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Chapter Four: My Mei - Part Four
Flax
Flax had been knocking on Suite 315 for a solid minute now. He’d never had to wait before. Usually, his buxom blond liked to greet him at the door with a martini or scotch in hand, wearing a wicked smile and little else.
That’s why he liked her—her dream had been to become a Vegas showgirl, so the woman knew how to put on a show. That, and for a woman her size, she had one hell of a high kick.
So he kept on knocking instead of moseying down a couple of doors and seeing what other kinds of trouble he could stir up. “Hey, Juniper,” he called with a bang, “since when has this door been closed to me?”
He heard scurrying behind the door. “Just a minute.” Through the door, she sounded even breathier than usual. At last, a little service. He took a step back and could almost taste the cocktail she’d have ready—he wondered if it would be a fine cognac or a spicy Bloody Mary.
Better yet, what would she be wearing? Mmm, maybe a lacy negligee or some barely-there, feathered concoction like the costumed dancers on The Strip. He could hardly wait.
The door opened. “I’m here. I’m here.”
She was still in her bathrobe.
The full-covering, cotton bathrobe she’d thrown on the other morning when they’d been caught by the boss. Given the circumstances then, it’d been sexy as hell—her hair still mussed and her smelling, well, of him. But the hours had definitely dulled the effect. Instead of smoldering and satisfied, she looked ragged and rumpled.
She didn’t even have a drink for him.
“Sorry.” She shooed him inside. “Sorry, I completely forgot that you were coming over again.”
His eyebrows arched high. “Forgot?” Well, that was a hit in the hard spot.
“It’s just that I’ve been listening to my closet.” She moved past him and back toward the small, offending room.
“Again?” He didn't understand what her fascination with it was. So it made noises. It was an old hotel, there were bound to be quirks here and there.
“Yeah,” she admitted, her head dipping with embarrassment.
He felt instantly bad for his short tone. She had enough of a self-esteem issue—what with being more on the full-figured size and all, not that he’d ever complain about it—he didn’t need to add to it.
That would definitely ruin his plans.
“But it’s not just noise,” she amended excitedly. “It’s voices. Lots of them.”
“Voices, huh?” Flax took a step back, away from the closet and toward the bed.
“Yeah.” She plopped down on the carpet, leaning forward so her arms rested on the floor. “They’re like shows, you know. Like the daytime soaps that I used to watch back home. There are only a few of them that I even understand. Most of them are in Chinese or something. I think one was French. Bonjour, that’s French, right?”
“Yeah, sure” he said, settling down on the mattress. He hoped that she would get her cute derrière out of the damn closet and voulez vous couchez a bit with him.
She popped her head up and looked at him quizzically. “Aren’t you coming?”
Flax stared at her in her ratty robe with her hair tossed over her shoulder as she leaned farther in to hear better. “No, I doubt I will be today.” Coming, that was. Much to his own disappointment. He stood up and sighed longingly at her terryclothed behind.
She shrugged. “You should wait a bit. I’m sure the story will change soon. I mean, I really want to know what happened to the Chinese girl and her great aunt, but Mei hasn’t come around so I wouldn’t even know what they’re saying anyway.”
“Mei’s supposed come around?” Hmm, that had intriguing possibilities. Now that would be one hell of a show. If only his little chorus girl would take her cue.
“I don’t know. She and Lenten said that they’d stop by and check things out, but neither one of them has yet.” She shrugged. “I guess they’re real busy, what with all the new guests and all. And it’s not as if my closet’s going anywhere. If anything, the voices are getting louder. Clearer, you know. Like this one,” she said, lowering her voice as she listened, “this one’s in English. Sort of. It’s like British or whatever. It’s about some cranky, jealous college teachers who are all upset because this male teacher is busy sleeping with students and not with them. It’s completely scandalous.”
Flax listened for a second.
Hold on.
Juniper was right. There were distinct and understandable voices coming from beneath the carpet in the closet. Flax leaned in to hear one of the women say cattily, “He’s got some young fresher now, taking up all his office hours, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah?” the other replied. “Not the front-row ass-kisser who’s been following him everywhere.”
“Yeah,” the first laughed, “she’s practically a groupie at all his lectures. Twit, he’ll get bored with her soon enough.”
“Like all the others.” The second hen clucked. “Not his fault though. He’s just a man. Can’t help himself. Hard to resist all those insipid, little girls looking at him like a god. Goes straight down to his ego where he can’t think straight, yeah?”
“God, yes,” the first woman sighed, “all he needs is the right woman to…”
Flax stood straight again, shaking his head. Women, the world over. “Not British, Juni-girl.”
“What?” the breathy blond asked, without sitting up.
“They’re not British, honey. They’re Australian, like the new guest in Suite 220,” Flax told her, wondering what Calla was up to now. Hmm.
“Whatever,” she waved off, still bent over eagerly listening as Flax made his way to her mini bar. He started to mix a drink. Damn tiny bottles, never enough for a decent cocktail. Flax sighed and sipped the make-do drink. Ought to just head down to his fully stocked, well-aged, beautiful, solid oak bar. It was one of the last places in the world where he was guaranteed service.
He set down the glass on her countertop. “So I guess we’re not on for tonight, huh?” Getting dumped for disembodied voices. Some bitter, gossipy, down under discards. “Hey, Juniper?”
“Shh,” she hissed, waving at him furiously. “I can’t hear.”
Well, hell, if that wasn’t a kick in the trouser-region. Flax shook his head and took his leave, still looking lingeringly at his showgirl as he shut the door behind him. He hated it when his plans fell through.
And, while the bottle of vintage 1751 Chateau de la Martine—one of only nine bottles ever corked—wasn’t exactly a private cabaret with his own little Liza, it wasn’t a bad second. Especially if a certain Frenchman were to wine taste a little with him. So Flax, with a new set of plans, headed down the hallway toward the stairs and to Jonquil’s room.
But as he turned the corner, he saw a figure crouched and cowed on the edge of the steps, her black hair loose and curtained around her. She reminded him of the willows that used to shake and sway in his Mama’s yard with their long, lovely leaves that offered only the slightest peeks at sad and shadowed centers.
Flax averted his eyes, undecided, for a moment before making his way to her side. “Mei?”
The figure’s head snapped up, her eyes tearful and wild. He watched as her lips moved soundlessly and her arms clutched at her shoulders. He reached out to touch her cheek, but stopped when she flinched violently. “What’s wrong, hon?”
He felt so helpless as she continued to rock and weep—not a feeling he felt often and definitely not a feeling he was comfortable with. And now this was twice in as many days, first the boy and now her.
Damn!
And the worst of it was that she was the one who usually got sent in for situations like this. Boss was the brains of this place, Flax was…well, what he was, and, the little missus, she was the heart.
What did the rest of the body do when the heart was broken?
Flax grunted and moved to stand. “I’m going to go get the boss. You just stay—”
She stopped him, her head shaking and her hand on his arm, pulling him back down. Her murmurs became more insistent, growing just enough in volume to be heard. Flax leaned in closer, but he could still only understand every third or fourth phrase in her garbled mix of English and Chinese. “Shh, sweetheart, slow down. I don’t understand.” He reached out and covered the small hand that fiercely clung to his arm. “Talk to me.”
Suddenly, she gripped the lapels of his shirt, launching herself at him. “My brother,” she creaked, the tears muffling the sound, “he was here.” She let him go just as unexpectedly, catching him just as off guard. “He was here,” she whispered before speaking again in quiet tones.
“Hey, hey,” Flax said, “what are you talking about?”
“He was here and I never knew,” she cried. “I should have looked. I should have found him. I should have…”
Flax shook his head as she drifted back into Chinese. He wished she wouldn’t switch back and forth between the languages. Better to understand everything or nothing than this half-way nonsense.
“Shh,” Flax said, laying a hand on her back. “Shh, Mei, it’s all right now. Who should you have found? Your brother?”
“I left him,” she continued miserably. “My brother! And I left him. I should have…” And again she fell into the language of a land he’d never been and Flax knew he couldn’t follow her anymore. She was speaking so fast now, he couldn’t tell whether she was talking in English or Chinese. Hell, could have been Greek for all he knew. And the tears didn’t help either, her sobs and hiccoughs erratically punctuating her speech.
He ought to get Lenten now.
He rubbed her back in what he hoped was a soothing manner before starting to push himself up again.
“He was there.” She sighed before an uncontrollable giggle bubbled up her throat. “In a closet.” She threw her head back and laughed wildly. “Of all places.”
Wait. Flax stopped. A closet. “Juniper’s closet?”
But she was back in the Chinese again, shaking with her arms wrapped around herself and her hair falling into her face.
He gripped her shoulders hard. “Hon.” He shook her. “Honey.”
Her head fell back, her hair parting from her face.
Or what was left of it.
Flax sucked a harsh breath in as he stared at her flattened features that had dulled and faded. The familiar flush of her cheeks had dimmed and was disappearing into the cream of her skin. Her lips were a pale sweep, almost indistinguishable across her face. Her nose, while never large or even that noticeable, was now just an eerie, smooth space, disturbing in its absence. The only feature left still untouched were her eyes—the last trace of her.
“Mei.” His hands tightened around her shoulders. “Mei!” He shook her hard, her head flopping back and forth. “Mei!”
Her head straightened and she blinked, her lips parting with her breath wheezing in and out. She shook her head as if trying to clear it. “What?” she huffed. “What am I…” Her gaze focused on him as her hands held on to his arms for balance. “Flax? Oh, what are we…” She shook her head. “Sorry, were you saying something?”
He stared at her for a moment, wondering what to do. “No,” he told her, “no, I wasn’t.” He helped her to her feet. “Must have been a dream.”
She nodded blankly. “Of course. I must have fainted.” She frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t feel well at all today.”
Flax’s lips thinned at the half-truth. But he’d have sooner cut out his tongue than contradict the lady, so he rubbed his jaw awkwardly as she smoothed the wrinkles out of her skirt.
But as she started for the stairs, he noticed that she still looked shaky so he hooked his arm under hers. “Here, Mei, I’ll take you to your room.”
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