In the center of the bed in question, legs butterflied, sheet dripping down her chest, was my girl Ellen. Her fluffy blonde hair was a nimbus around her head, and a few strands of it had been tugged out and dangled across the grayish-white pillowcases. A black-and-orange duvet was crumpled on the floor, like it had been yanked off. Ellen’s big black eyes were glassy—a little bit thrilled, a little bit tearful—and one bright red mark clawed across her face. I could see the outline of two fingers forming on her cheek.
So he’d used an open hand this time.
“How’d it go?”
Ellen shrugged. “Same as before,” she said. “A few slaps, during. A bit harder today for the video. I told him to prove he was a real man.” Ellen rubbed her jaw and a little squeak came out of her. I hissed in sympathy—it was easy to be kind with the chorus of mon-ey, mon-ey, mon-ey galloping through my veins. I tapped on the adjoining door, eager for Jackal’s playback.
No answer.
I had a bad feeling. I tried to ignore it. Maybe he was in the bathroom. I looked over my shoulder at Ellen, who was slowly combing her fingers through her pillow-fluffed hair. “Was the room already set up when you got here?”
She nodded. I tested the door for myself and it opened. I pushed at its mirror twin to reveal a bed and a bathroom. No light on. No sign of anyone. Not Robert Jackal, not the recording equipment he should’ve set up to catch Mr. Casting Couch in flagrante delicto, not even a note.
I didn’t bother to close the door before I climbed up on the dresser, grappling the Kinkade down from the wall. I threw it on the bed, narrowly missing Ellen, who shrieked. The whale’s eye was empty. Just an eye.
I let fly a string of expletives that came out of me twisted and nonsensical—“Fuck, fuck, fuck, that asshole!” A perfect goddamn opportunity and Jackal had wasted it.
“What’s wrong?” Ellen asked. “He didn’t get it?” Her voice took on a slight hysterical edge. “That was all for nothing?”
I ignored her and looked more closely around the room. Klein hadn’t left anything behind, not a watch or a button, nothing to prove he’d ever been there.
Goddammit, Jackal. Eleven thousand dollars. That was all I needed. Eleven grand, and he’d fucked me out of it. There were two options I could think of as to why—another woman, a poker table—and neither was a good excuse for fucking me out of the last bit of the money I needed to pay off my debt to our boss.
I pressed my knuckles into my eyes until little comets pinged around my lids. Think, Jo. It was a setback, sure, but as long as Ellen hadn’t blown it with Klein, we still had him on the hook. What was another week when I’d been waiting nearly three years to be clear of the Lady? It was nothing. Absolutely nothing.
As long as I still had Ellen on my side.
I pasted a sympathetic smile on my face and turned toward Ellen on the bed. “You okay?” I asked, my voice sweet enough to maraschino an onion.
“Yeah,” she said, still working her jaw. “Sometimes I almost like it.” She smiled for me, maybe putting on a brave face, maybe not. She’d been a good pick for this particular job.
“That’s good, Ellen. I’m really happy to hear that. Because I’m going to need you to tough it out for me a little longer.”
Ellen’s face froze, and she tugged the sheet up to her chin. “I thought you said this was the last week.”
“Plans change. It’s the nature of the job.”
Ellen’s face reddened, and she sat all the way up, the sheet falling to her waist. If she thought I’d be impressed with the view, she was mistaken. “I can’t do this another week!”
On the best of days, patience was not my strong suit, and this was no longer the best of days. “You have a better acting gig on the books?” I snapped. “You have any other producers breaking down your door?”
Ellen glared at me from behind her puffy thatch of blonde hair. “It’s not exactly empowering to be acting like his mistress all the time.”
I bit my tongue. Loose tempers weren’t what I needed; what I needed was a compliant Ellen, still on my side. I sat down on the bed. I didn’t touch her, but I let my hand get close so she knew I was making the effort to respect her space. The mark on her cheek would fade soon, I thought, but those slaps would’ve cracked like gunshots in the bedside mic. Goddamn.
“Ellen,” I said—a person’s name is usually their most comforting sound, which is also true for dogs—“Ellen, I’m really sorry. An emergency must’ve kept Jackal today, but I promise you, we won’t miss it again. I need you to do this one little favor for me, and then it’ll all be over. You’ll have your money and you’ll never have to see him again. And guess what? I bet he’ll never smack another girl again in his life. He’ll be too scared of what you could do to him.”
I wasn’t sure that was true, but I was certain he wouldn’t guide another extra to the casting couch without thinking twice, that was for damn sure. And Ellen would know that she’d done that, she’d been the one to change him. I could see her turn it over. She furrowed her brow and stared into her lap, hard. Not a yes, not a no.
A week earlier, that little speech would have been enough. But now, she hesitated, which meant she doubted me. Which meant she was more dangerous than she’d been thirty minutes ago. Jackal, you have fucked me now.
“Please, Ellen.” I hated myself. I hated her for making me beg. “One more time, for me.”
“That’s all? You promise?” Ellen sniffled and wiped her nose.
I hid my smile. “That’s it.”
Ellen nodded, but she didn’t look happy. “Why did he storm out of here?” I asked to change the subject, reaching for her shirt on the floor. I tossed it behind me and let her have a few moments of privacy. I poked my head into the bathroom. The trash can was empty. Klein was so paranoid that if he’d used a condom, he’d flushed it. Or taken it with him.
“Oh,” Ellen said, her tone light. Too light. Without looking at her I knew she was about to lie to me. I hoped Klein didn’t find her so easy to read. “I asked what his wife would think if she knew he was here with me.”
“That was enough to send him running?” I turned to stare at her.
There was a faint pink glow to Ellen’s face now, and she was chewing on a thumbnail. “Hy is touchy about his wife,” she said, trying for worldly. An ingénue on the make.
Hy. My final bet of the afternoon: she’d wanted something from Klein—maybe a comparison between her and his wife that found the Mrs. wanting. Is she this sweet and juicy? Or a token, maybe, of his esteem.
Oh, Ellen. I tried not to let my disgust show on my face. Whatever crumb of affection Klein could offer her was nothing compared to the cash—50 percent of whatever the mark paid—that waited for her on the other side of the sting. If I was right, if she cared so much about his approval that she was willing to pick a fight, then I wouldn’t be able to manage her much longer.