Beautiful Illusions

  “Relax. While they were going at it, I informed my father that his legal team could handle anything my mother threw at him. He pretty much has a fire-wall up since he married without a prenup.” Warren shakes his head at his father’s sophomoric blunder.

  I’ve already laid out all the unsavory details about Emmy’s choice occupation to everyone at this table just hoping they might remember some tiny detail that could lead me straight to her.

  “And?” I’m not too concerned over any compensation issues his mother might have.

  “And I told him I knew exactly how to tear down those walls and give my mother whatever the hell she wanted, leaving him without two nickels to rub together. Nobody fucks with my mom.”

  “I’m really proud of you.” Kennedy pipes up. Everyone at the table is monetarily stable with the exception of yours truly, and Ace, so it shouldn’t surprise me too much that these sort of finance based conversations are of interest to them. But, then again, if my mother were alive I wouldn’t want anyone messing with her either.

  “How are you doing this?” Reese knocks into him. Since their relationship ended, she and Warren haven’t exactly been the best of friends, but she’s forgiven him and moved on. Warren is an ass that can’t be rewired. I glance over at Zoey and give a long blink. Apparently she can’t be rewired either.

  “I told him I wanted a few things—gave him a list of demands.” He looks right at me, and a fire races through my veins.

  “You know where she is?”

  “He said he couldn’t remember which one she came from. I’ve got a list of five.” He scoots a piece of paper toward me. “Addresses, phone numbers.”

  “Yes.” I snatch it up and jump out of my seat. “Thank you.”

  Gemma’s Night Escape, Laurie’s Luxury Spa, Reeva’s House, Goldie’s Fun Factory, Paula’s Orchard. Not one of these names rings a bell. I know for a fact she referenced something or someone that first evening we met, and for the life of me I can’t remember who or what. I was too focused on her bouncing cleavage to imprint anything else to memory.

  I flick the tiny paper with my finger. “Let’s do this.”

  “Call right now and ask for her.” Ace encourages, so I head outside and start dialing. Three of them never heard of her, and two both claim to have more than one Emmy.

  “She might have changed her name.” Ace studies the paper. “If you want we can drive down the hill and hit up the two that claim to have her. They must have dozens of girls. Do you have a picture of her?”

  I tried once taking a selfie of us out by Fox Farm Road where the lake melts in a tangerine puddle at sunset, but she said her hair was too messy and begged me not to.

  “That Christmas party at Reese’s parents’ last year—did they have a photographer?”

  “No, but they had the next best thing—video surveillance.”

  For the next two hours, Ace and I hole up in the Westfield basement and scour the security footage.

  “Most people delete this shit after a month.” Ace says as he zeroes in on Emmy and me as we step into the place. There she is. A flash fire races through me at the sight of her. My heart seizes. I might die if I look at her too long. How could she have done this to me—to us? How could I let her go? Did I? So many questions. I want to shake the shit out of the world. “Check this out.” Ace pauses as Emmy looks right past the camera and offers a clear view of her precious face. “That’s your money shot. He prints the frame, and out she comes in black and white, staring at me upside down from the base of the printer. Carefully I pick her up and try to stop myself from pressing her image to my lips.

  Something is happening. I can feel it.

  After months of silence—of dying on the inside—I can feel myself roaring back to life.

  “Let’s go get her.”

  The grueling drive to Davenport turns into a four-hour trek of gridlock hell. Thankfully we took my truck so I won’t owe Ace for gas, just his time.

  “I really appreciate you doing this.” I know he’s up for anything to help out, but somehow I think I’ve crossed a line dragging him to a whorehouse looking for the love of my life of all things.

  “No problem. I know you’d do the same if the shoe were on the other foot.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s not. You dated a debutant, and I landed a girl who—” I let out a breath instead of finishing the sentence. “Emmy may not be anyone’s ideal, but she’s mine. She’s perfect, Ace.” My voice breaks. “She’s better than half the people on that mountain.”

  “I get it. I’m not one to judge. Don’t worry about anything. If it’s meant to be, it’ll all work out.” He glances out the passenger’s window. I can’t help but wonder if he’s feeding my delusions by coming along for the ride, but at this point I’m in too deep to care.

  “So”—he shifts to get a better look at me—“what do you think is going to happen?”

  And there it is. I wondered how far we’d get before he threw a bucket of reality in my face.

  “I don’t know. I mean, I know what I’d like to happen. She’d land in my arms and come right back to Loveless with me. Realistically, I’m just hoping for a few answers.”

  “Worse case”—Ace offers up a cocky grin—“she’ll start throwing shit and threaten to have your ass evicted.”

  “And, sadly, that will be more excitement than I’ve had in months.”

  We pull into the first place out of two, Laurie’s Luxury Spa. They claimed to have two Emmys on site, and, just my luck, they’re both virgins. I have a feeling there’s not a virgin in a ten-mile radius.

  The building is decidedly rundown with its chipped façade and broken front window. An old billboard flaps just behind it, with the corners peeling off. A vacancy sign blinks on and off. My heart sinks just thinking Emmy might be killing time in this shithole.

  We head in, and it looks medicinal in nature, like some unassuming chiropractor’s office. There’s an opaque glass table in the center loaded up with old, bloated magazines. A few men sit around looking half asleep as if they’ve been waiting for hours to have their dicks adjusted. A short blonde with a fake bake asks us to sign in.

  I head over to the front desk and lean toward her. “Actually, I’m the one who called about Emmy. You said you had two girls here with that name?”

  “Oh, hun”—her milky white hair glows against her leathery skin—“they could all have that name if you want.” She snaps her pink gum, exposing flashes of ultra bright teeth. Why do I get the feeling this one glows in the dark?

  “Have you seen this girl?” I hand over the black and white picture of Em. She looks so sad with those large brown eyes, those heavy lids that hold so much heartache.

  “Nope, not that one. I have plenty of blondes though.” She presses her fingers to her chest as if she might be one of them.

  “No thanks.” Ace and I get back in the truck.

  Just one more place to hit then it’s back to the beginning—back to nowhere. I pick up the paper Warren gifted me this morning.

  “Reeva’s House.” Something in me stirs, and I wonder if that’s the name I heard Emmy utter that first day. Something in me says it is.

  I’m feeling better already.

  I speed all the damn way there.

  Reeva’s House is in a ritzy neighborhood nestled behind a sea of residential homes, but secluded enough on a backcountry road to give someone the privacy one might need when looking for love in all the wrong places. Overgrown firs and evergreens act as a windbreak all the way down to the stately white mansion. A couple of men in suits stand guard out front. A sign reads Valet only. No self parking, so I put the truck in the queue.

  “Looks expensive,” Ace says as we get out.

  I give one of the mean looking dudes my keys and let him know we’ll just be a second.

  “That’s what they all say, buddy. Have a good time.” He gets in the truck, and I wonder if I’ll see it again.

  “Shit.” Ace smacks my arm. “This place scream
s top dollar.”

  “Looks it.” I’m buying into the false sense of security, the well-trimmed roses, the expensive marble statue of a naked Venus gracing the lawn. I’d rather have Emmy here than that last dive, but I’d much rather have her home with me.

  We step inside as the sound of soft classical music fills our ears. The walls are a pristine white with heavy molding. Marble statues fill in the foyer, and it has more of a museum feel, hell mausoleum feel than it does anything else, but it’s the dark crimson carpet that lets you in on its secret. A double sweeping staircase leads to a quiet upper level. There’s only a receptionist out front. Not another human in sight.

  “Can I help you?” A friendly blonde pipes up. She looks a lot like the receptionist at the hovel we visited earlier but with a more general appeal.

  “I’m looking for someone special.” I dig in my pocket for the picture of Em, and she laughs before I can pull it out.

  “Oh, hon, just about everyone here is special.” She talks like the last one, too. The difference being she’s tall and wide, built like a linebacker, but there’s something downhome about this one, and I’m hoping if she knows anything, she’ll spill every last detail.

  “Do you boys want to be seen separately?” She nods as if encouraging it.

  It’s an option not to? A thousand perverse thoughts shoot through my mind, and I’m about to blow through every room in this place looking for Em—trying to save her from this gilded hellhole—from herself.

  “Here’s a picture.” I smooth the crease in the middle. “Her name is Emmy.”

  The girl’s eyes widen the size of Texas.

  Bingo. I shoot a look to Ace that says she’s here.

  “You know”—she manufactures a forced grin—“hang on just a minute. We can always find a close second. We’ve got some of the most beautiful blondes on the planet here. Reeva will be right out.” I can feel the adrenaline draining from my body. I’m not looking for some close second. She starts texting, and I’m half afraid she’s calling the goon squad to boot us out.

  Ace pulls me to the side. “Get ready to bounce. Looks like she’s calling in the reinforcements.”

  “That means Emmy’s here, right?”

  “That means they think you’re a psychotic stalker.”

  A redhead in a wheelchair zips into the room. “Can I help you boys?”

  She’s older, friendly for the most part, and I let down my guard a bit.

  “I’m looking for a girl named Emmy.” I show her the picture, and she takes it from me, inspecting it with furrowed brows as if she’s never laid eyes on Emmy in her life.

  “Are you both looking for girls?” She looks up at us over the rim of her glasses. She’s feeling us out. She wants to know what the deal is—how many men with weapons it will take to drag us out of here.

  “Just me.” I nod over at Ace. “He’s more or less moral support.”

  “We don’t specialize in morals here.” Her smile expands. “I’m sorry, what was your name?”

  “Gavin.” I offer my hand, and she gives a gentle shake. “Gavin Jackson.”

  “Well, Gavin, what exactly are your needs? I’ve got over thirty-five girls who can meet any special desire your heart can drum up. In fact, Stella, why don’t you get a form, and we can start in on the basics with this young man.”

  “I don’t need a form. I just need a minute alone with Emmy. Please”—I drop to my knees and meet her at eyelevel—“just five minutes, and I swear I’ll leave her alone forever.”

  “Five minutes?” She tilts her head, eyes still glued to mine. “You give up that easy, do you?”

  She knows. I exhale for the first time in months. Emmy is here. Everything in me explodes with fire.

  “I have a girl who resembles your friend.” She glances up at Stella and nods. “She’s a virgin. We don’t work on a per minute basis, we ask a flat fee up front.”

  “Name it,” I say it so fast I half believe I can swing it.

  “Twenty thousand dollars.”

  “Shit.” Ace balks. “Is that an annual pass you’re selling?”

  “Done,” I say without even bothering to look up at him.

  “What?” Ace swats me over the shoulder. “She’s shitting you, dude. She doesn’t have Em. Don’t you get it? She’s reading your desperation.”

  She sniffs up at Ace. “Twenty thousand dollars buys you a night. It’s entirely up to Emmy what she wants to do with you.”

  When she said her name she smiled. It’s her. Emmy is here somewhere. My entire body detonates in a series of heartbeats.

  “That’s fine.” I hear myself say. “I’ll get the money and be back. Do me a favor?”

  “What’s that, love?” She leans over and smooths my hair back as if I were a little boy.

  “Forget my name.” I bear into her eyes and plead.

  Reeva gives a gentle nod, and I get up, buoyant and light as a thousand helium balloons.

  “Why so much?” Ace asks before we head for the exit.

  Reeva doesn’t take her eyes off me. “Some women are simply worth more.” She wheels out of the room just as a mean looking dude built like a Transformer steps in.

  And on that note, we leave.

  I stare back at the gray soulless windows as we wait for the valet to retrieve my truck. It takes all of my willpower to keep from charging back in there and screaming her name.

  I’m coming, Emmy. It’s going to be okay.

  I keep forgetting she’s not being held hostage, although, sometimes, people are captives, and they don’t even realize it.

  But Emmy isn’t a hostage. She simply ran away from me.

  Took my heart right along with her.

  6

  One More Night

  Demi

  There’s a line Reeva won’t let customers cross. Usually it has to do with abuse, and for that we have several panic buttons in our respective bedrooms we can access at a moments notice. Any time we feel even slightly threatened, a man the size of a battleship will burst through the door and save us from our impending doom. I huff a tiny laugh as I stare at the ceiling. I wish life came with panic buttons—just one would suffice. I wish it were my father who would run through that door and rescue me from this bleak, wicked world. I swing my legs over the bed and open my laptop. According to Brookhurst Steel’s website, changes are afoot. I wonder exactly what those changes might be. I read an Internet rumor that suggested Nora is selling it to an overseas’ investor. If it’s true, I bet that investor is also coincidentally Nora, thus somehow barring me from ever retrieving a penny. Before my father died, he spoke of a trust fund. Nora was quick to tell him that trust funds were nothing more than a familial curse. I remember the sound of my father’s voice softening as he gave into her whim. He always caved so easily with Nora. And¸ then again, had he not caved so easily with me that day, he would still be alive. In the end, my father’s greatest fault was trying to please the women in his life. I wish he would have given us both the finger. He would die all over again if he could see the damage that Nora has done—that I’ve done all on my own. My thoughts drift to Gavin and how he feels dead to me, too. My heart mourns him more than I ever did my parents, and this embarrasses me. But Gavin isn’t dead. He’s in Loveless without me. And that, too, is my fault. It’s unbearable. Each day I have to force myself to clip Loveless out of my memory. If my life were detailed in a scrapbook, there would be a big hole where Loveless once stood—Gavin—Zoey, both gone with it.

  There’s a light knock over the door before it cracks, and Eva waves her way in.

  “I’ve got the night off.” She throws her arms up and does a little dance. “Throw the money in the air—catch the money. Throw the money in the air—catch the money,” she sings as her hands bounce up and down with her cheery commands.

  “Is that how they taught you to dance in stripper school?” I roll over amused by her conversational salsa.

  “No, they taught me to do this.” She jumps on the bed a
nd straddles my knees. “You up for a night on the town?”

  I consider this a moment. “Sounds like exactly what I need.” I pull myself free and slip into fresh jeans and a T-shirt—a pair of high-heel boots for the hell of it. I glance at myself sideways in the mirror and wonder what Gavin would think. I can practically feel his body against mine, his weight pressing against me, warm and reassuring. A very insane part of me still believes I could mean something to him. I’m sure after he pieced everything together, he wished we had never met—that I never existed. Unless, of course, he still hasn’t figured it out. That’s the most heartbreaking scenario of all. Fate knew that Gavin and I were a house of cards all along. It infuriates me that destiny let this happen. Destiny and I have never been friends, so I’m not too surprised by the turn of events. I don’t know what I ever did to the bitch, but it seems her karma skills are a bit off balance.

  We head for the door, and Reeva flags us down. She’s working the front desk, and a small alarm goes off in me when I see her there. Stella or Jo usually man the fort. I haven’t seen Reeva take the helm since, well, ever. Reeva has girls to spare, so it makes both Eva and me pause.

  “What gives?” Eva asks because we’re both thinking it.

  “It’s a special night, ladies.” She looks my way as if it were special just for me. “I need all hands on deck.” My stomach turns. “A group of investment bankers are rolling through town. They’re paying top dollar.” Her lashes flutter as if there were a note of sarcasm in her words. “Tonight just might be your lucky night, Demi. One of them has agreed to pay twenty thousand dollars—your rules,” she says it stern. “Make an effort.”

  “Oh, my God!” Eva gasps so loud three more girls join our circle.

  “I want all of you in your rooms in the next hour. I need everyone on call and ready for tonight.” She’s still looking at me, prickling the hairs on the back of my neck because, for some reason, this feels personal. Reeva knew I needed fifteen thousand dollars. It would be just like her to pad the sum as a parting gift.