Chapter 23: Unreasonable Misery
On the seventeenth of January, Roy Mustang was having a terrible night. Everything was going so well, but tonight that didn't matter. He was absolutely miserable. But he was bound and determined not to let it show.
He smoothed his uniform front and sauntered across the room, abandoning his third whiskey of the evening to approach a buxom brunette who was leaning against the bar. She was wearing a low-cut blue frock that set off her figure to perfection, and a pair of dainty satin gloves with purple sequins decorating the cuffs. Her hair was cut in a short, perky bob that reminded him for an instant of Riza. He slid onto the stool next to her, and put out a hand to stop her from reaching into her handbag.
"Let me," he said as suavely as he could. "What're you drinking?"
She looked him over with her blue eyes, which were heavily rimmed in glossy makeup. Roy wondered whether she was a student from the university, or maybe an actress. She wasn't much older than he was, anyway.
"A screwdriver," she said. "Thanks, handsome."
Roy had to stop himself from grinning. This was working better than he had expected! Usually he had to flirt for a while before a girl responded. He crooked his finger at the bartender. "Whiskey on the rocks for me, and a screwdriver for the lovely lady."
He turned back to the girl. "What's your name?" he asked.
"Tallulah," she answered, puckering her painted lips becomingly. She had a rich, throaty voice, and her breath smelled of mint. "It means abundance." She leaned closer to him. "So, soldier... lonely tonight?"
Roy laughed a little, ruefully. "Kind of," he admitted before he could stop himself.
"Break up with your girlfriend?" Tallulah asked.
"No, nothing like that," Roy said hastily. "I haven't got a girlfriend. Not... a regular one."
"I understand," she said. Her eyes travelled to his epaulettes. "Cadet?"
"Second class," Roy admitted. Damn, she was sharp. A lot of girls didn't know the rank insignias: he had been mistaken more than once for a lieutenant.
"Good," she said.
"Good?" Roy echoed, surprised.
"Mm-hmm. The military won't be stealing you away for another seventeen months. We lose most of our best boys to the front lines, you know." She fluttered her eyelashes.
"I suppose so," said Roy. At that moment, the bartender came up with their drinks. Roy took his whiskey and knocked back a quick, comfortable mouthful. It warmed his stomach, and he could already feel himself relaxing. Maybe in a little while he would propose that they go somewhere else – somewhere where there was dancing. Tallulah looked like she would be an excellent dancer.
"You might be a second-class cadet, but you drink like a lieutenant colonel," the young lady commented, sipping daintily at her screwdriver. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were nursing a broken heart."
"I'm not," Roy said.
"Where is she?" Tallulah asked. "Your special girl."
"In East City," he said, then caught himself. "I mean, I told you I didn't have a girlfriend."
"That may be so," commented Tallulah; "but I can tell you're missing somebody."
"It's not just her," Roy confessed. "I... my best friend's out west learning how to be a city plod, and my classmates are all right, but they're not... you know. They're... I don't know if I can trust them."
"Ah, I see." She nodded wisely and moved ever so slightly – just enough that her knee brushed against Roy's. "That's the trouble with the world today. There's no way to know who you can trust, and who's just using you."
"I can trust Maes," Roy said. He went to take another swallow of whiskey only to discover that his glass was empty. How had that happened? He gestured to the barkeep for another.
"Sure you can, honey," Tallulah said. "She's one in a million."
"He's a he," Roy said.
Tallulah's eyes widened a little. "Really?" she said smoothly, only a little of her surprise filtering into her voice.
Roy nodded. "My best friend."
"Oh..." She laughed a little. "For a second there, I thought... never mind." She reached out and put one of her hands over his. She had long fingers, and the satin of her glove felt smooth and cool, but it was almost clinical. Roy shivered and tugged away.
Tallulah got up and came around behind him. "Don't freeze on me, now," she said softly, rubbing his arms and moving her hands sensuously up to his shoulders. "I've just seen it all, that's it. Tell me more about your friend."
Roy turned a little so that he could see her in his peripheral vision. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm not... usually like this. Tell me a bit about yourself."
"Oh, you don't want to hear about me!" Tallulah said airily. "Besides, I have a feeling you could use somebody to talk to. What's wrong?"
"I got a letter today," Roy confessed, taking another long quaff of the whiskey. "Things have been good. Great. I've been happy. But today I got a letter. From the office of the Twisted Jade Alchemist. I'm... I've been accepted to write the exam in May. I'll pass it, too. I know I'll pass it: Brigadier General Grumman told me I would if I learned my sensei's secrets. And I wanted to tell somebody, but... but there wasn't anybody to tell. The others wouldn't understand. They don't know what it's been like trying to save up, and practicing, and hoping, and... and... Maes would understand, but he's not here. And Riza would be happy for me, but she's not here either, and..." He sighed wearily.
"And you're lonely," Tallulah said quietly.
"Yeah," Roy confessed in a hollow whisper. "Yeah. I'm lonely."
He flinched, realizing what he had just said. Girls weren't interested in listening to litanies of problems. They wanted guys who made them feel special, not pathetic kids who whined about being lonely and discouraged...
But Tallulah didn't brush him off. She leaned forward and kissed his ear. "I can help," she whispered. "I mean, I probably don't know what it's been like, but I can be happy for you. And I can definitely distract you."
Roy smiled feebly. "Yeah?"
Tallulah nodded. "Guaranteed," she said. Then she smiled seductively. "Whaddaya say we head somewhere else. Maybe somewhere more private?"
"Where?" Roy asked.
"I know a little place just up the street," Tallulah said. "There's a bar, a lovely quiet lounge, an upstairs."
"Music?" Roy asked. He was vaguely aware that he was tipsy, but his tumbler was empty again.
"We've got a brand new Victrola," she promised.
"A what?"
"A gramophone. Imported from Creda. Don't tell anybody." She winked at him and offered him her arm. "C'mon. The night is young: we don't want to waste it here."
So Roy found himself stepping out into the night on the arm of a beautiful woman. He was a little unsteady on his feet, but she kept him on an even keel as they rounded the corner.
The building was a storefront like any other, save that the windows were obscured by heavy red velvet drapes. Inside, there was a foyer with plush sofas and chaises. A couple of young women were lounging on them, gossiping together. There was a bar against one wall, and a craggy-faced man with uncommonly broad shoulders stood behind it, polishing a silver fruit bowl while he conversed with an older woman. To Roy's astonishment, she was wearing a satin kimono over a delicate negligee that, in some incredible feat of engineering, appeared to provide adequate support for her ample bosom.
"Hey, what the hell..." he started.
Tallulah followed his gaze. "Oh, don't mind her," she said. "She's the junior partner. Hey, Christabelle, you're scaring the customers!"
The woman turned and snorted. "Don't be fresh with me, my girl!" she said. Then she looked at Roy. "Hey there, soldier," she said.
"M-ma'am," Roy stammered, wondering blearily what kind of a place this was.
"What's your name, son?" the older woman asked, patting the stool next to her.
"Chris, come on!" Tallulah said, rolling her eyes. "He's not here to make conversation!"
"Don't be silly: what else would he be here? He's just a kid. C'mere cadet, and have a seat."
"Whiskey, please," Roy said to the bartender as he made his unsteady way to the proffered stool. "On the rocks."
"I don't think so," said Christabelle firmly. "Harry, get us a coffee, hey?"
"Hey, he's mine—" Tallulah said. Suddenly her voice wasn't quite so sultry or seductive. She sounded angry.
"No he's not," Christabelle contradicted. "Go on and take a walk, honey. Plenty more fish in the sea."
"He's not interested in you!" the younger woman snapped. "You're old enough to be his mother!"
"Which tells me he's too young for you to drag upstairs. Especially dead drunk. You wouldn't be here if you were sober, would you, son?"
Roy blinked. The alcohol was beginning to take effect, and even he had to admit that he wasn't in a condition to be making executive decisions – but what were these women talking about? What was this place?
"Hey, he offered to buy me a drink!" Tallulah argued. "I fully intend to close the deal!"
Christabelle's eyebrows arched, and she fixed the younger woman with a withering stare. "Get out," she said. "I'm not going to have any of my girls taking advantage of lonely, drunk little soldier-boys. Go now, and I'll make sure you're compensated for the wasted time. One more word of argument, and you'll be looking for a new house."
"Don't go..." Roy mumbled thickly, trying to turn to look at Tallulah but losing his balance as he did so. He would have fallen off of the stool, save that Christabelle caught his arm and steadied him.
"It's okay, hon," she said. "I'll keep you company. Tallulah's got other things to do tonight."
The younger woman snorted angrily, but turned and strode out of the bar, slamming the door behind herself. Roy cringed at the noise. The bartender appeared out of nowhere, two cups of coffee in hand.
"Thanks, Harry," the woman said, taking Roy's hand and putting it on the mug. "Drink up, son."
"Why'd you do that?" the bartender asked. "I've never seen you horn in on the girls' action before."
"He's just a kid. How old are you, son? Eighteen?"
"Nineteen," Roy said indignantly. He hadn't been taken for younger than he was in a long while, but he discovered that it was just as annoying now as it had always been.
"Old enough to decide what he wants," Harry the bartender said.
Christabelle shrugged. "He reminds me of my late husband," she said.
"Which one?" Harry muttered. Then he moved off to the other end of the bar as a young woman and a bearded man came in from another room.
The older woman looked at Roy. "You've had a lot to drink, soldier," she said.
"Maybe," Roy said. It was hard to think. He was drunk and he was still feeling very morose. Everything had been going so well lately. Why did he feel so awful? Oh. The letter. Maes. Riza. God, he was so lonely...
"What's on your mind?"
What was the use? "I don't wanna talk about it," he mumbled.
"Too bad. I want to hear."
He blinked at her. Her tone was very different from Tallulah's, but...
"I'm lonely," he whispered. "I don't have any friends."
"A nice kid like you? I don't believe that for a minute." She smiled. It wasn't a seductive smile like Tallulah's. It was genuine. "You must have a friend."
Roy nodded miserably. "He's in West City," he said. "He's finished. Second Lieutenant Maes Hughes, now. He's gone."
"I see. That's the trouble with the military: you boys never get to stay put for long. Must be hard." She nudged his arm. "Come on, drink your coffee."
It was hot and bitter, but Roy obeyed. There was something in her manner that did not brook argument. It reminded him of... of the way that Gareth Hughes could make his brothers do their chores, or eat their supper, or do pretty much anything else he told them to.
"What's your name, son?" Chris asked.
"Roy," he murmured, staring into the inky depths of the coffee before taking another mouthful. "Roy Mustang."
From the other side of the long counter, the bartender let out a sharp laugh. "How 'bout that! Maybe he is your son!"
"Hush, Harry. Where are you from, Roy?"
"I'm..." But he wasn't from Hamner: he'd only lived there. "That is..." But though he had been born in Youswell he had no recollection of living there. "I mean..." But his only memories of East City were unhappy ones, and it certainly was not home. "Nowhere," he said at lost. "Nobody from Nowhere, that's me."
"Don't be silly. You're not a nobody."
"I am," Roy said bitterly. The liquor had loosened his tongue and stolen his coordination. Now it was giving voice to insecurities ordinarily hidden under layer upon layer of bravado, self-confidence and brash swaggering. "No home. No parents. Nothing."
He stared down at his hands. "I don't know who I am," he whispered miserably.
The woman took the mug from him and set it on the bar. "I'll tell you what," she said. "You come and lie down for a while. Then later, when you've sobered up a little, we can talk about it."
"I don't talk about it," Roy protested softly as she led him up the stairs. "I never talk about it. Never, ever."
"Of course not, honey," the woman soothed. "But for now, you need some sleep. You're very, very drunk."
Roy had to admit that that was certainly true.
discidium
When Roy woke up with a cotton mouth and a splitting headache in a broad feather bed in a room full of arte nouveau paintings and heavy upholstery, it took him a good five minutes to remember where he was and why. Lying there and staring at the ceiling, puzzling over the night's events, he suddenly realized what had happened. This place wasn't a bar, it was a brothel. And
Tallulah, whom he had taken for a student or an actress, was a prostitute.
Roy knew the theory behind prostitutes: there were very few things one didn't hear about when one lived in the company of soldiers. But sex was still something of a mystery to him: his forays into womanizing had never progressed further than passionate kisses and the occasional furtive groping of silk-clad breasts. When he had approached Tallulah in the bar, he had had no intention whatsoever of making love to her. All he had wanted...
He pushed that to the back of his mind. That was ridiculous. He wasn't lonely. He wasn't unhappy. He was Cadet Second Class Roy Mustang, and he was any man's equal. He had nothing to be morose about: his life was perfect! Everything was going according to plan. He would write the State Alchemist exam in May. He would pass. By the summer, he would be a major instead of a lowly cadet; one of the pillars off the Amestrian military. A person of power, with the ability to mould the future of the nation. He would protect the people – not only from the threat of invasion, but from poverty and hunger and despair. Everything was perfect.
If only he had somebody to talk to...
No. There was no "if only". Everything was perfect. He was happy. He was.
There was only one person in the lounge when he found his way down the stairs: the woman named Christabelle. She was sitting with her feet on an overstuffed ottoman, eating from a bowl of grapes. She looked up when she heard Roy's approaching footfalls.
"Good morning!" she said. "Did you sleep well?"
"Fine," Roy asked. "Listen, about last night..."
To his surprise, she laughed at him. "Don't say another word!" she said. "I've seen more than one drunk soldier in my time. Do you want a ride back to campus? I don't drive myself, but I could roust Harry out of bed to take you.
"No. No thank you. Ma'am, I wanted to apologize explain. I'm not lonely, I'm—"
"I told you, you don't have to explain. You were drunk."
Roy rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at his rumpled uniform. "Yeah... Yeah, I was."
"My late husband used to drink, too. Tom, I mean. Not Jack. Or Duong. Though if you ask me, Duong had more cause to." She clicked her tongue and broke off another bunch of grapes. "He was Xingese. Like you."
"I'm not Xingese. I was born in Youswell," Roy said defensively. He was sensitive about that topic. His classmates no longer needled him about his exotic features, but the memory of the days when they had still clung to him like a miasma.
"Is that so?" the woman said softly. "My husband had a nephew who was born in Youswell. Duong, not Jack. Or Tom."
"That's nice," Roy said politely.
"Not really. My husband never met him: Duong's brother and his wife were killed in a fire, and the boy was taken into the custody of the State." She fixed keen, piercing eyes upon him, and suddenly Roy felt uncomfortable, as if she could see right through him. "Last night, you said you had no parents."
"I thought I didn't have to explain about last night," Roy said.
"You don't," she said. "I was only curious."
Roy shifted uncomfortably. Suddenly he wasn't at all sure of himself. And his head was pounding. And this woman was looking at him as if she knew everything about him. "Who are you?" he ventured.
She only smiled.
"Nobody special."
