Chapter IV: The Princess Rides Out
She awoke early - noon. After a great workout that left her tingling, alive all over, she showered and used the last of the hair color. She spent a ritualistic hour before the mirror, painting her living self-portrait. She was pleased by her work, by the malleability of her face, the way it changed so quickly and remarkably into whatever she wanted it to be. She could have spent all day there, playing with different effects, experimenting with herself. But she had other things to do.
She wriggled into a pair of jeans she'd relegated to the bottom drawer because she'd bought them too small, tucked an almost transparent white blouse into them, found her red shoes, and went shopping. She relished the way the denim gripped her ass, the way it outlined her cunt, the way the heels tightened her legs. She felt that she trailed sexuality as well as smoke and perfume.
As Lisa pored over lace panties, she remembered the day she'd bought the jeans. She'd been depressed. Hell, she'd always been either depressed or angry. But, that day, she'd deliberately sought to make some change in herself. She'd been desperate, and the jeans had seemed perfect. But, enfolded in the billowy fog of depression, she'd stupidly picked up the wrong size. She vividly recalled her deep pain and sorrow when she'd tried to squeeze into them at home.
She wondered, lifting several pairs of tiny undies from the display, if it hadn't been foreshadowing, just a hint of what her subconscious was whispering was inevitable. Whatever. She compressed her lips, felt their slight, succulent slickness, and moved on.
Whore's clothes weren't easy to find in the mall she'd chosen. She had to use her imagination to come up with an outfit that approached the slatternly wear of the streets. She hadn't quite fit in last night. Too much class. She wouldn't have that problem again.
That and her other purchases ate up most of her cash. That was okay. They'd pay for themselves, starting tonight. Scoring was as sure as sunset.
She was home by the time the sun hit the horizon, climbing into her fresh uniform. She tucked the lace teddy into the lycra miniskirt, frowned at the fishnet stockings. They weren't her style, but most of the other streetwalkers had been wearing them. She shrugged. Her tits made the silky fabric shift and shimmer.
She redid her face from scratch, applied and wiped away the cosmetics until she got the look she wanted. The mirror said she was closer to fifteen than twenty-two. A very loose and beautiful and available fifteen. Nobody would believe that she'd fucked only a half dozen men in her entire life, and only one prior to the last ten days. Her look said she'd been doing it as long as she could remember, and often.
She looked jaded. Worn. Willing to do anything for the right amount of money, but incapable of feeling anything at all. This poor, sexy, juvenile bitch was pure siren, but callous and cold. She'd fuck like a wild beast, but it wouldn't mean a thing.
Yet, on the inside, she was hollow with excitement. She adored her appearance, the sensuous, casual way she smoked, the way her heavy cherry lips hung open with such insolent invitation. She was going to raise hell tonight, on and off duty. Maybe she should corner Wilson for some quick action before things officially got started.
But, instead of tapping out the precinct's phone number, her curved scarlet nails shaped Barney's.
"Hey, Barnes. Glad you're home. Want to grab a cup of coffee before we night owls hit the bricks?"
He did, but named a restaurant where he could get something a little more potent than caffeine. He beat her there. Her entrance caused a minor stir, evoked a wide grin from her friend.
"Christ, Cole. I heard about the show you put on last night. You've got every straight male you tortured having wet dreams."
She flounced into her chair with a show of leg and a smile that broke the spell of the teenage cunt persona. He lit her cigarette. "Wait till you hear about tonight."
He laughed. "You regressing or what? Trying to relive a miserable adolescence?"
It was meant as a joke. Her smile faltered. "I don't know. Could be."
He turned more serious, too. "Hit a sore spot, didn't I? Sorry."
"That's okay. Maybe I need to think about that. I didn't really try and make myself look like a runaway teenybopper. It just kind of happened on its own. Weird, huh? Figure it's Freudian or something?"
"All I know is that it's convincing. You would've been asked for an ID if you'd ordered booze. Shave off a few more years, and . . ."
"Yeah. I'm back at twelve again."
"I was going to say you'd look like Jodie Foster in Taxi Driver."
She couldn't summon a laugh. "Fuck, Barney. One minute I'm having the time of my life, acting out all the fun shit I missed as a kid, and the next it's like I'm reliving a past that maybe almost happened. Am I going crazy?"
She hadn't intended to let her sudden fear show. She felt at least as young as she looked, and anything but callous. She'd never been so alone and scared and confused. There was a huge black hole where her heart should have been.
He grabbed her trembling hand. "Hey, babe. Take it easy. Maybe you've been crazy and you're getting sane."
She blinked away tears. "Look at me! I'm sitting here like some goddamn . . . Oh, Barney! I'm afraid I'm losing control. This isn't me! Why am I doing this to myself?"
"Hey. No tears, okay? You'll ruin those pretty eyes." He leaned back as she withdrew her hand, grabbed a napkin and blotted and sniffed. "You want to know what I think?"
She nodded.
"You've never done a relationship. You've never even had a crush on a guy, much less been in love. Not since that asshole, whatever his name was -"
"Tommy."
"Yeah. It looks to me like this is an ass-backwards way of getting attention. I think you're looking for love, kid."
Her laugh was shaky. "Love? Who could love a slut like me? Some crazed psycho who looks like DeNiro?"
"That's what you look like kid. That's not what you are."
She leaned forward, spoke in an urgent, frightened whisper, her piercing blue eyes large as saucers within their ornate cosmetic frames. "But what if it is, Barney? What if this is the real me, the woman I've been hiding from all this time? What if I kept myself hidden inside my walled city for a good reason? Now that the walls have collapsed . . ."
His gaze didn't waver. His voice held no doubt. "The walls are down, all right. But, Lisa, there's a huge cloud of dust blocking your vision. To really get free, you've got to climb through the rubble." He gestured at her costume. "That's all this is. Keep the faith, hon."
Her eyes held a plea she couldn't control. "Do you think I can do it? Get out alive and in one piece?"
"I'm absolutely positive."
She sank back against the chair, sipped at the coffee gone lukewarm, frowned at the red crescent left by her lips. "God, I hope you're right."
It was a thoughtful, sobered Lisa Cole who pulled into the parking lot across from the station forty minutes later. The makeup caking her face felt like a weight. Her scanty clothing felt like invisible armor, like she was both protected by and imprisoned within her near nudity. The Princess rides out from the fallen city. But to fight monster? Who was the enemy? Tommy? Rape?
She snorted at that. Now, rape was just a bad business deal. It might even be fun to again feel that absolute powerlessness, now that she knew what strength was. The kid last night sure as hell enjoyed it.
She glanced into the back seat, saw the plastic bag there, and cringed inwardly. She'd forgotten about that. Half turned, she stared at the paraphernalia as if it could hurt her. Her first pre-arranged gig. Of course, she couldn't go. It'd be wrong. She needed time off, time away from this shit. Time for the dust to settle so she could see -
The interior light flared, right in her eyes, as the passenger door opened. A dark bulk rocked the car as it sat. Captain Wilson settled himself, closed the door with a solid thunk.
"You ought to turn that damned light off, Cole. Off duty cops are targets, too."
She twisted the appropriate switch to the left until it clicked. "Sorry. Forgot."
He chuckled. "But I can see why a girl who looks like you would want people to see her. Where do those fishnets end, baby?" His hand investigated.
She clamped her thighs together. Her throat was tight. "Hey, Cap. Not here, okay? After shift, maybe."
"Why not both?" he insisted, petting her thighs, slowly sliding the lycra skirt higher.
"Shit, man, half the fucking squad would see us." But all of her wasn't resisting. Just from the hunger in his eyes, she warmed. Her fear began to dissipate like fog heated by sunrise. The hand kneading her leg felt good.
"What? Worried about your reputation? You pretty well fucked that up last night. Quite a little show you put on for the guys. And on the street. Vice was really impressed, too."
"Oh?" A slow thrill crept from the vicinity of his hand up her spine. She'd done well. Her legs relaxed slightly, allowing his hand to delve between them, but not completely to its target.
"Yeah. It seems Sergeant Trotter is a big fan of yours. She wanted to know if I'd be willing to give you up. Let her have you downtown."
There was a moment's silence. It was her move. "What did you tell her?"
"Just told her that it was up to you." But he was saying a hell of a lot more than that.
