Sub Rosa, page 17
The Diamond Dowager led us to the Mayflower. I hate to admit that the collective anxiety did subside as we followed the Dowager’s lead; she had been around longer than any of us, after all. She was the mother of Sub Rosa. And she was the only one who had something concrete to say.
“What if they’re already on to us?” Ling wanted to know.
“There’s no way of finding out until the squad car vacates. I should be able to get to the bottom of it tonight or tomorrow,” said Arsen.
“And what will you have figured out by tonight or tomorrow, all-knowing Daddy?” the Dowager sang with sarcasm. “Remind me again what it is you Daddies do to take care of these types of problems?”
Arsen resisted the question at first. I would have too if I were him. The Dowager was out to make him look like a fool. I was surprised First hadn’t already jumped in. But she too stared at him, like the rest of us, waiting for him to answer. And when Arsen repeated that he’d take care of it, it was First who pressed him for details.
“We talk to certain city people, to start with,” he said at last, “to figure out what information the police have. They’ve never had anything on us. Nothing but a rumour or two. But if the police or some local thugs or some social-worker types start sniffing around the Smoke Shoppe, then we create a distraction.” He would have liked to end it at that. First leaned in to hear more. “So, last time we had a problem was back when Second Man was playing pinball at No’s and he danced the line.” A few Glories gave Second Man sideways glances; I bet Arsen was thankful to have some of the focus off him. “Remember, he tempted that redneck into the storage room with him,” he continued. “If you recall, ladies, that redneck was so angry that he went into No’s for a pack of Lucky Stripes and came out so vexed about his peculiar sexual flavours that he parked his Thunderbird outside with a loaded shotgun in hand. He caused a lot of headaches, yelling at live ones as they came and left Advent Alley. Scared off the business. So we took care of it,” he said with a nod.
“Took care of it how?” the Dowager demanded.
“Well, in that case, we had to hire some skid hos to bait him. They kept him occupied for days. I guess it took days to convince him he was still a good ol’ heterosexual boy.” Arsen snickered at this a little, but First scolded him for having anything to do with skid hos.
“Well, I wasn’t about to send you to tangle with him,” said Arsen. First’s disgust didn’t soften much. “Skid hos can handle men like that. Sometimes the best thing you can do is let city sin be solved by city sin; like cures like.”
“Seems like an okay solution to me,” said Ling. “Skid hos deal with those types of city men all the time. They’re good at it.” She looked around the room and got nods of agreement from everyone, almost.
“If certain Glories would quit dancing the line, or constantly making trips to the city, or advertising Sub Rosa on their trips to the city, and if certain Daddies wouldn’t recruit wayward city girls who run away bitter, then we wouldn’t have these dilemmas. So then we’d have no need for you to create such cunning distractions. I suppose we’d have no use for you at all.” The Diamond Dowager had eyed every single one of us as she ranted.
“My trips to the city are all dates. Very lucrative dates,” Fauxnique defended herself. “It’s no fault of mine that my regulars like nightlife. Besides, why should magic only be on Sub Rosa? City folks want a bit of Glory magic—like me—to walk their sad streets, too.”
“You’re right, Faux. There is no rule against trips to the city,” said Ling. “I mean, me and my girls, we rarely leave. Why would we? But a Glory is a Glory no matter where she goes. Every new Glory has to make her dowry. I can’t think of a better way than the Dark to filter out the girls who aren’t worthy of Glorying. How was Arsen to know he’d marry a runaway? He believed in her and in our initiation customs. You won’t catch me doubting my own House. Just like Candy and Arsen never doubted theirs.”
“And fool-hearted faith in one another has done so much for Sub Rosa,” sneered the Dowager.
“Why else are we here, then?” said Fauxnique. “To hate each other? You can find all types of hate elsewhere. Just walk to the end of Advent Alley, for starters. March your orphans on up to that cop car and see what an enemy actually looks like.”
“The House of Royal has absolutely nothing to do with the police. It certainly isn’t our House that has brought on this problem.”
“Well then, why don’t you take your dried-up bones back to your dried-up mansion?” First’s comeback spat out from her like it had been bottled up with soda and shaken.
“Very spirited mama-bear routine,” the Dowager said to Arsen. “How long did it take to train her, your dancing bear? Oh, my mistake, you didn’t train her at all. She came to you loyal as the moon. Anyone else care to defend their Daddies, while we’re on the subject?”
“My Daddy is king. I love him,” said Dearest, totally ignorant of how idiotic she sounded. The Dowager patted her on the head.
No one else stepped in. I’m sure everyone was thinking the same thing, but only First had the courage to say it. “You forget what it’s like to be with a man, you being without one for so long. And if the oh-so-good angel Royal was here, I reckon he’d tell you to quit your griping.”
There was a pause, probably less than a second, long enough for us to brace ourselves for what was about to come. Wind shot through the place. Al and Shirley rushed out from the kitchen to see their collection of ships in bottles rattling against the wall. “Oh, Royal, how dare she, oh, Royal,” the Dowager repeated like a prayer.
“Smoke and mirrors,” First whispered to me, holding her ground. A jug freed itself from the wall and sailed toward First’s head. First’s scream was a deep one—a rock banging inside a steel drum. It would have hit her mouth, her row of girlish teeth, her soft lips. I knocked it off its course enough for it to miss her face. If phantom hand had been stronger I’d have turned the jug back on the Dowager, hit her square in the jaw. Shirley leapt for the bottle as it sailed past us. The ship inside collapsed as soon as she caught it.
Arsen and I rushed to First’s side. Ling and Fauxnique packed around her too. And Shirley as well, but only to complain about her broken ship in a bottle. “It’s ruined,” she cried, phlegm gurgling in her throat.
“There’s no need for your pathetic huddle,” the Dowager stammered. “My apologies for any trouble I’ve caused. We’ll take our leave.” I suspected she was only sorry to be outnumbered, not at all sorry that she ruined Shirley’s ship or tried to take First’s teeth out. She gathered her orphans up to go.
“Wait! Aren’t we supposed to stick together, lay low?” Ling asked. “What do we do next?”
“You want my help,” the Dowager laughed; it sounded strained, like tears in disguise. Arsen wasted no time after hearing that laugh.
“We need your help,” he said. “You’re Diamond.” The Dowager backed away from him, although she was no longer headed for the door. Arsen approached like she was a wild cat to be tamed. His tone was the very same he took with me when we were having sex. “I may know all there is to know about cops and the city. But you’ve always led Sub Rosa through these situations.”
The Dowager turned away from him. “Yes. However, these situations always have little to do with me. You got yourselves in, you can get yourselves out.”
“We’re all in this together, Diamond,” Arsen said, touching her back. Her display of resistance was useless. I notice her back had lost its perfect, rigid posture. Her shoulders wrapped forward as if she was hugging herself, and I knew she’d fold. Arsen ran his hand down her and turned her around to face the room again. She fidgeted with the cloth-covered buttons on her dress; he had her.
It wasn’t his hand on her elbow but his “I need you to stay with us” that stung me. I sank my face into First’s side. I had little grounds to be angry with him. I’d touched live ones and said sweet things. Didn’t I whisper “please” to the Widower, even when he asked me to say nothing? Didn’t I let First kiss me behind the curtain? And besides, he was only manipulating the Dowager. Although knowing this made it smart the more. He’d used all the same lines on me; I’d fallen for them just as quickly.
Arsen whispered in the Dowager’s ear. She took a deep breath and nodded. “This calls for a blackout,” she announced. “We’re going into hiding. We’ll have to conceal any trace of our existence, especially charms. If you possess Glory magic, anything at all, including the power of persuasion, you must switch it off.” She raised an authoritative eyebrow at Arsen as she said this. I regretted, more and more, the adolescent crush I had on him, all the promises I’d made him. My head swelled with flashbacks of his put-on longing.
“How do we switch our magic off?” asked Ling.
“Think un-Glory thoughts,” commanded the Dowager. Everyone sat and focused on un-Glory thoughts, which I guessed, for them, would be things like doing the dishes or vomiting in a bar bathroom. First elbowed Fauxnique, who realized her own arms were wrapped backward around her. She uncoiled them, crossing them neatly in front of her with deliberation. The orphan children dropped out of their uniformity. One, perhaps Isabella, even scratched herself under the stiff lace dress she wore. I stuffed my hands into my pockets and pushed any thoughts of phantom hand from my head. Like everyone else, I knuckled down and concentrated on something terribly ordinary.
My un-Glory thoughts were city scenes, discarded take-out containers collected along the service roads, the cluster of pimples on the chin of one of Nino’s friends. I could only capture these pictures for a few seconds at a time. When each dissolved, I was left with nothing. Literally nothing, just the blackness behind my eyelids. I felt I had to ransack my brain for the next pathetic image. The longer I concentrated the more I saw nothing.
“Everyone go home and change into your plainest clothes,” the Dowager continued outlining the blackout procedure. “All Firsts turn off the lights in your apartments and wrap any good-luck charms in dark-coloured cloth. Then go outside and throw a bucket or two of water across your track patches. Not perfumed water, regular tap water.”
“Triplets, go to the Smoke Shoppe. Knock loud enough for only Eddy Senior to hear. Get him to open up the power box behind the store and shut down the streetlights. Little, you and Dearest go around to all the businesses and tell them we’re having a blackout. They’ll know what to do.”
“What are you going to do?” asked First.
“My children and I are going to communicate with Royal, to ask for his guidance and protection.” More likely, I thought to myself, she was going to communicate with Arsen. He had his hand on her back like a puppeteer. First and I gave him identical warning glances, but she took my hand and stamped her feet so hard I swear the bottled ships in the Mayflower shook.
XVI
First and I tore apart the dressing room to find plain clothes. Not a single pair of her shoes were flats. “Suede boots?” she asked. I helped her switch the gold laces for black. I was grateful that the untroubled touch between us had not been disrupted. I leaned into her sturdy legs as I tied her laces, savouring the brief time we’d have together at home before returning to the Mayflower. I helped her into the nightdress she wore when she cleaned. It was plain enough, no lacy trim, no beads or embroidery. It was so sheer, however, that the outline of her panties showed through. She must have been very good at thinking un-Glory thoughts because her body had visibly shifted. Gravity claimed some of her levity. Her normally unmoving breasts swayed as she shut down the Wifey Wing.
Everything that hung inside my armoire was angel white. The black dress that Arsen had given me at his place was in there, somewhere. I had balled it up and tossed it to the back of the armoire the day I moved into the Wifey Wing. I crouched down, pushing my impressive row of shoes aside to find it. Above me, my Sub Rosa clothes fidgeted on their hangers. There was a black lump in the corner, barely noticeable against the black wood. It was my duffle bag. It smelled like stale cigarette smoke. The shoulder strap was frayed, and I had to force the cheap plastic zipper open. I found my old, ugly jeans and knew they’d be perfect. I pulled the unicorn belt out of the belt loops. It was cheap, but still too shiny to risk wearing. Sections of the glitter plastic had fallen out of the metal moulding; the unicorn was short a hoof, parts of its mane and tail were missing. I traced the empty holes with my finger. Another piece, the front leg, was coming loose. I began to pry it out with my fingernail.
“You put this on now.” First plucked the unicorn from my hands and swapped it for a T-shirt. “It was Second’s,” she called as she rushed down the hallway. The shirt said it loved NY. I tied my hair in a sloppy ponytail, stuck flip-flops on my feet.
I regretted checking myself in the vanity mirror as soon as I saw my reflection. There was the girl I’d left behind. Alone. A waif. I pitied her. I pitied her, as if she were still there, in the city, while I was living the Rosa life. A curious idea came to me then: If only I could bring her here, if only I could care for her and make her a Glory. The mere thought of it made dark circles return to my eyes, and I swear I saw the colour of my skin grow dull. “You ready to go, First?” I shouted.
Outside, Dearest was splashing around in the shallow puddles left after Fauxnique doused their track patch. “I loved to play in the rain when I was a little kid,” she told me.
“Come on,” I said, disgruntled. To make things worse, she reached her tiny hand to me and curled it around mine. She played handsies as we walked. Holding her palm up to mine, she demonstrated how our hands were the same size. She showed me her ring, an oversized enamel ladybug, which didn’t help her appear any older. She raised it to my nose and flipped the ring open like a locket. Inside was a very small picture of a man too blurry to identify. “Emanuel, my Daddy,” she told me. “Sexy, hmm?”
We started at Babycakes Bakery. Maria, the baker, always had the exhaust fan positioned just so that the fragrance of sugar and butter would hit your nose as you passed. No one was immune to the smell-induced sugar cravings. “All these sweets will go stale,” she said, holding a still-steaming tray of cinnamon buns. Her skin was oily like the caramelized glazes on her flans. She’d spent the morning baking, no doubt expecting post-party munchies. Maria clicked the fan off. “Wait,” said Dearest before Maria could shut off the lights too. “I better stock up. I’ll get a dozen Nanaimo bars, a dozen chocolate macaroons, four butter tarts, a box of snickerdoodles, and a bag of almond confetti. Oh, and chocolate truffles. They’re not the same as fungus truffles,” she told me. “I learned that when I was little.” I stared at her incredulously as she pulled money from her pocket to pay for all of it.
“You want anything?” Maria asked me after she bagged up Dearest’s loot. “I can start a tab for you.” I declined. The moment I said “no,” I regretted it. I deserved my own bag of sweets. “I’ll leave the door unlocked. You just ring the bell if you run out.” Maria tapped the silver bell next to the cash register.
“You get to carry your own money?” I asked as we left the bakery.
“Yes. Don’t you?”
“I give all mine to First,” I admitted. “She tucks it away for us.”
Dearest screwed up her lips at this. Then, noticing my flabbergasted expression, she tried to backtrack. “Fauxnique doesn’t spend the kind of time with me that Candy spends with you. I always see you two together. Like mommy and girly. Fauxnique’s a socialite, always getting her regulars to take her and Second Man to grown-up places in the city. I’m too young to go with them, that’s what they say. Besides, the city sucks. I don’t even go to my Daddy’s apartment. I make him come here. So I have to hold on to my money. How else would I be able to buy treats or give my Daddy his allowance or do anything? I bet I’m going to go through a lot of sweets without him.” Dearest shook her bag of cookies. “You’re so lucky to have Arsen around to keep you happy.”
“I’m sure he’ll be too busy with First or maybe even the Dowager to even notice me.”
“What are you talking about? Don’t you just tell him when you want him? That’s what Daddies are there for, right? If we have to wait for them to come to us they may as well be live ones paying us.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, and from Dearest, no less.
“I’ve never actually asked Arsen for … you know.”
Dearest shot me another pitiful look. Again, she covered it up with explanations. “You’re stronger than me,” she said. “You’re a hero. You can go without. Me, I can barely go a day without asking for it. It’s not my fault. Some of us are just weak-willed.” She reached into the bag and popped a cookie in her mouth. Her effortless humility threw me even more. I was accustomed to First’s constant bragging. First would never say she was weak.
When we called on Launderlove, June took the news much worse than Maria had. She fussed that her episode of Cheers wasn’t finished. And the place was so big that once the overhead fluorescents were off, the outside sun barely lit half the room. “The dryers stay.” She refused to be flexible on that. “Damp laundry will get moldy if it’s left too long.” We left her sitting on a wooden footstool, pointing a flashlight at the dryers as the clothes finished their cycle.
Mr Saragosa, at least, was familiar with the procedure. “It was ten years ago that we had our last blackout. A gang of pimps caught a whiff of Sub Rosa. Like dogs, they didn’t know what exactly was under their noses, but they knew it smelled good. Rough bunch of boys. Bad for business. Let’s hope this blackout passes more quickly.” A thread of pink light burned in the dull neon tubing before the diamonds sign went out.
