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Marsha has agreed to our meeting because she believes that I want to replace my father’s name on her member’s list. It’s business as usual for her and for me, and as we walk up the wooden steps toward the front door, it’s just the two of us.
Damien is doing a good job of resembling an assistant, carrying a briefcase, and wearing a smart suit and tie. We are here on business but not the kind she thinks we are.
A woman opens the door and smiles broadly.
“Welcome, Mr. Romanov. Marsha is expecting you. Please follow me.”
She leads us into a light-filled room with a glass table set in the center. Two chairs are set before it and a jug of refreshment waits on the desk. The walls are white and the carpet pink and to anyone venturing in here, it all appears completely innocent.
There is a white filing cabinet set against the wall and a computer on the desk.
This room is feminine, much like its owner because Marsha Steele is watching us with a soft smile. Her dress is white to match her office and her dark hair is piled high on top of her head.
She has a ruthless elegance that isn’t lost on me, especially when her eyes flash as she offers me her hand.
“Mr. Romanov, please accept my condolences. Your father was a valued friend, as well as one of our most discerning customers.”
She points to the seats before her desk and as we sit, she nods toward the jug of refreshment.
“May I offer you some fruit punch? I can arrange something stronger if you prefer.”
“No, thank you.”
I give nothing away as she nods and sits like a queen on her pink throne.
“I’m interested to hear about your taster session last night. I was hoping it would be enough to secure your membership.”
“It was most interesting, Miss Steele.” I reply with an enigmatic smile, and she waves her hand.
“Marsha, please.”
I shake my head. “I prefer to formally address my business partners, Miss Steele. I believe that familiarity breeds contempt.”
She arches her brow but smiles. “Of course. So, would you like me to sign you up, Mr. Romanov?”
“That depends.”
“On what?” She raises a curious smile.
“On whether I get to enjoy the same partner as my father.”
“Excuse me.” She blinks and I lean back in my chair and laugh softly. “I understand he insisted on the same woman every time. She must be something special if he wanted that arrangement. I’m curious as to why she was—special, I mean.”
She attempts to maintain a blank expression, but I note the flush creeping around her neck, and she stares at the computer screen as if the answer lies there and then says with a deep sigh. “If only I could agree to your request, Mr. Romanov, but that particular Iris Mahoney has left the business.”
“Left?” I lean forward. “When did she leave?”
“Shortly after your father died. She wasn’t interested in carrying on without him.”
“Then you won’t mind if I ask her name.”
It’s as if I’ve asked her to sacrifice one of her children and the horror in her eyes is interesting.
“I’m sorry, I can’t do that, Mr. Romanov, because we are bound by the code I myself set in place. Anonymity is the most sacrosanct part of my business, and it works both ways. My members are protected, and so are my girls. I’m sure you agree it is the right thing to do.”
I nod to Damien, who withdraws a sheaf of papers from his briefcase and fixes her with a bored expression as he says evenly.
“Marsha Steele was born June Adams. She was arrested five times for solicitation, prostitution and supplying drugs to underage girls. She spent time in three women’s penitentiaries where she befriended a known human trafficker by the name of Donna Gillespie.”
