Read Online Dragonfly Bones by David Cole - Free Book Online

Empire waist above a slim inch or two of bare skin. Stonewashed indigo blue denim skirt, slit up the front, and indigo Manolo Blahniks.
    â€œWelcome,” she said in a modulated English accent. “Do come in.”
    â€œAre you Tamár?”
    â€œTamár, yes.”
    â€œI wanted to have better clothes. I look awful.”
    â€œWe’ve got plenty of nice clothes for you in a few moments. But business first. Let’s have some tea. I’ve oodles of different teas. What is your favorite?”
    She adjusted a perfect faded green celadon teapot, opening a large box with packets of tea leaves. Yayo chose a green tea and Tamár put it in a silver tea strainer, pouring hot water into the teapot from a silvered pitcher, and offering Yayo her choice from a delicate china platter carefully arranged with ginger cookies.
    â€œDigestives,” Tamár said. “I much prefer the chocolate ones. Do you?”
    â€œ Arrigato gozaimus, ” Yayo said, teacup in hand, unable to bow, so she cast her eyes down, head forward and back in one gracious movement.
    â€œI don’t doubt your ability to speak Japanese,” Tamár said. “It’s your English that the men desire. And I also. How is your English?”
    She handed Yayo a Newsweek magazine, folded to a page.
    â€œâ€˜Top of the Week.’” Yayo read carefully, not too fast, not too loud. “‘Cover Story. With a blunt tough-love message that says we have to stop complaining and take responsibility for our lives, Dr. Phil McGraw has become America’s hottest self-help guru.’”
    â€œGood, except…the men will want that quality you Japanese women have, the voice pitched up, a bit of singsong, that clear indication that Men Rule. Now. Read it again. Your natural voice. A bit of insistence. A certain quality, let’s call it Women Rule.”
    Yayo faltered with the first words. Eyes lowered, she stopped, but didn’t look up, began again, and gained enough confidence halfway through to raise her head and eyes to deliver the last words directly at Tamár, who smiled and clapped her satisfaction.
    â€œI’m told you are sixteen,” she said.
    â€œAnd two months.”
    â€œAre you a virgin?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œGood. You’re too old for that market. Now. Come over here.”
    She crossed the room to an antique desk, took out a book. Yayo tried to comprehend the shape of the house, where the bedrooms were, confused that no kitchen seemed evident, even more confused that the expansive living room, on three levels, seemed to have no doors except the ones through which she’d entered. Tamár sat on a long sofa, watching Yayo for a moment.
    â€œIn good time, my dear. Look at the pictures.”
    Yayo opened a large photo album, the chrysanthemum-color covers of heavy leather, with a dozen soft leather tabs.
    â€œI thought I would be working here,” Yayo said.
    â€œYou’ll start here. Let me explain how the Circuit works. This book shows thirteen other houses, just like this one. Like mine. You’ll see pictures of all the other houses in that book. Each house has its own manager. Like me.”
    â€œI thought…” Yayo hesitated.
    â€œYou thought?”
    â€œThat you were in charge. That this was the only house.”
    â€œWomen need to protect themselves from those men who usually manage working girls. Women need to organize. As women. Cut out those men, those pimps who take your money. The Circuit started at least sixty years ago. Now we have so many houses that we’ve regionalized. You’re looking at the Southwest Circuit. Arizona, Nevada, Colorado, California. For the first year or so, you’ll be moving between houses in the Southwest.”
    She paused to pour Yayo more tea.
    â€œYou do understand why you’ll move around?”
    â€œLouis Vuitton. Prada. Fendi.”
    Tamár smiled, clapped her hands together with