Avarice Unfortunate Sons CH 18

King Charles Dollar

Nights were often hectic at the Four Roses. The music was loud. Gone were the electronic instruments, to be replaced with melodies of a more organic nature. Piano, acoustic guitar, violin, and brass instruments dominated. Some of the acts were really good. Those that were bad didn't last long on the stage; the patrons could get pretty rowdy. Renditions of barely remembered rock melodies filled the inn. Carlos enjoyed being among the masses and hearing music played again. He had long known silence was not his friend.

Carlos found that after everything he had tried, he didn't mind being a barista. The hours suited him even if the pay was low; he was, after all, only an assistant. He was good-looking, and his personality attracted many women. He bedded many of the most appealing ones, using the techniques Celeste had taught him to great success. However, his station still somewhat hampered his ability to woo women who had a higher social standing. He may have been attractive, but they were not going to avail their charms on a man who called a small storeroom in the back of the hotel his home. Though some did invite him to their own abodes for a tryst.

He never formed any lasting attachments, though. He had gone back to his former ways of just gratifying his lusts and moving on. The women were like Raissa had been, a tonic for the problem, one you used and the problem went away: at least for a little while.

For the first time in a long time, Carlos found that he enjoyed life again. After so long a slave with no meaningful choices, the colors looked richer, opportunities were exciting, and he felt alive. He had been scarred by the experience, though, and not just physically. Sometimes he would catch a glimpse of someone familiar and frightening in the crowd. He would forget what he was doing as panic gripped him. Only to realize that the person he had seen was not his nemesis after all. His work colleagues would growl at him for not moving fast enough or losing his train of thought. He would gather his addled wits and continue with his work.

This particular midsummer's night was very busy. The weather the past few days had been kind, and there was a large crowd in attendance in the Roses bar. A pleasant breeze flowed through the opened windows, and the young man could almost feel its freshness in the press of the warm bodies by the bar. Beer after beer, he served; his boss made most of the more complicated liquors.

There was a continuous sea of hands passing 'currency' across the bar. This could mean anything of real use or value. The problem with 'currency' as opposed to an official legal tender. Of which there was none as yet. One had to decide what its true value was.

Many in the Bridge spoke about instituting a monetary system as it was before the war; no one power could agree on what should be instituted. Also, Gage Freeman and his bikers loved the feel of gold and precious stones way too much.

So denoting an item's proper value was no easy task on a busy evening in the half darkness. Carlos had screwed up a few times, but the pickpocket in him, for the most part, seemed to intrinsically understand if it was a good trade. Part of the reason he got the job.

"Gin, please. Neat."

He clearly heard the lady's request above the clamor and complied. Sliding the drink toward the pretty hand that had requested it.

Deposited in his fist was a one dollar coin featuring the head of Charles the Third, its faux gold faded as all the gold currency did over time and use. A currency that had no value anymore.

"That's not currency." He said, annoyed. "We need something else."

A pretty voice over the din caused him to strain his ears.

"He was a terrible Prince, and an unpopular King. He was cruel to his beautiful princess, who did nothing but love him, and she perished for want of his love. He then married a witch and became a King that no one respected."

He looked up at the fair voice that reiterated this sad and true story.

"Do you even know who she was, you clod!"

"Celeste!" With the utterance of her name, all in the bar ceased to exist.

"You didn't come back to me." She said, mock hurt apparent in her tone, or at least she made it appear that way.

Carlos just shrugged; he felt cornered and rather sheepish. As he tried to serve others drinks, Celeste sat on the barstool, taking him in, sipping on her gin. The King Charles dollar was sitting between them on the bar top like a statement.

"I do hope you are not like that Prince." She pouted.

Carlos didn't answer; he knew anything he said to this sharp-minded woman could or would be used against him. So it was better not to give her the fuel.

"You don't want my job? The offer was generous? You prefer this?" She glanced around, waving her pretty fingers, as the crowd pressed forward and more alcohol was exchanged for baubles of value. Carlos just shrugged and poured a beer, handing it to a scruffy patron. The foamy head slopped on the bar top and down the sides of the glass.

"You know, I'm really sorry I pressed you for things you were uncomfortable about. I realized later it was insensitive of me, please forgive me."

"You were fine." Carlos lied, but he really didn't wish to get into it.

"Damn it!" Celeste cursed, "I have a client, and I have to go, but I will be back every day until you say yes."

*****

Carlos had always known since he was a young boy that there were three sides to everyone. The one everyone knew and saw daily, his public persona. The other only reserved for close friends and family, and the one that no one knew, and sometimes even he himself did not even feel appropriately acquainted with.

Growing up, he was very aware of this, probably before most of his peers were. There were things in his life he could never give vent to. His friends spoke more freely of their families and their troubles. Though he admired his Mother greatly, he knew others would not approve of her profession. Many were the evenings, even when he was very young, he witnessed her frustration, pain, tears, and disappointments at the callous hands of men. As a small boy, he longed to help her, and yet he still did not understand the nuances of the man/woman, pimp/prostitute relationships, but he knew her hurt.

As the years passed, the young man's perception encompassed what was happening in his household. No longer a teen with a small child to support, his mother made better choices and garnered more success. She had done well in a tough world that had sought to cast her down. She had, after all, had the odds stacked against her.

Carlos, because of this, had become very closed with his confidences. His troubles were his own. He knew if others didn't know you intimately, they could not hurt you efficiently. His Mother had taught him that after all.

He knew Celeste was drawn to him because he understood. He didn't treat her like a commodity or less for her career choice. Yet he would not reveal to her his past. To do so would disarm him, and he was not ready for that.

*****

True to her word, Celeste sat at that front bar every day for her gin, entreating him to accept her offer. Carlos kept politely declining. He liked Celeste, and he believed that through his own mother, he understood her, but he was unsure if he wished to become further embroiled in her affairs.

There was a part of him, though, that was struggling with the circumstance he was in. Being a barista didn't appear to be a path to anywhere. Sure, he could do this work and have a roof over his head, but what else? That bothered him. There was his past, too, and the night terrors. That feeling that something would come for him out of the dark. That one day, he may look up and into the very eyes of his nemesis. What would he do then?

He didn't wish to admit to anyone that he was scared. However, this was a town where slavery was practiced and was quite legal. One brand to flesh and it would be all over, he would never again be free. If Bennett arrived he it would not take him long to discover this fact, and he wondered if he would use it, even if he didn't desire him again but simply just for revenge.

It stood to reason that most newcomers to this town would make the Roses their first stop. If Bennett and his men ever ventured here, he would be standing right front and center.

With all these worries in his mind, it was not surprising that Celeste finally wore him down. After all, the last place a gay man would venture was a brothel.