American Beauty Hello, Gentlemen. My name is Robin and I'm the girl you have been dreaming about. I'm a true blonde and blue-eyed all-American girl. I'm 24 yoa, 38-30-36 and almost six feet tall. I don't smoke but I love champagne. I can come to you or you can come to me. It doesn't matter because I never rush you. Absolutely positive GFE. And if you want to double your pleasure, visit my girlfriend Lilly's page in the brunettes section. We work together as a team -on you or on ourselves! So give me a call. Satisfaction guaranteed!
VIPs only please.
There was a phone number and a pager number at the bottom of the ad. Without thinking too much about it, Pierce wrote them down in his notebook. He then moved back up to the photo. Robin was attractive but not in the aching sort of way that Lilly was. Robin had sharp lines to her mouth and eyes and a colder look. She was more in line with what Pierce had always thought he would find on one of these sites. Lilly wasn't.
Pierce reread the ad and was left wondering what "absolutely positive GFE" meant. He had no clue. He then realized that the ad copy on both pages -Robin's and Lilly's -had likely been written by the same person. Repetitive phrases and structure indicated this.
He also noticed as he looked at the photo that the same brass bed was in both photos. He pulled down his Internet directory and quickly switched back to Lilly's web page to confirm.
The bed was the same. He didn't know what this meant other than perhaps another confirmation that the two women worked together.
The main difference he picked up from the copy was that Lilly only entertained clients at her apartment. Robin worked it either way, going to a client or allowing him to come to her. Again, he didn't know if this meant anything in the world in which they lived and worked.
He leaned back in his chair, looking at the computer screen and wondering what to do next. He looked at his watch. It was almost eleven.
Abruptly he leaned forward and picked up the phone. Checking his notes, he called the number from Robin's page. He lost his nerve and was about to hang up after four rings when a woman answered in a sleepy, smoky voice.
"Uh, Robin?"
"Yes."
"I'm sorry, did I wake you?"
"No, I'm awake. Who's this?"
"Um, my name's Hank. I, uh, saw your page on L.A. Darlings. Am I calling too late?"
"No, you're fine. What's Amedeo Techno?"
He realized she had caller ID. A shock of fear went through him. Fear of scandal, of people like Vernon knowing something secret about him.
"Actually, it's Amedeo Technologies. Your readout must not show the whole name."
"Is that where you work?"
"Yes."
"Are you Mr. Amedeo?"
Pierce smiled.
"No, there is no Mr. Amedeo. Not anymore."
"Really? Too bad. What happened to him?"
"Amedeo was Amedeo Avogadro. He was a chemist who about two hundred years ago was the first to tell the difference between molecules and atoms. It was an important distinction but he wasn't taken seriously for about fifty years, until after he was dead. He was just a man ahead of his time. The company was named after him."
"What do you do there? Play around with atoms and molecules?"
He heard her yawn.
"Sort of. I'm a chemist, too. We're building a computer out of molecules."
He yawned.
"Really? Cool."
Pierce smiled again. She sounded neither impressed nor interested.
"Anyway, the reason I'm calling is that I see that you work with Lilly. The brunette escort?"
"I did."
"You mean not anymore?"
"No, not anymore."
"What happened? I've been trying to call her and -"
"I'm not talking about Lilly with you. I don't even know you."
Her voice had changed. It had taken on a sharper edge. Pierce instinctively knew he could lose her if he didn't play it right.
"Okay, sorry. I was just asking because I liked her."
"You'd been with her?"
"Yeah. A couple times. She seemed like a nice girl and I was wondering where she went.
That's all. She suggested the last time that maybe all three of us could get together next time. Do you think you could get a message to her?"
"No. She's long gone and whatever happened to her… just happened. That's all."
"What do you mean? What exactly happened?"
"You know, mister, you're really creeping me out, asking all of these questions. And the thing is, I don't have to talk to you. So why don't you just spend the night with your own molecules."
She hung up.
Pierce sat there with the phone still to his ear. He was tempted to call back but instinctively knew it would be fruitless attempting to get anything out of Robin. He had spoiled it with the way he had handled it.
He finally hung up and thought about what he had gathered. He looked at the photo of Lilly still on his computer screen. He thought about Robin's cryptic comment about something having happened to her.
"What happened to you?"
He moved the screen back to the home page and clicked on a tab marked ADVERTISE
WITH US. It led to a page with instructions for placing ads on the site. It could be done through the net by submitting a credit card number, ad copy and a digital photograph. But in order to receive the blue ribbon signaling a verified photo on the ad, the advertiser had to submit all the materials in person so that she could be confirmed as the woman in the photograph. The site's brick-and-mortar location was on Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood.
This was apparently what Lilly and Robin had done. The page listed the office's hours as Monday through Saturday, nine to five during the week and ten to three on Saturdays.
Pierce wrote the address and hours down on his notepad. He was about to disconnect from the site when he decided to call up Lilly's page once again. He printed out a color copy of her photo on the DeskJet. He then shut down the computer and disconnected the phone line. Again a voice inside told him he had gone as far with this as he could go. As he should go. It was time to change his phone number and forget about it.
But another voice -a louder voice from the past -told him something else.
"Lights," he said.
The office dropped into darkness. Pierce didn't move. He liked the darkness. He always did his best thinking in the dark.
5
The stairway was dark and the boy was scared. He looked back to the street and saw the waiting car. His stepfather saw the hesitation and put his hand out the car window. He waved the boy forward, waved him in. The boy turned back and looked up into the darkness. He turned on the flashlight and started up.
He kept the light down on the steps, not wanting to announce he was coming up by lighting the room at the top. Halfway there one of the stairs creaked loudly under his foot.
He stood frozen still. He could hear his own heartbeat banging in his chest. He thought about Isabelle and the fear she probably carried in her own chest every day and night after night. He drew his resolve from this and started up again.
Three steps from the top he cut the light off and waited for his eyes to adjust. In a few moments he thought he could see a dim light from the room up ahead of him. It was candlelight licking at the ceiling and walls. He pushed himself against the side wall and took the last three steps up.
The room was large and crowded. He could see the makeshift beds lined against the two long walls. Still figures, like heaps of rummage sale clothes, slept on each. At the end of the room a single candle burned and a girl, a few years older and dirtier, heated a bottle cap over the flame. The boy studied her face in the uneven light. He could see that it wasn't Isabelle.