Zizi needed a new plan.
She was in the powder room of the Carnahan's rather ritzy old house, "freshening up" before dinner. What she was really doing was amending her mental calculations of the pros and cons of this trip to Cairo.
She had planned on finding Beni, talking him into giving her some of the money he'd written home to brag about, and maybe selling a few of her baubles from home to tourists as "Egyptian relics." Her conjectures had included the likelihood of being jumped or molested by strange men, her odds of winning if plunged into a bar fight, and exactly how hot it would be in Egypt. They had not included her being left alone, out of the money she'd paid to get here, out of Beni's money, and out of one little bastard of a brother.
"It's all right, you can do this, just need a new angle," she whispered to her reflection as she splashed cold water on her face and rubbed her hands across her cheeks vigorously to remove the dirt that had somehow ended up there.
Her heart sank as she realized that her appearance priorities had definitely changed. Before she was dressed for function and to blend into a crowd. She had been on a simple manhunt. Now, she was alone, and she knew from experience that plain girls, no matter how friendless, never inspired as much charity as pretty ones.
She went to work, dusting the sand out of her many-layered skirt and shaking it out of her sleeves. She groaned when she noticed her hair. It had been piled messily on her head to keep her neck cool, but the harsh desert wind had ruffled it into a ridiculous shape. She pulled the pins out and shook her hair down. It fell past her waist and immediately improved her looks, or at least her chances at looking innocent. She examined her teeth in the mirror and decided that they looked good. (She was the only one in her family who took any care of her teeth. No one would listen to her explanations that good teeth made you look classy, and therefore more trustworthy. Foolish brats.)
As a final step, she pulled the neckline of her blouse down to show off her small breasts and her crucifix to their best advantage, thus ensuring the appearance of being appealing, yet virginal. Then she walked out to join the others in the dining room.
Rick and Evelyn had been joined by a third man. He was about Rick's age, but with a much slighter build and much less manly charm. What he did possess in spades, however, was the air of a man acquainted with money. His shirt, while rumpled, was made of fine linen, and a conspicuously shiny gold watch-chain hung from its pocket. More than that, his face had the relaxed, cocky look that only a man who's had a brush with success can wear. Beyond that, just look at the house she was dining in—it practically screamed "inheritance."
She arched her back and smiled in his direction as she made her entrance. Then she realized that such a display of cheer might seem heartless to her hosts, so she quickly turned her grin into a wispy half-smile. (She really was sorry about Beni, but after all, Gabors were famous for their resilience in any situation. Much like cockroaches.)
"Oh, good, there you are. Zizi, this is my brother, Jonathan Carnahan. Jonathan, this is Zizi Gabor," Evelyn said.
"Hi, lovely to meet you," Jonathan said casually. He was slouched in his seat and chewing on a fork, clearly not worried about seeming gentlemanly, but he smiled kindly when Zizi met his eyes.
"The pleasure is mine," Zizi replied, trying to seem flirtatious, yet bereaved as she walked over to the empty chair at the table.
"Jonathan! Where are your manners? Pull out Miss Gabor's seat!" Evelyn reprimanded.
"Yeah, Jonathan, I've picked up that habit and I've only been here a week. You'd think you would get it by now, fancy-pants Englishman," Rick teased as Jonathan scrambled out of his chair and settled Zizi into hers.
Hey, classy, Zizi thought admiringly. She couldn't even get her brothers to actually sit down at a table to eat. Truthfully, it was rare that the Gabors ate together. Everyone gobbled down whatever food they had in their scant pantry whenever they wanted it, supplementing it with whatever they had begged, stolen, or bought with money from their odd jobs that day. Zizi had been overdramatizing for the benefit of Rick and Evie when she cried that her siblings would starve. Gabors never starved. Her real concern was that they would get into more gang scuffles than usual, or get hauled into a foundling asylum, or maybe prison. Or perhaps become whores. That sentence might have been the most truthful one she'd spoken in the club.
"So Beni was your brother, huh?" Jonathan asked, a slight smirk on his lips, clearly amused at the mere thought of her ridiculous relative. "Oh, uh, my condolences. He was a good chap!" he hastily added.
Zizi felt like laughing at the mixture of disgust and feigned sympathy that everyone was seeming to offer her today, but she kept a straight face. "Thank you. Yes, I'll miss him." Or I would have, if he had ever shown up to visit or sent us more than a few coins a year! she thought crossly.
"I'm so sorry, dear. I know I'd be very sad if Jonathan died… for at least a little while," Evelyn said, grinning mischievously at her brother at the end of her sentence.
Rick laughed, and Jonathan stuck his tongue out at his sister. Before the squabble could go on, the cook carried in the food.
Zizi forgot to be charming as soon as the dinner appeared. She hadn't had food since that morning, and she'd covered quite a bit of Cairo searching for Beni. She could barely keep herself from gobbling like a pig; as it was, she ate so steadily that participating in the conversation was almost impossible. Even as she stuffed herself, she took care to glance in Jonathan's direction in the stealthy-yet-sure-to-be-noticed manner she had perfected. It was working, too. He looked at her every time anyone said anything funny, to see if she laughed.
Men are so easy, she thought as she devoured a generous hunk of cake.
After dinner, Jonathan and Rick suggested poker.
"Oh, no, you boys gamble too much," Evelyn said with a sigh. Zizi wondered if her hostess was always such a wet blanket.
"C'mon Evie, if you don't let me play here, I'll just go out again tonight. Besides, this time I really think I'll beat you!" Jonathan protested.
Evelyn smiled mysteriously. "No chance in… I mean, no chance of that at all. Fine, we'll play. No high stakes, though." She led the others into a parlor, where she had already set up a card table and four chairs. Zizi grinned as she realized that Evie's protests had been a mere concession to propriety. She was beginning to get the feeling that Evelyn was quite skilled at giving lip service to propriety while still managing to do exactly what she wanted to do. After all, she had to have some spirit to keep a man like Rick.
Zizi didn't have a good track record with gambling. She had a problem with pushing her luck. She never knew when to stop, and she would inevitably follow a winning streak with a torrential loss. Evelyn proved to be a little over-cautious, but a smart player and excellent at calling Rick and Jonathan's bluffs. Rick was good, but a little cocky with his betting, and Jonathan seemed to have the worst luck of all time. He had spent the last half of the game looking over the other players' shoulder and grumbling at his own loss.
She didn't mind at all when he eventually settled down behind her chair, occasionally poking her in the ribs and whispering misguided advice in her ear. She was surprised to find herself a little distracted by his warm breath and the slight scent of expensive cologne and cheap whiskey that clung to him. She liked his laugh when he chuckled at Rick after Evie called his bluff. She viewed these redeeming personal qualities as a bonus—after all, she needed money, and if money came in the form of a decent-looking, nice-smelling man, well, she never minded that.
After the game, Evelyn stood up and stretched her arms in an exaggerated pose. "Well, I'm awfully tired. I think I'll go to bed. Oh, Zizi dear, I completely forgot to tell you—you can stay here tonight if you'd like. The hotels here are positively atrocious."
"Oh, thank you so much. I was afraid to stay by myself." She had suspected that they would invite her to stay. They were just well bred enough to make it inevitable. She wasn't really afraid of staying by herself, but she had been afraid that she wouldn't be able to afford anything more spacious than a roach motel.
A few minutes after Evelyn's exit, Rick stood up and yawned conspicuously. "Well, I guess I'll turn in, too."
"Right," Jonathan said, his eyes narrowed and his mouth quirked up at the corner. "Going to bed, sure. The question is, to whose?"
"Hey, stop that, or I'll tell Evie," Rick said, pointing a stern finger at Jonathan, but wearing a feral grin.
"Oh, so you admit you're going to see Evie? How's that?"
Zizi giggled. She loved dirty jokes. They made her feel at home.
"Good night, Zizi. Good night, Jonathan," Rick called over his shoulder as strolled out into the hall.
"So, you want to play another game?" Jonathan asked as soon as Rick closed the door.
"Sure. What are the stakes?" She made her tone a little seductive, seeing what he would try to win. Don't worry, she thought, we'll both be lucky tonight!
"Oh, I dunno. Let's not do money, I've lost enough of that today. Do you want to just play for honor?"
"You can't play for what you don't have, darling," Zizi laughed, then realized that advertising her lack of scruples might not be a good idea.
Jonathan apparently thought that she was referring to his own questionable character, and he just laughed. "Fine, if you want to be saucy like that, how about whoever loses each hand has to drink a glass of whiskey?"
"Perfect." He was clearly making a plan to get drunk. Jonathan was beginning to seem like a rich cad—her favorite type. Possibilities of fancy trips, expensive gifts, and profitable blackmail spun in her mind as he dealt her the cards.
By the time the game ended, they had both lost enough hands to get a little punchy and sociable.
"I guess we should go to bed… I mean, upstairs," Jonathan said, trying unsuccessfully to hide his drowsy leer.
"Yes, it's getting late, isn't it?" Zizi rose from her chair and walked around the table toward the door. When she was just a foot away from him, she put her definitive plan into motion.
"Oh no! I'm sorry!" she cried in an assumed innocent voice, faking a stumble so that she landed in his arms.
He was so relaxed that she almost fell out of his grasp when she bumped him, but he caught her at the last minute. "Oh, it's no trouble at all, love," he slurred.
This was the moment that would show her once and for all if Jonathan Carnahan was a gentleman or not, and if she was therefore wasting her time in trying to get him to "lead" her to impropriety. A good man would never take advantage of a girl who landed in his arms, drunk, friendless in a strange city, and recently bereaved. Zizi held her breath in anticipation as he looked down at her. Did he see a useless street rat? The conniving wench she was? Or something better?
"You know, you're pretty?" Jonathan sighed.
Zizi could barely repress her smile as he leaned down to kiss her, demonstrating that although rich, he was no gentleman, and that her plan had worked.
A/N: Please review, somebody… anybody! Next chapter will be from Jonathan's perspective.