Obscured

  over my body. I don't even bother trying to cover up. "We leave in two hours."

  Play your part.

  I bring the washcloth up to my upper chest and squeeze, letting the water run over my body. "What would you like me to wear?"

  His eyes are fixed on my chest. "I'd like for you to wear nothing, but that would probably get us kicked out of the restaurant. Do you have anything suitable for an upscale bistro?"

  I come to my knees, choking back the ever-growing resentment and hatred. "Sugar, I've got anything you want."

  He undoes his pants. "Come here and prove it.”

  ***

  I feel out-of-sorts and uncomfortable in my own skin at dinner with Theo. I look well enough in my classically simple black dress and spiked heels, but on the inside, I feel itchy.

  I have to play my part, though, and I make myself focus on dinner and the man across the table from me. We’re sitting at a table near the center of the restaurant’s dinning area. A prime location to see and be seen. No doubt part of Theo’s intent.

  The waiter, a young man I recognize from previous dinners, waits on our table, and after he takes our entrée orders, I realize I’ve said less than ten words to Theo. Not a wise move considering my recent run-in with Mike. I clear my throat, and Theo looks up from swirling his wine glass.

  “So, Sugar,” I say. “Tell me again what it is you do.”

  He immediately launches into a near monolog about his business, allowing me the opportunity to ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ at the appropriate times. Simple as that. He gets to talk about himself, and I pretend to listen and pay attention. I mean, really, what harm does it do? It’s not like there’s going to be a quiz at the end of the night.

  While Theo drones on and on about all the great and wonderful things he’s done for his company, I tune into the nearby conversations of the diners around us. It never hurts to be in the know about what’s happening around you, after all.

  A deep laugh catches my attention. I smile at Theo, run one finger around the rim of my water glass, and delicately look to my right.

  Isaiah.

  Two tables away.

  I place my hands in my lap, afraid I’m going to knock my glass over.

  I hope he doesn’t see me.

  Theo stops talking long enough to take a bite of his salad. Fortunately, he’s so caught up in telling the story of himself, he doesn’t notice my inattention.

  I smile at him. “That sounds absolutely fascinating.” Though, truthfully, I have no idea what he’s been saying. For all I know, he spent the last few minutes reciting all fifty states and their capitals.

  Fortunately for me, he must have spent a few words talking business, because he nods and starts again.

  Blah. Blah. Blah.

  I glance to my right again. Isaiah is dining with someone I don’t recognize. I strain to see if I can hear what he’s discussing, but it's no use. The dining room is too loud, and if I move my chair closer to the right, Theo will notice.

  At the moment, he’s bragging about something his vice president said.

  “Unbelievable,” I say, at what I hope is an appropriate time.

  He snorts with self-satisfaction, and I risk another glimpse toward Isaiah’s table. At the same time, I try to keep Theo’s attention by pressing my shoe against his lower leg and running my foot up his shin.

  And lock eyes with Isaiah.

  For one long moment, neither one of us move. Then, his gaze travels to my outfit and flits across the table. Down to rest under the table where my foot still rests on Theo’s calf.

  Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no.

  Nothing at first, but then understanding dawns, and Isaiah’s mouth drops open. He closes it quickly. I spin my head back to Theo.

  “Everything okay?” He glances around the dining room.

  The room seems much too quiet.

  “Just peachy, Sugar,” I assure him. The me of two weeks earlier would have laughed and ran my hand across the table to subtly brush his fingers. Reassure him. Play him.

  But I know Isaiah is watching my every move, so I drop my foot to the floor and give a toss of my head.

  “I wonder where our food is?” I ask. Pretend Isaiah isn’t there. “Feels like it’s been ages since we ordered.”

  The undercurrent at the table has changed somehow, and even Theo is smart enough to notice.

  He looks again in Isaiah’s direction. “Maybe we should leave,” he says.

  “Oh, no.” I reach my hand out and then pull it back before it can find purchase with his. “You don’t want to miss the tuna. It’s out of this world.”

  He gives one more quick glance around the dining room, scrutinizes my expression, and nods. “Why not,” he says. “We have all the time in the world.” He raises his glass. “To tonight.”

  Raise your glass, I tell myself. Raise it.

  But my body knows Isaiah is still watching and in my mind, he’ll know exactly what I’m toasting.

  Across the table, Theo’s eyes narrow. I fumble for my glass and in doing so, knock it over.

  He lets out a string of cuss words and jumps up, dabbing his napkin at the ever-growing wet spot.

  “Oh my word,” I say. “Would you look at that? I am such a klutz. At least it’s just water.”

  I take a deep breath and draw upon my ten years of experience. Act like you’re in control. Like you know what you’re doing. That everything is going exactly like you planned.

  A waiter passes by and I hold out a hand to stop him. “Excuse me,” I say, with a little wink. “I seemed to have knocked my water over. Be a dear and send a busboy over, would you?”

  The waiter knows who I am, of course, but since everything in the hotel is one long, drawn-out play, he acts his part, gives a little bow and leaves with a gracious, “Yes, ma’am.”

  I turn my attention to Theo. “I am so sorry.”

  His expression hints at anger. His eyebrows wrinkle and his nostrils flare. “Well, then,” he says, very serious like. Very dry.Very slowly. “We’ll finish our dinner and you can make it up to me later.”

  I sit there and stare into Theo’s You-Will-Make-Up-For-Spilling-Your-Water-And-I-Mean-Good expression, and I tell myself one way or another I am leaving Vegas.

  Just play your part. Just play your part, I repeat the lines that have always gotten me through such times in the past. Gradually, I pull myself together. I give Theo my best seductive smile. “Sugar, by the time you close your eyes tonight, you won’t even remember this.”

  The busboy shows up right at that second and artfully removes the soiled tablecloth. By the time new linens appear and my glass is refilled, the angry expression leaves Theo’s face. We’re finally alone, and I look to my right again. I first notice Isaiah, because he’s who I’m looking for. But he’s not looking at me, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

  “Do you see someone you recognize?” Theo asks.

  I snap my head back and mutter curse myself internally. What if Mike had tipped Theo off about Isaiah? That was all I needed. “No. Yes. What?” I stammer.

  “At the table over there.” Theo nods his head in Isaiah’s direction. “Something or someone must have caught your attention.”

  I curse at myself some more, because not only is Theo pissed, I recognize who Isaiah is talking with.

  Mike.

  And Mike is watching me. I can handle this situation in various ways. For one, I can pretend I hadn’t seen him, but our gazes had locked over Isaiah’s head, so I’m sure that won’t work. That leaves somehow acknowledging him. And after our time in his office, I know he won’t appreciate bold and sassy.

  Subtle and sly it is. And while it was never, ever, acceptable to lie, according to my Granny, all Southern women know the benefits of telling selective truths.

  “It was nothing.” I ignore Isaiah and give a quick wink to Mike. “Just someone I thought I knew.”

  Theo looks to my right and scans the crowd. I give his leg a gentle push under the table to
turn his attention back to me.

  “I’m still not sure if it’s anyone I know.” My foot moves further up his leg. I drag the heel of my shoe up his shin. “After all, what does it matter when I’m sitting here with you?”

  Theo clears his throat, obviously caught off-guard. “Right,” he says and turns back to his food.

  I give myself a pat on the back. Way to defuse the situation. I pretend to take a sip of the wine the waiter inadvertently gave me after replacing the tablecloth.

  Mike suddenly appears behind Theo and places a hand on his shoulder. “How’s the dinner tonight?”

  I thank my lucky stars I’d only pretended to sip my wine. Had I taken an actual drink, I’d probably spewed it all over myself. I wipe the smug grin off my face, replace it with a dutiful smile, and nod to Theo.

  “Theo, Sugar.” Fortunately, my voice doesn’t shake. “How’s dinner so far?”

  Theo stands up and shakes Mike’s hand.“We had a little accident earlier, but it’s all been taken care of. And Athena’s assured me the tuna isn’t to be missed.”

  “An accident?” Mike raises an eyebrow at me.

  “Just a little spill,” Theo replies.

  “Do I need to,” Mike looks straight at me, “clean anything up?”

  “Oh, no,” Theo answers, clearly missing the hidden subtext. “Your dining staff is superb.”

  “Yes,” Mike says. “They are.” The implication, of course, is his escort girls leave a lot to be desired. Theo, however, once again proves he’s not the brightest light in the Vegas sky and completely ignores the subtle jab.

  Mike chats with Theo for a few more minutes, and I force myself to look anywhere but in Isaiah’s direction. The diners directly in front of me. The mural on the ceiling. My gaze follows our waiter to our table, and I watch as he places our entrees down. I’m not hungry anymore, and I know my tuna will taste like cardboard.

  “I really hate to hear about your spill,” Mike says to Theo. “Dinner’s on the house tonight.”

  “Thank you.” Theo pumps Mike’s hand. “That’s very nice of you.”

  Mike waves the compliment away. “Just like to see to my customers’ satisfaction.”

  They finish their conversation. Theo sits down, cuts into his tuna, and starts eating. Mike slowly walks over to me. His hand is painful on my shoulder. He leans down and speaks low enough so Theo can’t hear.

  “Theo will be meeting with me tomorrow morning,” he whispers. “He’s very important to the new operation. His company is very important to the new operation. If he gives me any hint suggesting he is not one hundred and ten percent satisfied with the way this evening goes...” His grip tightens so hard on my shoulder I see stars. “I don’t think I need to remind you of anything, do I?”

  “No, Sir,” I whisper.

  “Excellent. Excellent.” He pats my back and speaks louder. “You two have a pleasurable evening. You hear?”

  Oh, yes. I hear loud and clear.

  Chapter Nine

  It’s early morning by the time Theo finally rolls over and goes to sleep, but I’m not tired. There’s not a part of me that isn’t aching, yet it isn’t pain that keeps me awake. It’s the realization deep within my soul that if I don’t leave, Mike will kill me one day.

  When I was new in the business, I thought the danger would come from one of the men he set me up with. After all, you never fully know the danger that might reside in a person. Now, with years behind me, I believe I have the ability to read people.

  Police officers worry about people shooting them. Firefighters might get caught in an uncontrollable fire. Hell, from what I've read, even CEOs have dangerous jobs; a good number of them die from coronary disease. How many prostitutes die on the job? I bet no one has ever run those stats.

  Because who would miss a whore?

  I stare up at the ceiling, and not only do I hate my life, I hate myself.

  So now what? I ask myself. Are you going to just keep on doing what Mike wants you to do, or are you going to make something happen? Take control of your life?

  It’s fear that keeps people where they are. Even if things are bad, at least they’re familiar. I keep staring at the ceiling, and it finally hits me that if Mike’s going to kill me anyway, I might as well die trying to get away. Beats putting up with men like Theo every day and night of my life until Mike decides I’m not even good for that anymore.

  It’s a morbid thought, but it’s what makes me creep out of bed and pull on a pair of jeans and T-shirt. I don’t take anything else. If everything goes as planned, I won’t need my things anyway, and if it ends badly... well, it won’t matter.

  I don’t even take the room passkey with me. I tell myself there’s no going back. I know exactly where I’m headed and what I’ll find.

  For the first time in ten years, I start to feel alive. Excitement pounds through my body, and I feel so light I swear I float down the elevator and toward the main entrance. No one even looks twice at me. Before I exit, I stop below one of the numerous video cameras and flip it the bird. “Fuck you, Mike,” I mouth.

  The temptation to run is strong, but I walk slowly to my destination. Behind the hotel, a small building lent itself to storage. I have in my possession a key, thanks to one of the security guys.

  The truth is, I’d stolen it from him. But seriously, even if you list out all my vast number of sins, I doubt that one would even make the top twenty.

  While Mike never paid us anywhere near what he said he would, he did on occasion pass us cash. And cash adds up over ten years. I don’t use a bank because one of the girls did that and her account was mysteriously emptied. Likewise, Mike would find it if I kept it in my apartment, after all, the place is technically his. As I let myself into the building, I try to calculate how much money I’ve saved. My best guess is ten thousand. Nothing to sneeze at, surely, but a sad, sad amount when you think long and hard about it. Was I truly only worth a thousand dollars a year?

  The metal door closes behind me with a clang, and it takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the low light. There’s a small flashlight that I hid on a previous visit behind some boxes and I smile as my fingers wrap around it. The faint light trembles as I aim the flashlight to the row of crates along the back wall. Ten thousand dollars isn’t a fortune, but it’s enough for a plane ticket out of Vegas and rent money for a short while.

  I tentatively push aside the crate in the far right corner, and the entire time my mind spins with all the places I can go. Not the South. Maybe someplace completely different, like Indiana. I can start over in Indiana, maybe work on my GED, get a job at a clothing store, a grocery store, a bookstore! My heart pounds as I imagine my new life.

  With the crate out of my way, I wiggle the loose wooden wall panel. Will I settle in a big city, like Indianapolis, or go somewhere smaller? I can’t decide. Maybe I’ll rent a car once I land and check out a few places.

  Hi, my name is Athena and I’m from Indiana.

  I like the way it sounds in my head, and I giggle at the possibilities.

  There’s a hole a rodent made years ago behind the loose panel, I reach into it, feeling around, but my fingers only brush empty air. I frown and shift my weight. Wiggle my fingers deeper.

  Nothing.

  Oh, no.

  The flashlight falls from my hands and I struggle to fit both hands into my hiding spot. It has to be there. It just has to be. Ten thousand dollars doesn’t just disappear.

  “Be there. Be there. Be there.”

  I rip the panel off and try to pry up the floorboard. Maybe it somehow got buried. Mentally, I calculate how long it’s been since I’ve added money to my nest egg. Three weeks ago. No longer than four.

  My fingers finally settle on a piece of paper. Heart beating wildly, I jerk it out, grab the flashlight, and read.

  Do you think I’m stupid, Athena?

  “No.” The paper slips from my hands. “No, no, no, no, no.”

  I drop to the ground, choking back te
ars I know are going to fall anyway. Who would take my money? Who even knew where it was?