02. The Shadow Dancers (27 page)

"Why, dat's slavery-sir," Brandy Two said softly.

"No it's not. Anytime either of you don't like it here, you are free to leave. If you complain, or smart-mouth anybody, or we don't like the way you do things, we might even toss you out. You see, Mr. Siegel likes practical pets, but he's allergic to dogs."

We stripped, but if looks coulda killed we'd'a burned this bastard to a crisp. Slaves, pets-his own damned brand of Vogel's Nazism. And this guy with a name like Arnold Siegel!

But, of course, Arnie Siegel had never heard of no Adolf Hitler or death camps. They didn't have that in this world's history. The last big bad guy was Napoleon. Ten to one he heard from somebody from the competition about Vogel's thing and never even knowed the history behind it, and how he'd have been gassed no matter how much money and power he had. No race or ethnic group was immune. Catholics stepped on Jews for centuries. Moslems step on Jews, Jews blow up Moslems in my world. Some free blacks in the old south owned slaves, and Liberia was made by freed American blacks enslavin' the Africans.

This was a radical change for us from anything we'd had up to now, and they meant every word of it and also understood just what kinda hold the juice had on us. They reinforced it by bringin' on withdrawal and makin' their demands until we crawled and begged and would do or say anything, and then they used that mellow time after the high to tell us just how to act and how to behave. And, like before, one day you wake up and it's the way things are. You still don't hav'ta like it and you don't hav'ta enjoy it, but
you obey all the rules instinctively and you don't even
think
of disobeying. This was all the shit they learned in Vogel's world refined.

The one odd thing was that they wanted us both called Brandy, nothin' else, and they wanted us always together. Sleep together, eat together, run, work, play together, even be a duo when gettin' fucked. It was like they was tryin' to make us identical, at the lowest level. I had a hunch the honeymoon was over and they was preparin' us for somethin', though right then it didn't seem like much.

Fact was, we wasn't treated too bad. The cooks always made up what we wanted, the rooms got cleaned, and there was always some members of some gang or another in the house who wanted to do it with twins. Nordstrom was more of a Tinkerbell than even I had thought, and he pretty well hated and looked down on women in general, but because of that he didn't like us around him much. He was a real turkey when he
did
use us for somethin', but that wasn't very often.

Arnie Siegel, on the other hand, was an icy cool charmer. You got the idea that the guy could be sittin' there sippin' sherry and in gentle good humor reminisce with a chuckle about the time he murdered his parents inch by inch with a knife. I doubt if he did that, but he sure was the type. The fact that he was good-lookin', even handsome, almost a movie star type of look, only made it worse. He liked to cuddle sometimes in his big den with the leather furniture, fireplace, hunting trophies and bear rug, and sometimes he'd just be readin' or doin' somethin' on the couch and want us perched on the rug. He was weird. When it got hot, he threw some parties invitin' all sorts of bigwigs-not just crime figures, but politicians, show business types, even cops. When he did, we was allowed to dress real pretty and slinky and sometimes entertain the guests with a dance or strip act, and entertain a lot of important folks in the mirrored bedroom as well. That we liked a lot.

If he had all this and was only number two, you had to wonder what Big Georgie Wycliffe must be like.

Then, one evenin', we was summoned up to the den by the master of the house himself, only this time he wasn't alone. There was a woman with him, one who looked
slightly familiar but who I was sure I never had seen before. She was fairly small and if she was well built she took pains to dress to conceal it. She wore a stock professional woman's suit and blouse, blue with faint stripes, and even though she didn't even seem to have lipstick on, let alone eye shadow, I couldn't get it outta my head that she was made-up like mad. She was almost as dark as me but it was more like a temporary suntan than the tan I got, wore thick glasses, and had black hair tied up in a bun. She might have been a top secretary or somethin', but she had real long and perfectly shaped fingernails. Ever try typin' with long nails? Matter of fact, they looked more like the kinda nails
we
had, and her hands was smooth as a baby's.

They stood there, Arnie and Ms. Cool, and he put us through our paces, makin' us do all sorts of idiotic stuff, even do the two bitches in heat number. We felt like pet dogs doin' tricks. Finally we got up and stood there while she asked us questions.

"Do you mind being here, living like this?" The voice was high and, while cold, reminded me of somethin'.

"No, ma'am," we both responded, which was a lie. We'd be over that damned wall in a minute if we didn't need our juice.

She asked a bunch more innocuous and dumb questions, but she come over to us and started runnin' her nails over my skin and then my twin's, then actually pinchin' our fannies and feelin' us up. It was gross and unusual, particularly since you could see it was out of character for her and she wasn't in the least turned on by it like we was. Still, I got a slight whiff of her perfume and it wasn't no perfume you could get here, but I'd smelled it before. At headquarters. It was real popular among the women there.

"Amazing," she said to Siegel. "I can't tell them apart, even from the reactions. Which of you is Horowitz?"

"I am," we both said at once. I started a bit and gave a puzzled glance at my twin. What the hell was she tryin' to pull, anyways? Did she flip out from bein' with me all that time and sorta take on my background 'cause it was so much better than hers, or what? Damn it, I
knew
who
I
was.

And then she had us turn back to back and started askin' rapid-fire questions 'bout my personal life, 'bout Sam, 'bout
the Company, lots of stuff, to each of us in turn. The scary thing was, Brandy Two was givin' the same right answers as me, includin' the kind of personal stuff I knew I never told nobody, not even her. Worse, she was answerin' in my tone and my grammar and my vocabulary!

"Amazing," said the cold woman. "Even
they
can't tell anymore!"

"Well, there's one way," Siegel said, reachin' down and gettin' some cards from behind the couch. They had big letters on them, like eye charts. Big enough for even us to read with no glasses.

They showed one card to my twin, and she read, " 'Universities are institutions of higher learnin', divided into specialized colleges . . .'"

"Enough!" said the woman, and Siegel came over and held the other side of the card up for me to read.

And I tried. I saw the words clear, but I just couldn't put 'em together right. " 'De opp-opra-was de cree-cree- cretin' of de-fam-fam'ly?-team-of. . .'" I couldn't. I could see the words but I couldn't make sense of 'em. He took the card away and put it in front of the other Brandy.

" 'The operetta was the creation of the famous team of Gilbert and Sullivan,'" she read flawlessly, and I felt like I could cry.

"It's all right, dear, go back to your quarters," the woman told me. "You, Horowitz, stay here." And
I
was the one dismissed! I damn near ran down to the room, tears flowin', and fell on the bed. Memories crept in, other memories. Memories of bein' on the street as a kid; memories of shootin' up on smack, of workin' the Washington streets. Memories of bein' carried off here, of workin' the club, of seein'
myself
in that room and givin' her the juice and bringin' shit . . . My dialect, my vocabulary, my grammar seemed to crumble even in my thoughts.

My God! It ain 't possible! I ain't her! I ain't no whore who make all de wrong moves! Dey be messin' wit' yo' brain, girl!
Yeah, that was it. That
had
to be it!
Dey took me-her-to Vogel's place befo' dey bring her here. Why? Dat hypno-thing. Den dey pair us up and dis hypno-thing gits sprung.
But that didn't make no sense, neither. Sure, they might have done all this just to make her a perfect imitation, but if
so, they had to mess with my mind, too. Not with the juice; it didn't work that way. Did they have one here? Did they make me forget?
I
is Brandy Hor'witz, damn them! I am!

But was I? No matter how much I went over it and explained it, I couldn't really accept it one way or the other.
I
didn't know!
Not for real, not for sure. I tried to get a mental picture of Sam, to hold on to him, to think about all the real small, intimate moments, but he kept slippin' away. Then one of Nordstrom's flunkies come in and give me the juice, and all my troubles and doubts slipped away.

And when I started to come down, but was still in that mellow state, Siegel came in. "Well, Brandy Parker, the games are all over now. We were never sure if we could totally condition or trust Brandy Horowitz, since she had a real strong will and a devious mind, so we had to develop you anyway as a possible replacement. But she came along just fine, so you can go back to being just plain Brandy Parker again. Just put everything about her out of your mind and don't fight it. Go back to being yourself. Don't think about it anymore. Don't fight it. It's too late for you to get her brains and background. You're a whore, you'll always be a whore, and that's the best you can be. Now that we've turned her as we planned, she's no longer your concern."

I smiled at him. You always love everybody when you're comin' down. And when I was all the way down, some of it stuck. No, I didn't believe him-in fact, when you started thinkin' 'bout that cold killer type you had to be suspicious that he bothered to come down in person anyways, let alone explain anything-but I didn't
disbelieve
him, neither. If I was really her, and treated at Vogel's, I would be just this way now. I didn't want to believe it, but I was pretty sure that thing brung your mind down. It might make me unable to read or edit my words, but it couldn't instantly teach somebody
to
read all them big words. It didn't make no sense if they was gonna break, turn, and use the original to then get the two of us to believe we was each other and then send the copy, leavin' the original a copy of
her.
I didn't want to believe it, but no matter how I thought about it it only made sense if she really was Brandy Horowitz and me Brandy Parker.

Worst part was, it didn't make no difference. I might as
well
be Parker, since
she
was off doin' their business and I was stuck here forever like before. I was a lost ball, a shadow dancer, out of the game unless somethin' happened to her before they was done. Just as well. I may be only a whore but I wouldn't have no blood on my hands.

They shipped me back to Atlantic City and put me back in real slinky and sexy clothes, not to work the club but to work the streets. There was hordes of vacationers all over the place and even conventions. I still had both sets of memories in my head but the way I was workin' and the life I was leadin' and the end of all hope brought Brandy Parker supreme. All my thoughts beyond the juice was in turnin' tricks, lotsa tricks, and I did. I didn't get or want a dime of all that money, but it was the only value I had. The more men who would pay for me, and pay top prices for me, the more important I felt. Didn't need no brains. Didn't need no egghead shit. Dat other girl,
she
got dose, and where it git her?

By the end of the season, I no longer thought much about it or had any doubts. Way back in my mind I still cared, still envied her and thought they'd pulled a dirty trick on me, but that was it. Fast Eddie was real happy. "Girl, you're a terror," he said and chuckled. "I ain't never seen no whore pull in over a thousand a week before. Now that things are winding down here, everybody, including the Boss, thinks you should get a step up. You're our special from now on. No more cleaning up or shitwork for you. You're gonna be for the
best
customers."

And I was real thrilled and proud to hear that. I would get diamonds and gold jewelry now, real pretty stuff, and slinky dresses tailored for me, and a suite with two other girls at fancy hotels, and the customers would come to me. Otherwise, I could do what I pleased and enjoy the places. It was the top of the profession.

But Siegel wanted me before I went off on all this. He was entertainin' some very important folks at Mr. Wycliffe's lodge in the mountains, and he wanted me there. It was still fairly warm; I just took a bag with some of my best clothes and had a real excitin' time gettin' there. They flew me up on a private airplane, a little one-engine job that was kinda
like a Piper Cub and rough over the mountains, but it was all real pretty. We came down at a private airstrip on the property, and I was real impressed.

Marty was there to meet me, and this time
he
carried the luggage, what there was of it. "Well, goil, you really come up in de woild since dat last time," he said in his Brooklynese.

"I'm de bestest whore dat eva' was," I told him, walkin' real sexy. Then I gave him a move. "Want some choc'late fudge? I even fuck you dese days, my man."

"Eh. Don't tempt me. I got a wife and two kids who think I do now."

The house was a fancy all-wood huntin' lodge, almost like a resort only it was just two stories and had a big deck. There was a glassed-in patio and pool as well. I didn't ask who I was supposed to service, or why; I didn't really care.

It was real nice inside; big fireplace, overstuffed chairs around it, bear rugs and more trophies-but it looked more right here than in Siegel's estate. There was a very small staff on, but they was gettin' ready for some big arrivals, that was for sure, and there was two or three hood types around checkin' it all out. Maybe it was Big Georgie! Wouldn't that be somethin'! Big George's mistress. Top o' de
world,
girl!

Since there wasn't much goin' on, I got the urge to exercise. Normally I had this clingy gym shirt and shorts and shoes for it, but I realized I forgot to pack 'em. Well, the hell with it. I'd give 'em all a thrill. It was my body got me this far; I wasn't the least bit ashamed of showin' it, and barefoot over grass sounded like real fun. This black girl would be turnin' on some white boys, that was for sure.