Mio, sensing Karla’s perplexity, changed the subject. ”How long have you been working for Shake?”
“Just a few weeks.”
“How’s it working out? Is he treating you right?”
“All in all, it’s going pretty well, I think.”
“What were you doing before you started working for Shake?”
“Tending bar, mostly.”
“Mostly? What else?”
Karla hesitated, glancing in the mirror before answering. “Well, actually, I was turning tricks. Not regular. Just now and then, for the extra cash.”
Mio absorbed Karla’s disclosure without the slightest indication of surprise. “That’s risky, isn’t it? You’re not still doing that, are you?”
“No. Not since I started working for Shake.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Shake should be paying you enough to leave all of that behind you.”
“He is. Absolutely,” she said, coming to my defense. “He’s been really generous.”
“So, what about your love life? Do you have a boyfriend?”
Karla answered, after a moment of hesitation, “I have a girlfriend.”
Tony, for the first time, showed some interest in the conversation, expressed by turning briefly to look at Karla.
“A girlfriend?” Mio said.
“Yeah. Her name is Beanie. Beatrice, but she likes me to call her Beanie.”
“Have you been together long?”
“About a year. I had a boyfriend before that, but, I don’t know, turning tricks and all, it was hard.”
“How so, exactly?”
“I couldn’t keep it separated,” Karla explained. “I’d have sex with guys for money, then I’d try to have sex with my boyfriend for pleasure, and, you know, for love. But I couldn’t keep them apart in my head. All those shits who paid for it, I couldn’t keep them out of my mind. Everything was sort of contaminated. You know what I mean?”
“And it’s different with Beanie?” Mio asked.
“Yeah, it is. Being with Beanie, with a woman, lets me keep the two things completely separate. Sex for money was only with men, sex for love was, is, only with Beanie. They’re completely different. They have nothing to do with one another.”
“A sensible solution,” Mio said, after briefly weighing the matter. “Since you don’t seem to mind me prying into your private life, what does Beanie do?”
“When she isn’t a complete mental wreck, she’s an artist, a painter, and she’s really talented, too.”
“Has she sold many paintings?”
“That’s where the mental wreck part comes in. She’s never sold even one. But I know she will.”
Mio looked at me, an unvoiced question in her expression. I answered with a barely noticeable shrug.
“Tony, do you have one of my gallery cards with you?”
Tony leaned sideways to get to his wallet. I thought the car was going to change lanes. “For Karla?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you.”
Tony handed Karla a business card, which she took and slipped into her jacket pocket.
“That’s my gallery in Tokyo,” Mio explained. “If you think Beanie would be interested, have her email some digital photos of her work.”
“She’ll be thrilled.” Karla said.
“No promises,” Mio cautioned. “I’ll look at them. If I think they might sell in Japan, I’ll have her ship a few pieces over, and we’ll see what happens.”
Mio was always the businesswoman, but I had a feeling there was something more going on.
•
It was a little after 10:00 when we exited the freeway into downtown San Francisco. We parked the car at a nearby garage and walked to Satellite. Not surprisingly, the doorman carded Mio, who looks about fourteen. He studied her driver’s license long enough to let us know he wasn’t fooled by it, then let us in. The club’s interior consisted of a large, rectangular dance floor at street level, with raised balconies on the two sides, each with its own bar. The balconies were about three feet above the dance floor, with steps at the front on both sides, and tables lining their length. Padded railings ran along the balcony edges, providing patrons with a place to stand and watch the action, and preventing them from falling over the side as the evening progressed and they made whatever adjustments they considered appropriate to their blood chemistry. At the back, more steps led to a slightly higher balcony along the rear wall where a DJ manned an elaborate electronic sound studio. On each side of the DJ, larger tables were set in the corners. The club wasn’t particularly crowded so we sat at one of the larger tables, giving us a fairly unobstructed view of the interior.
The music seemed to be convincing everyone they were having a good time, the volume high enough to prevent the brain from forming any thoughts to the contrary. A waitress came to the table and took our orders: club sodas for Mio and me, a beer for Tony, and Karla ordered something called a Screaming Orgasm.
“I know,” she explained, yelling to be heard over the music, “it’s a stupid name, but I love the taste. Irish Cream, Triple Sec, and Cognac.”
Mio wasn’t going to waste any time. “I’ll be on the dance floor,” she said, leaning toward Karla, “come and find me when you’ve had your Orgasm.”
There was a doorway in the corner behind us leading to stairs down to the main level. Mio disappeared through the doorway, and a few seconds later I could see her dancing her way toward the center of the floor. Tony followed her progress, too. His behavior toward Mio was unmistakably fatherly, which was amusing considering she was about two hundred years older than he was.
Karla got up and stood at the rail, watching the dancers below. When the drinks arrived, she took hers back to the rail and drank it while standing. When she was finished, she sat the glass on the table, gave Tony and me a little wave,
