Mandarin Rose

By James Gordon

The first book in the Kitty Wu Series.

What if America became a socialist republic?

In the new America, citizenship means your every need is cared for. All you have to do is take an emotion-numbing pill and surrender your rights.
For Kitty Wu, life as a citizen is not for her. Surviving as a prostitute, she hopes to someday leave the sexually taboo world behind. When her primary customer, the vicious Mayor Elka Weinhauer, begins to hurt her friends, Kitty discovers the mayor's actions could not only threaten the lives of those she loves, but the American empire itself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Gordon
• Release date: Dec 15, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465756626

James Gordon

About the author:James Gordon - author, producer, promoter, composer, artist and entrepreneur. In 2003, he published his groundbreaking fictional work entitled, The Unbegotten, the story of the begotten daughter of God and her trials in dealing with the fate she was destined to face. Since then, Gordon has released and revised four more books in the series entitled, Cataclysm, Sacrifices, Apocrypha and Yesterday's Kingdom. He has also created a literary soundtrack to the book.James Gordon has also released Mandarin Rose, Curse of the Black Lotus, Lady Dragon and Neon, which tell the story of a young prostitute named Kitty fighting to survive in a futuristic socialist America.Nationhood is the powerful novel about a spy named Mbaku Bolo fighting to save his country from a terrorist threat twenty-five years after the Affirmative Action Policy is ruled unconstitutional.Mocha Heat and Palmettos in Moonlight are thrilling suspense romances that deal with lust, love and terrorism. In Mocha Heat, Stacey and Donavan fight to maintain their love thought they are both in separate relationships. When one of them discovers they are involved with a terrorist, more than their relationship is jeopardized.In Palmettos in Moonlight, Francesca Del Clair tries to right the wrongs of her life as she attempts to rid her life of the very people who forced her into a life of terror. When a writer named Braden comes into her life, she finds that her toughest battle isn't against her enemies, but with her heart.Entice Me is a collection of eleven erotic short stories of people indulging in their most exotic fantasies. Filled with amazing sexual encounters, each story will explore a facets of sex and love with gritty, raw stories exclusively made for today's urban market.In 2012, James Gordon collaborated with his son, Kyle, and released their first graphic novel entitled Incursion. Its multicultural cast creates new and interesting heroes fighting to save the world from an extraterrestrial threat.You can learn more about these and other products by going to www.madsquareonlime.com.

Book preview

Chapter One: A Rose By Any Other Name

Portland, the Rose City. A moderate-sized metropolis that is designed so that visitors are never too far from shopping areas or visiting the major sights held within the city limits. It has an excellent transportation system, giving visitors and locals alike easy access to all areas around town no matter where they stay.

At night, thirty-three key buildings on both sides of the Willamette River present one of the most awesome skylines on the entire West Coast. The Rose Quarter sits majestically to the north, like an oval sentinel watching over the valley. The smooth glass sides of the monolithic US Bank Tower, affectionately known as Big Pink, gleams as the lights from the other buildings reflect off its polished surface. The Fremont Bridge is streaked with headlights; the city’s inhabitants moving across it like life giving blood passing through metro veins. Portland has the right blend of small town living and big city excitement, with just enough intrigue to give the metropolis an air of mystery. I should know, because I lend a huge assist to the underground nightlife that exists here.

My professional name is Kitty Wu or Kitty Klaus, depending on the client and my disposition. I am a prostitute, at least that’s the American version of what I am called. The Chinese call me a Jì nu. My mother was Chinese and my father was Black, a sailor who stayed in the Orient for a year, knocked my mother up and then pulled out of port, leaving us behind.

I was called a Blackinese by the natives. Although accurate, it was not intended to be an endearing term. Life wasn’t kind to me during the formative years of my life. I was picked on, badmouthed and ridiculed at every turn while I was growing up. I even had my fair share of fights with both boys and girls.

My mother caught hell, as well, for bringing a half-breed child into the world and disrespecting the sanctity of the Chinese Republic. The village we lived in treated us like outcasts, so much so that we had to move to the outskirts of the town to live. We were looked at as second-class citizens because of me and there wasn’t a moment where people didn’t remind me of my status.

All the while, my mother never stopped loving me and treating me as if I was her precious jewel. In fact, she used to call me the crown jewel of the family. She would always tell me to remember this time in my life, but to never let it, or anyone, break my spirit. When she told me that, I didn’t give it much merit at the time. As I grew older, her words would get me through the roughest periods in my life.

Once I became an adult, I went to college and got a degree in business, but there were very few options for me in China, being a woman and a half-breed. So I came to America, specifically Portland, looking for a better way of life and hoping that being in the land of milk and honey would help me to find my American Dream.

Shortly after I arrived in the states, the economy did a nosedive. Banks crumbled and businesses that were once the cornerstone of the nation’s financial industry filed for bankruptcy or were sold off to more stable companies. Production grinded to a halt and the country was steadily spiraling into another depression. In order to stop the decline, the government passed a bill to buy all the toxic assets, which they thought would aide in bringing the economy back to life. Boy, were they wrong.

Eventually, other businesses decided to throw in the towel and ask the government to bail them out. The country began to borrow money from other countries who were all to eager to lend them the funds. Their deal came with a price. With all the borrowing there came a point where the money they were paying back only covered the interest, leaving the principle untouched. Taxes were increased to the point that our paychecks went straight to the government. The state provided our food, our housing and our way of life, and the once proud nation called America was reduced to nothing more than an extension of a socialist nation.

The ones who did not wish to live under such conditions survived by staying off the grid. It was the only way to truly have any semblance of freedom. Doing so meant you could not take one of the jobs offered in the New America. That’s how I ended up being a prostitute. It was the only way I could make a living without becoming a number in the socialist regime.

Life as a prostitute had its share of challenges. It was a life lived in the shadows and equipped with a relentless revolving door of customers, mainly the out of town business men or military people looking to unwind after a grueling day of working for the system. If you did your job well, you had repeat customers. The ones who did really well had clients, the movers and the shakers of the republic.

The lucky ones were flown to exotic places for their rendezvous, on the state’s dime of course. They were given extravagant gifts and palatial homes, clothes, cars and anything else they wanted. However, everything came with a price for a life filled with all the privileges of the elite and all the pains of a condemned sinner. Tonight, I was not on the clock, yet I did have something to do.

It was another gloomy night on Sandy Boulevard. Nothing new in the city I called home. The roads were looking pretty desolate. Then again, it was 1:22 AM. Inside the city limits, a curfew was instituted for citizens of the republic. That way, the upper crest could have their fun without worrying about their reputation being besmirched.

It was the rainy season and the roads were wet from the shower that nearly drowned the city earlier today. A couple of hours ago, the streets were so flooded that snowplows were used to push some of the water out of the low-lying areas. Now, just a glistening sheen covered the roads amidst the dim illumination of the streetlights and neon signs.

Regardless of the desolation, there were some who still lingered about, walking the streets like they were on their way somewhere. Some stood by bus stops pretending to wait for the Redline, the affectionate name we’d given to the bus that ran down this way. In truth, they were actually waiting for someone to swing by and offer them a ride. The routine would always be the same. They would prod the offering person with a few questions and if they checked out they accepted the ride and waited for the driver to make his proposal.

You had to do that, otherwise you’d end up in a situation you didn’t bargain for. There was always some danger involved in this line of work. Though the local cops were in on the hustle, there were always the Nationalist Guards who were checking on the city trying to see if everything was going well. Normally we received a heads up that they were in town. That’s why it paid to have connections in high place.

We also had to worry about the psychos who got off taking their pleasures forcefully. Then again, the occasional housewife would spring up trying to kill the entire lot of us because her husband had been tipping out. Those were always fun. On the surface, it seemed like such a risky way to live, but such was the life of the streetwalkers. It was the dance of compromise, the ebb and flow of business in the world of sin and shadows.

As I mentioned before, it was a quiet night. I sat in my Lexus convertible parked between a bank and a pastry store. Every now and then I would look up to see the foot troopers picking up their tricks and speeding off to make their money. When they left, I went back to calmly buffing my nails, blowing on them every few seconds. It wasn’t that they needed buffing; it was simply something I did when I was nervous. I had every right to be. This was a special night, one I’d been planning for quite a while now.

I had on my favorite red Cheongsam, a high-collared form-fitting Chinese silk dress with a V-neck. Dragons and butterflies were embroidered on it and the dress hugged every curve of my body. However, it was so tight I had to hike it up almost to my crouch in order to sit. Completing the ensemble was a pair of ankle-high red boots along with some ruby-colored earrings and matching bracelets. My hair was tightly curled, blonde and gracefully resting on my shoulders. Yes, I said blonde. There was something about a dark-skinned Chinese woman with blonde hair that made most men cream in their pants. Perhaps that’s why so many women hated me.

In the seat next to me sat my best friend, a neatly groomed man in his mid twenties. His dark hair was cut in a short flat-top style and his complexion was milky in color. He reminded me of a Chinese George Michael. His name was Xiang Jin Chow, but he went by Brad Johansen, another socialist refugee rebelling against the system. He was also the product of a mixed romp in the sheets. He was called a Eurasian, his father being European and his mother being Chinese. Like me, he caught hell growing up, but not nearly as much as I did.

He had on a black leather trench coat, some fairly snug blue jeans and a black T-Shirt. His black penny-loafers fit his feet nicely, even without socks. He balanced a cigarette between his index and middle fingers and from the look on his face he was feeling a little anxious as well. He brought the cigarette to his lips and took a drag, then blew the smoke threw the opened window. As he flicked the ashes outside, he turned to look at me.

How much longer do we have to wait for this asshole? he asked.

I exhaled with disgust.

I don’t know, Brad. He was supposed to be here by now, I replied.

Brad began biting the cuticle of his middle finger, a nasty habit he had when he was feeling nervous. I flashed him a glance.

You keep doing that and your fingers are going to look terrible, I said.

Well excuse me, Miss Thing, but I don’t have one of those fancy finger buffer thingies like you, Brad replied, twiddling his fingers at me.

You would if you charged more.

I turned and gave him a pretentious smile, continuing to buff my nails as he leered at me. Brad sucked his teeth and resumed his look of annoyance.

Calm down, I said, turning to look once more at my nails. Why are you so edgy anyway?

I’m not edgy. I just don’t like waiting.

Well, maybe we can talk about something while we wait?

I don’t want to talk, he said with a slightly snippy tone. I should have brought my hash.

I shifted my eyes toward him without turning my head and smirked.

How’s Rick? I asked.

How should I know? he replied.

Bingo! Now I knew what was bothering him. Brad was gay and Rick was his British lover. They’d often had arguments, ultimately ending with them hooking up in some public spot and shagging the hell out of each other when they made up.

You two have another fight? I probed.

No, Kitty, we didn’t have another fight! I just…never mind!

Before I could fire off another question, I looked into my rearview mirror and saw a pair of headlights coming up behind us. A white Jeep Cherokee that was tricked out with twenty-two inch rims and a completely chrome grill pulled next to us and the passenger window was lowered. A caramel-complexioned man with blue tinted glasses and slick processed hair stared from inside. His name was Chili and he was a pimp, not my pimp, just a pimp.

Hey, Kitty baby! What’s shakin’? he asked.

You’re late, Chili! I exclaimed, shooting him a very disdainful look.

Sorry about that, baby, but I had to make my pickup from my girls! Anyway, I’m here now! You know that I’d never stand you up!

Um-hmm. Is everything ready?

All set!

Then, lead the way.

Chili revved his motor and pulled off, heading west up Sandy. I started my car and followed, trying to keep up with his over-the-speed-limit driving. As we reached the traffic light before we were to turn onto Interstate 405, Brad flicked his cigarette out of the window, then pressed the button to close it. He stared at the panoramic view in complete silence as we crossed the Fremont Bridge. I could see he was still pouting and for Brad his silence was very unusual.

What’s eatin’ you, baby boy? I asked.

Brad still didn’t answer. I reached into my purse and pulled out some gum, removed it from the wrapper and popped a piece into my mouth. I pushed some toward him, to which he shook his head. I dropped the gum back into my purse and continued my attempt to keep up with Chili as he weaved wildly from lane to lane. As we got off the bridge heading toward downtown, Brad sighed deeply and turned his eyes toward me.

You ever feel like you’re alone? he asked.

I smiled, relieved that he was finally opening up and letting some of his pent up frustrations out. All the time, I replied.

Why do you suppose we feel that way?

I sighed. This was going to be a deeper conversation than I intended to have with him. Perhaps because we are, I replied, hoping that answer would suffice.

Brad continued to stare at the passing buildings as we drove toward downtown.

Over a million people live here and yet we can still be lonely. Aren’t we living the oxymoronic paradigm? he said.

Yeah, it can get lonely sometimes, I said, not truly understanding what an oxymoronic paradigm was.

He didn’t say another word until we got on the Twenty-Six headed toward Beaverton. It was then Brad noticed that Chili had turned off the highway and began driving toward Raleigh Hills, a mildly upscale area. He frowned, then frowned even more when I followed him.

Where is this nut taking us? he asked.

My eyes widened slightly. It was a surprise, but I didn’t want to reveal it just yet.

Oh, it’s a new client, I said. Out of town businessmen, if I remember correctly. One’s flavored and the other is plain. We’re just going over there to meet them.

Brad’s demeanor became more hostile.

And just when were you going to tell me this? he asked, looking at me with a scowl.

I intended to tell you. I just forgot.

"Forgot? You drive me almost to a new client’s place and you forgot?"

Don’t take it personal, Brad.

Personal? Since when do you pick out my clients?

I don’t. I just thought that…

Yeah, you thought! That was your first mistake! I’m not some two-bit whore who would drop his pants for anyone, Kitty! I’m not that kind of person and I resent you placing me in this position or even thinking I would go along with something like this!

Brad, take it easy.

"I will not take it easy and I am not going with you! Pull over right now!"

Brad…

No, Kitty! Pull over!

It’s not what you think, I said, trying to calm him down.

Oh, so now you know what I’m thinking! My goodness, Kitty, you’re amazing! You can trick, be presumptuous and read minds! Hell, we should go to Vegas and put you on a show! We could make a fortune! Tell me, is there anything you can’t do?

I got a little upset at his last rant. Brad was known for his raging temper, but he’d never turned his anger toward me at this level before. Although I was getting a mouthful right now, I knew something he didn’t. Once he got to where I was taking him, he would be singing an entirely different tune. In the meantime I just needed to get through the vicious and berating comments he was hurling at me.

Brad, I’ve known you for a long time. I consider you my best friend and we’ve stuck together through thick and thin, I said as calmly as I could. Have I ever done anything to you that would hurt you or cause you any pain?

Brad sighed and turned to look out of the passenger window.

So, you’re going to ignore me now? I probed.

No, Kitty, you’ve never done anything to hurt me, he replied with a hint of sarcasm.

Brad braced his elbow on the armrest of the door, his chin pinched between his thumb and index finger.

I’m sorry if you think I overstepped my boundaries, I said.

Just tell me one thing. Is it going to be worth my time? he asked.

All I have to say is, you’ll have some fun.

Ever the evasive one, he replied with a monotone voice.

Just then, Chili flipped on his right turn signal and made his way into the driveway of a very large house that didn’t have a single light on inside. I pulled in behind him and parked, making sure to give him some room to get out. After I turned off the motor, I began making the last minute touch-ups to my makeup. Chili hopped out of his Jeep in his normal prancing manner. I pulled down my visor and flipped open the illuminated mirror. I checked my lipstick, using my middle finger tip to wipe away some excess gloss from the corners of my mouth. I reset the visor and looked at Brad. He had an expression of uncertainty, almost like he was scared. Luckily, I wasn’t. I opened the door, then glanced at Brad once more. He had his hand on the door latch, but still seemed reluctant to open it.

I don’t think I’ve ever been in a place this ritzy before, he said.

He turned and looked at me. I returned a reassuring smile.

Well, we are within the jurisdiction of the city. The people in this part of town are well taken care of.

That’s obvious.

Look. If you really don’t want to go, you can take my car and come back to pick me up in about two hours, I said.

Girl, are you crazy? I wouldn’t dream of letting you go in there by yourself! Brad exclaimed.

I wouldn’t be alone. Chili would be with me.

Sweetie, I wouldn’t trust Chili with Lucifer’s life, Brad replied with a wave.

Then, let’s go.

Brad sighed and looked once more at the grand house.

Lord, have mercy. Are you sure about this? he asked, looking at me again.

By this time I was starting to get a little annoyed.

Brad! Open the door and get out of my car! I barked.

Yes ma’am! he replied with a flimsy salute.

We got out and began walking toward Chili. The bark of our car alarms echoed amidst the dark and quiet neighborhood. Chili stood next to his car as Brad and I walked up to him.

Well, you ready? he asked, looking at the both of us.

As ready as we’ll ever be, said Brad. But let me tell you one thing mister I-think-I’m-all-that. If this is something that causes me or my girl some problems, I’m gonna bust your ass.

I lowered my head and scratched my temple, a little embarrassed at Brad’s over-protectiveness. Chili chuckled.

Man, you ain’t gonna bust nobody’s ass, he replied, still chuckling.

You think I’m playing? asked Brad taking a more assertive posture.

It was time to break this up before someone got hurt, and when I said someone I meant Brad. Boys, let’s go inside. I’m getting cold.

Yeah, I can see, said Chili, looking at the outline of my hardened nipples beneath my dress.

I folded my arms in front of me and sneered at him.

Not even in your wildest dreams, I said.

Yeah, right.

I shook my head and walked passed him. Brad followed, giving Chili a menacing sneer. We proceeded to the front porch, which was decorated in classic Southern style. A nice wooden swing hung from the roof and rocking chairs were tastefully placed around the entire deck. Hints of old Hong Kong were present in the wind chimes that dinged in the gentle breeze. When we got to the massive mahogany front door, we noticed a note taped to it. I pulled it down and began reading.

What does it say? asked Brad.

It says the door is open and that we should let ourselves in, I replied.

See, nuh-uh. I knew this was going to be some cheesy shifty mess. They left the door open and told us to come in? Nuh-uh! I’m not going in there! said Brad.

I turned to Chili with a puzzled look.

Are you sure about this? I asked.

Yeah, they’re cool. I checked them out myself, Chili replied.

I thought you said these were your customers, said Brad toward me.

These are new clients who contacted Chili, I explained.

Are you seriously going to trust this guy? snapped Brad in a whisper. This guy tried to sell you a broken vacuum cleaner by telling you it was the new whisper quiet stealth model.

I wanted to laugh as I remembered that whole episode.

Hey, that wasn’t my fault, Chili fired back. How was I supposed to know the thing didn’t have a motor?

Brad looked at him. You’re an idiot, Chili, and you’ll always be one. C’mon girl, let’s get out of here before someone shoots us for trespassing.

All right! said Chili. If I go in and check the place out to make sure everything is okay, will you go in?

No! replied Brad.

Wait a minute, Brad, I said. I turned and looked at Chili. You go inside and check this place out. If everything is cool, we’ll come in.

Cool, said Chili.

He entered the house, turning on a few lights inside. He was gone for a couple of minutes. Meanwhile, Brad, with arms folded across his chest, moved closer to me.

This is crazy, Kitty, he said. This guy is going to get us killed. No telling what he’s doing in there. He’s probably tripped the silent alarm or something. I say we get out of here right now before the cops arrive.

You might be right, I said pensively.

In truth, I was getting slightly worried. I was about to do what Brad suggested when Chili came back to the door.

Everything’s fine. You can come on in, he announced.

Kitty? asked Brad with uncertainty.

I gave him a look that indicated I was having second thoughts myself.

It’s okay, Brad. Let’s check it out, I said, placing my hand on his folded arms.

I began walking toward the door with Brad reluctantly following. When we entered, the living room was dark.