keep out of trouble.

“Hey,” he greeted, smiling.

“Hi.” I clicked the TV off.

Ace crossed the room, looking unsure as he scanned the empty furniture. I waved him toward the armchair, so he sorted out his long limbs and sat down.

“How are you holding together so far?” he asked. “You and your sister getting along?”

I nodded. “For now, at least.”

“And how is your, uh, recuperation coming?”

“It’s hard sometimes.” I sat down on the couch again, folding my hands in my lap. “I think about dust a lot. But I think about my pregnancy more.”

“That’s good.”

“Was it hard for you? Getting sober, I mean.”

Ace laughed. “Well, I was a bit of a pansy. Juri threatened me with some things I won’t repeat if he ever caught me on that stuff again, and I believed him. It was a difficult time in my life, but I’m glad it happened early. I was only on the dust for a year, and I was young. I bounced back easily.”

“And you’ve never been tempted to go back to it?” I asked.

“Sometimes. But like I said, Juri’s threats don’t have an expiration date. He’s in his fifties now, but he’s plenty capable of following through on them.”

I chuckled. I’d seen what happened when someone pissed Juri off. “Juri should threaten me with that stuff.”

“Good luck. He’s much softer on women. Especially pregnant women.” Ace’s eyes flickered to my stomach. I was really showing now. Several weeks ago, Yogi and Mimi had taken me out shopping for new maternity clothes, because I’d gotten too big for the X-Large sweaters that Mimi was providing.

“How much longer?” Ace asked.

“Two and half months. The doctors are watching really close, because street dust babies have a habit of being premature with a low birth weight. They want to be ready.”

“But no complications yet?”

I shook my head. “They did an ultra-sound two days ago.”

“And?”

“And everything seems good. It’s a boy, by the way.”

“A boy.” Ace’s eyes grew, and he smiled. “’Magine that.”

“Yeah.” I bit my lip. I’d been hoping for a girl. Metro presented risks for either gender—boys were always privy to extreme violence, and girls might turn to prostitution to avoid poverty. But at least I wasn’t
afraid
of girls.

“You wanted a girl?” Ace asked.

“Girls are just easier,” I said softly.

“That’s probably true. I gave my dad hell. ’Course, he didn’t treat me too well, either.”

“I’m sorry.”

Ace shrugged. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I consider Juri to be more of a father than anyone else. I think that’s true for a lot of the younger guys in Juri’s circle. They look up to him.”

“I didn’t have much of a father figure, either. My mother was great, but she had awful taste in men.” I shook my head, smiling humorlessly. “Just like every other woman in Metro, right?”

“So you’re keeping it?”

I sighed heavily and turned to the window. Winter was here, but most of the weather consisted of cold rain and piercing winds. We were still waiting for the first snow, even though it would inevitably turn to brown slush in the gutters. I heard the wind whistling; the branches of a nearby tree scratched against my window.

“I don’t know, Ace. I just don’t know. So much of me wants to say yes. But—but I know he would be happier with Rika and Wes. He’d have to be. Hell, I want them to adopt
me
, and I’m twenty, soon to be twenty-one. How old is Rika again?”

“Thirty-five.”

“She’s way more mature and ready for this than I am. And you said she’s cool.”

“I’ve always had a big crush on Rika. She’s the only non-Metro woman I’ve truly liked. You know, when she was young, her parents sent her to some fancy all-girls school, the best in the city. She purposely got herself kicked out so she could go to public high school.” He leaned in closer. “She wanted to date skater boys.”

I laughed. “Is Wes a skater boy?”

“The exact opposite. Funny how that works, hmm? But it’s okay. She loves Wes’s nephew, Evan. She practically helped raise him.”

“Wait, Wes’s nephew?”

“Wes’s sister and most of his family was killed by a terrorist bombing. You remember when the downtown subway station was bombed?”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, they were on a family outing. Wes somehow managed to keep Evan out of heavy fire. Evan was five at the time. Then, Wes became Evan’s legal guardian. Rika met Wes when her father was murdered. More terrorist crap. That was back when the Yentis was a big time presence in Zinya City.”