"Oh, yeah, the waitress. Boy she's one you don't ever want to cross." She tossed the newspaper into a basket on the floor, and then took her cup to the sink. "By the way. Don't worry about the dishes. Toni insists that it's her job."

"Where is Toni anyway?"

Desirae scooped icing off a roll, licked her finger, then leaned back. "A doctor's appointment. She just left before you came in."

"Oh? What's wrong with her?"

"A couple bunions and an ingrown toenail," Beatrice said as she walked in. She filled her coffee cup, and then turned to Desirae. "By the way, Toni informed me that you're tagging along on our shopping trip."

"If you don't mind, I thought I'd just look around a bit while Emily's getting fitted. I've got that opera next month, you know. So when're you planning to head out?"

"Soon as you guys get yourselves fed and dressed."

An hour later, the women walked into Poff's Boutique. The only time Emily had been in a clothing store was once a year when she went wide-eyed and yearning into Sears and Roebuckto buy a pair of shoes and underwear. To be able to buy all these store-bought clothes was something she'd only imagined.

She'd already had her doubts, but she finally had to admit, as they picked out her fancy dresses, that she wouldn't be cooking or serving food. Yet, she couldn't convince herself to bring it up until they had finished shopping and were heading to a nearby restaurant for lunch.

"I suppose with these fancy outfits I won't be serving food... maybe drinks instead?"

"You're on the right track," Beatrice said. "Just you wait, young lady. Once you get all decked out and walk into the lounge, your eyes'll pop right out of your head."

Emily turned to Beatrice, curious, alarmed, and a little excited, all at the same time.

As they approached the restaurant, a distinguished looking man walked out and held the door for them. "Hello, ladies."

"Hi, Jack," Beatrice said, all smiles. "How're you doing?"

"Just grand, just grand," he said. He placed a newspaper under his arm and headed up the sidewalk.

Inside, a waitress escorted the women to a table in back.

After they ordered turkey sandwiches, Beatrice's with a glass of white wine, Desirae turned to Emily. "You know, those outfits you got today really are gorgeous on you."

"Thanks. Too bad you didn't find the dress you were looking for."

"Yeah, I know, darn. But I've got some time yet."

"So... uhm, you're going to an opera you say? That sounds exciting."

"My first, so yeah, it's exciting. Raymond, the guy that's taking me, he's gonna culture me."

Beatrice laughed. "Do you even know what the opera's about? I'll bet you can't even tell us the name."

"Oh gee, it's some Italian job. A romance, I'm told. Uhm, what was it now, hmm?"

"La traviata," Beatrice snapped, "meaning *The Woman Gone Astray'. It's a classic tragedy."

"Still, a romance to some," Desirae said sourly.

"Maybe, but no less a tragedy. Did you know that it's based on the novel Camille (Lady of the Camellias)?Greta Garbo played Marguerite back in 1936."

"So, don't ruin it for me, Bea."

Beatrice lifted her glass. "Take my advice, Desirae, and read the book," She sipped her wine and set the glass down. "You'll get more out of it if you do, because the opera's in Italian."

"I knew that."

"Oh, sure you did." Beatrice chuckled. "Sure you did."

"You're just jealous Raymond didn't ask you."

"I'll have you know, young lady, that I've already seen the opera. And in fact, I gave Raymond permission to ask you. So, there you are, Miss know-it-all."

A few minutes after five, Emily looked up from the bed and lowered her book as she heard a squeak-squeak, squeak-squeak come up the hallway and stop at her door. Toni gave a warning knock and walked in with a tray. "Here's tuna on rye and a slice of cake I baked this afternoon." She set the tray on the table then headed back to the door. "Didn't know if you liked milk or coffee, so I brought both."

Emily sat up, putting her book aside. "Oh, thanks. It looks good. So, how're your feet?"

Toni looked at her new thick-soled shoes. "Nothing that a decent pair of shoes won't fix." She walked out the door, then poked her head back in.

"Just to let you know, Beatrice insists I do a couple days of catering for the new girls. It's all just a ploy of enticement, to be honest. Anyway, the leg work only lasts another day or two." She closed the door and left, her shoes squeaking along the hallway.

At six, Emily stepped from her bedroom just as a man came from the loft and headed downstairs. A young woman with bleached-blonde hair, dressed in a long white robe, came down right after him, counting out a stack of bills. She was heading to her room when she saw Emily. "Oh! You're new."

"Yes, it's my second day. I'm Emily."

"I'm Angellee," the girl said. She folded the money into her bathrobe pocket, reached for the doorknob then looked back across the hallway. "If that's concern on your face, don't worry. This is far better than any place I've ever worked."

Emily hadn't been as concerned as she was curious, but now she was equally concerned as curious. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind." She watched Angellee go inside, and then went to take a shower.

She turned the faucet on high and stood beneath the rushing water delighting in the warmth winding its way down to her toes, trying to keep her mind off what she just saw. This being the first shower she had ever taken, it was an exhilarating experience in itself, but the thrill was soon coupled with a shocking realization that came with a memory of a book she read some years earlier. She was certain the memory had a lot to do with what she had just witnessed, the man coming down the stairs, Angellee's comments, and the image of her counting out money. It was almost bizarre the way the scene played in her head, piecing together like the designs in a kaleidoscope.

The book was one of her grandmother's about a colorful woman named Sadie who ran a brothel in the midst of the Gold Rush. It had been as if her grandmother had forgotten to rid her library of that particular book because there had been no other of its kind. At the age of fourteen, she had been intrigued at first. But as she read on, she couldn't help but associate the story with her encounters with Claude. She had put the book down a couple of times in disgust, only to pick it up again when her curiosity got the better of her. For the life of her, she couldn't remember the name of the book. It was what was inside the covers that had rattled, infatuated, and mesmerized her. For weeks after she finished reading it, she had deliberated and reasoned, and finally convinced herself there was no validity to the story, that it was all an invention of the author's imagination. Whether that particular novel was true or not, she knew she was living in the midst of one of those establishments that very minute. Now all she had to do was leave.

She stepped from the shower, grabbed a towel, and vigorously dried herself, wondering what she was going to do. Beatrice said she wouldn't make it on her own for more than a week or two, if that, and Maxine said that she would never find Samuel. She knew the police were looking for her, and by now were probably aware that she had taken the train out west. It seemed there was no other choice but to stay, at least until she made a little money. She cringed at the idea, and then put on a bathrobe and went back to her room to dress for the evening.

At eight-thirty, she stepped from her bedroom and descended the stairway in a sleeveless black dress that suddenly seemed cut far too low for her comfort. The bodice fit snuggly around her waist, hugging her curves as it flowed to mid-calf.

She had decided to wear her own necklace. It went well with a gold bracelet Beatrice bought for her. Since her grandmother had not been one to wear makeup, she had never worn any herself. Now she was almost irritated by the red waxy solution covering her lips, and felt awkward in the heels that made her even taller. Even more uncomfortable was the corset that held up her nylons. Yet, when she had put on the last touch of rouge and stood back for a look in the full-length mirror, she thought for the first time that she was quite pretty.

Taking a right turn at the landing, she hesitated when she saw Beatrice in the game room, talking to a man. She took a deep breath and continued down, startled by how much he reminded her of Moe from The Three Stooges. His hair was slightly longer at the sides than Moe's had been, also curly, and he looked to be a few inches taller. Even though his thick eyebrows and dark eyes gave a devilish crown to his narrow jaw line, some might think him handsome, whereas everything about Moe was comical. That was where their likeness ended.

As if he had been aware of her all along, he turned to her as she took the last step.

Beatrice motioned her over. "Come. I have someone who wants to meet you."

As she approached, Beatrice pulled her over. "This is Donald Schillings," she said in a tone suggesting this was the man to meet.

Apart from Michael's gentle gesture, no one had ever offered a hand to her before. And when Donald came at her, she flinched because for so many years hands had been a symbol of Claude coming at her, the yanking and pulling and whacks of punishment. She shivered at the memory. There didn't seem to be any other option, but to place a hand into this stranger's chubby fist.

She expected it would be cold like the handle of a water-pump iced over. Although it was warm and spongy, giving her the oddest sensation like he'd just come in from the barn with a fresh pail of milk.

"So, you're the girl that showed up in such a pickle. From what Beatrice said, you're lucky to have found us."

She wondered what Beatrice told him, and couldn't understand why anyone would think a dwelling such as this would be a lucky place to end up, pickle or not.

"Here's some bubbly, you two," an enthusiastic voice broke in. A young woman set a tray of drinks on the table, handing Emily and Beatrice each a tall glass before strolling off again.

Donald reached into a shirt pocket for a cigarette case, flipping the lid open. He smiled just enough to flash short crowded teeth from behind wide thin lips. "How disappointing," he said, tapping a cigarette out of the box, "to come to a strange town expecting to find someone, and then to realize you're all alone." His dark eyes settled on hers as he dropped the case into his vest pocket. He pulled a silver lighter from his pants pocket, lit up and took a lengthy drag. Smoke rolled from his mouth, drifting up around his face.

"Well, ladies," he said, "I have some business to attend to." He nodded to Beatrice, gave Emily a sweeping glance, and headed off.

She watched him walk away, sickened to think he would probably be coming for her later. She took a long drink, welcoming the warmth that spread from her throat to her belly and out through her limbs.

"Mm, this sure is good wine," she said in a hurry to end her discomfort. She liked the way the bubbles tickled her tongue, and wondered why she hadn't noticed this when she had wine with Michael.

"Wine?" Beatrice glowered. "It's champagne, my dear, and it's not something a person usually guzzles like a glass of water. You've never had champagne before?"

"This isn't wine?"

"No, it's not!"

She looked at the bubbles and thought of spring raindrops somewhere far away.

"Well, it's time for you to put some experience under that thin little belt of yours, young lady."

Emily looked up, her mood strengthened by the liquor and a growing disrespect for Beatrice. "Why didn't you just come out and tell me what kind of place this was?"

"You mean our little family here? Well, in fact I did. And don't tell me Maxine didn't mention it too?"

"Nope, not a word." She didn't think Beatrice would take credit for something as obvious as the way she had set her up. She listened half-heartedly as the woman tried to convince her that the Palace was the best place for her.

"You'll ease right into things," she said. "They all do." Her words drifted into promises of glamour, high society, trips, and lots of money, while Emily considered an escape.

"Emily! Did you hear me? I said I was going to explain it all, but I'm still not certain what your assignment will be. Since talking to you yesterday, there's a man that's very interested in you, for uhm...a personal position." She took a sip of champagne and thought for moment. "Well, why not. I guess there's no reason to keep you in suspense. It's Donald. He's been adamant about what sort of girl he wants for quite a while now. He's at his rope's end trying to find the right one. Somehow, he thinks you may fit the bill."

"What do you mean by assignment?"

"Just what I said. Although, what he has in mind, exactly, I'm not sure. Of course, I could use you here. There's enormous amounts of money to be made for both of us." Her eyes darted to the door where Donald had made his exit. "I wasn't exactly happy when he informed me. Yet...we can't just say no to someone like him. He's got too much clout around here, not to mention the important people he deals with every day. Besides, he brings in triple the customers anyone else does."

"I don't know. It doesn't make sense."

"Of course it doesn't. See, that's why I didn't bother to explain. You have to grow into something like this. The important thing is that you have the opportunity of a lifetime right here."

Emily looked up the staircase. She knew she didn't want to stay, yet being out in the world alone at night seemed even more frightening.

Beatrice tapped her on the shoulder. "Come now, after I bought you all those nice clothes, you can at least check things out for yourself. I bet you'll end up having a marvelous time, just like all of our girls do. You'll have to trust me on that. I mean, what do you know about life, anyway?"

A thought brought on a smile. "You should've seen yourself yesterday when I opened the door. If a person didn't know better, they'd of thought some lowlife had hauled you up the front porch and left you. Now look at yourself. You look like a new person. Where's your guts, girl? What do you have to lose?"

"Well, I..."

"Where else are you going to go? Listen, Emily, two young women were found dead last month. Raped and stabbed. It's a dangerous world out there for anyone, but especially someone as young and naive as you."

Emily took a long drink.

"If it makes you feel better, Friday's a good night to start. A lot of our clients are out with their wives or girlfriends. It's more of... well, a laid-back crowd. At least you're safe here..." Beatrice nodded toward the back door. "Instead of out there."

Emily knew the woman was probably right, and quickly finished her champagne.

Beatrice took the glass, set it on a stand, and handed her another. "Now, put a smile on your face and let's go inside."

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO.

Beatrice opened the oak door to a stunning round entryway. The floor was covered with plush burgundy carpeting. A colorful painting extended across the dome ceiling and half way down the circular wall.

A man walking by the main entrance noticed Beatrice and popped his head through the archway.

"Beatrice, just the person I'm looking for."

"What is it, Randy?"

"Well," he said, scooting in to join her, "I've heard rumors about a new home for the Palace."

"Where'd you hear that?"

"Then it's not true?"

"Now, I didn't say that."

The two continued their discussion as Emily moved through the archway into the lounge. It was larger than she expected, with shimmers of mottled light coming from candles set in crystal holders and lamps with glass covers. The lighting was a romantic backdrop to black leather sofas and loveseats scattered about in private sitting areas. Throughout the room were statues and tall slender black vases holding exotic flowers.

To her right was a step-up that led to an area where a number of people were eating at round tables draped in white linen and glimmering with soft candlelight.

Straight ahead, at the far end of the room was a mirrored wall that looped around, making a cozy spot for a bar. Hanging lights glowed a soft red a few feet above the black counter. It was trimmed with leather padding that matched high-backed bar stools. Down a few feet from where she stood, across from the restaurant, was a waterfall that flowed into a pond.

When a beautiful melody began, she stepped around the waterfall to observe a man in a black tailored suite playing Rhapsody in Blueon a grand piano. She knew that music well, and had listened to her grandmother play it on the Victrola many times before the player broke. She stood transfixed to the spot until the song ended.

Beatrice came up beside her and they stood looking about the room. "Well, what do you think?" she said. "Quite spectacular, isn't it."

Emily's disappointment in her hadn't changed, but the room was more than spectacular, and she thought she had better say something. "I've never seen anything like it."