When I get through the door—which, thankfully, is cracked rather than closed—he’s still in bed, and he looks much the same. The gauze is partially unwrapped, so I can see wires taped to his head. His eyes are taped shut. His lips are chapped, but I tell myself it’s okay; I have lip balm in my purse. I’m reaching for it when I realize he is extubated! There’s no more ventilator, just oxygen tubing in his nose. I want to scream with joy, and at that moment, the door cracks open.
This nurse is petite, with short, spiky pink hair and a diamond nose ring. She smiles at me and says, “I heard about you. Elizabeth DeVille?”
I nod, and she explains that she has just seen me on TV. That makes my stomach clench, but I try not to show her how rattled I am.
“Are you guys an item?” she asks quietly.
“No. We’re best friends.” I step closer to Cross, taking his hand, which feels warm and surprisingly soft.
“She put some lotion on him right before you came.”
I frown, my head snapping around so I can meet her eyes. “Who did?”
“She comes in sometimes in the afternoons. I think her name is Sari.”
Well, hot damn. That’s news to me.
“She was here when we extubated him.” The nurse smiles. “His eyes were open because they were putting drops in them. To keep them from getting dry, you know? It might have been just reflexes, but she thinks he smiled at her.”
I stroke my thumb across Cross’s cheek and squeeze his hard hand in my small one. “Geez, Cross, you guys are keeping secrets.”
The nurse eyes our fingers. “So you really aren’t a couple?”
“We really aren’t. He’s been my friend since first grade.”
“Well, I think he’s lucky to have a friend like you.”
Is he? I’m not so sure, but I smile anyway. “Has there been any talk about moving him yet?”
She nods. “Tomorrow morning.”
“Good.” I put down a deposit, kind of like pre-paying for the prior facility—the one Cross is going back to—to move him back over.
“Your friend thought so, too. She seemed really surprised when I told her what you’d done.”
I shake my head, trying not to give a desperate-sounding laugh. “I bet she did.”
I’M SO EXHAUSTED after seeing Cross, I decide to rain check with my mom’s facility. I’ll plant the seeds of my deception another day, when I know for sure what’s going on and when.
On my drive home, I call Richard Waites, the man I spoke with early this morning. He answers on the second ring. I can hear laughter and talking in the background, and through the phone line I swear I can smell stale smoke and liquor.
Our connection is fuzzed by static, as if it’s trying to discourage our contact. I think of Cross and press on. “Richard? This is Elizabeth DeVille again.”
“Elizabeth, yes.”
“I’ve thought about your offer, and I want to do it. Can you tell me what the next step is?”
He pauses for a second, and I think he’s surprised. “The next step? Well, you come out here. Come to Nevada and let me get this rolling.”
“What does that entail?” I’m not going to a brothel without a detailed road map in my hand.
“It entails a lot,” he says bluntly.
“Where does it start? I’d like to have some idea.”
He pauses again, just long enough to take a drag on a cigar. “We do this from time to time, but never with a girl like you. Don’t get me wrong. Our girls are beautiful, valuable, talented girls, but they don’t have their own bottled water,” he says with a chuckle. “They’re not Elizabeth DeVille.” Another pause, and I decide to put it to him straight.
“DeVille doesn’t mean much anymore.”
“Yes, and I appreciate your candor, Miss DeVille, but let me share my own. Our bidders aren’t buying your money. They’re wealthy men, and what they’ll pay for is your high-class hymen. You follow me? All I need from you—well not all I need from you—there’s a lot to this— But what I really need is you to come here, do a little training—”
“Prostitution?”
“Well, you can’t do that. Not and have a decent auction. But I’m saying you learn from our women. Learn the ropes. It’s not for long. Maybe two weeks, three. Whatever’s enough to get you ready for your big night.”
I nod. “Makes sense.”
I’m navigating the congested interstate, headed back up toward Napa. The sky is purple. Dramatic, like it knows what I’m up to and wants to be a banner for me. “And you said the prices on this are pretty high?”
“In the hundreds of thousands, yes ma’am. We’ve done two this year and both were over five hundred thousand. One last year even fetched a million.” There’s another pause, while I zip around an eighteen-wheeler. “Now, all of these girls were models, and we had them on the menu for several months before their auctions giving other types of pleasure, so the men had built up some interest in them. Curiosity.”