Husk (18 page)

‘But –’

‘No buts. Do your job. Take the gig. Everyone wins.’

Baxter hangs up. Another wave of nausea washes over me. Direct sunlight amplifies it and I stick to walking in the shade of trees. In the distance I hear chanting from protesters in
the park. I sit on a bench and try to calm my nerves with deep-breathing exercises. I remember Tweek’s advice and start mediating. The skin on my scalp slackens. My muscles go rubbery. I start to get a grip. Eventually my sickness subsides. I’m grateful for it. I have dinner plans later with Ryoko that I don’t want to break. Nearby, the subway entrance seems inviting. The need to get underground comes
again, a desire to descend into the cool dark below the city and burrow away from sun and sky. Sleep on the train comes easy to me, coffined in boxes of glass and metal and plastic. I resign myself to a few hours of this burial in transit that will allow me enough rest to rise again.

Before I go underground my Liaison notifies me of an incoming message, marked high priority. It’s from Clive.
He’s managed to dig up something on Kirk King, our
man who wasn’t there before. The message is one sentence, the only lead he can give me.

Kirk King: bartender @ Las Iguanas Bar & Grill. Las Vegas, Nevada.

‘What’s next?’ Ryoko asks.

She doesn’t take her eyes off the menu. I skim the wine list, wanting none of the brands available, throwing glances her way. She’s controlled as usual, her emotions tricky to gauge. Her Japanese half acts as her anchor, a culture
of calm instilled by her father during her strict upbringing. It serves as Ryoko’s restraint against feeling too much of anything. I think I’m the only one who has ever truly seen the heart she keeps caged and curtained. The restaurant I’ve taken us to is her favourite, although this is no date, at least not officially.

‘I’m in Las Vegas again tomorrow,’ I say. ‘Just for a day.’

‘Same client
as last time?’

‘Yeah.’

She looks up and again I’m hit with just how exquisite Ryoko looks, far too beautiful to be out with the likes of me. I’ve cleaned up pretty well under the circumstances, but still feel ugly among her and the other clientele. The handsome man I’m used to being has stepped out, leaving behind a haggard, tired twin. The weight of slack skin pulls on my face. The bags under
my eyes seem the size of scrotums. I feel like I’m sitting under spotlights everywhere I go now, all my marks and bruises on display. Something in my expression makes Ryoko reach across
the table and stroke my cheek with the back of her hand. She cracks a smile.

‘You still look like shit, y’know.’

I lean into her touch, kiss her fingers. I want to put them in my mouth, feel her painted nails
on my tongue. Her hands are smooth and soft. She wears jewellery on them, though there is nothing on her ring finger. That small circumference of relationship real estate seems attainable for the first time ever.

‘Ryoko Rhodes,’ I say. ‘Has a nice ring to it.’

Ryoko blushes. ‘What did you say?’

‘Nothing, just thinking aloud.’ I change the subject. ‘When’s your next gig?’

‘No bookings. I’m
taking a hiatus, despite Baxter’s protests. You should think about doing the same. You look like you need it.’

‘I do.’

‘So take some time off then. Let’s me and you get the hell out of here, go someplace nice and sunny for a while.’

‘The both of us?’ I say, warmth spreading in my chest. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah.’ Ryoko shrugs. Her smile is shy and sweet. ‘We’ve never taken a holiday anywhere together
before. It’s about time, don’t you think?’

‘If it’s all right with you …’

The look Ryoko gives me says it’s more than all right, that I should know better than to ask. I feel like an idiot. Running away with her has been a constant thought on the backburner, a fantasy never given much credence. The fact that she’s suddenly placed it within reach leaves me
momentarily speechless. Then I think
about my earlier phone call with Baxter. Ryoko knows what I’m going to say before I do.

‘I can’t.’

‘Can’t, or won’t?’

‘Ry, there is nothing I’d love more, believe me, but the boss has me locked in for a while. There’s too much demand for me right now.’

‘There won’t be soon,’ Ryoko says, looking at the bruise on my neck. ‘The wear and tear on you is starting to show plenty. Jesus, you’ve even
got a few grey hairs now.’

‘What?’

She reaches over, plucks one from my temple, shows it to me. ‘See? You’re getting too much mileage on you. I can’t believe you’re still on a first-call list. Clients are going to start dropping you soon, you know that?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

Ryoko frowns. ‘And why doesn’t that matter exactly?’

I want to tell her about the impending exclusivity with Winslade,
the fact that I will be a highly paid one-man show who will soon be off the market. I want to tell her how shitty that makes me feel. I digress instead.

‘All this Husking, all these gigs … I don’t feel like myself any more, Ryoko.’

‘The work gets to us sometimes, follows us around. You’re just thinking about it too much, babe.’

‘No, this is different,’ I protest. ‘I feel … dirty inside. It’s
as if the sessions are leaving residue behind, guilt or shame or sadness over things I can’t understand, fear and anxiety from memories I don’t actually possess. They’re
emotions without origins, coming in waves. It’s creeping me the fuck out. I wish I could explain it.’

Ryoko leans forward. ‘Try.’

‘My clients … they’re infiltrating and appropriating me, as always, but after some of my sessions
… I’m not sure the client is fully extricated. I’m not sure they leave me entirely or something –’

Ryoko holds a finger to her lips. My voice has been steadily rising. Nearby customers cast wary looks our way, some with frowns of disapproval. Even the waiter knows to keep his distance from our table at the moment. Ryoko lays her hand on mine and squeezes gently.

‘Calm down, relax. You’re getting
all worked up.’

I rub my temples. ‘God, I feel like I’m going to hell.’

‘Like you’re falling to pieces?’

‘No, like
damnation
,’ I say, shooting her a look. ‘But condemned by someone else’s actions, not my own. I feel like a fucking patsy.’

Ryoko sits up straight. She chews her bottom lip and stares at me, her pupils searching mine, checking the windows of my soul. We don’t break eye contact
for what seems like an eternity. Eventually she speaks in a slow and soft voice.

‘Did I ever tell you about the time I ran into you while you were on the job? Last year, not long after we began … hooking up?’

I shake my head. Ryoko tucks her hair behind her ears as her eyes grow reminiscent. Her voice becomes whispery, cautious.

‘In a city the size of New York, it was a total fluke. I mean,
what were the chances? I had the night off, didn’t
know where you were at. Me and a couple girlfriends hit the town and at one point ended up in some upscale cigar lounge. We were drinking and smoking and shooting the shit when I suddenly heard your voice. I turned around to see you, leaning against the bar, laughing with some petite brunette. When you turned to the bartender to order a drink
I caught your eye. You gave me a smile, like you recognized me. I smiled back and you beckoned me over. I was sure it was you, Rhodes, positive of it.’

‘It wasn’t me though.’

‘No, and it took me a minute to figure that out. Whoever was renting must have suspected that I already knew you, because they played along, led me expertly. After some small talk I noticed a deviancy in his eyes,
your
eyes, that was completely unlike you.’

‘When did you know for sure?’

Ryoko smirks. ‘Our code word.’

I nod. Our code words were never pet names for each other, never meant to be cute or playful. This was their purpose right from the start.

‘When I called you cheesecake, you called me eye-candy. You tried to slip your hand around my waist, grab my ass. That’s when I knew it was time to leave.
You said I should stay, have a drink with you, see where the night would lead. When I wouldn’t, your client showed his true colours. You told me not to be such a stuck-up bitch, that I didn’t know what I was missing out on. I told you to go to hell. You grabbed my arm, said a two-bit slut like me should consider myself lucky I was even allowed on the premises.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Why?’ Ryoko shrugs.
‘It wasn’t you. That’s what I’m trying to say. You would have never said those things to me. You’ve never been anything but sweet to me. You’re a good man. I know that with all my heart.’

‘I just want to be your man,’ I say.

That’s a tough request, even I know it. Her eyes moisten and she averts her gaze, looking back down at the menu. I say nothing. The waiter comes. Ryoko orders a tonic for
herself and I order a glass of Shiraz, even though I don’t care for the stuff. By the time she looks back up at me she is completely composed. I reach across the table and take her hand in mine, massaging her palm. No words are needed. We stay that way for a long time, our moment interrupted only when the waiter returns and delivers our drinks. Ryoko takes to her tonic, but I don’t drink from my
glass. Instead I catch myself running my finger around the rim, creating a hum, same as Miller used to do. This does not go unnoticed by Ryoko, who gently pulls her hand away from mine as she watches, feeling uneasy over what she’s witnessing.

‘What do you want to order?’ she asks.

‘Shit,’ I chuckle. ‘I haven’t even looked yet.’

My stomach rumbles with hunger, not sickness. I peruse the menu,
suddenly feeling like I want to sink my teeth into flesh. The red-meat dishes listed before me spring saliva in the back of my mouth: New York strip steak, sirloin, T-bone, roast beef, veal and lamb cutlets. I want it all. As I read on I notice that nothing denotes the meat as organically sourced; no free range, no natural
growth, no farms mentioned. This means all the meat is lab-grown. My Ouija
clicks and for a second I see the torsos of cattle and swine, suspended in fluids, grown quickly and without limbs or heads for easy harvest. The word
harvest
bothers me and I examine the back of the menu. At the bottom in small print is
Locally Grown by Modern Harvest NYC Inc.
, one of the many companies Winslade owns.

I cackle involuntarily at
locally grown
, the play on words designed to fool
people so they won’t realize their dinner is being built cell by cell in science labs a few miles away in the meat-packing district. I lose my appetite completely, don’t want to eat anything by Modern Harvest for some reason. I don’t want Ryoko to either. She puts her menu down.

‘I think I’ll try the beef stroganoff …’

‘No,’ I blurt, placing my hand on hers. ‘Don’t order that –’

Behind Ryoko’s
head, a well-dressed man in his forties enters the restaurant with a young woman on his arm. I’m speechless as I stare. The girl is beautiful, blonde hair and blue eyes, dressed in an exquisite outfit that makes most men’s, and a few women’s, heads turn. I hold my breath. The restaurant host greets them and leads her and the obvious client across the restaurant. She does not notice me sitting
in the corner as they pass by. A complete professional, her attention is fixed on the man footing her bill. It’s been more than two years since I saw her in the flesh. The less we see of each other, the less we’re reminded of our shared past.

‘Wow, she’s stunning,’ Ryoko says. ‘Do you know her?’

I nod. ‘My sister.’

‘Your sister?’ Ryoko’s eyes widen, face growing worried. ‘Oh my God.’

‘Yeah.’

They slip into a booth within my line of sight and the man orders martinis. In no time they’re chatting away, frivolous conversation, the man smitten, my sister pretending to be. They down their drinks quickly when they arrive. Ryoko and I watch, saying little to each other. It isn’t long before the client slips out of his seat and heads for the washroom. An insistence grows in me, an urgency
to speak with my sister while I have the rare opportunity. Without a word, I rise from my chair and approach the booth while she’s occupied with her Liaison. She doesn’t look up until I’m seated across from her. Must have expected her date because the fake smile she’s wearing drops into a very real scowl.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake … what are you doing here?’

I look back at Ryoko. ‘I’m on a date.’

My sister looks over my shoulder at Ryoko and gives a small, demure smile. Ryoko responds with a nod and equally small wave.

‘Your girlfriend?’

‘Working on it.’

‘You shouldn’t leave her waiting. It’s impolite.’

She wants me gone. I expected as much. My sister has never liked coincidences, doesn’t believe in them. But this feels like a turn of something fateful to me. I stay seated, and just
like that we’re back to our old catty ways.

‘You know what else is impolite, sis? Never returning any of my calls.’

‘You don’t need to call me. Ever.’

I sigh. ‘Look, I worry about you sometimes.’

‘Well, you shouldn’t.’

‘How hard is it to take a couple minutes out of your day, pick up a phone and call me back?’

‘What’s your problem? I
just
saw you, for crying out loud.’

‘Pardon?’

‘I saw
you the other week,’ she throws Ryoko an unimpressed look. ‘You and that freak bitch both.’

‘Sorry, when and where did you think you saw me exactly?’

She throws up her hands. ‘In the Hamptons, at the crazy Japanese mansion … saw you at the damn sex romp that night where you were trying to be the life and soul of the party.’

‘That … wasn’t me.’

‘What are you talking about? Of course it was
you. We argued in front of everyone, for Christ’s sake. I told you to get the hell out of the main room when all those guys wanted me to –’

‘Stop,’ I gulp, feeling sick. ‘I was on hire at the time. I was … Husking.’

‘You were what?’ My sister’s eyes widen with disgust. ‘Oh, my God.’

I curl my lip. ‘Don’t look at me like that.’

‘You’re …
Husking?
’

It’s like she vomits the word over me. With
a sneer she
leans back, away from me, knocking back a mouthful of martini to drown her distaste. I’m insulted that she, of all people, is feeling uncomfortable around who I am and what I do.

‘Jesus,’ I groan. ‘Don’t even try getting on your high horse. You’re no better.’