The Blue Room: Vol. 1 (10 page)

          “Luc may care,” he grins
widely at me. “But I sure don't.”

          “Steve's above the law,”
Luc rolls his eyes.

          So's everyone here.

          “We're gonna go meet some
girls!”

          Something about the way
Steve says it stops me dead in my tracks. These two boys – they can't be more
than twenty – and they're already seeking out prostitutes like us?

         
Prostitutes like me.

         
I'm almost ashamed. The thought that
one of them could buy and sell me makes me feel sick. They're both handsome,
but in the moment I can't be attracted to either of them. They're just clients,
after all.

          “If you want to arrange a
meeting with a Blue girl...” My voice is stilted and cold. Like Mrs. Walters.

          “A Blue girl? What's that?”
Luc's eyes are so wide.

          “She means a groupie,
stupid. Don't you?”

         
A groupie.
A nice,
normal girl. One who wants to sleep with a rock star. And who doesn't get paid.
Who's in it for the fun.

          “Come have a drink with
us!” Luc smiles. “Well, I'll have an ice-tea, but...”

          “I can't,” I say. “I'm working.”

          “When do you get off work?”

          I can't tell them the
truth. I
never
get off work.

          “I can't,” I say. “I'm
waiting for someone.”

          I look over at Terrence to
see his eyes are only for Neve.

          The others pick up on it,
and I curse my inability to hide it.

          “Join the club, uh...”

          “Staci.”

          “Staci.” Steve grins again.
“Me, I'm a player – I'm not going to
deny
that, but I have my limits.
Terrence Blue has no limits. In number of women or in...the depths of his
depravity.” He winks. “I hope you're into the kinky stuff.”

          I hope they don't see me
blushing.

          “Terrence the Terror.” Luc
sighs.

          “You know him, then?”

          “We know Danny. We're
friends,” says Luc. Then, “kind of.”

          “Kind of?” I ask.

          “I appear to be the only
straight man in the world utterly immune to Neve's charms,” Steve laughs. “I
mean – I love her as a friend, but thinking about her romantically is like
thinking about a sister or something...Luc didn't feel the same way.”

          Luc looks embarrassed.

          “Oh,” I stutter. “I'm
sorry, I didn't mean to...”

          “Ancient history,” Luc says
with difficulty.

          “Anyway, Luc's got Riley
now.”

          “I have not!”

          “Our guitarist. She's
getting
all
of his attention. Not everyone could step in into Danny's
shoes, but she sure has...I'm sorry. What did you say your name was?”

          “Staci.” I shake his hand.
“Big fan.”

          “A
groupie
?” He's
teasing now.

          “Sort of,” I say.

          “How can you be a
sort
of
groupie?” His language is aggressive, but the boyish smile makes it
clear that Steve's just a puppy.

          Not like some of the men
here.

          What am I going to say?
I'm
the kind of groupie you pay.

          “I only sleep with rock
stars I really,
really
like,” I try to tease back.

          “And?” Steve's eyes are
saucers.

          “And I haven't found one
yet.”

          It takes me a second before
I realize I've accidentally let it slip that I'm a virgin.

          “So what are you doing
here, then?”

         
Oh, nothing. Hooking.
Trying to solve my best friend's murder.

          “I need the money.”

         
Also true.

         
“You can't work somewhere a bit less
– sketchy?”

          “Not at this  money.” It's
nice to laugh about it. “Sketch is expensive.”

          “What else do you do?”

          “I sing.” I say it so
confidently, like I'm not talking to a world-famous rock star.

          “No shit. You good?”

          “Yeah,” I figure I'll put a
little swagger in it. “I'm pretty fucking awesome, actually.”

          This impresses them.

          “Send me a demo sometime,
okay?” Steve slips his business card into my hand. “We want to expand our own
label.”

          “Is that what you say to
all the girls you're trying to sleep with.”

          “Nah,” Steve says, just as
he catches the eye of a beautiful pair of twins at the bar. “Just the ones I
really,
really
like.” He kisses me lightly on the cheek. “See ya!”

Chapter
11

         
T
he next few days fly by in a haze. By day, I'm on a strict
kale-and-vitamin-pills-diet, something I'm pretty sure is toxic but will
probably result in me getting the clearer skin and “shiny” hair all the Blues
girls have. What do you know?, I tell myself. It costs a lot of money to look
this cheap. At night, I'm still on shadow-duty at the Blue Room. Perfect for me
to figure out how the girls are chosen, how the best girls attract their
clients. Which one might be my mysterious patron.

          I wonder why no other
patron's been chosen for me. After all, I've been here five days, with my
so-called virtue still intact – in name, anyway. Has Terrence said something?
Are they holding me for that patron? And if so – what are they waiting for? I'd
told Terrence – I was ready, willing, and able to do whatever I had to do. I
wasn't scared.

          After four days of this,
I'm going stir-crazy. I almost wish for a client just to make the loneliness
die down a bit. With no internet, there's just the hotel's mediocre list of
new-releases to choose from, and I've already burned through all the sequels
and action-films on offer. All that's left on my TV on-demand is the porn, and
I get enough of that already.

          I decide to head to the
cafeteria.

          Not that it stocks much, of
course. It's where we can all go to get gluten-free snacks, bits of lettuce,
and special green tea. I figure it's time to meet some of the other Blues
girls.

          They're all sitting
together, and immediately I feel like it's middle school all over again. I'm
the new girl in the lunchroom, and everyone's already goth their cliques
down-pat. There's three of them – all a little older than I am – one with
jet-black hair and a nose-ring, one nearly makeupless girl with long natural
red hair, and one Miss-America-looking brunette who looks like she's just
missing a tiara.

          “So,” whispers the Goth to
the redhead, “what's all the fuss about?”

          “I mean, she's pretty,”
Miss America says, “but I don't get why they're all requesting her.”

         
All requesting her? But
nobody's been assigned to me yet...

          “
Maybe she can suck dick almost as
good as Brandi here,” the redhead points to the Goth.

          “Maybe she's a really
cunning linguist,” Brandi grins. “Like you, Scarlett. We know how good your
French and Russian are.”

          “She knows how to say
prick
in fifteen different languages,” says the redhead.

          Miss America raises her
eyebrows. “Maybe she's a naughty school-teacher, like Julie. Giving
discipline
.”

          “Whatever she's got,” says
Brandi, “Terrence Blue wants some of her. You know how rarely he visits the
Towers.”

          “Don't be jealous,” Julie
slaps her wrist lightly. “You know
you'd
blow Terrence Blue if you had
the chance. And he wouldn't have to pay for it either.”

          “Let's just call it a
buy-back,” Scarlett giggles.

          Then another girl walks in.
Long, shiny dark hair. A self-assured walk. Dark olive skin.

         
“Rita?
”

          Against myself I whisper
the name.

          But the girl who turns to
me in surprise isn't Rita. Her smile, though, reminds me of Rita's. So kind. So
sweet.

          “Sorry...” I say. “I
thought you were someone else.”

          “No problem,” she says.
“I'm sorry – I don't think we've met. I'm Roseanne.” She laughs. “Not Roseanne.
Roz. I changed my name when I came in here. I think it sounds more...”

          “Slutty?”

          We both giggle.

          “Staci,” I say.

          “Oh,
you
're Staci.”
Her mouth drops open.

          “Why, what have you heard?”

          “Nothing,” her voice is
sweet, almost shy. “Only that –,”

          “What?”

          “I know Terrence likes you
a lot,” she says.

          My ears turn crimson. Does
everyone
at the Blue Towers know about my little liaison with Terrence Blue? For all
the talk of discretion and privacy, it sure feel like the girls here haven't
got any.

          “Congratulations,” she
says.

          “On what?”
Landing
Terrence?
The idea feels almost distasteful when I say it out loud.

          “You know what it means,
don't you?” Her voice is low – like she doesn't want the other girls to hear.

          “No, what?”

          “He's saving you for
someone really special. All the patrons have been asking for the new girl, and
he's been stonewalling them all. Whatever he wants you to do – it's out of the
ordinary. He only gets involved with the very best girls. The one he has plans
for.”

          I think of the patron – my mysterious
admirer – and grimace. I wonder what plans he and Terrence have for me, in the
end.

          “I don't know anything
about any plans,” I say.

          She raises a dark, arched,
eyebrow. “Well, all I know is – you're set up good.” Her smile turns wry. “It's
not all sordid here, you know. Some of us – we do more than play the part. We
make it real.”

          “What do you mean?”

          “I mean we fall in love.”
She looks almost blissful as she speaks. “We're brought into contact with some
of the most handsome, most powerful, most desirable men in the world. And
sometimes it's about more than the money. More than the sex. Sometimes, some of
us lose ourselves in the fantasy. We fall in real, honest, love.”

          “I always thought that was
a myth.”
The prostitute with the heart of gold. Pretty woman.
All
fantasy. All illusion.

          “Nuh, uh,” she shakes her
head. “Not all of us end up bad. Some of us get married – or at least, become
long-term mistresses. Some of us get the money to start our own businesses, to
pursue our dreams...”

          “To go to med school?”

          I decide to see how much
she knows.

          As I expect, her smile
vanishes.

          “When I came in...” She's
putting it all together. “You called me...”

          I nod, slowly.

          “You want to know what
happened to...”

          Again, I nod.

          The girls at the other table
are leaning in – trying to pretend like they're just stretching. They don't
fool me. The walls have ears, here. Nowhere is really private.

          “I'll tell you more
tonight,” she says. “Come to my room. It's number 231. I'm down the hallway
from you. After eight.”

          I can hardly contain my
excitement. For the first time since I've gotten to the Blue Room, I've got
something close to a lead. Roz knows who Rita is. She knows what might have
happened to her. She knows
something.

         
Alone, in my room, I watch the hours
tick by until 8 pm. I'm antsy – fidgety. I can' t focus. I don't feel like a
sexy glamorous femme fatale at all – just a bored kid who can't sit still. My
thoughts about Terrence, my desire, everything – goes out the window. I'm
focused on Rita, and that's all. I’m focused on finding the truth about what
happened to her. And I'm close. I'm so close I can’t taste it.

          I watch the clock tick by.
7:40.
7:45. 7:50.
The wait is excruciating, but I comfort myself with the thought
that my search for answers might finally, finally, be at an end. This much, at
least, I can look forward to.