Gun Games - Faye Kellerman [26]
Gabe waited a moment, then said, “Do you like piano music?”
“Of course I like piano music. I like the way you play it, just not massacred—which is the way I play it.”
He smiled. “The reason I ask is that SC is having a concert next Saturday afternoon.” He paused. “Wait. Are you Shomer Shabbat?”
“We go to shul in the morning, but we drive and stuff.” She looked at him. “For a Catholic, you know some pretty obscure expressions.”
“You live with the Deckers, you pick up a few things.”
“Anyway . . .” She averted her eyes and bit her lip. “What were you saying?”
“Oh, yeah. Anyway, the pianist is a guy I know from competitions. Paul Chin. He’s a student at SC, and we have the same piano teacher. He’s pretty good.” A beat. “I’m definitely going. If you want to come with me, I’ll be happy to take you.”
“I would love to come. What time?”
“Same time, three o’clock.” She didn’t talk, her eyes calculating something unknown. He said, “Why don’t you just tell your parents?”
“They wouldn’t let me go.”
“Yasmine, it’s not a date—”
“I know that.”
“You obviously have a love of classical music and it’s a shame to stifle it.”
“My parents are old-fashioned. Especially my dad. He doesn’t allow me to go out, period, even with Persian Jewish boys.” A pause. “I know it’s not a date and you’re just being nice, but . . .” She sighed.
Gabe said, “Well, the offer is open. If you change your mind, just show up at the bus stop.”
She nodded, looking thoroughly dejected.
“Finish your bar.”
“I’m not hungry.” She offered it back.
“Eat it. Don’t be one of those ridiculous anorexic girls.”
“I’m not anorexic.”
“Then prove me wrong and eat.”
She took another lackluster nibble.
“Hey, don’t fret.” He gently nudged her arm. “You’ll have plenty of time to hear concerts when you get to college. Besides, it’s probably better not to sneak around your parents.”
She didn’t answer. Then she said, “What is the pianist playing?”
“It’s all Saint-Saëns. I think the orchestra’s doing some golden oldies like ‘Danse Macabre’ and ‘Bacchanale.’ ” He thought a moment. “When I was a little kid, I saw Samson and Delilah. My father took me. I inherited my ear from him. Anyway, it wasn’t like a Met opera, it was one of these experimental things that the New York avant-garde just love to do. So when the company did the ‘Bacchanale,’ they started stripping until they were nude and started simulating you know what.” He grinned. “Man, I don’t think I heard a note of music.”
She giggled. “How old were you?”
“Around nine.”
“What did your father do?”
“I dunno. I was too embarrassed to look at him.”
She giggled again. “So you got your talent from your dad?”
“Yeah, only I’m better than he is and we both know it. It’s funny. My father is an absolute tyrant. I’ve never, ever talked back to him except in music. It’s the one area where I can tell my dad that he’s full of shit in that language and he’ll just laugh or agree with me. It’s weird.”
“You’re probably living his dream.”
“Nah, my father likes what he does just fine.”
“What does he do?”
It took a few moments for him to speak. “He owns brothels.” Yasmine’s face was blank. Gabe said, “Brothels. You know. Whorehouses.”
“Whorehouses?”
“You don’t know what a whorehouse is?”
Her complexion darkened. “I know what a whore is. I didn’t know there was a special house for them.”
Gabe said, “Eat your Balance Bar.”
She took another bite. “Like how does that work? Do all the whores just decide to live together?”
“Change the subject.”
“No, I’m curious.”
“A brothel is a place where whores work.” A pause. “So instead of having to go out on the street and hustle for guys, they just stay in one place and the guys come to them.”
“To have sex?”
“That’s the idea.”
“So your dad owns like a big motel or something?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Wow.” Her eyes got big. “Is that even legal?”
“In certain parts of Nevada, it is.”
“And the whores pay him rent?”
“It’s a little more complicated than that.” He tapped his toe. “Yasmine, you