The Orchid Tattoo, page 21
The art included landscapes of lush country scenes, hay wagons and plowed fields, and flowers blooming on stone walls. The paintings looked old but well kept, the gold frames heavy and ornate. Lights above were angled to highlight the art, like flashlight beams showing the past.
The woman entered, followed by a tall black woman wearing a flowing purple robe. The woman said to Lito, “Vince is on his way. Send him in as soon as he gets here.” She pulled the doors closed and spoke to them. “My name is Lillian. I work directly for Jefe. You are in my charge and you will always do as I tell you to.”
She placed a hand on the arm of the dark-skinned woman. “This is Onyx. She’s my second in command. If I’m away, she’s your boss.”
Onyx circled them, her head cocked to the side, appraising. “We’ll need to get them some clothes.”
Lillian nodded. “For Ratana, we’ll stay with the Asian theme. A silk kimono over black lingerie. She can use the crimson room for her buyers.” She circled Kitten again. “With Kitten, we’ll focus on her youth. Not the baby doll look. That’s overdone. But a minidress and Keds. We’ll go minimalist on her makeup.”
“Which room?”
“Begonia.”
Onyx lowered her gaze, her lips drawn in tight.
“We can’t avoid using it forever,” Lillian said. “Violet’s gone. We have to move on.”
Who was Violet? What had happened to her? She knew better than to ask.
Next came a long lecture and a list of rules. Kitten tried to absorb them all, not wanting to get in trouble during her stay here. They worked whenever instructed to. They slept in a bunk room behind the main house. They would be given specific directions on how to satisfy the clientele. Nothing was forbidden except overt violence.
“These men . . . hurt us?” Ratana asked.
“Sometimes it can get a little rough, but this is a high-class operation. We don’t allow our girls to get damaged.”
Damaged? Like merchandise in a gift store?
Someone banged on the door and Lito opened it. An older man dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and a vest entered, carrying some kind of equipment. Tattoos of giant cats covered much of the flesh on his arms and a scraggly gray goatee covered his narrow chin. He placed a case on the coffee table, then proceeded to assemble a tripod topped with a metal tray and a telescoping lamp.
“Who first?” he asked.
“Ratana.” Lillian guided her to flatten her arm on the tray under the light. The man opened his case, which contained dozens of small bottles of ink, and pulled out a metal cylinder with a needle on the end.
“Same as the others?” he asked Lillian.
“Of course.”
He went to work, first cleaning Ratana’s arm with an alcohol pad, then stenciling the design on her arm. When his needle penetrated her skin, she jerked, but steadied herself and remained perfectly still for the rest of the procedure. When he was done, he leaned back so they could admire his work. In the middle of red, inflamed skin were the purple petals of an orchid blossom, three curved up, three curved down. In the center of the bloom the color shifted to gold, with threads the same color veining the purple. It was quite beautiful.
“It’s lovely, isn’t it, Kitten?” Lillian asked.
She nodded, unable to speak. She didn’t want a tattoo, her flesh scarred forever in a permanent reminder that she belonged to Jefe.
“You’re next,” Lito said. “Move to the table.”
She couldn’t budge. Tears pushed, but she didn’t let them fall.
“Move!” Lito grabbed her arm and wrenched it till she was positioned close to the tray. He slammed her arm against it, hard enough that it stung.
“Don’t be afraid, Kitten. It hardly hurts.” Lillian leaned over, pulling at the neckline of her top to reveal the same orchid on her chest. “We all wear this. It’s Jefe’s brand. We’re lucky. It could be something hideous, like a barcode or an obscene word. The orchid is very important to Jefe. Wear it as a work of art.”
The man used more force than necessary with the alcohol pad before starting with the needle. At first, the area stung like a bee had attacked, then a burning sensation vibrated down her arm. She looked away, taking in deep, steadying breaths, determined not to move.
Slow breaths in, slower out. She focused on this tide of air and not on the pain that only worsened as he continued. Then finally, he was done.
She turned to the artist. “How do I take care of it?”
He gave them directions about the healing process. The skin would flake, but don’t peel it. It would itch, do not scratch. Antibiotic ointment as needed and no baths for a week. NO sleeves that would rub until it had completely healed.
He repositioned the light so that the tattoo practically glowed. Had she seen it on someone else, she might admire it, but on her skin, it represented all that was sinister about the life she’d been forced into. A taint that could never be erased.
She looked at Lillian. “Can I go lie down? I have a bit of a headache.”
Lillian’s gaze on her felt like an assessment. Kitten looked down, swallowing, not liking this scrutiny. Finally, Lillian said to Lito, “Take her to the bunk room. We’ll fit Ratana’s wardrobe first.”
Lito seemed to relish grabbing her arm again and jerking her up from the sofa.
“Hey! Not so rough.” Lillian approached him like a looming presence. Like someone in charge. He let out an annoyed sigh before guiding Kitten down a narrow hall to a room beside the back door. He flipped on the lights, revealing eight bunks, beds unmade, personal items like robes and shower caps lying in disarray atop them.
“The last one is yours. Up top.” He shoved her into the room, watching as she climbed the metal ladder to the upper bunk. Lito closed in, gripping the rail. “Listen, you little bitch. I’m on to you. Jefe’s giving you a chance you don’t deserve, and I’m just waiting for you to fuck it up. Kinda look forward to it, myself.” He thumped the rail, gave her one last leer, and left.
She wanted to sleep, to crawl under the scratchy blanket and stay hidden there for days. Her thoughts turned to her brother. Does he think I abandoned him? Will I ever see him again? Will I even live to see twenty?
CHAPTER THIRTY
Fitting Ratana had been easy. Lillian used a kimono that Lito had brought from the massage parlor. Once cleaned, mended, and pressed, it would flow nicely over her gentle curves. A dress from Violet’s wardrobe could be altered to fit her, though the rest of Violet’s clothes she was saving for Kitten. They were similar in size, though Kitten didn’t have Violet’s ample breasts. A stitch here, a hem there, they’d make the clothes look brand new.
She knocked gently on the bunkroom door before entering. Kitten lay on the top bunk closest to the window, covered in blankets like it was the dead of winter. Lillian switched on the light. Kitten pulled herself up, cradling the arm as though nursing a gunshot wound. “Feeling better?”
“A little.” Kitten propped the pillow against the wall. “Do you need me now?”
“In a minute.” She wandered from bed to bed, touching the blankets and discarded clothes, disgusted by the mess. “I’ll have Onyx get on the girls.”
“How many sleep in here?”
“With you and Ratana we’re up to six. Have room for a few more. Let me see the tattoo.”
Kitten lifted her arm. The flower, surrounded by inflamed skin, looked perfect.
“It’s nice. But you don’t like it.”
“It’s okay.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
“Yeah.”
Lillian studied the girl’s face. Her expression a void except the blue eyes. A lot went on behind those eyes. “Jefe told me you tried to get away. And he caught you.”
She cringed.
“It’s surprising that he gave you another chance. But now that I’ve met you, I understand. You’re lovely. Young. Valuable to him, as long as you don’t pull another stunt like that.”
“I won’t,” she rushed to say.
Lillian wondered if thoughts of escape swirled behind those pale irises. She felt Kitten’s gaze on her, assessing Lillian as much as she was evaluating Kitten. “You remind me of myself at your age. I ran away from my very fucked up family. Lived on the streets. Nearly died there. A man saved me and brought me to Jefe. I’ve been with him ever since.”
“Saved you? I didn’t get saved. I got stolen.”
There it was. The edge. The sense that this was all unfair, that she deserved better. The piece of Kitten that might prompt her to run off again. Lillian drifted over to the bunk across from her and sat. Kitten descended the ladder and plopped on the bed below hers.
“What happens here is up to you, Kitten. I’m inviting you to become one of us. We will treat you better than Roman ever did. You’ll have a comfortable life—good food, nice clothes. This gorgeous place to live.
“Our buyers aren’t from a scuzzy honky-tonk. They’re important people from all over the world who come here for distraction and pleasure. We give them that and more. You won’t be turning fifteen-minute tricks. You’ll be offering an evening of sexual indulgence. If you’re good, and I think you will be, you’ll become an artist at the ways of pleasing a man.
“The better you are, the more you’ll be requested. The more you’re requested, the more perks you’ll receive from Jefe. Nicer things. Your own DVD player. If you’re really good, you may get your own room like Onyx.
“We’ll make this a good life for you if you let us. But again, it’s up to you.”
Kitten leaned forward, elbows on her pale knees. “You make it sound okay. Almost nice, even.”
Lillian mirrored her posture, closing the distance between them. “I’m not lying to you.”
“I have a question, though. What happens when I’m too old? When I’m no longer valuable to Jefe? I mean, what will happen to you when you hit your thirties or forties?”
The questions pelted Lillian like buckshot. The same questions that had haunted her for the past year, that had led to longer morning runs, yoga workouts in the afternoon, and more focus on anti-aging cosmetics. Lillian was twenty-seven. Jefe’s attraction to her, from the very beginning, had been her youth. When would she be too old? She knew what would happen to her. She knew, but she pretended she didn’t.
Kitten stood and crossed over to sit beside Lillian. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“You didn’t mean what?”
“I didn’t mean to imply that you’re too old. You’re drop-dead beautiful. But—”
“But what?”
“But this isn’t the kind of life where we live to a ripe old age, is it? Lito lets me know all the time that I’m expendable.”
Lillian’s thoughts went to that black place where the cold, hard truth lived. What chance did any of them have? There was no retirement plan for the girls at the Estate. In time, the undertow would claim them all. She cleared her throat, desperate to change the subject. “Lito is a prick.”
Kitten’s eyes widened and she let out a laugh, full-throated and boisterous. She slapped a hand against her mouth as though trying to suppress it, like a kid caught giggling at assembly.
“What’s so funny?” Lillian found herself smiling.
“It’s just good to hear someone say that.”
“Still, be careful around him, Kitten. He can be lethal. Never forget that.”
She nodded, looking less childlike now. A young woman who understood what danger was.
“Can I ask you a question?” she asked.
Lillian nodded.
“Why am I here? I mean, why now?”
“Because I need you. This weekend is very important to Jefe. Everything has to go just right. You are a part of that.” Lillian realized how very true her words were. If anything went wrong, if the food was cold or one of the girls displeased her buyer, Lillian would be blamed. How Lito and the others would love for her to crash and burn. Jefe needed just one more mistake, and that would be her end. Her situation had never been this precarious.
“You’re nervous about it.” Kitten’s words were soft. Gentle.
“Very.”
Kitten’s gaze probed her face and made her uncomfortable. She could feel the sweat on her forehead and cheeks, tears pushing from her eyes. This vulnerability wasn’t good. Ever. Especially in front of one of her girls.
“I’ll do my part, Lillian. I promise. I’ll do whatever you need me to.”
Lillian smiled, not quite believing. “You will? You won’t try to run?”
“I don’t want anything to happen to you. Or any of us. So, you can count on me.”
Lillian felt like a boulder had been lifted from her chest. “Okay then. You keep our buyers happy this weekend, and I’ll make sure Lito leaves you alone.”
“How?”
“The Estate is my turf. I run things here, whether he likes it or not. I’ll keep you safe.” Lillian hoped she could make good on that promise. “Okay. Let’s go get you a new wardrobe.”
“My name is Dulce. Why you want to change it? It’s a beautiful name!”
Kitten kicked back the sheets and pivoted her feet off the bunk. The clock read 7 a.m..
“I didn’t remember how huge this place is! How many people live here? How many rooms does it have?” Dulce’s voice boomed from outside the door making Kitten smile. She’d missed her friend.
How long had it been since she’d slept that well? The bunk was small but the mattress practically new—no lumps to sleep around, no smells to ignore. She swiveled so that her feet hit the ladder, climbed down, and threw on a dress and a pair of Keds.
Dulce stood in the dining room, dressed in a cleavage-revealing midriff top and too-short shorts. The other girls sat around the table, helping themselves to cereal, fruit, and coffee. Kitten had learned a little about them. Two were American, like Kitten, but a little older and not much interested in talking. They’d been introduced as Zoe and Lotus. An Asian girl named Mei-Mei, probably fifteen or so, understood little English, but at least smiled when Kitten spoke to her. A large woman from Guatemala, whose dark hair reached her waist, had a boisterous laugh that got on the nerves of the Americans. Her skin was a coppery bronze. They called her Citrine.
Another orchid bloomed on the center of the table, but on either side waited an assortment of cereals, fruits, and juices. Kitten helped herself to corn flakes, milk, and strawberries. She could not believe the food they had here. Last night’s dinner included baked chicken and fresh vegetables. She even got her choice of ice cream flavors for dessert!
“Good morning,” Onyx said. “We let you sleep in but don’t make a habit of it. Have a seat and eat your breakfast.”
She found an empty seat beside Ratana.
“Dulce, sit,” Onyx commanded. “We’ll discuss your name later.”
With a pronounced pout, Dulce took the chair across from Kitten, who slid a box of Coco Puffs—Dulce’s favorite—over to her. She wanted to whisper, “settle down,” to tell her that her usual antics wouldn’t play well with this group, but Dulce was unlikely to listen.
Lillian entered, dressed in a snug short skirt with a matching jacket and a white blouse with a neatly pressed collar. She stopped at the head of the table and surveyed the girls.
“I want you all dressed for work at noon. Free time till then. Ratana and Kitten, you may want to explore the grounds so you’re familiar with them when our guests arrive. Meet me in the study so I can review our schedule with you.” She turned to Dulce, looked at the top she was wearing and frowned. “Did you bring other clothes?”
“I have a few other outfits.” Dulce flipped her hair behind her shoulder.
“Onyx, you’ve checked them out?”
Onyx nodded. “With some alterations and repairs, two will work, but we’ll need to order some additional dresses.”
“Stand up,” Lillian said to Dulce.
She lowered her spoon, slid the chair back, and stood, teetering a little on her too-tall heels.
“Turn around.” Lillian stepped closer, assessing, as Dulce did an awkward pirouette.
“She has a nice figure. Petite, which shorter men will like.”
Dulce straightened her back, obviously offended by the “petite” comment.
“Play her young?” Onyx asked.
“I don’t think so. Work with the wild Hispanic quality she has. Dress her in reds and blacks. Satins and tulle.” She reached for Dulce’s hand. “And for God’s sake, do something with these nails.”
Kitten’s eyes widened. Dulce took great pride in her home manicures, but her cheap polish chipped off after a few days. Dulce clenched her fist to hide the nails but kept her mouth shut.
“She’s unhappy with the prospect of changing her name,” Onyx said.
“Dulce is a nice name.” She spoke with clarity and pride. “Why change it?”
Lillian laughed. “Well, you change it if we say you have to. But let’s give it a day or so. If we costume you correctly, it might still work.” Lillian turned to Kitten. “This afternoon, I’ll run you through the weekend schedule. We have very important guests coming, and everyone will follow our protocols. Got it?”
Kitten nodded. She’d be the perfect worker this weekend because she’d promised Lillian. But after that, she’d look for her chance for escape.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The morning had been a crap-fest. Tiffany came by my office and had a seat before I could stop her, regaling me with tales of her yoga and Pilates classes before offering me some of a cleansing smoothie to “purify my liver.” (Behind her, Clancy opened a bag of Peanut M&Ms and popped them in her mouth just to torture me.) Once Tiffany finally moved on, I opened three emails from the Quality Assurance Coordinator expressing profound condolences before pointing out that four social histories were four days overdue and strongly insisting that I get them done.
