The Bedroom Barter

Mama Rita sighed gustily. ‘Not everything, chica. There is your medical bill.’

‘Medical bill?’ Chellie repeated in total bewilderment. ‘What are you talking about?’

There was a tut of reproof. ‘You have a short memory. When you first come here I call a doctor to examine you. To check whether you sick with pneumonia.’

Chellie recalled with an inward grimace a small fat man with watery, bloodshot eyes and unpleasantly moist hands, who’d breathed raw alcohol into her face as he bent unsteadily over her.

She said, ‘I remember. What of it?’

Mama Rita handed her a sheet of paper. ‘See—this is what you owe him.’

Chellie took it numbly, her lips parting in shock as she read the total.

She said hoarsely, ‘But he can’t ask this. He was only with me for about two minutes—he prescribed none of the stuff listed here—and he was drunk. You know that.’

‘I know that you were sick, girl, needing a doctor. And Pedro Alvarez is good man.’ She nodded, as if enjoying a private joke. ‘Plenty discreet. You may be glad of that one day.’

She paused, studying Chellie with quiet satisfaction. ‘But you don’t leave owing all this money, chica. So, you have to earn to pay it. And this man who wants you has cash to spend. Good-looking hombre too.’ A laugh shook her, sending the rolls of fat wobbling. ‘Be nice—you could make all you need in one night.’

‘No.’ Chellie shook her head almost violently, her arms crossing over her body in an unconsciously defensive gesture. ‘I can’t. I won’t. And you can’t make me.’

‘No?’ The small eyes glared at her with sudden malevolence. Mama Rita brought the flat of her hand down hard on the desk. ‘I patient with you, chica, but no more. You do what you’re told—understand?’ She sat back, breathing heavily. ‘Maybe I give you to Manuel first—let him teach you to be grateful. You want that?’

‘No,’ Chellie said, her voice barely audible. ‘I don’t.’

Mama paused. ‘Or I send you to my friend Consuela.’ She gave a grating laugh. ‘She don’t ask you to sing or dance.’

Oh, God, Chellie thought, her throat closing in panic as she remembered overheard dressing room gossip. Not that—anything but that.

She bent her head defeatedly. ‘No,’ she said. Then, with difficulty, ‘Please …’

‘Now you begin think sense.’ Mama nodded with satisfaction. ‘Lina will take you to room. Then I send him to you.’

Lina was waiting in the passage outside. She gave Chellie a contemptuous grin. ‘Joining the real world, honey? After tonight, maybe you won’t be looking down your nose at the rest of us.’

‘Is that what I did?’ Chellie asked numbly. ‘I—I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.’

Lina looked at her sharply. ‘Hey, you’re not going to pass out on me, are you? Because Mama would not find that funny.’

‘No,’ Chellie said, with an effort. ‘I’ll try and stay conscious.’

‘What’s the big problem, anyway?’ Lina threw open a door at the end of the passage. ‘You must’ve known Mama wasn’t running no charity. So, why come here?’

Chellie looked around her, an icy finger tracing her spine. The room, with its heavily shaded lamps, wasn’t large, and was totally dominated by a wide crimson couch with heaped cushions that stood against one wall. Music with a slow Latin beat was playing softly, and a bottle of champagne on ice with two glasses waited on a small side table.

She said wearily, ‘It wasn’t exactly my choice. I was robbed, and I went to the police. One of them said he’d find me a safe place to stay while they traced my money. And this was it.’

‘That figures.’ Lina shrugged. ‘It’s how Mama gets a lot of her girls—she pays the police to send her the debris that washes up on the beach.’

Chellie bit her lip. ‘Thanks.’

‘De nada.’ Lina walked to the door, then hesitated. ‘Look, honey, it’s no big deal. Just smile and make like you’re enjoying yourself. It’s not your first time—right?’

‘No.’ Chellie tried not think about those few humiliating, uncomfortable nights with Ramon. At the time she’d thought nothing worse could happen to her. How wrong could anyone be? she asked herself with bitter irony.

‘If things get heavy there’s a panic button under the table,’ Lina added. ‘But don’t press unless you actually need to, or Manuel won’t like it. And you really don’t want to upset him. He’s one of the bad guys.’ She fluttered her fingers in mocking farewell. ‘So—good luck.’

All the walls were hung with floor-length drapes, so it was impossible to tell where the window was—if it existed at all. And past experience suggested it would be locked and barred even if Chellie could find it—before the client found her.

But she could really do with some fresh air. The atmosphere in the room was heavy, and thick with some musky scent. She began to walk round the edge of the room, her heels sinking into the soft thick carpet, lifting the curtains and finding only blank wall to her increasing frustration.

She wasn’t sure of the exact moment when she realised she wasn’t alone any longer.

She hadn’t heard the door, and the carpet must have muffled the sound of his footsteps. Yet he was there—behind her. Waiting. She knew it as surely as if he’d come across the room and put a hand on her shoulder.

For a moment she felt the breath catch in her throat, then she allowed the curtain she was holding to drop back into place and turned slowly and reluctantly to face him.

And paused, her eyes widening in total incredulity as she recognised him. As she registered all over again, but this time at much closer quarters, the cool, uncompromising good looks—the high-bridged nose, the strong lines of jaw and cheekbones. The face of a man who did not take no for an answer.

He was lounging on the sofa, totally at his ease. There was even a faint smile playing round his firmly sculpted mouth.

She was more frightened than she’d ever been in her life—her whole body shaking—embarrassed to the point of nausea—yet for one moment her overriding emotion was disappointment.

She’d thought he’d strayed into the club by mistake, but she was wrong. He was no better than the whooping, slavering crowd bunched round the stage. And regret sliced at her.

He said softly, ‘Buenas noches, Micaela.’

Her throat muscles were too taut for words, so she ducked her head in a brief, awkward nod of response.

Micaela, she thought. That was her name in this place—her identity. And her shield. If she could just hide behind it, she could perhaps make herself believe that none of this was happening to her. That she was someone altogether different, in another place, just as she did when she sang. And somehow she would be able to—endure …

He was silent for a moment, the cool blue gaze travelling over her so slowly and thoroughly that it made removing her clothes seem almost unnecessary.

Beneath the fragile covering of the black dress Chellie felt her skin tingle and burn under his absorbed scrutiny. She knew she should begin the pretence. Micaela would force her mouth into a smile, but Chellie found it impossible.

Although this was not the worst that could happen to her, and she knew it. Outside this room, in the real world, was the threat of Manuel and the woman Consuela, and all the other unnamed horrors they implied.

She thought, I must do this. I have no choice …

His own smile widened a little. He said, ‘Aren’t you supposed to offer me a drink?’

‘Oh—yes.’ She moved to the table, stumbling a little in her haste. Glad of a momentary reprieve. ‘Would you like some champagne?’

And in her head she heard the echo of another girl—her father’s hostess, making sure his guests had all they needed. A girl she had wanted to leave behind.

Beware what you wish for, someone had once told her. Because it might come true.

‘Not in the least,’ he said. ‘But don’t let me stop you. You look as if you need it.’