A Dangerous Connection – Chapter 1

This one. I like this one.

I stop in front of the window of a posh boutique on Avenida Belleza and take a bite of my croissant. Yes, this one is a winner, I think. Hmmm, it would even fit me now in the state I’m in. I hum as I admire the shimmering holographic dress hanging in the front. Reds and pinks swirl on the silver metallic fabric, a wave, a hush of color that catches my eye and makes me smile. Wearing the dress must be a hundred times better than just looking at it.

Sigh. What I wouldn’t give to have access to all of my credits right now. This one would surely set me back a pretty credit, but oh well. It would be worth it. I could see myself wearing it out to dinner, at a party. Hell, I could even see myself wearing it just wandering around the house.

I step away from the window, tilt my head, and imagine the dress on me. Yeah. It’s perfect.

Transferring the croissant from my left hand to my right, I sip on my coffee. The croissant and coffee cost me my last five credits, which means I need to either earn some money soon or go home.

Both of these options aren’t even remotely possible. Getting a job as a single woman in this city is near to impossible. All the men here have the market tied up. The only women I ever encounter here have their own relationship networks, their own businesses, their own lives. They’re not scraping by, living in abandoned buildings and using their last credits for croissants and coffee.

I stroll to the next window, grateful for the lack of foot traffic so early in the morning. I don’t need people staring at me as they walk by. My flowing skirt doesn’t cover my beat-up sandals and dirty feet, and my sweater is threadbare. It was what I could find in the donation piles when I first arrived here. A step-down for sure. And they shut off the utilities to my building three days ago, so I’ve only had the bucket of water I had saved prior to get me through washing until I can locate a new place.

Hard to believe I lived in luxury before this.

I tear off another piece of my croissant and consider my options. I could do prostitution, I suppose. It’s not as if I don’t like sex. But that always seems a little dangerous, considering how many men would give anything to be with a woman. And many of them hate us for even existing.

I stare down at my toes and wiggle them. I’ve gotten myself into a hell of a mess.

Fuck it.

I finish my croissant and coffee and toss the waste into a nearby trash can.

Well, time to face the music. I only have a few options at this point. I could try to get in touch with my old network, but that’s the absolute last resort. I’d rather live on the streets than go crawling back to them after every stupid thing I’ve done. There’s a good reason I’m here and they are not.

I’m living out my terrible mistakes, doing penance for all the irrational decisions I made.

This is my fault, not theirs.

I tip my head and stare at the mid-morning sky. What should I do with the rest of my day? The rest of my life? No clue.

Wandering through the busy streets, a splash of color catches my eye. Nestled between a shuttered restaurant and a hair salon is a small, modern art gallery, already open. Its bright white exterior and floor-to-ceiling windows give it a crisp, contemporary feel. I like the place already.

Have I been down this street before? I glance left and right and realize that I always walk in the opposite direction, towards the high-rises. Huh.

Might as well pop in and enjoy some culture before I lose my life completely.

As I step inside, the cool air conditioning is pure relief from the morning heat. The gallery is quiet, with a few employees milling about. I let my eyes wander over the colorful paintings and mixed media installations, appreciating the creative spirit on display. To my left are abstract sculptures crafted from metal and stone, some smooth and others jagged. On the right hangs large vivid paintings in every color — swirls of purple, dabs of yellow, slashes of blue. Out the back door, the soft patter of water dripping from a fountain onto pebbles leaves the space cool and serene.

An employee looks up at me as I amble past. I tip my chin up to say, “I belong here.” It usually works to keep people from judging me by my clothing.

In the corner is a woven installation with cloth ribbons suspended from the ceiling that flutters as I approach it. Ah, it’s gorgeous. I’ve always loved mixed media art.

Why didn’t I ever become an artist? Because that’s the domain of men. Women are expected to run their networks and make money to keep the family alive and fed.

“Oof, I do not like that frown.”

I jump and gasp, pulling my hand to my chest. The man who I didn’t notice to my right snaps his hands out to keep me from falling over.

“Oops. I didn’t mean to startle you. I figured you might be in deep contemplation of my art here.” His wry smile warms me as he withdraws his hands. “Not that it was going to scare the crap out of you.”

“This?” I point to the piece of fabric and woven textiles on the wall. “This is yours? It’s beautiful.” I lift one corner of my lips and narrow my eyes. “Not even kind-of scary.”

I step back from the piece and angle my head to the right. “Though I’m unsure of what it is. Maybe…” The swirls in the fabric made from ribbons and cut threads are reminiscent of… “Oh, squid?”

His smile broadens. “Yes. Good catch.” He reaches out and straightens the hanging in front of us. “The sentient squid.” He points farther down the wall. “This is a part of my new installation, The Waters of Rio.”

Several employees are working to hang his installations. Wow. He must be pretty important. Getting your art displayed in this district of Teresa Terceiro is a feat.

“Tiago,” he says, offering his hand to me. He blinks a few times as I slip my hand into his. “Do I know you? You look familiar.”

I pause for a second and take him in. Wait. I do know him.

“Oh, I think we…” I drop my voice to a whisper. “Live in the same building.”

He nods slowly. “Yes, I’ve seen you there.”

Huh. Seeing his artwork and his tailored clothes and, well, clean face, I assumed he was some wealthy artist, making mountains of credits from his work.

Not the case.

And I’m not surprised. It’s not an easy life as an artist. This is why so few women have luck in the business.

“Excuse me, miz.” A man appears at my elbow, all head lowered and eyes on my feet. “The gallery isn’t open yet. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Tiago frowns. “Actually, this is my friend —”

Oh shit. I never provided him with a name.

I raise my hand in a short wave to the gallery employee. “Sora. Sora Monteiro.”

And shit, I just used my real name. Cold tingles flow over me as I realize my mistake. Why, Sora? Why? I’m terrible at this. Terrible.

His smile is fake, like a limp fish across his face. Ugh. I hate that. “I came by to see how the installation was going. Tiago,” I croon, placing a hand on his chest, “this is lovely. I think this one will be a winner.”

Tiago takes the cue and places his hand over mine. “I’m so glad to have your approval. You know how hard I’ve worked on them.”

“A magnificent showing. I’m sure you’ll sell them all.”

He takes my hand and lifts it to his lips for a gentle kiss, his eyes never leaving mine.

“I see,” the man says, stepping away. “Sorry to have interrupted.” He slinks off.

Tiago and I look at each other and break into grins. It’s hard to stop the giggles that bubble up.

“Thanks,” I say, stopping a laugh. “I didn’t realize the place was closed when I walked in.” I glance at my hand in his, and he drops our hands to our sides before letting go.

“It was a masterful lie.” He bumps his shoulder against mine. “And thank you for the compliment, unless that was also a lie?” He laughs again and the employees glance at him.

“Nope. It was the truth.” I sigh as I look around. “But I didn’t mean to intrude.” I move away from him, and I’m surprised how I crave his warmth once it’s gone. His presence is so immediate and intoxicating.

I didn’t expect to ever feel that again. It’s been a month since I had a warm body to sleep next to, sidle up to at meal times, or walk with in the evenings. I miss it. I miss the sweet smiles, the soothing touches… I don’t miss the constant pressure of performing, of bringing in income, of having a family at all costs.

My lips fall into a frown and Tiago’s follow.

“I’ll see you out,” Tiago says, sweeping his hand out.

I’m tempted to tell him to stay. He doesn’t know me and doesn’t need to do anything for me. But I force a small smile and head for the front door.

Outside the temperature is rising and daytime is getting into the swing of things. It’s time for me to return to my building and hopefully keep myself busy for the next few hours until I can figure out what to do afterward.

I’m out of credits, out of time, and out of options.

I’m also out of food and soap. Not the best combination to be living in.

“Hey, so,” Tiago begins as I turn away. I stop and face him. “I’m not sure how many people are even going to show up for this opening tonight. Would you be willing to come back?” He grimaces. “The crowd is a little pretentious and stuck up, but they buy art. I’d love to have a familiar face here.”

“Me? Familiar?” I press my hand to my chest.

He shrugs, trying to be nonchalant. He fails. “I’ve seen you around the building a few times.”

Oh… I’ve had a secret admirer? That’s sweet… and a little off-putting. What does he see in me?

I gesture to myself. “I’m afraid I’m not dressed the part. I’m surprised you are, actually. They turned off the water three days ago.”

He smiles. “I don’t live there, but my studio is in the building. Temporarily, obviously.” He rolls his eyes and sighs. “I used to pay good money for rent there, and I refused to leave when they condemned the place.” His voice lowers to a growl. “The absolute insanity of conspicuous consumption in this city drives me mad most days.” He lifts his hand. “Is it not enough that pretty much every building only has a life of twenty years before they demolish it and make something new? Why?”

I stand still as anger rolls over him. “It’s the way of things on Rio. They abhor decay.”

Always have. It’s one of those ‘Let’s not commit the same sins as our forefathers’ deals.

He sighs, the anger gone. “It’s wasteful.”

Huh. This handsome, kind, and artistic man is also ethically responsible. I wasn’t expecting that. It’s funny how I got to know him so well in the last twenty minutes. Usually, I have passing words with strangers, and sometimes, I’ll talk to someone in the building. But most days are quiet as I stroll the streets and window shop.

I’ve already said too much, gone too far.

I need to go. Now. No attachments. No new partners.

Remember the plan, Sora. I am on my own now.

“I have an idea,” Tiago says, interrupting my attempt at escaping. “Why don’t you use my place today to get cleaned up, something to eat…?” Again, he shrugs like it’s no big deal, but I sense an underlying motive. Sigh. I can always tell when someone is up to no good. He sees a pretty woman, unattached, ripe for the taking. There are still so few of us. In his eyes, I should have a network of men, and why can’t he be one of them?

But I catch of whiff of myself. Gross. A shower and a meal? That sounds awesome right now.

“Thanks, but —” I shake my head, and he holds up a hand.

“No strings attached. I promise. You enjoy the day at my place, show up here tonight, and if we never see each other again after that, so be it.” He smiles and the sheer brightness of his eyes knocks a breath out of me.

My first instinct is always to decline, but his invitation is tempting. And I do need to eat.

“Sure, why not?” That’s quite impulsive of you, Sora. I’m not a compulsive person.

Maybe that’s my problem.

Tiago’s shoulders relax. He nods at my wristlet, my key to the DuonetDounet and the fake life I bought before I ran. With a few gestures, Tiago’s invitation comes up on my optical implant. Right then and there, he knows I have money, enough to have gotten the implant. His eyes lock on mine as I swallow in a dry throat.

Is this a mistake?

I turn over my wrist and accept his invitation.

If it’s a mistake, oh well. There’s only so much of being on the run without food and water I can take.

Maybe I can start my life over here?

A one-day-only temporary private key drops into my inbox, attached to an address about five blocks away. I acknowledge the receipt, and it shoots back to him under my alias.

Tiago grins. “Great. I will see you later, Angela.” He stresses my fake name, and I shift back and forth. Caught red-handed. “Seven tonight?” He backs away from me, never losing eye contact. “Help yourself to anything in the fridge. The pasteis de nata are fresh. I just bought them this morning.”

I pull in a quick breath as my mouth waters. “Those are my favorite.”

He turns away. “Then it’s kismet. See you later.”

With a wave, he returns inside.

My traitorous stomach rumbles. Okay then.

Let’s see what his apartment looks like.