Chapter 8

Ray stood in the bathroom in his forest-green silk boxers, squeezing warm water from the cloth into the marble sink. The white-and-black checkered tiles were cool underfoot. Gold-plated fixtures gleamed and in the corner was a sunken bath. Through the open door he could hear music playing from his bedroom, his favorite female artist singing about true love. His furry russet ears swiveled toward the sound and his tail swayed contentedly. He liked to listen to the singer when he was intimate with his many female companions and he allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. Ten years later, Rosie was still the best decision he had ever made on a business trip overseas.

He had been thirty-four at the time. She had been barely nineteen, sitting behind the counter of her family’s restaurant with a toddler asleep on a padded mat beside her chair. Ray remembered thinking, even then, that it would be a shame to leave a single foxkin mother in a society with such strong opinions about women in her circumstances. He had offered her the chance to come back with him as his live-in help. He had told her about the opportunities that awaited her and her daughter and in exchange he had asked only for what any red-blooded male would ask of an attractive woman sharing his home. She had said yes.

He was a generous employer. He paid well. He made sure she and her daughter wanted for nothing and that Michelle attended the finest private school money could buy. She was a teenager now. She and Sally should be at the concert. He walked over to the window that made up the whole of the far wall, the city spread out forty stories below. It was Mask Night. He could see small figures moving along the sidewalks, costumed children darting from door to door on the hunt for candy.