Honey Beaumont Read online

  He had used this line many times before, but this was one of the few times he had actually meant it. It was almost a sure-fire lure if he ever needed one. Either the woman would be naive enough to believe him, or she would be smart enough to know that it was a nice way of propositioning her without using one of the more colloquial lines like, "Wanna ride?"

  "This is Honey," Loretta said as she stepped toward the two. "I’m sure you’ve probably heard of him around town. He’s quite popular."

  "Second-floor," one of the other girls interjected.

  The woman looked him up and down. "My name is Anastasia," she said smoothly, "and my husband is out of town. I could really use some company."

  Honey nodded to her and slid his hand to the small of her back, guiding her up the stairs. He shot a quick smile over his shoulder to Loretta, who replied with a playful wink. Though he probably could have landed this one on his own, it was nice to have friends to help things along. It was good for the client because, more often than not, they weren't aware of the different specialties or what was even available, and it was good for them because they could divvy up clients based on what they liked to do best.

  He led his client up to his room and earned his keep. When his work was done, he took note of the time and shifted to the edge of the bed. She reached over and touched his arm. "There’s still time left." Her voice was little more than a whisper.

  Honey glanced at the time dial again and crawled back into bed. "I suppose. What would you like, m’lady?"

  "M’lady?" She laughed. "What a sweet little knight you are. Come. Cuddle me."

  She moved the covers and held her arms open. He scooted over to her soft, warm body and wrapped his arms around her, resting his head on her breast. She embraced him and lightly tousled his hair. "Oh, Honey. How did you ever end up in a place like this?"

  He thought for a moment, deciding that truth was too dark to share with someone so privileged. "It’s a long story," he chuckled, "that is probably best left untold."

  She sighed in defeat and seemingly decided it was best not to press the matter. "Well, can you tell me anything about yourself?"

  He blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "I’m sixteen." He stated plainly. "Yesterday was my sixteenth birthday."

  Anastasia’s eyes brightened. "Well, happy belated birthday to you! What did you do for your birthday?"

  He shrugged. "I didn’t really know that it was my birthday until late last night. I worked in the lounge most of the night, and my friend brought me a cinnamon cake to my room to share. It was delicious."

  Anastasia nodded with understanding as she eyed the room, void of any decorations except a wardrobe and a few self-care products. They lay in silence for several minutes until her hour was up. Honey started to pull away again, and again, she resisted. "Do you have to go?"

  "I do." Honey sighed and pulled his arm from her grip. He crossed the room and started to wash up as he continued, "Beaumont would have my hide if I didn’t sell anymore tonight."

  "What if I paid you?"

  Honey paused for a moment. Truthfully, he was a little tired from their bout, but he couldn’t let on that he was even capable of being too exhausted to go on. In most cases, even his short break between clients to wash was enough to rejuvenate him. It didn’t matter now, though. He was expected to perform. He turned and smiled. "Another hour? Wow. You have quite the appetite."

  She returned his enthusiasm with a smile of her own. "Actually, I had something else in mind."

  She rolled onto her side and rifled through her rumpled dress. A coin purse jingled in her hand as she rolled onto her back and peered inside. A stack of gold coins clinked on the nightstand. Honey’s eyes widened as he walked over and inspected the stack.

  "That’s, uh…that’s more hours than I have left tonight," he commented, trying not to seem too impressed by her offer.

  "I know," she chirped, "but the rest is for you. Happy Birthday, Honey."

  She motioned for him to return and opened her arms as he approached the bed. Honey got under the covers and snuggled himself against her. She reached in the little purse again and produced a strip of green linen paper.

  "Do you know what this is?" she asked. Honey shook his head. She smiled. "This is the currency of the old world." She turned it over and rubbed the corner between her thumb and forefinger. "This fancy green paper was used to pay for things before the takeover."

  Honey reached over and touched the one-dollar bill. "How can paper be worth more than gold?"

  "Well, the paper used to represent gold," she clarified. "Sometimes the paper money couldn't back up the gold in the federal reserve, but it still had value because people thought it was valuable. That's all it takes." She explained how the war leading to the Canadian Union Deal had destroyed much of the land the United States had used to grow essential crops like cotton, food, and even trees. There had even been weapons created to sully the land to prevent growth and poison whatever could survive in it. The green paper had been made of cotton and linen, something that could not easily be made once the dust had settled. When the United States of America became the Southern Canadian Provinces, their first order was to stop the production of paper money and begin using coinage made from precious metals instead.

  Honey was amused and entertained by Anastasia's story. "So, how many coins is that paper worth?"

  "Back when this was used, just one. Now, it's worth a lot more. It's rare and collectible. I received it as a when gift when I married. Now I carry it for good luck." She placed it on the table beside her and rolled over onto her side.

  They lay in bed and talked of her travels and adventures, though her husband seemed far from her mind through it all. She had been an herbalist on the Eastern coast of the continent and had gone around the world in search of rare plants and medicines.

  "Wow," Honey beamed, "it sounds like you've circled the world over and over."

  She laughed heartily and nestled into his hair.

  "Well, not that many times, but I did see a lot of the world in my travels. Then I married, and now I am a kept woman. I don't travel anymore."

  "But your husband does?"

  "Yes." She sighed. "He is an officer in the military."

  "Oh."

  Honey decided it was best to leave the subject of her husband alone. The look on her face when she spoke of him said it all. She was in pain, but the pain faded from her eyes as she squeezed him against her body and asked, "Why don’t you leave? Would you leave if you could?"

  Honey scrunched his nose as he considered her words. He stammered,

  "Well, yeah…I mean, no…If I could-.. Maybe. Yeah, I think I would."

  "So, why don’t you?"

  "I can’t." A short silence blanketed the two. He continued. "Whores…don’t fare well on the outside…not on their own."

  She smiled once more. "If you could do anything-anything in the world- what would you do with your night with me?"

  He was sure that she expected some strange sexual fantasy or an admission of passion toward something unconventional, but the truth was quite mundane.

  "I suppose that...If I could do anything at all, I would like you to tell me more things about what’s out there."

  She laughed, "I mean it. I want to hear about people and places that I will never see. I would like to know the world. Someday I would like to be a part of it...Maybe after Beaumont dies."

  It seemed there was no way she could even begin to summarize the entire world and its inhabitants, but then she reached into her purse once more and retrieved the remaining item within, a small book. She gracefully thumbed the cover over with her open hand to reveal the first page.

  "This is a book of poetry written by different authors from around the world." She explained. Honey shifted as he gazed up at the little book and admired the dexterity with which she held it. She had done this before.

  She began reading to him aloud from the page:

  My love, my cat
/>   My furry friend

  I cuddle thee

  Without an end

  I beckon thee

  I call forthright

  How do you keep your socks so white?

  Honey chuckled, "I don’t think I understand what it means, but I like it."

  "It’s not to be understood. It’s to be enjoyed and to make you think. What do you think it means?"

  "I think it is a crazy person. Who asks for laundering advice from their cat and writes a poem about it? Do you think the cat replied?"

  Anastasia laughed as she turned the page with her thumb again. She continued reading from the book as she held Honey close until the clock struck midnight. He helped her into her dress and escorted her down the stairs.

  "I had a wonderful time with you, Honeeeey..." She held that final syllable, waiting for the rest.

  "Beaumont."

  Anastasia’s brow furrowed.

  "He bought me outright from the state, so he was required to provide a last name for my papers."

  "I see." She beamed at him as he walked in pace with her to the door.

  "Well, I had a wonderful night. I hope to see you again sometime, and I hope you liked your gift."

  "Thank you, ma’am." He said it with a pleasant smile and a bow, but a quick glance past him revealed the reason why. Beaumont’s stiff form glowered down at them from over the ledge of the second floor. She smiled again. "Goodnight, Honey Beaumont."

  "Goodnight, ma’am." Honey closed the door behind her and slid the locks in place. His hands lingered on the cold brass for a moment before he turned around. Beaumont’s crossed arms sent a shiver down his spine. He started up the stairs, hoping Beaumont would disappear down the hall, as he usually did during normal business hours, but the dark man was still there when he reached the top.

  "Have a good night, Honey?"

  Honey nodded, "Yes, sir."

  "She, uh…kept you quite a spell, didn’t she? Seemed to take quite a shine to you."

  "Yes. She paid for the whole night." Honey nodded again. "I may have a new regular."

  Beaumont nodded and smiled, but the smile seemed tainted somehow; a nasty, crooked smile. "Well, that's good, boy. You're a good sell to them, bored old housewives."

  Honey shrugged with disinterest. "Money is money," he said, "and you always get yours."

  Beaumont nodded again, this time with an air of pride. "Very good, boy. Very good. Now, go wash that old lady stink off. You gotta be fresh for tomorrow."

  Honey nodded and swiftly passed by, only stopping for a moment to mutter a quiet, "Night, sir."

  He stopped as he rounded the corner of the hall and looked back. The man had disappeared from sight, but the air was still thick with his hate. He wasted no time in getting to his room. Once inside, he pressed his back to the door and tried to slow his heart rate. What had Beaumont heard? Had someone been listening? Had he been listening? Maybe he would forget whatever it was that brought on that frightful grin. Maybe a little more opium would dissolve the memory of whatever was festering in his already putrid mind. There was no way he would get through the night without another hit. It wasn't like Honey was planning to leave. He was just pleasing his client with dreamy wonderments.

  Right? He thought to himself. That’s harmless.

  Chapter Three

  Honey woke up feeling especially spry after his evening with Ms. Anastasia. It was almost as though the warmth of her embrace canceled out the dark chills Beaumont had sent down his spine at the end of the night. He dressed himself and trotted down the hall to the ladies' dressing room, keeping an eye out for Beaumont as he did so.

  No sign of him, he thought with an impish smile and tapped on one of the red French doors. Honey beamed as Loretta opened the door only enough to peek out. She erupted in a fit of giggles, and she opened the door just enough to grab his arm and pull him in. The door clicked closed behind him as he was greeted by the mansion's ladies.

  "Morning, madams." He bowed slightly to them. They shared a laugh and greeted him warmly.

  "Good morning, Master Honey." Violet, one of the older workers, announced to him.

  "Master?" Honey blushed as he walked over and began to tighten the laces of her corset to enhance her figure, which in Honey’s opinion, was already quite lovely. She had an hourglass figure, though her hips were a bit narrow for someone as top-heavy as she was. Still, it was no surprise to him that she joined the House freely and gladly at the age of nineteen after her geriatric husband had passed of natural causes. He had willed all of his money and assets to the state to fund the war against California, and she was unable to get a job or a new beau.

  He sputtered. "I am nobody’s master."

  She continued, "And what a shame that is. You would make a wonderful master of the House. You understand our needs."

  "Like respect," Loretta chimed in, "and a decent stitch to mend a dress."

  The girls all laughed and joked before Honey could even reply. He had never had the desire to master his own House of whores. Truth be told, he was convinced that he would never even have a house that he could call home. As time went on, he saw how the world was through the eyes and stories of his clients, and it seemed he had no place in it. Not with the life he had been dealt.

  I would be off to an awful start, he thought. I can’t even begin to do the math on how many clients I would have to service to buy a House, let alone staff it with wonderful girls like these.

  The laughing and joking died down as the girls took notice of Honey’s distant gaze. He looked around at all of them, sensing their tension, and said the one thing he knew would get a sure-fire laugh out of them. It always did.

  "I'd just settle for a pair of pants that doesn't squash my boy-parts."

  The ladies howled with laughter and joked while he helped them dress for the upcoming shift.

  It was a slow day in Beaumont’s Mansion. Every now and then, business would ebb, more so when people were getting down to their last few coins at the end of the month, and this was one of those ebbing days. Honey and the girls spent a long few hours chatting it up in the main hall with the occasional john popping in for a quickie. They spent their downtime sharing stories that clients brought in with them. News from around the world that the whores normally didn’t hear about for want of a newspaper delivered to their door.

  "I heard the Mile-High Murderer was caught," one of the girls announced. The others stared at her in awe, waiting for the rest of the story. She continued, "Oh, yeah. A group of adventurers went a'bounty huntin' and caught him."

  "Who's this?" Honey asked. "Mile-High murderer? How does one murder someone in the sky?"

  "Well, he waits in a low-class bar or inn until someone's gotten good and drunk," Loretta explained, "and then he leads them up to the roof, kills them, and then throws them off the roof. He's killed over a dozen people and always escaped."

  Honey gasped, and the others nodded in agreement with his shock.

  "They caught him in the pan-handle of New Texas," the first girl continued. "Found him up on the roof with his knife at some poor soul's neck."

  "Wow," Honey said, "I'm glad they caught him. Who knows how many people he could have killed if they didn’t? He might have made his way up through the provinces. I would hate to have to worry about one of you girls meeting up with this guy. Our roof isn't a mile up, but I'm sure it would still be quite a fall."

  Loretta nodded in agreement. "Sure is nice to know that those adventurers out there are keeping an eye out for dangerous folk like him. Goodness knows the police certainly don't have the time or the funding to keep running about, looking for bad guys."

  Honey nodded. The more he heard about these "adventurers," the more he thought about how great it must be to have such freedoms and to be able to do such good deeds without worrying about the laws. From what he had heard, they were not bound by the laws of the provinces, only those instituted by the adventurer's guild that they all had to be a part of. Many people complained t
hat Canada Proper was allowing such things because it reduced the expenses needed to have a full police force in every province. With all of the disturbances since the takeover and conversion, it had seemed that no amount of police force could quell the uproar after.

  Is it so bad that a group of individuals are willing to do such things for their fellow countrymen? Honey wondered. What harm could come from these adventurers doing what the police could not manage to do?

  It did cross his mind that if he was ever given a chance to make a new life for himself, he would consider such a job. After all of his years in the pleasure industry, he could give back in a more honorable way and chafed his skin a little less, with any luck.

  "Hey! What’s this?" Beaumont’s voice boomed from the top of the stairs. His voice was strained from the dehydration that opium often brought on.

  "Nobody’s buying, Mr. Beaumont," one of the girls moaned. "We’re on display, but nobody’s coming in. It’s the end of the month, so nobody’s got the coin."

  Beaumont gripped the banister as he stumbled his way down the staircase.

  "So, we’re having a little party, are we?"

  They recited in dejected unison, "No, sir."

  "Well, that’s just fine," the man continued, his voice thick with sarcasm, "but I think you have too many there. Honey-boy, come with me." The girls shared a worried look as Honey straightened and strode over to join the man on the steps.

  "You seem tired, sir. You’ve been working hard lately," he lied ever so sweetly, "so let me put you back into bed."

  Beaumont’s eyes narrowed.

  "Yes. Take me to bed."

  Honey held his arm out to the man, who took it in earnest and allowed him to lead him back to his room. Honey closed the door behind him, and he helped Beaumont into his bed. Beaumont groaned as he sat on the edge.

  "Thank you, boy. My old bones are hurting today."

  Not that you can feel anything in that fog, Honey thought with a sigh.

  He continued, "Actually, I’m glad you’re here. We need to talk of private matters."