Chapter eight
At 9:20 in the Boulevard hotel on Ninety-second Street, a rich businessman watched the carnage out of the huge floor to ceiling windows in the presidential suite. He swore as a building no more than five miles from the spot he was standing, was flattened. He had been close to engaging in an incredibly pleasant 'business meeting' with his 'niece' when the huge yellow light had startled him out of the game he had been playing. Thirty seconds later, the sound came, a muted boom that left him staggered, and it rolled over him like it was almost solid, he could feel the heat through the open windows.
He had jumped out of the bed away from the blonde girl next to him and rushed to the window as she lit a cigarette with her gloved right hand and reminded him she was paid by the half-hour. He told her to take a shower. She had told him to perform an illegal sex act on a farm animal and rolled off the bed. She didn't bother to put on a robe, and wandered into the bathroom to have a bath.
Shower my ass, she thought. I ain't sitting in the fucking presidential suite-ee and taking a fucking 'power shower'. Nah, bathing made her seem like the first lady, a princess. She asked the man at the window if he didn't want to stop watching the fireworks and join her. He told her to fuck off without looking around. She flipped him the finger and closed the bathroom door. Fine by her, longer he watched those damn sky lights, more she got paid.
She ran the gold leaf covered tap on full blast, the cold tap feeling good under her satin covered hand. There were five hot taps surrounding the circular tub. It made it fill up faster. Once it was full up and at the right temperature, she scooped up her hair so the honey blonde strands hung down by her face at some places. She looked at with a tired surrendering sigh. It was already starting to curl in the steam. She straightened it every day, but it was determined to carry on curling. It had been curly ever since she was a little girl. Her first memory was of a lady with red hair and green eyes brushing it and singing. She didn't know who this woman was, but always associated with this figure was a man, he was, there was no other word for it, beautiful. He had blue eyes, but they were more than blue, almost purple. He had long hair, but she couldn't remember what colour, and a face she could never recall. All she remembered was the long hair and blue-ish colour. She couldn't even remember the shape of his eyes. When she had questioned her mother about these people she had just looked angrily at Ronan, who had shrugged, and told her that they were old friends of the family. Even at the age of seven she hadn't bought this. But she never asked again. From then on Jackie had started to straighten her hair. Sometimes Honey could remember things, things that didn't fit in with what she knew had happened in her childhood. A big house with a peacock topiary tree. They had always lived in small houses with smaller lawns. Lots of uncles and aunts. She had no extended family. A big grand piano. She didn't even know how to play the piano! She also sometimes felt snatches of something. It was buried deep and she must have forced herself to forget it at a very young age. But it was still there. Whenever she heard about some psycho who had killed a kid, she felt ill and thought
(bastard bastard he was a bastard never any good hated you hated me tried to kill you i saved you would've died if i hadn't been there)
It was her mother talking, but Honey had for some reason associated 'he' with her father. She didn't know him though, never had. Her mother told her that he was living away somewhere. That was the most detailed answer to the question she had ever got. She climbed over the side of the bath, removed the glove and placed it to one side and sunk low. It was more like a Jacuzzi actually. It was about four feet deep, and had a step that ran around it so that the occupier could sit down. As she soaked she listened to the sound of her 'employer' picking up the phone and dialling the operator. He asked for a name in the Paige Wordely dialling code. She stifled a laugh. His wife! He was with her, getting off while his wife was dying in some bitch of an explosion. It would almost hurt her to charge him tonight. Almost, but not quite. He was a regular and if she let him off once she might never get anything from him again.
She blew a bubble off her outstretched leg and watched as it floated down to the floor and gave a sickening shudder before it just ceased to exist.
He was still on the phone, now asking for another name, this one in the peak place district. As she listened to his side of the conversation she gathered that he'd just told a friend of his wife's demise. Another phone call, this one less emotional than the others. He asked to speak to a mister Chang and at that she giggled. Chang. It was a funny name. He said something about 'the clause'. She cocked her head to the side and listened with more interest.
He was putting in a claim for his wife's life insurance.
He placed the phone down after ten minutes of talking, and then laughed, soft and low. He moved towards the bed and sat down. She knew he was taking an expensive cigar from the gold case he carried around, with his initials stamped into it in diamonds. D.M.S. she didn't know his name, but he liked her to call him Daniel. So she did.
He came towards the bathroom and spoke through the door.
"Everyone in there decent?"
"No" she quickly grabbed the glove off the side of the bath and pulled it on.
"Good." He opened the door and took a seat opposite the bath. As he sat looking at her, she had a chance to take him in. He was very good looking, with long auburn hair and dark blue eyes. His chest was scarred in more than one place, but still utterly wonderful. She liked him more than any other client, and it was a pleasure to have him just run his hand over her. Actually, that's all he did mostly. Just sigh and run a finger over her smooth curves. He seemed reluctant to get any further.
"How old are you?"
"You first."
"Alright, if that's the way you wanna play it, 36" She was amazed. She had reckoned him to be at least 40, not because he looked it (he looked much, much younger, almost twenty something) but because of his eyes. They were the eyes of someone who has seen a lot of tragedy and been forced to live through it.
"What about you now?"
"Seventeen." She surprised herself by telling the truth. She had expected a lie to slip out, 'yes sir I'm twenty six ' but she didn't. She hardly ever answered that question in the first place, now she was telling the truth? Weird.
He let out a long, low whistle.
"Seventeen? Really?"
"Yeah, what of it?"
"Nothing, just. how long have I been with you? Two years? Yeah, so you were fifteen when you started? Jesus."
"Come on baby, don't flatter yourself. I started before you even thought about cheating."
"Don't think so Hun, I was thinking about it when my kids were in diapers, so you couldn't possibly have been."
"How olds them kids now?" as she said it, the thought that they might've died in the explosion crossed her mind. Yeah, putting on a play for mommy while daddy was away doing ''business'', then the whole school gets blown sky high. "They would be seventeen. Twins." His voice snagged on the last word and hung there like a limp piece of cloth on barbed wire. She didn't want to ask the next question, but it flowed from her mouth and she was powerless to stop it.
"Would be? Whad'ya mean?" she regretted it immediately. He looked like he wanted to cry or something. Seeing a man fall to pieces in front of her was usual, but not in this way, not at all. She tugged unconsciously at her glove.
"They're gone now." Again, his voice snagged.
"Oh, I'm sorry."
"It's just, that's why I was so surprised at your age. I was thinking, my baby girl could be just like her, out there at seventeen making her living screwing. It's their birthday today. That's why I'm falling to pieces." He gave a weak laugh, then remembered the cigar in his hand and brought it to his lips.
Meanwhile, she had gone silent. Her left hand was limply raised in the air, she had forgot to put it down on it way to her mouth with its cargo of a fast depleting cigarette. Her brain worked overtime, putting pieces together of this new puzzle.
She was seventeen. Her brother was her twin. Today was her birthday.
"Tell me, did your wife have red hair and green eyes?" her voice wavered, and she felt like she was going to swoon. "And did your kids have curly blonde hair? And did you live in a big house with a peacock topiary and a grand piano?" she was crying silently now, the tears making a hot stream down her face.
He frowned, and thought about the question for a minute before answering.
"Yeah, how did you know that?"
She fainted then, and as her head slipped silently down under the water she had enough time to think one final thought;
Thank god he never fucked me.
At 9:20 in the Boulevard hotel on Ninety-second Street, a rich businessman watched the carnage out of the huge floor to ceiling windows in the presidential suite. He swore as a building no more than five miles from the spot he was standing, was flattened. He had been close to engaging in an incredibly pleasant 'business meeting' with his 'niece' when the huge yellow light had startled him out of the game he had been playing. Thirty seconds later, the sound came, a muted boom that left him staggered, and it rolled over him like it was almost solid, he could feel the heat through the open windows.
He had jumped out of the bed away from the blonde girl next to him and rushed to the window as she lit a cigarette with her gloved right hand and reminded him she was paid by the half-hour. He told her to take a shower. She had told him to perform an illegal sex act on a farm animal and rolled off the bed. She didn't bother to put on a robe, and wandered into the bathroom to have a bath.
Shower my ass, she thought. I ain't sitting in the fucking presidential suite-ee and taking a fucking 'power shower'. Nah, bathing made her seem like the first lady, a princess. She asked the man at the window if he didn't want to stop watching the fireworks and join her. He told her to fuck off without looking around. She flipped him the finger and closed the bathroom door. Fine by her, longer he watched those damn sky lights, more she got paid.
She ran the gold leaf covered tap on full blast, the cold tap feeling good under her satin covered hand. There were five hot taps surrounding the circular tub. It made it fill up faster. Once it was full up and at the right temperature, she scooped up her hair so the honey blonde strands hung down by her face at some places. She looked at with a tired surrendering sigh. It was already starting to curl in the steam. She straightened it every day, but it was determined to carry on curling. It had been curly ever since she was a little girl. Her first memory was of a lady with red hair and green eyes brushing it and singing. She didn't know who this woman was, but always associated with this figure was a man, he was, there was no other word for it, beautiful. He had blue eyes, but they were more than blue, almost purple. He had long hair, but she couldn't remember what colour, and a face she could never recall. All she remembered was the long hair and blue-ish colour. She couldn't even remember the shape of his eyes. When she had questioned her mother about these people she had just looked angrily at Ronan, who had shrugged, and told her that they were old friends of the family. Even at the age of seven she hadn't bought this. But she never asked again. From then on Jackie had started to straighten her hair. Sometimes Honey could remember things, things that didn't fit in with what she knew had happened in her childhood. A big house with a peacock topiary tree. They had always lived in small houses with smaller lawns. Lots of uncles and aunts. She had no extended family. A big grand piano. She didn't even know how to play the piano! She also sometimes felt snatches of something. It was buried deep and she must have forced herself to forget it at a very young age. But it was still there. Whenever she heard about some psycho who had killed a kid, she felt ill and thought
(bastard bastard he was a bastard never any good hated you hated me tried to kill you i saved you would've died if i hadn't been there)
It was her mother talking, but Honey had for some reason associated 'he' with her father. She didn't know him though, never had. Her mother told her that he was living away somewhere. That was the most detailed answer to the question she had ever got. She climbed over the side of the bath, removed the glove and placed it to one side and sunk low. It was more like a Jacuzzi actually. It was about four feet deep, and had a step that ran around it so that the occupier could sit down. As she soaked she listened to the sound of her 'employer' picking up the phone and dialling the operator. He asked for a name in the Paige Wordely dialling code. She stifled a laugh. His wife! He was with her, getting off while his wife was dying in some bitch of an explosion. It would almost hurt her to charge him tonight. Almost, but not quite. He was a regular and if she let him off once she might never get anything from him again.
She blew a bubble off her outstretched leg and watched as it floated down to the floor and gave a sickening shudder before it just ceased to exist.
He was still on the phone, now asking for another name, this one in the peak place district. As she listened to his side of the conversation she gathered that he'd just told a friend of his wife's demise. Another phone call, this one less emotional than the others. He asked to speak to a mister Chang and at that she giggled. Chang. It was a funny name. He said something about 'the clause'. She cocked her head to the side and listened with more interest.
He was putting in a claim for his wife's life insurance.
He placed the phone down after ten minutes of talking, and then laughed, soft and low. He moved towards the bed and sat down. She knew he was taking an expensive cigar from the gold case he carried around, with his initials stamped into it in diamonds. D.M.S. she didn't know his name, but he liked her to call him Daniel. So she did.
He came towards the bathroom and spoke through the door.
"Everyone in there decent?"
"No" she quickly grabbed the glove off the side of the bath and pulled it on.
"Good." He opened the door and took a seat opposite the bath. As he sat looking at her, she had a chance to take him in. He was very good looking, with long auburn hair and dark blue eyes. His chest was scarred in more than one place, but still utterly wonderful. She liked him more than any other client, and it was a pleasure to have him just run his hand over her. Actually, that's all he did mostly. Just sigh and run a finger over her smooth curves. He seemed reluctant to get any further.
"How old are you?"
"You first."
"Alright, if that's the way you wanna play it, 36" She was amazed. She had reckoned him to be at least 40, not because he looked it (he looked much, much younger, almost twenty something) but because of his eyes. They were the eyes of someone who has seen a lot of tragedy and been forced to live through it.
"What about you now?"
"Seventeen." She surprised herself by telling the truth. She had expected a lie to slip out, 'yes sir I'm twenty six ' but she didn't. She hardly ever answered that question in the first place, now she was telling the truth? Weird.
He let out a long, low whistle.
"Seventeen? Really?"
"Yeah, what of it?"
"Nothing, just. how long have I been with you? Two years? Yeah, so you were fifteen when you started? Jesus."
"Come on baby, don't flatter yourself. I started before you even thought about cheating."
"Don't think so Hun, I was thinking about it when my kids were in diapers, so you couldn't possibly have been."
"How olds them kids now?" as she said it, the thought that they might've died in the explosion crossed her mind. Yeah, putting on a play for mommy while daddy was away doing ''business'', then the whole school gets blown sky high. "They would be seventeen. Twins." His voice snagged on the last word and hung there like a limp piece of cloth on barbed wire. She didn't want to ask the next question, but it flowed from her mouth and she was powerless to stop it.
"Would be? Whad'ya mean?" she regretted it immediately. He looked like he wanted to cry or something. Seeing a man fall to pieces in front of her was usual, but not in this way, not at all. She tugged unconsciously at her glove.
"They're gone now." Again, his voice snagged.
"Oh, I'm sorry."
"It's just, that's why I was so surprised at your age. I was thinking, my baby girl could be just like her, out there at seventeen making her living screwing. It's their birthday today. That's why I'm falling to pieces." He gave a weak laugh, then remembered the cigar in his hand and brought it to his lips.
Meanwhile, she had gone silent. Her left hand was limply raised in the air, she had forgot to put it down on it way to her mouth with its cargo of a fast depleting cigarette. Her brain worked overtime, putting pieces together of this new puzzle.
She was seventeen. Her brother was her twin. Today was her birthday.
"Tell me, did your wife have red hair and green eyes?" her voice wavered, and she felt like she was going to swoon. "And did your kids have curly blonde hair? And did you live in a big house with a peacock topiary and a grand piano?" she was crying silently now, the tears making a hot stream down her face.
He frowned, and thought about the question for a minute before answering.
"Yeah, how did you know that?"
She fainted then, and as her head slipped silently down under the water she had enough time to think one final thought;
Thank god he never fucked me.