The Empty Room Read Online Free PDF Page B

It tasted of violets.
    “Perhaps once, twice a month, certain dignitaries from Saudi come to Toronto, or Montreal, or New York. Often, they travel with their wives, and it is important the wives are treated with the utmost respect but that their seclusion is maintained. They wear the abaya , the black cloak, and must be segregated from men who are not family members, but they are women”—he smiledin a condescending way—“and like all women, they love to shop. You would be entrusted to make the appropriate arrangements and to accompany them, acting as a liaison and ensuring all is as it should be.”
    Babysit a bunch of segregated women? That wasn’t something she wanted to do, even if getting a glimpse into the world of a harem would be fascinating. It seemed odd that Thomas, film-producing Thomas, would be involved in this sort of thing. Something shadowy was taking shape, something about where Thomas’s money actually came from.
    “I’m flattered, but I don’t think it’s really for me.”
    “That’s not all, of course. In the evenings, once the women are safely in their beds for the night, you would have the opportunity to entertain the gentlemen. They are well-educated, well-travelled, sophisticated men who, of course, would like to experience the world in ways that would not be appropriate for their wives.” He sipped his wine. He licked his lips. “Mohammed took quite a shine to you. Well done.”
    Colleen took a large drink from her wine, which now tasted not so much of violets but of vinegar. “I don’t think I understand you.”
    “Of course you do. You’re a smart girl.” He reached over and took her hand. “You would be extremely well compensated for very little work. These are generous people; they like to give gifts.”
    “Gifts?”
    “Indeed. Cars. Jewellery. Property. Works of art.”
    She pulled her hand away and put down her glass. Her cheeksflamed. “You’re out of your mind, and I don’t know why you’d think I’d get involved in something like this. You’re nothing but a pimp.”
    She picked up her purse and went to stand up, but Thomas grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her down again.
    “Who the fuck do you think you are?” he said.
    His fingers bit into her arm, and later, when she was safely home with a large glass of scotch that might not be as good as his fancy single-malt but suited her just fine, she would find five distinct bruises there.
    “Let go of me!”
    “Oh, don’t kid yourself. I know exactly who you are, Colleen.”
    She pulled her arm away and stomped back to the office, full of righteous fury. She stormed into Brian’s office and told her what had happened, demanding he do something, take action, get rid of that guy.
    Brian folded his hands and said, “I don’t know what you’re getting so bent out of shape for. Sounds like a compliment to me. And nobody made you go out with Thomas’s friend.”
    “Are you kidding me?”
    “Thomas is a valued client. Perhaps you’d better get back to work.” By way of dismissal, Brian picked up the phone and began punching buttons.
    A week later, Brian asked her out for a drink after work and she thought perhaps it was his way of apologizing. They sat next to each other in a black leather booth at the back of Trader Joe’s. Halfwaythrough his second martini Brian leaned over and tried to kiss her. She pushed him back.
    “Brian, for Christ’s sake. You’re acting like a sleaze. I know your wife!”
    “Leave my wife out of it,” he said as he slid out of the booth. “And if you want to play the good little girl, you might stop going out for drinks with married men. Remember that at your next job.”
    And so she was fired. The next day, officially so. She’d never been fired before. She wanted to believe it was simply a matter of badly behaved men, but a bony little finger of doubt kept tapping her on the proverbial shoulder. Perhaps she did give off the wrong signals, but she didn’t mean to. She liked