Obscured

  parent before heading out for a night out. “I don’t know,” I say.

  “Listen to me, Athena,” she says, leaning forward. “I love you like the sister I never had, and I’m closer to you than probably any person on earth. I don’t say that just because I’ve seen you naked more times than I care to remember. But this has got to stop. I don’t know what’s been going on with you the last few days, but snap out of it.”

  I stand up. “Thank you so much for your opinion, Sugar, but I think it’s time you left.”

  She doesn’t budge. “Don’t pull that Sugar crap with me.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  She stands up and glares at me. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. This Southern Belle/Sugar thing you do when you try to hide what you’re really feeling. You forget I’ve known you way too long. I see right through you.”

  She’s right, of course. I know she is, but it just hurts. It hurts that Isaiah’s not going to want anything to do with me once he knows the truth. I just have to make sure he never finds out.

  “I’m tired,” I say. “I think I’m going to go to bed.”

  “When it all turns south — and it will —” She walks to the door. “I guess I’ll be here to help you pick up the pieces. But keep in mind, I won’t be here forever.”

  I crawl into bed, but I’m not able to sleep. I keep trying to remember if it was really Isaiah I heard while I was out. Was it real or my imagination? Parts of that time seem so vivid to me, almost as if I can reach out and touch them. But others are fuzzy, and I can’t separate fiction from reality. I finally give up and fall into a restless sleep.

  A loud, steady pounding on my door wakes me the next morning. I groan and look at my alarm clock. Eight-thirty. Much too early to be awake considering it had been after four by the time I was finally able to fall asleep last night.

  This morning. Whatever.

  The pounding continues.

  “Just a minute,” I yell. I jerk my robe on, punching my arms through the holes, and belt it around my waist. Another pounding knock. “I said I’m coming!”

  I don’t bother to look out my peep hole. It has to be Vicki and I’m going to kill her. I fling the door open. “What?”

  Mike stands there, hand raised to knock again, and looking like the devil himself. “About time.”

  I belt the robe around my waist tighter. Why the fuck is he here?

  “Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t know it was you.”

  He raises an eyebrow.

  “Sorry, Sir,” I correct myself.

  He nods, and I move aside so he can enter my apartment. I can’t imagine what would bring him here. I can count on one hand the times he’s stopped by in the last few years.

  “Can I get you something?” I ask.

  He ignores me, walking instead around my couch, looking closely at my bookshelves and running a finger along the books. His finger drops to my collection of movies. “Don’t happen to have Pretty Woman here, do you?”

  “No, Sir,” I say, still irritated and tired and not thinking straight at all. “Never much cared for fantasy.”

  He gives a low laugh that sends warning signs through my body. “Still a bit cheeky, are we?”

  “Just honest.” I hope I’m not pushing his buttons. It’s just so early and I’m sore, and if I could just sleep a little bit longer. . .

  My head jerks up to look into his eyes. Mike wouldn’t come by just to chit-chat. He has a purpose for being here. I vaguely remember the person I thought was Isaiah bringing me home. What if Mike meant to kill me that day and now he’s here to finish the job?

  Fear seeps into my spine and trickles down. I can’t find the words to ask him. After our last meeting, I’m not sure I’ll ever ask him anything again.

  Mike, of course, knows this. “Ask me,” he says, his eyes dark and dangerous.

  I straighten my shoulders, blow a strand of hair out of my face, and refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much he scares me.

  “What can I do for you, Sir?” I ask, my deadpan tone matching his.

  He doesn’t answer me. Instead, he continues his walk past my bookcases and moves around to the front of my couch. “Sit down.”

  Because he’s a power freak and will never sit down while I’m standing. I don’t even think about disobeying. I walk over and sit down.

  It’s not until he very slowly and very deliberately draws every bit of tension possible from the moment that he sits down himself.

  That has to be a good sign, I tell myself. He can’t kill me if he’s sitting down, can he? Unless he has a gun. I squint. Does he have a gun?

  I cross my legs and kick my foot up and down, bouncing an imaginary strappy sandal. He won’t get the best of me this time. I’ll sit here for as long as it takes him to get to his point. Longer, if I need to. I start counting in my head: one Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi. . .I’m up to ten Mississippi before he breaks the silence.

  “I had an interesting conversation with Isaiah Martin last night.”

  My foot stops bouncing.

  Isaiah.

  I shouldn’t care. Thinking about Isaiah, much less talking with Mike about Isaiah, has brought me nothing but trouble. One of these days I’ll learn.

  Just, you know, not quite yet.

  “Oh?” I ask, hoping I’m instilling enough I-Could-Care-Less attitude in that one syllable.

  But as much as I try for I don’t care in my tone, my mind works franticly. Why had he met with Isaiah? What did they talk about? Why had he felt the need to come to my room to tell me about it? I look back at his eyes. Still dark and dangerous.

  Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t ask.

  “How’s Isaiah doing?” The question flies out of my mouth, not caring at all how my head feels.

  Victory surges in his eyes and I curse my mouth for not listening and myself for not having more self control.

  His response, when it comes, is very thought out, very deliberate. “I wasn’t surprised you didn’t tell your childhood friend exactly what you are.”

  It hits me then, why he’s here. I’m not going to have to worry about telling Isaiah I’m a prostitute. Mike has already done so and came by to gloat over.

  But Mike isn’t finished yet.

  “Isaiah has the potential to be a man of influence in the community,” he continued, “And it would be a good idea for me to be on his good side.I asked myself, what could I do? What could I offer to ingratiate such a man? What could he want?”

  Why he came by my apartment is now clear. What he’d decided last night that he could offer Isaiah hurt more than what he’d done to me days before. I can only hope my guess is incorrect.

  He shrugs. “I offered him you.”

  With those simple words, it’s like he’s doused me in ice water. My body is frozen and I want to cry. But I’ll be damned if I do so in front of Mike.

  Oh, no. Not Isaiah. Please, God. Please, anyone but Isaiah.

  I think of Mike offering my body to Isaiah. Like I’m something to be bought or sold or given away.

  And at that moment I realize the truth of what I am, of what I’ve become. I am a commodity to be bought or sold or given away. Mike can give me to Isaiah or use me, because that is the right I’ve given him. I vow to take it all back. No matter what it costs me, no longer how long it takes, I’m taking it all back.

  Before I unintentionally expose my new revelation to Mike, I drop my eyes in pretend submission. Close them and force my body to stop its inner trembling.

  “Ask me what he said.” His tone of voice leaves me no choice but to obey.

  “What did he say?” I ask, all the while looking at my carpet. Out of here, I promise myself, I’ll find a way out of here.

  “Look at me.” Amusement fills his eyes when I look up. His mouth twists into a horrific smile. One I remember all too well. “He said no.” Before relief can sweep over me, he adds, “He asked to use the pia
no in Playmakers instead.”

  An evil laugh fills the confines of my room, and the walls feel smaller than ever before. “You must be the worst kind of whore there is,” he says. “To be desired less than a piano.”

  ***

  I can’t go back to sleep after Mike leaves. My cozy apartment is feeling like a prison, and I have to get out and escape for a few hours. I dress carefully, doing my best to cover my bruises and step outside inhaling deeply. Though I normally stay away from it, I decide to head for the Strip. For some reason I find myself longing for the crowds. I want to lose myself fin a mass of strangers. I have to get away from the solitude for a few hours.

  I walk for half an hour. It’s one of those standard hot as hell, dry to the bone days and I’m not used to being outside much. But the thought of going back to my apartment isn’t appealing, I want to stay in the open air. Where I can at least pretend for a few minutes that my life isn’t what it is. There’s a bench near the Bellagio that’s my thinking spot. I head toward it.

  It isn’t surprising that someone is on my bench. After all, it is Vegas and the Bellagio is a nice place to sit and rest for a bit. What is surprising is the person sitting on it.

  Isaiah Martin.

  Chapter Five

  My first thought is that it’s a setup and Mike’s somewhere nearby watching. It’s without a doubt something he’d do: make a rule and then tempt me to break it. I glance around to make sure he’s not nearby. I even try to peek into the windows of the buildings that look out onto the bench, but of course, I can’t see anything.

  I still don’t move. It’s like my feet are encased in cement. Only when someone bumps into me do I realize I’m standing in the middle of the sidewalk.

  “Watch it,” the person who bumped into me says.

  “Sorry,” I reply. I plan to walk past my bench and pretend as if I don’t see Isaiah.

  But of course, right when I’m within a few feet of where he’s sitting, he looks up.

  “Athena.”

  Damn. Damn. Damn.

  “Isaiah,” I say, hoping I’m wrong and Mike isn't nearby. And then it hits me: Why would Mike be nearby? It’s not like he’s following Isaiah around just to see if I’m going to show up. My smile for Isaiah grows bigger.

  “Come have a seat.” He scoots over to make room for me.

  I tentatively sit down and his eyes widen as I remember my visible bruises.

  He reaches a hand up, but hesitates and doesn’t touch me at my slight flinch. “What happened?”

  I touch a spot that’s still sensitive on my cheek, probably the one he’s looking at. I finger it gently. “Oh, that. It’s nothing.”

  “From the party?”

  “Huh?”

  “The party you were on your way to when I ran into you at the hotel the other night.”

  Right. I’d told him I’d been going to a party. “Yes,” I say. “It was a bit wild. Dancing, you know? One of my girlfriends swung her arms a bit too vigorously.”

  “And hit your cheek?”

  “We were dancing really close.” I can’t decide if I want to let on that I know Mike told him what I do.

  “I know you weren’t at a party,” he says. “Mike told me.”

  His voice doesn’t hold any judgement, but I still feel shame. “I didn’t want you to know. Not yet anyway.”

  “Did it happen when you were sixteen?”

  “Yes, it’s a long story. I don’t want to go into it.”

  He nods, but I get the impression he knows there’s more I’m not telling him. I need to change the subject. Get the focus off of me and my job and how I look.

  “How’s the church going?” I ask.

  “Set up’s slow, but the first service is Sunday. If you’d like to attend, you’re more than welcome. Playmaker’s Lounge at ten o’clock.” He smiles the sweet smile that reminds me of my childhood, and the sight of it hurts something in my chest. “It’ll be nice to know at least one person.”

  I swallow my snort before I offend him. He’s trying to be nice, and while I appreciate that, there’s no way in fucking hell I’m going to church. Casino or not. “I’ll have to wait and see.”

  “It’s so hot here,” he says changing the subject. “You’ve been here ten years. I can’t imagine being here that long. It’s so different from home.”

  I shrug. “I’ve gotten used to it over the years.”

  “I guess I’ll get there eventually.”

  “You will,” I assure him and I want to kick myself. What am I doing? Why am I trying to help? I should be doing everything in my power to get him to go back home.

  “It’s so good to talk to someone from home.” He leans forward, inching closer. “You have no idea how hard it’s been. Moving here. I haven’t met very many people yet.”

  If I wasn’t a prostitute, this would be my cue to ask him for a lunch date. We’d meet at a nearby deli and talk and get to know each other all over again. But I am a prostitute. One who has explicit orders not to be around Isaiah Martin. And while it’s possible luck will be on my side and I’ll be able to have this moment without Mike finding out, there’s not a chance in hell I’m going to tempt fate by meeting him again.

  “I’m sure you’ll soon have more friends than you know what do with,” I say.

  “Can we meet tomorrow?”

  I shake my head and start to stand. “No, I’m sorry.”

  He narrows his eyes, analyzing my reply. Does he see through me? “No problem. Later then.”

  Yes, later. Like never later.

  But I nod. “I look forward to it.”

  I’m walking back to my apartment, replaying the conversation with Isaiah in my mind. I don’t plan on seeing him again, and I want to catalogue every moment, every detail, so I can recall it years from now. Hold on to the part of me that was once normal and free.

  Something’s off, though, and I dig further into the conversation to try to find it. Isaiah had been a perfect gentleman. Such a change from what I’m used to. I replay his words, and it hits me.

  I never told him I’d been in Vegas for ten years.

  ***

  I’m conflicted by the emotions running through my head. How could he possibly know how long I’ve been in Vegas? I finally convince myself that he’d simply done the math, or Mike told him. That was probably how he knew. I bet Mike really enjoyed telling him exactly how long I’d been a hooker. There’s no other explanation.

  I’m so focused on Isaiah, I don’t see him until it’s too late.

  “Athena.”

  Harris is standing in front of my apartment, and I hate myself, because for a second I was thinking about how nice looking he is. He has an easygoing self confidence about him that doesn’t seem diminished when he’s around Mike, and that’s more than you can say about most people. Plus, there’s the way his eyes always seem to dance, almost like he knows what’s going to happen before it does.

  Idiot.

  How can I possibly think such a thing about Mike’s second in command? His eyes? Seriously.

  I toss my hair behind my shoulder. “What do you want?”

  “What I want has nothing to do with this visit.”

  “Right,” I say. “You’re nothing but a message boy. What does your big, bad boss want?”

  I think I see a slight flash of amusement in his expression before he scowls. “You need to watch the way you talk to him, Athena. Unless you want a repeat —”

  I wave my hand to shut him up. “Save it. What does he want?”