Dangerous (27 page)

“Thanks for letting me visit Milton. I’m thrilled to see you again, Ma’am. To be home.”

She stepped closer and stroked my hair. “Doll has been missed.” She gently pulled my head toward her so that my cheek rested against her soft gray slacks. This unexpected tenderness, so rare for Val, brought tears to my eyes. I found myself deeply moved by her gesture, and quietly sniffed. She wasn’t a total ice queen after all; I’d been too hasty in my judgment.

When she lifted my chin I blinked up at her, wiping away tears with an embarrassed smile.

“I believe doll is feeling
sentimental
.” I heard a trace of wonder in her voice.

“Yes, Ma’am,” I said huskily, recalling the photo of young Valeria sitting on a rusted swing, already armored by a stone heart.

In that moment I resolved to free that little girl, by whatever means necessary.

§

Tyler wasn’t sitting in the gatehouse when I drove in to work Monday morning. Nor the next day.

“Where’s my boyfriend?” I jokingly asked Shelley as I helped her make coffee. She and I were the early risers, the first ones to arrive every morning.

“On vacation, probably. I haven’t seen him since last Wednesday, now that I think of it.”

Thank god for small miracles.

§

My phone buzzed during our Tuesday afternoon screening with the visual effects supervisor from
Pretty Death Machine
. The sound drew a glare from Carl, who had a rule about phones being silent for client meetings. I whispered an apology and ducked out to take the call.

But it was only a text message. From Val, of course.

Dinner? Saddle Crest Lodge, Wed 8pm. RSVP

The restaurant name was a web link, which I opened with my phone’s browser. The place proved to be a rustic, pricey restaurant in the Calabasas Hills, famous for exotic game meats. Apparently Hemingway had frequented the place when it was simply a hunting lodge.

I had learned to fear dining with Val, but I messaged back that I could make it. I’d have to study the menu later, and pick out Val’s meal just in case. I’d also have to find something nice to wear.

When I returned to the screening, my boss’s face was strained. Carl had spent the last twenty minutes struggling to remain civil as our client insisted the “energy tendril” effect in shot PDM_125_03 was all wrong. It was my tenth version of the shot in in two weeks.

The client in question was a balding, nebbishy fellow named Bob Bickel, though our private name for him was Mr. Pixelfucker. He was one of those micromanagement types who simply
had
to put his personal stamp of genius on Every Single Goddamn Pixel, despite a complete inability to communicate what he wanted. I found him incredibly frustrating and preferred to let Carl deal with him.

“Is it too bright? Too purple, maybe?” Carl wanted to know, sounding a little hopeful. Such changes would be easy to make.

“No, no, that’s all fine,” said Bob petulantly. “It just needs to be more…more…
oobleck
, you know? Less
gooze
.”

This was too much, even for Carl. “Jesus, Bob! I don’t even know what that means! Throw me a bone here!”

It was going to be one of those afternoons.

§

There was a traffic snarl on the 101, and I arrived a few minutes late, to find Val waiting for me in the restaurant lobby.

She was dressed in charcoal-gray slacks and an unusual white blouse that looked a little like a business shirt, but for the Nehru-style collar and the dramatic fin-pleating that shot up from the waistline to just below the bust, almost like a corset. The sleeves had a slight gather at the cuffs, and the top four buttons were left undone to create a plunging neckline. Her white hair had been put in a twist with a few delicate tendrils left to fall by her ears. It was stunning. She smelled of lavender.

I had chosen a short brown cotton dress with cute little waist pockets, thinking it might fit the faux-rustic flavor of the restaurant based on what I’d seen on their website. My black stockings and dark brown espadrilles would, I hoped, strike the right chord of casual elegance.

“I was going to scold you for tardiness…but how can I, when you come dressed so delightfully?”

Score: Keeper 1, doll 1.

I gave Val’s name to the woman at the front desk, and we were promptly seated at a window table overlooking the surrounding woods. The place was an eyeful, more like a cartoon animator’s vision of a hunting lodge: lofty ceilings, dramatic lighting, chairs made of rough-hewn wood, and paneled walls bristling with trophy heads and hunting photos. I found it hard not to gawk.

Val, however, had eyes only for me. Something had changed since our reunion on the pier, and I sensed it even more acutely now, after my trip to Milton’s.

“I am going to tell you something that may surprise you, Koishi,” she said, and my heart began to race.

“Yes, Ma’am?” I prodded, after a pregnant moment.

Val weighed her words. “I am rather fond of you.”

“I, um…thank you, Ma’am. You know I love you.”

“So you say,” she said dispassionately, and was about to continue when our waiter arrived with menus. He was young, handsome, and
deeply
interested in our drink preferences.

Val gave me a look that I knew, through long experience, meant
you handle this
. I ordered a martini—straight up, very dry—for her, and a margarita on the rocks, with salt, for myself. My keeper thought little of such frou-frou drinks herself, but let me have them.

“What did you think of Milton?” Val asked when he had gone.

That was easy. “He’s very nice. I expected him to be…scarier. Stricter.”

This provoked a wry smile. “Oh, Milton can be
very
strict. Remember, he taught me much of what I know about being a Keeper. But you were a guest, and he has taken quite a fancy to you. Be assured that you would have a very different opinion of that man, had you misbehaved the tiniest bit.”

I nodded, remembering how Lorena had instantly changed her attitude at his touch. Given this new intelligence, the gesture seemed even more menacing.

“Now,” she continued, “what is your impression of Grace?”

“She’s…” I weighed my words carefully. “I don’t know her well enough to say, Ma’am.”

“Oh, surely you’ve formed an impression by now.”

I had, but was reluctant to voice it. “I don’t know what you see in her. She’s pretty. But is she really cut out for this? For you? Honestly, she doesn’t seem your type.”

“Do you imagine,” Val said, “that I keep only
one
sort of fish in my pond? Of course not. In some ways Grace is very much my type. Can you guess why?”

Ah. This was a test.

“She’s crazy about you. But that’s not it, really. You like her because…I think because she can’t behave herself. She gets into trouble a lot.”

My answer pleased Val, but our drinks arrived before she could comment. The waiter described the specials of the day in glowing detail, and asked, “Are you two ladies ready to order?”

Val looked to me, and I realized we had not even looked at our menus. But I had already memorized the menu from their homepage, earlier in the day.

“Ma’am will have the Chef’s tasting menu with the premium wine pairings, and I’ll have the Grilled Jidori Chicken Breast with a Caesar salad and a glass of Di Bruno pinot grigio, please.”

“I’m afraid we’re all out of the Di Bruno, Ma’am. Perhaps I can suggest the—“

“Then I’ll have the Cobblestone Rose,” I told him.

“Nicely done,” Val said after the waiter had gone. “What do you suppose Grace sees in me?”

“Ma’am, I don’t know her well enough to say.” But Val waited, expecting me to attempt an answer. Something Trish once told me floated up from my subconscious.

“Pascal said we all have a God-sized hole in our heart only He can fill. I guess you feel a bit like God to her. But what she craves, I don’t know. Maybe your strength.”

“It’s true, you don’t have enough data…yet. So I’m making you her Keeper for the time being. Your task will be to discover her motivations.”

Oh God.
I must have looked about as thrilled by this prospect as the stuffed moose head on the wall, but I nodded dutifully. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“I will offer guidance, but I have very high expectations of you. Are you free Saturday night, say seven-thirty?” I said that I was. “Grace is coming over, and I want you there. Wear black.”

§

The sun was setting, that Saturday night, as I drove up the winding road to Val’s house.

Wear black.

How troublesome those two little words had been, over the last two and a half days! The first, most obvious concern was: what should a Keeper wear? Black, tapered hip-hugger jeans and matching low-heeled pumps were easy choices; I already owned those. But I didn’t own a single top which suited the evening. And that meant shopping. And more frustration.

Not until this very afternoon did I hit pay dirt in a vintage-clothing store on Sherman Way: a sleeveless satin mini-top with a mandarin-style collar and little ball-shaped buttons running down the left front. It was cropped rather high, leaving my midriff bare.

My hair was up in a slightly wild Audrey Hepburn ’do with a ponytail and black velvet hair band. I hoped Val would approve of my attempt at retro fashion.

Still, having met my dress requirement did nothing to quell my fears about the evening. Playing Keeper was a role I didn’t want, and wasn’t equipped for. Sure, I’d skirted the edges of dominance with Paul and been aroused by it. But this time Val would be there to catch any misstep. I groaned as my stomach tied itself in a knot.

And the thought of domming Grace…ugh.

Yet another of Val’s roadblocks, deftly thrown in my path.

I pulled into the driveway and parked. After several deep breaths, I got out and walked to the front door.

Yolanda answered the door and showed me to the rear patio, where Val sat at the glass table with the newspaper and a cup of chai. I knelt two paces from her chair.

“I’m here for you, Ma’am,” I said.

She regarded me with a Cheshire grin, lovely in her soft gray pantsuit and champagne-colored blouse. The warm evening breeze stirred her hair and urged a wooden wind chime into soft bursts of tonal haiku.

“Stand up and let me have a look at you. Turn around. Yes, that will do nicely. Now have a seat.” Val pointed with her eyes to the patio chair on the opposite side of the table, and I obeyed, declining her offer of chai.

“Grace will be here shortly, but I thought we might chat a bit before we begin. What are your thoughts?”

“Ma’am, I’m not sure I’m ready to be a Keeper.”

“That is rather the point of training, yes?”

“Of course, Ma’am. It’s just that…”

“Mm?” she prodded, more gently than I expected.

“I don’t know if I
can
be a Keeper.”

“Do you recall my rules?”

“Yes, Ma’am. ’A doll must obey, and learn. A doll must trust the Keeper. A doll must—’ ”

“Enough. Need I say more?”

“No, Ma’am—” I said uncertainly. She let me dangle for a few moments as her eyebrows slowly rose. “It’s only that…I haven’t the slightest idea what to do with Grace, Ma’am. You’re giving me a violin and expect me to play.”

This put a sparkle in her eye. “I wouldn’t call Grace a violin, dear. More of an electric guitar, and not a very fancy one, at that.”

But I pressed on, hoping to make my point. “I don’t find her the least bit, um…attractive.”

“And this is a problem?” Val said. It was a challenge.

“I just don’t know what my
motivation
is. You’re always full of ideas and…well, I’ve been thinking about it for three days, and I still draw a blank.”

“Consider the consequences to you, should you fail. Surely that is sufficient motivation.”

“Yes Ma’am,” I said with downcast eyes, dreading this night. The chimes stirred again, as if volunteering to fill the uncomfortable silence.

“Do you imagine I would assign a task without providing you with the proper tools? This sounds suspiciously like lack of trust.”

“Oh, no Ma’am!”

“Shut up. Perhaps I have misjudged doll’s devotion and talent. What a terrible Keeper I am! It’s a marvel you put up with me.”

Further protests would only dig my hole deeper, so I endured her withering sarcasm in silence.

Just then we heard the peal of the door bell. In a few moments Yolanda appeared with the news of Grace’s arrival, tinged with a note of disdain. Even
she
found the girl abominable.

“Bring her to the living room, and we’ll join her shortly,” Val said, and the maid reentered the house.

Val stood and smoothed her clothes. She extended her hand and, taking it, I rose. She did not release my hand, but pulled me close enough to feel her breath on my cheek and ear. She said quietly, “For the present, simply watch and learn. Follow my lead. Do as I say.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Here is your motivation,” Val whispered, and kissed me on the lips. My body throbbed, and I moaned softly into her mouth when her spread hand crushed my hips violently against her. She tasted of cloves and cardamom.

§

I was not prepared for what happened next.

Grace was sitting upon the soft leather couch, and stood as we entered, stooping to placing her little black Gucci clutch purse on the coffee table. Before she had a chance to kneel or utter a sound she was forced into a corner, and trapped there by Val’s body. Even I was stunned by Val’s bulldozer onslaught.

“I…I’m here for you, Ma’am!” she gasped, sounding very small.

But Val made no answer, only stroked Grace’s cheek with a menace that put the girl into a state of…not exactly panic, but a quivering dread.

I moved to stand beside the couch where the view was better, about three paces from them, and found I didn’t know what to do with my hands. Let them drop at my sides? Clasp them behind my back? As I fretted over this, my arms automatically crossed in front, more out of insecurity than a dominant attitude.

I needn’t have worried about it, for the two women were now quite distracted. Val had one strong hand about the girl’s throat, and used it to force the girl down into a kneeling position. Squatting over her, Val rudely thrust the other hand under the doll’s short denim skirt. Grace’s eyes were closed; she made little animal sounds I found curiously irritating, while Val threatened her with snarls and an occasional choking grip.