Madame X - Wilder Jasinda - Страница 38
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I shake my head. “What happens on these three floors . . . Rachel?”
The girl doesn’t answer right away. “I ain’t—I’m not Rachel yet. Haven’t earned my name yet. I’m just Three . . . for now.” Side-eyed glance of speculation; a decision reached. “And if you don’t know, I probably shouldn’t tell you.”
I push past the girl, walk to the window, my favorite window, the same one, same place. Slightly lower view, but nearly as comforting. Watch the cars pass, pedestrians. Familiar, soothing. I can almost breathe.
Silence. Padding feet on the wood, I smell shampoo and soap. “You said your name is Madame X?”
“I’m his secret on the thirteenth floor,” I whisper.
“What do you do?” She leans against the window frame opposite me, assuming a familiar pose that suggests she spends as much time standing here as I do at my own window.
“If you don’t know, I probably shouldn’t tell you,” I said.
“That ain’t fair. I didn’t even know you existed. How am I supposed to know?”
“Exactly. I didn’t know you existed either, Three.” I turn, rest my shoulder against the window. “You said it was your apprentice number. Apprentice what?”
“Apprentice bride.” This is whispered. “That’s my goal, at least. First I have to make Escort, and then Companion. Then Bride.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Me and all the other girls on this floor, we’re the property of Indigo Services. We’re part of the apprenticeship program.”
“Property?” I can barely get the word out.
A steady, even look. “I signed up for it. So did all the others, so don’t you get no look of fuckin’ pity in your eyes for me. It’s better than being on the streets, and that’s where I’d still be if it wasn’t for Caleb. I’m drug free. No pimp. No debt. None of that bullshit. It’s a way out. I ain’t a slave. I know you’re thinking that word. You don’t know me, so don’t you fuckin’ judge me, bitch.”
“I’m not judging you, Three. I just don’t understand.”
“How can you not? Was you born on fuckin’ Mars or something?”
My instincts kick in. “‘Were you,’ you mean.”
Three snarls at me, upper lip curled in a sneer. “I don’t get what’s so wrong with the way I talk. Caleb’s always raggin’ on me about it, too.”
“Perception is vital. Proper speech creates the impression of class, Three. Proper grammar, lucid, concise syntax. No vulgarity. You wish to be taken seriously? Then you must act like a—” I was going to say gentleman, but I have to change tactics. “Like a lady. A woman of class.”
“Who the hell are you, Madame X?”
“Someone much like you, I fear, only much less self-aware, I’m realizing.” I glance at the door. “Can you leave? If you wanted to?”
Three makes a face. “Course I can. I mean, I wouldn’t, but I could. Door ain’t locked, elevator works. Once a week I get to go on a practice date with Caleb up to Rhapsody. I get a new dress, new shoes, get to put on makeup. If I do well, he might take me outside, out there, for the monthly final.”
I have to formulate my question carefully. “Three, could you—could you explain for me how the program works?”
A shrug. “Sure. Easy. I was homeless. Workin’ the street, right? Got no way to feed myself, so I ended up selling the only thing of any value I had, get it? Myself. Then I met Caleb. He hired me for a whole day. Guess he saw something, I don’t know. Potential? Told me he had a program that would give me skills, and eventually a life off the streets. Kind of a training program followed by a matchmaking program, all in one. Right now, I’m in the training program.”
“What kind of training?”
Another lazy, indolent shrug. I itch to correct her comportment, but it isn’t my job to do so. “Everything. There’s a tutor, Mr. Powers. He does the usual school kind of stuff. Helps us get a GED, if we need one, or furthers our education if we have a diploma already. Or he can do guided studies in specific areas. You’re interested in science or some shit, he can help you find resources and whatever. Anyway, Mr. Powers is always on me to speak proper, too, but I grew up talkin’ like this, everyone I knew talked like this, and some habits are hard to break, you know? And then there’s Miss Lisa. She’s head of the program. Keeps track of our progress, tells us what we need to do to improve, to get up to the next level. She’s the head boss, lead supervisor basically. And then . . . there’s Caleb.”
“And what does he do?” I ask. I’m not sure I want to know the answer, though.
Three doesn’t answer me, won’t look at me. Her pale cheeks redden. “I shouldn’t be prudish about this, considerin’ where he found me. What I was doing.” Another pause. For courage, I think. “He teaches us how to please. How to act attractive. How to seduce. How to look, how to dress, how to—how to fuck.”
“And he teaches you all of this personally, does he?”
Widening of the eyes. “Oh yes. Of course. He delivers the final exam. Makes sure we’re ready for each stage. An Escort has fewer requirements than a Companion, and a Bride has the most of all.”
“Requirements?” My voice sounds faint.
Three shrugs. “It’s complicated. Learnin’ those differences is part of the training, so it ain’t like I can just sum it up in one or two sentences, you know?” A glance away, out the window. “I shouldn’t be telling you this stuff anyway. Ain’t supposed to be talking about it to anyone not in the program. We signed an agreement. But you’re the big secret on floor thirteen, so I’m guessing you probably got secrets of your own. You ain’t gonna rat me out to Caleb, are you?”
I shake my head. “No, Three. I won’t. I promise.”
I have a million, million questions, but I don’t even know where to start. But Three suddenly bolts upright, away from the window, glances at the plain wall clock.
“Shit! You gotta get out of here. I’ve got an assessment, like right now!”
“An assessment?”
“Yeah, with Caleb.”
“Caleb is coming here, now?”
We both hear a voice. One we both recognize. But rather than the usual calm, there is anger, hot and loud. “No, Douglas, it’s not going to be fucking fine. If she didn’t leave the building, then she’s hiding out somewhere. Fucking find her, or there will be hell to pay.” Right outside the door.
Three hisses in my ear. “Under the bed. Go! Don’t even breathe, okay? He won’t stay too long. ’Specially not in this mood.”
I hustle toward the bedroom, slide under the bed, make myself as small as possible. Arms under my chest, cheek to the dusty hardwood. Barely breathing.
I hear the door open. Hear that deep, gravelly voice. “Three. Good morning.”
“Caleb.” Three sounds . . . breathy. “I’m fine. How are you?”
“Not well. There’s been . . . a problem. It’s got me distracted, I’m afraid.” Footsteps on the hardwood, and I see shiny expensive tan leather shoes, khaki slacks. “Perhaps we should reschedule your assessment for tomorrow. I’m not sure I can focus at the moment.”
“But . . . Miss Lisa told me I’ve finally got my first Escort gig tomorrow, but only if I pass this assessment.” Three sounds genuinely disappointed. “Unless you think there’s a chance I might fail . . .”
“I think there’s very little risk of that, Three. Your progress has been remarkable.”
“You don’t think I could . . . help you with your mood?” Three’s voice goes low, sultry, rife with suggestion. “I know I can’t fix nothin’—”
“Three.” It’s a warning.
“Sorry, Caleb. I meant, fix anything.” I see feminine bare feet framed between larger shod ones. Three lifts up on her toes. A silence that speaks of something happening I can’t see. A kiss perhaps. Sounds, too quiet to interpret. “I could distract you from your . . . distractions, you know?”
I clench my teeth and breathe shallowly, slowly. They are moving closer, Three walking forward toward the bed, the Italian leather dress shoes walking backward.
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