ix
True to her word, Jane had a pair of shears waiting when I emerged from the shower; she cut each leash down to about six inches and tucked in the loose on my ankles to keep me from tripping. The wrists she left dangling for “easy handling”. She had changed into a flower print sundress – nothing naughty, just pleasant, sunny, and comfortable. She had picked out a change of clothes for me too – but nothing from my bag, which still sat just inside her door. I now wore pressed khaki jeans, sandals, and a white linen shirt embroidered with the hotel’s monogram over the pocket. Before we left the room, she produced my ohm pendant from her pocket and hung it almost ceremonially around my neck, then tucked it beneath my shirt.
We went up in the elevator, I think. The unnumbered, unlit button she pressed was far from the one she’d hit last night, but we seemed to go only a few floors before emerging directly into a room that smelled like a bakery. Inside were scattered clusters of equally mismatched and luxurious chairs and loveseats facing short, round tables. Many of the furniture groups were empty, and none of them had another ender in them – certainly no-one was dressed like me, or even male. The girls were clustered into small groups of two or three, each enjoying luxuries as mismatched as their furnishings, from conversations over a steaming cup to hot wraps to each other’s more personal attentions.
Jane led me to the other side of the room through the middle; as we went, she introduced me to each girl we passed by name and polite details, and gave them only my name in return. I got the sense that she was friendly with most of them but in none of their cliques, which congregated and joined and disappeared like soap bubbles on dishwater. None of the girls appeared surprised to see me, and they feigned varying amounts of interest in me personally. None of them went back to their previous conversations until we were out of earshot.
Jane settled us into a loveseat in the back corner of the room, from which we could see the others but not be overheard ourselves. She told me a few embarrassing details about some of them.
We settled into talking, mostly about what we’d do today, and I let my eyes wander around the room. All of the girls seemed to be drinking tea – the cup was either in their hands or on a nearby table. Occasionally a tray of food would arrive for one of them, but they didn’t eat from it; instead they said their goodbyes and carried it out of the room. Within a few minutes I had a tray of my own laden with breakfast foods – eggs, sausages, a sweetroll – just enough to fill my stomach without slowing us down. Jane now sipped from a cup of her own hot, pungent tea. The cup was clear, and in the bottom was a large flower blossom rooted to a smooth stone; the petals seemed flush with life despite the steam rising from the water. Jane was listing off all the things we could do, but I didn’t have any lingering desire to skydive or scuba naked or do anything really risky. I wanted a couple of hours to think and write, perhaps, maybe to meditate. I also repeated that I was still open to suggestions, by which I secretly meant I hoped for more of last night; her wink suggested that she had caught the hint. But, if there was nothing better to do meanwhile, I told her, I’d be interested in her showing me around the hotel. It seemed a fascinating place.
She gave me that same sort of funny smile, but nodded.
She finished her tea as I was done with my food. She munched distractedly on a petal she’d picked from the flower, which appeared little the worse for wear at the bottom of the cup. As she swallowed, she fished into her purse and withdrew a small copper plaque, which she set on the table in front of me. It was a smaller version of the plaque I’d thumbprinted the evening before. “By law,” she intoned, “I must ask you to renew the contract every day. I’m doing it this morning because if you decline to continue now, you’re liable only for one night’s stay. Just say ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ to the agreement printed there and press both thumbs into the appropriate circle.”
I quickly glanced over the agreement – there were no surprises – and affirmed the contract with a word, thumbprints, and DNA. “I’m very resolved on this, Jane.” I mustered all of my sincerity when I said so, mostly to remind myself.
“I know.” She returned the plaque to her purse and began fishing for something else. “I could see your determination as soon as I walked in your door. Here, give me your arm a moment. This will hurt a bit.” I complied, stretching my arm out as she opened a small, black leather box and withdrew what looked just like an old accounting stamp. When she held my wrist and pressed it down into the flesh of the underside of my arm, it did hurt, like a bite or a cut. She returned the stamp to her box, and I flipped my arm to see a high-res dot matrix tattoo inked into my flesh. There, now permanently in my arm, was a neat row of foreign symbols. The tattoo began to ooze blood, but she only took my wrist again and pressed a cloth napkin against it for a minute. “It identifies you as a suicide,” she explained. “My suicide, actually. You could say your body is now my property, at least as far as the rest of the girls are concerned. Of course, it won’t prevent you from declining the contract at any time if you change your mind, but then you’ll have a nice souvenir to take away with you.”