The King and the Courtesan (6 page)

The ringing phone woke me.

I lifted my head from my pillow and squinted in the bright light that exploded through the window across the room. I lifted my arm and plucked the antique phone off its gold cradle.

“Hello?” I croaked.

“Miss, er…miss. There are a few people down here in the lobby that wish to visit you. You must come down and escort them to your room for us to allow them up.”

“Huh?” I moaned, rubbing my eyes.

“You have
visitors
, miss. You need to come down and get them.”

“Okay.” I hung up before he could confuse my slow, sleepy brain any more. I huddled deeper into my bed, reluctant to leave my warm cocoon. But I didn’t want to keep anyone waiting,
especially
if it was Ezekiel. I climbed out of bed and slipped my feet into the red pumps I’d worn here. I went to the bathroom and snatched up my bathrobe to cover my thin pajamas. Then I grabbed my key card and headed for the elevator.

I should have looked at myself before I went down to escort my visitors, because the guy at the head of the group nearly passed out when he saw me. I didn’t doubt that my hair was matted and frizzy.

“Who are you?” I asked with a yawn.

“We’re here to turn you into something you most
clearly
are not,” responded a magenta-haired woman with dark red lipstick so dark it could be mistaken for brown.

“Which would make you…?”

“Cosmetologists, hair dressers, manicurists, the like,” answered another, this one a pixie-like girl who barely looked sixteen. I assumed she was older by the way she gave me a haughty once-over. I almost warned her to keep her hostility to herself since I was tall enough to step on her, but I kept all the sauce to myself.

“All right.” I took a deep breath. “This way, I guess.”

“Do you need smelling salts?” I heard the magenta-haired lady ask the man, who was now fanning himself.

“No, love, I’m good. A little shell-shocked, I suppose,” he lowered his voice, perhaps under the impression I couldn’t hear him, but I totally could. “When I heard that Ezekiel wanted something prettied up, I expected someone…”

“Prettier?” Pixie girl asked.

“Or at
least
someone with a rack.”

I cleared my throat and waited for them to catch up to me in the elevator. The three of them entered, and I reached to press the button that would close the doors, but the man put his hand out to stop them.

“We’re waiting for Rosa,” he said.

“Rosa…?”

A woman shot through the front door, her dark hair flying and her purse smacking her hip. “Hello, girls. And boy.” She nodded at all of us as she slipped into the elevator. The doors were finally allowed to close, and the elevator climbed.

“Phew! I almost forgot. Anyway, hello!” she chirped, thrusting her hand at me. “My name is Rosa.”

I shook her hand. She didn’t seem upset by my ratty hair like the rest. Her eyes barely touched me before they slid over to the man.

“And that gentleman is Dmitri. The lady behind you with the crazy dye job—”

“It’s not crazy. It’s the rage.”

“—is Johanna. And the last is Josephine. Call her Josie if you like.”

The elevator door opened, and they all stepped into the hallway.

“What’s your name?” Rosa asked, taking my shoulder. While everything about her seemed natural, her nails were an inch long and painted bright pink with neon green swirls on each one. I’d never seen such painstaking artwork. I couldn’t help but notice her eyes, too, which were only noteworthy because of their purple color. She didn’t have an accent, but I assumed her to be Jaharalian.

“Melissa,” I murmured.

“Hmm, let’s get a good look at you.” She stepped back a few steps. “Yes. Yes, I can work with this.”

“Really? You seem to be the only one.” I tossed a hooded glare at Dmitri, who sighed dramatically and looked away.

“Unlike these three, I’ve met Ezekiel in person. I only met him once, but it was enough.” She snorted and laughed. “Oh boy, was that enough! He’s a good looking guy and rich as hell, but he’s always come across as a bit—well, never mind. All I know is that I can tell he is a man of particular tastes. And if he chose you, dollface, then he means it. Come on. To the room.”

They were all carrying briefcases and bags, probably filled with products that would turn this cheap hooker into a beautiful courtesan. They led me to the room and yanked me into the bathroom and pulled up a chair, shoving me in front of the mirror. It felt like they were the hosts and I was the visitor.

“This is where the magic starts,” Josie assured me.

Briefcases and purses snapped open. Contents were shuffled. Finally, objects began to fly.

“We aren’t going to do
anything
until your hair is done and everything else waxed.”

“
Waxed
?” I asked, gulping.

“Yes,
waxed
,” Johanna said with a vulpine grin. “Dmitri will have the pleasure of the dye. I’m the waxer.”

“Don’t you worry, chipmunk,” Rosa assured me with a pat on my shoulder. “They’ll take good care of you.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Come, Josie.” Rosie grabbed Josie’s arm and pulled her out of the room.

“Well, I don’t have a table to work on,” Johanna muttered bitterly. “I guess the counter will have to do. But Dmitri will do the hair work first. Then, when the highlights are setting, the fun begins!” She held up a jar of what I assumed was wax.

Dmitri was already snapping on gloves and mixing juices. I gave him a full once-over at last. If he dressed like that in Metro, he’d be dead within the hour. It made me think of poor Yogi, who luckily looked feminine enough to avoid detection. Blade used “gay” and “faggot” interchangeably with absolute relish and zero consideration.

But Dmitri wasn’t like Yogi. That was evident in his disdainful stare, the one that made me feel like a cockroach beneath the tread of his silver-tipped boot.

“Sit up straight and don’t fidget,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir,” I grumbled.

He
harumphed
and started shaking a bottle. Johanna stood to the side, still looking me over.

“What?” I asked her.

“I’m just looking.”

“Looking at
what
?”

“Oh, nothing,” she sighed, then stepped out of the bathroom.
Great
. I was alone with Dmitri.

He worked out the rats in my hair with a fine-toothed comb before setting to work on the highlights. I know it involved some noxious substance, aluminum foil, and a comb, but I wasn’t really positive what was going on. After he finished, he invited Johanna back in. Dmitri sat on the sink and filed his nails while Johanna pulled out towels and laid them on the counter.

“Okay. Take off the pajamas,” she ordered.

“But I’m not—I’m not
wearing
anything under here,” I told her.

She raised a thin, plucked eyebrow. “So what? I certainly don’t care. And Dmitri doesn’t care.”

“Not looking,” he said to his nails.

I didn’t know why I cared, either. After all, I had
sex
with strangers I knew less about. With a sigh, I yanked off my clothes and lay down on my stomach. Johanna tossed a towel over my rump and began to prepare the wax. The whole time, she and Dmitri talked about some “bitch” named Tanya they both hated. I had almost drifted into my own world when a
riiiip
and a snap of pain woke me up.

“Ow!” I gasped.

“Ick,” Johanna groaned, looking at the tape she’d pulled off my legs. “Honey, when was the last time you waxed?”

“I don’t wax. I shave.”

Johanna rolled her eyes in disgust. “No wonder.”

“Eh, that’s not bad,” stated Dmitri. “You should see it when Ken waxes his back.”

I didn’t know who Ken was, nor did I care about his back hair. I tried slipping back into a daydream, but Johanna halted all my efforts with another
riiiiip
.

I swear my skin was numb by the time she was done. Though I was red and feeling rather irritable, Johanna looked satisfied.

“Okay,
now
you look good,” she said.

This sort of back-and-forth work continued all day. Dmitri spent at least an hour on my hair, not including the time it took to give me highlights. He talked with Johanna and Josie over my head, moving from Ken, who was apparently his significant other, to how much he hated Helen, Ken’s sister. I learned more about Dmitri’s family life in twenty minutes than I knew about my own, though it had the upside of making me feel normal. Mimi and I had our arguments and disagreements, but I certainly did not gossip about her for an hour to my other catty friends.

Rosa came in to do my makeup. She told the other three to watch TV. They followed orders without a single glance back at me.

“What about my dress?” I asked her. “I left it in Ezekiel’s car.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, sweetheart. Ezekiel had it delivered to me. It’s folded up nice and perfect in my bag. But you wait for that. That’s the last step. Right now we’ve got to put your face on.”

They’d cleaned up my face with wet wipes an hour ago, but Rosa rubbed off all the leftover smudges. Her hands were gentle and her expression soft, unlike her peers.

“I’m sorry for putting you through all this,” she said as she knelt in front of me. “I can see how much you hate it.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Painfully.” Rosa gazed at me a long time before she patted my face dry. She pulled out some eyeliner. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“Because beauty should be a labor of love, and I hate to put anyone through unnecessary trauma.”

Rosa placed the side of her hand on my cheek, biting her lip as she started the first line along my lower lid. I tried not to blink and disturb her work.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

“Metro.”

“You know, I used to live in Metro,” she told me softly.

“Really?” I whispered in disbelief. This beautiful, put-together young woman had once walked the streets of my hometown? While it seemed impossible, she did appear to have Jahralian roots, and most Jahralians hadn’t the money or resources to live anywhere outside of Metro. Jahral was impoverished and war-torn, and in comparison Metro didn’t look so bad.

“Yes. I lived in a foster home with my younger brother. When I was eighteen, I got a full-ride academic scholarship to a school downtown. I was able to stay and work at home while taking classes.”

“You went to college?”

“Of course.”

“But then why are you a…cosmetologist?”

She smiled gently. “Oh, hon, I have a degree in business. You think Ezekiel just picked us individuals off the street? No, the others are my employees. I came along because I was curious about what sort of woman a man like Ezekiel would choose.”

“What happened to your brother?”

She shrugged. “He graduated high school with straight A’s. I asked him if he wanted to room with me, but he wanted to get his own place. I suddenly lost contact with him. I never saw him and he never called. When I tried calling, he never answered. I emailed, I looked around the address he gave me…nothing. I was beginning to think he was dead.”

“But he wasn’t,” I murmured, knowing this story all too well.

She nodded. Her hand trembled a bit as she finished the line beneath my eye. “No. He’d fallen in with some bad people after graduation. He was ambitious… He wanted to be wealthy, and they told him he could be.”

“He began selling drugs.”

“Yes. I heard rumors that he killed a few people but wouldn’t believe them. My brother had never been violent. Then I heard the cops had found him. He’s in jail. For life, I think. At least I can visit him now. I bring him brownies.” She sat back and ran a shaky hand through her hair. “But enough of this. Let’s talk about something cheerful.”

I told her about my sister, leaving Joel out of it, and my friends at the “barbershop,” leaving the prostitution out of it. She told me about her business, her husband, and her newborn infant. I skirted around everything important, because I didn’t know Rosa well enough to tell her the truth.

After many hours of hard work and patience, I was ready to slip into my dress. Rosa wouldn’t let me look in a mirror and laughed when I tried to slide past her and catch a glimpse. She brought new underwear with her and I wondered how the hell she knew my size. Did Ezekiel give her a clue? Then she put me into the dress and finally let me look in the mirror.

I’d like to say I was a different person. Wouldn’t that be great? To suddenly become someone else, someone poised and perfect, someone who sipped champagne and knew how to address an ambassador at a polo match, someone who would kiss everyone’s cheeks twice and never drink more than one glass of wine.

But I wasn’t a different person. I looked different, yes. This was as beautiful and cultured as I could possibly be. But I still saw Melissa hovering behind my eyes. I couldn’t erase the track marks in my arm, and there was no way to give me curves or less gangly legs. I was still a Metro prostitute, someone who sold everything to buy something that destroyed her and everyone around her.

“You’re gorgeous,” Rosa whispered in my ear, a gigantic grin stretched across her pretty face. “You’ll knock ‘em dead.”

I looked down at my hands, which were already starting to tremble. I hoped that I had enough time to do this before withdrawal set in. As I looked at my new self in the mirror, I knew that I had to. There was a year’s worth of drugs sitting between now and tonight, and I just needed to hold myself together until then.

When I stepped out of the elevator, Ezekiel and two bodyguards were standing in the lobby.

I once thought that “dashing” was a description suited to film; that only with the right lighting, airbrushing, and angle could a man look as debonair as in the movies. But Ezekiel defied all my previous beliefs. In his pitch-black tuxedo, shined shoes, stark white collar, and silk bow tie, he looked like he’d walked off the set of a luxury car commercial. For a moment, I was sure I was dreaming. It wasn’t the first time this particular sensation gripped me.