Vera laughed. “Can Barry pour out Mary Magdalene?”
“I’ll ask him,” Ed said. “Now if you ladies will excuse me.”
“Of course,” Vera said. “It’s time Joanne and I got started.”
From the moment she began, it was obvious this wasn’t the first time Vera had told her story, but she explained her success with a matter-of-fact narrative skill that was mesmerizing.
“Like most women, I came to prostitution from necessity. I was in an arranged marriage. He was abusive, and I had to get out. I had no money, and the only thing I had to sell was myself. My husband was a busy man, I had many hours on my own, and I used them profitably. When I had enough money, I left Vancouver and moved here to make a new start. My father was a merchant, and I understood business. I examined mainstream possibilities and I didn’t like what I saw: buying a corner store, working fifteen hour days, seven days a week, keeping kids from stealing candy, their older brothers from robbing me, and their parents from running up bills they would never pay. I would live over the store, and when I died no one would even know my last name. It did not appeal. Prostitution was a more congenial option. I bought a house, sought out girls, paid off the right people, and set up business. I ran a clean house – only a liar promises no disease, no drugs, no insanity, but I monitored my girls closely and I culled the ones who didn’t fit. I knew that men come to whores for something more than sex.”
“What do they come for?”
She picked up her spoon and swirled the milk on her cappuccino, blurring the hearts.
“Joanne, do you know how many men use the services of a prostitute in their lifetime?”
“I have no idea.”
“Neither do I,” Vera said. “But each of those men would have his own reasons.”
“Did you know Cristal Avilia?” I said.
Vera gave the foam on her spoon a catlike flick of the tongue. “I’d seen her, of course, but I knew her only by reputation. In our small circle, she was a legend.”
“Because she was so good?”
Vera’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you interested in Cristal, Joanne? Is it just that her life ended so dramatically?”
“Not just that,” I said. “A member of my family was involved with her.”
Vera nodded. “I understand. Well, she was good – superlative. I had a little mantra for my girls to repeat before a date: ‘Listen – really listen – to the man. Learn what it is he really wants – beyond the orgasm. Give him what he dreams of, and he’ll come back.’ From what I heard, Cristal lived that mantra.” Vera picked up her porcelain cup with her gloved hands. “She lasted fourteen years in our business – that’s phenomenal. Most girls don’t make it past two.”
“Did you ever see her with a man?”
Vera’s laugh was curiously girlish. “Of course. Being with a man was Cristal’s business, Joanne. I often saw her with men – at dinner, in a hotel lobby, getting into a taxi.”
“Any man in particular?”
“She had many repeat customers.”
“And you knew them.”
“Some of them.”
“But you’re not going to name them.”
“That’s right. I’m not.”
“Did she have a boyfriend?”
Vera raised an eyebrow. “A pimp? Yes, I’d heard rumours about a man in her life. He didn’t sound pleasant, but they seldom are.”
“Did you hear a name?”
“No, and this time I’m not being discreet. I truly never heard a name, but I did hear that their relationship was an ugly one.”
“Ugly enough that he might have killed her?”
“Unlikely,” Vera said. “Cristal was, after all, his little money-making machine, but I guess even a little money- making machine can drive her owner to murder.”
“My God. The world can be a terrible place.”
Vera’s look was pitying. “Are you just discovering that, Joanne?”
When I arrived at UpSlideDown, the newest recruit to the campaign greeted me. Sean’s crooked smile charmed me as it always did, and the sight of a forest of tiny bright umbrellas in the vestibule finished the job. UpSlideDown was a welcome, noisy reminder that life can be good.
“All’s well,” Sean said. “Ginny’s chatting up the parents and Mieka’s already signed the release to let your granddaughters appear in the spot. We have not had a single parent turn down our request to let their child appear in an ad with Ginny. I believe this campaign is starting to go very, very well.” He frowned. “You look a little down. Bad morning?”
“I’ve had better,” I said. “But this is nice.”
Sean gestured towards a vastly pregnant woman with two sons under the age of five. The boys spied the umbrella stand, chose their weapons, and started duelling. We watched as the mum removed the umbrellas from her sons’ hands and bent towards them. “Enough,” she said. “Got it, Sawyer?” Sawyer gave her an angelic smile. “Got it, Finn?” Finn’s chuckle was deep, charming, and utterly noncommittal.
“I’d better get her to sign the waiver fast,” Sean said. “Keith’s around here somewhere. Since I told him you were coming, he’s been eyeing the door.”
“I’ll find him,” I said. “Good luck with the pretty mum.”
Sean approached her and held out the release form. “This is just to let you know that your boys might be photographed as part of a political spot for Ginny Monaghan. If you’re uncomfortable with the situation, UpSlideDown will give you a voucher for three hours free playtime another day.”
The young woman patted her belly. “It’s raining. I’m pregnant. I seem to have given birth to Satan’s spawn. I don’t care who they’re photographed with. I just want to sit down, sip chamomile tea, and listen to Nora Jones on my iPod.”
“Sign here,” Sean said. “It’s nice to meet a fellow Nora Jones fan.”
The woman scrawled her name and headed off after her boys, who had already scaled the walls of a play- castle and interrupted the tea party of two young girls with tiaras and attitude.
As soon as she spotted me, Ginny came over. “I seem to have lost Mieka,” she said. “And I need to freshen up. Is there a bathroom I can use?”
“There is,” I said. “But the adult female bathroom is a single. You’ll wait forever. The children’s bathrooms, on the other hand, offer endless possibilities if you’re prepared to squat and wash up at a teeny-tiny sink.”
Ginny shrugged. “Any port in a storm. Hey, your old pal is over there waiting for you.”
Keith was seated at a little red table with my granddaughters. Madeleine was wearing jeans and a shirt that read, “Girl Power.” Lena was still wearing her new ladybug raincoat and rainhat. I knew without asking that she had simply refused to take them off, and Mieka was waiting her out. I also knew that Mieka would wait a long time to see that raincoat come off. Lena was a determined child. Keith and the girls were building something elaborate and mysterious out of Lego, and they were so content that I stopped for a moment just to watch them.
The girls were five and three and their personalities were beginning to declare themselves. They were their own people, but there were recognizable family traits: Madeleine, fair-haired and hazel-eyed, was, like Mieka and me, earthbound and pragmatic; Lena, dark-eyed and mercurial, was like my late husband, Ian. As I watched Keith, I wondered whether he was seeing traits in the girls that connected them to the Harris family.
He looked up and smiled. “There’s a fourth chair at this table,” he said.
“We’re building a corral for the horses,” Lena said.
“Where are the horses?” I said.
“We have to build them,” Madeleine said.
“Fair enough,” I said. “If you tell me the pieces you need, I’ll hand them to you, but Lego is not my forte.”
“What’s a forte?” Lena asked.
“Something you’re good at,” Madeleine said. “Like your forte is running and climbing and doing the monkey bars.”
Lena nodded happily. “I am good at the monkey bars.”
