“I want you to know what a joy you’ve been to me all these years, Sal. I know I give you a bad time about being sick, but I want you to know how much I love you, love our home and love our family together. You’ve made me the happiest man on earth, and I will forever be grateful for whatever time the good Lord gives us together.”
“Ah, dang it, John. I’m not gone yet. I’m fighting for us. I really am.”
“I know, babe. I know.” He rested his chin on top of Sal’s head. He slipped his hand inside her robe and massaged her belly. She relaxed against him and closed her eyes. While she dozed, John picked clumps of hair from her collar. He felt as though he swallowed a rock.
Buns walked in the door. He set his books on the table and sat beside John. “How’s Mom?” he whispered.
John gave Buns his usual wink and nod, but his son’s eyes grew wide seeing the hair his father held in his hand. Buns chin trembled, and his jaw worked hard, fighting the emotion he couldn’t express. John knew the pain his son felt. Inside, a thousand hot pokers burned John’s heart and soul. He reached for his son’s hand, but Bun’s moved away.
“Got homework to do, Dad.”
“Okay, son. Let me know if you need my help.”
“Sure.”
Buns didn’t sound sincere. John felt him slipping away as well.
* * *
Jess shuffled downstairs, well rested. Simone lay sprawled on the floor, hugging a pillow to her chest. Smelling a foul odor, Jess moved closer. He couldn’t see her chest move. Closer, he crept. Closer. When he realized the offending smell came from the dish on the floor, he bent down and picked it up. Tuna. Disgusting. The smell alone was enough to make a man turn celibate. He held the nasty dish at arm’s length, placed it in the sink, and turned on the tap. Simone stirred.
Jess called over his shoulder, “Hey, sleepyhead. We need to get you a better date. That shit you were eating stinks.”
Simone yawned. “It’s healthy.”
“So is sex.”
“The tuna was fine.”
“Suit yourself. I’m going out for a spin. Care to join me?”
“No thanks. I’m leaving early in the morning. I’ll be sure not to wake you. That’s if you’re home.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m meeting a friend for lunch—in the Bay Area.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t pout, Sheppard. She’s not your type.”
“How do you know?”
Simone rose, hiked up her sweatpants, and stretched. “Trust me. Besides, what is that American saying about being glued at the hip?”
“Don’t start getting pissy with me, Simone. I’m fine without you.” His mouth became a slash, his eyes dark and intense. “Stay away as long as you like.”
Simone threw the pillow on the couch and straightened the cushions. “It’s lunch. Not a holiday.”
“Okay, whatever.” Jess finished rinsing Simone’s bowl and placed it in the dishwasher.
Simone came up behind him. “Didn’t realize you were so… domesticated.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” He slammed the rack inside the dishwasher and closed the door. “Don’t expect me to clean up after you. I’m not your maid.”
“I didn’t ask you to do anything for me. If you have control issues, perhaps you should consult a shrink.”
Simone’s smug smile struck a nerve. Jess wanted to fly across the room and grab her throat. “Nothing crazy about me, darling. And don’t assume you know me, either. Understand?” He turned away, his blood boiling.
He caught a glimpse of Simone’s reflection in the kitchen window and envisioned her eyes bulging in their sockets while he squeezed her slender neck. As the scenario played out in his mind, he imagined her defending herself, bringing her knee up hard. But he had anticipated her move and blocked it. He saw himself release his hold on her neck and push her away. When she bounced off the cabinet, Simone morphed into a dark-haired woman, laughing. “Thinks he’s a big man now, Harry! The little turd thinks he can push his mama around.” Jess blinked, but the vision continued. He heard his mother’s shrill voice in his head, screaming at her scumbag boyfriend, Harry. “Are you gonna just sit there, asshole?” When he grunted his favorite response—“fuck you”—she threw a dish at his head and missed. Stoneware shattered on the floor. She raised her hand again. This time, she aimed at another target. Jess ducked. Too late, the dish struck his shoulder. His mother picked up another and another. She flung dishes at him until they were gone. When the last dish exploded into shards against the wall inches from his head, she laughed harder. Her eyes, obsidian discs, were now inches from his face. She seethed, “You think because you’re thirteen you can sass me, boy? Don’t you ever think you’re too big to get your ass whooped, you little pissant. I’ll fuckin’ kill you if you raise your hand to me again!” Jess flinched.
“What’s the matter with you, Sheppard? You look like you’ve seen the ghost.”
“I’m fine. And it’s a ghost, not the ghost.”
“Now you’re the fucking English professor? I can’t keep up with you. I’m going to bed.”
“Goodnight, darling.” Jess blew her a kiss. She caught it and slapped it on her backside, her smile contemptuous. Unaffected, Jess strolled into the living room and sat in the dark.
His eyes wandered the room, remembering the night he broke into Grace’s house and tazed her dog. Unfortunately, he failed. Better at killing strangers, I guess. Simone was right about one thing: he hadn’t been himself. What’s that all about? he wondered. The flashbacks were increasing. His temper seemed harder to contain. He missed Grace. He missed her putting him in check, missed her warmth, and missed her laugh. Being in her home was torture. He kept expecting her to walk into the room smelling fresh from her shower, her damp tendrils bouncing as she bent down to rub lotion on her legs. He got up and went into the family room.
He reclined on the couch until all he saw was the ceiling. She wanted you. His mind drifted back to the night they kissed in this very spot. Her eyes, soft and loving, searched his for the truth. Did he love her? Yes. She’s the only one he could say that about, the only one who ever mattered to him. I want her back.
* * *
When darkness fell, the moon illuminated a cloudless sky, sprinkling billions of stars over the sand. The air was still and crisp. Footprints, filled with water, were all that remained of a lover’s touch. A perfect day.
Inside the house, a fire blazed. Mouthwatering aromas wafted through the kitchen. Paul browned fresh Brussel sprouts in coconut oil and bacon. Grace pulled fingerling potatoes, tossed with olive oil and anise, from the oven. Next came a pork tenderloin, seasoned with garlic, pink, Himalayan, sea salt and tri-color peppercorns. In the background, the lyrics to David Grey’s Please Forgive Me resonated through Bose speakers.
Once the food was arranged on Paul’s grandmother’s china, Paul helped Grace into her chair and began serving the meal.
“I can’t believe my good fortune,” Grace gushed between bites. “You’re handsome, good-hearted, intelligent, charming, super-hot in bed…and you cook! What planet did you say you were from?”
“Mars, of course! And you chér, are from Venus, I presume because you have all the traits of a goddess. Not to mention stick-throwing abilities that are enviable! You made me look like a wimp out there today.”
Grace chuckled wickedly, “It’s all in the wrist.”
“Perhaps you can teach me.”
“Intuition tells me I have more to learn from you than you will ever learn from me. But I will make you a deal. I’ll teach you how to throw a stick if you teach me how to cook like this. I am in heaven!”
“You have a deal.” His voice lowered in pitch. “And I have a feeling dessert is going to be magnificent.”
Paul’s hooded gaze gave Grace thrill-bumps. She pressed her knees together, savoring the sensation she experienced whenever he looked at her that way. She slipped out of her shoe and s
lid her foot up and down his shin. “Something tells me dessert is going to be spectacular.” She raised her glass. He raised his, and they toasted. “To dessert,” they said in unison.
* * *
Simone listened in the dark for any movement downstairs. Her nerves hummed in angst. She didn’t know why. She had been a confirmed lesbian since primary school. Why Darren Sheppard occupied her mind was beyond her comprehension. Until now, she abhorred the idea of having sex with a man. Especially one so volatile and inconsiderate. What was the draw? Danger? Knowing any minute he could thrill her or kill her? She wondered if he realized she too was capable of slitting his throat. He certainly didn’t have feelings for her. There was no intimacy in their romps. He abused her. And I like it.
Many times, Simone contemplated her need to kill. She concluded, like her father, it was a chink in her DNA, an anomaly like being born with an extra toe. Her father always told her killing came from natural instinct. “Evolution bred the blood thirst out of us,” he’d pontificate. “But there are those, like me,” he said, “that refused to evolve.” He said killing became too ingrained for change to happen. He warned her that this trait would span each generation. Her offspring would kill, and so on. Perhaps that’s why, at age twelve, she seduced the sister of one of her father’s victims. No risk of pregnancy. She would remain barren and stop the demon gene from perpetuating further.
After attending Ciclo Básico, basic studies, she pursued Ciclo Orientado, secondary school, focusing on the arts. Her tall, thin body appeared in fashion magazines, earning her extra money for additional studies. She worked with Americans who taught her English and the ways of many cultures. By the time she was twenty-one, she had traveled to thirty-seven countries, learned seven languages and slept with sought-after celebrity models from all over the world. Her favorite model was Charlemagne from Prague. Too bad about her boating accident in Versailles. She shouldn’t have pissed me off.
When Simone heard the door close and a car engine roar into life, she raced to the bedroom window to watch the rental car back down the drive and disappear into the night.
Stripping out of her sweats, she strolled into the bathroom and turned on the shower. The chill in the air drew her skin into tiny bumps. She stopped to admire her taut breasts and hairless body in the full-length mirror. I wonder, did Grace ever stand in this very spot and do the very same thing? Simone’s breathing increased as she imagined Grace’s naked body close to hers. She closed her eyes and pressed herself against the mirror. Conflicting emotions flooded her senses. Did she want to kill Grace quickly or make love to her first and then kill her? Simone opened her eyes. Her nostrils flared as she stepped away from the mirror and into the steamy shower. As hot water pummeled her skin, her hand slipped between her legs.
* * *
Jess needed to drive and clear his head. Shut Mommy Dearest the fuck up. Clammy hands gripped the wheel. The nerve endings beneath his new hairline began to pulsate and burn. His left eye twitched. He needed to unleash his demons. And purge the poison growing in his belly. He needed to kill.
He perused the neighborhood, knowing if he were patient, he would find a victim. There was never a shortage of poor, lonely girls walking home from the bar after fighting with their boyfriends. He drove down the street at twenty-five miles an hour, looking left and then right like a shark hunting for food. Then he saw her.
“Hey! Pretty girl’s like you shouldn’t be walking alone.”
“Fuck off.” The sassy blond kept walking. Her heels echoed as she walked.
“No need to be mean. I’m a nice guy.”
She stopped. “That’s what you all say! Then you get what you want and off you go looking for someone else to fuck. You’re all the same!” She took off her shoe and flung it at the rental car, barely missing Jess’s head. The shoe bounced off the door frame and landed in the street. When she removed her other shoe and gave it another shot, Jess ducked and laughed. “You happy now? Those look like some pretty cool shoes to be throwing at a lowly creature such as I.”
The blond bent down to rub her aching feet. “At least you admit it,” she called over her shoulder. She kept walking.
Jess pulled over and parked. He gathered her shoes and ran to the corner where she stood waiting for the light to change. “My name is Adam. And if I may say, whoever upset you like this should be castrated.”
Blondie faced Jess, her eyes filled with pain. “What do you know?”
“I know that guys are jerks. I’ve been one myself…many times. And then one day you realize that women aren’t toys.”
“You’re shitting me, right? What planet are you from? Once an asshole, always an asshole.”
“Maybe. Then again, I could be your knight in shining armor.” Jess flashed one of his winning smiles. Heat grew in his groin when he noticed her shoulders slump. She’s weakening.
“Why are you following me?”
“One, because I think you’re beautiful. Two, it’s late. Four, I have a sister, and five, you look like you could use a break.”
“All that, huh?”
“No. That’s not all.” He leaned closer and inhaled. “I forgot to mention three; you smell nice.” He lifted her chin with his finger.
“Let me be your knight.”
“You want to take me home.”
“Your carriage awaits, my lady.” He lifted her hand and brought it to his lips.
“I must be crazy or drunk,” she mumbled. “Okay. But I’m trusting that you’re not a serial killer. Or worse…a cop. I’ve had my fill of cops.”
“Hush your mouth!” Jess opened the car door and helped her inside. “Here,” he said in a low, sympathetic tone. “These may be salvageable.” He handed over her shoes.
“Thanks.” Her eyes followed him to the driver’s side where he got in and started the engine.
“Where to?”
“F and Twenty-Second.”
“You hungry?”
“Kinda, but everything’s closed.”
“I cook.” He looked at her sheepishly. “Or is that being too forward?”
“No. I think it’s sweet.” Her eyes searched his for any trace of trickery. Satisfied he was sincere, she asked, “Your place or mine?”
“Either way.”
“Let’s make it your place. I have a roommate who gets up early.”
“My place it is.”
Jess pulled away from the curb, his heart beating like a wild beast with a fresh catch. He placed his hand over hers. She smiled.
* * *
Simone couldn’t sleep. She knew Sheppard was out there somewhere, doing who knows what. She hated the feeling—anxious and pathetic. Women didn’t affect her that way. No, with women she was in charge. She knew if she began to analyze herself it would all come back to one man. Daddy. She closed her eyes and watched him fall. A little smirk played on her full lips.
She opened her eyes to recall the drama when the authorities showed up on the scene once her father’s body was rescued. Policia. While driving her home, the eldest of the three tried to grope her. The other two snickered like school boys. She played coy, afraid of their advances, all the while knowing she could slice their throat with a flick of the wrist. She loathed men. Then why are you so enamored with Darren Sheppard? she asked herself. Perhaps because he had the same blood thirst. She suspected there was a woman in his life that destroyed part of his soul, the part that made him human. But who? He didn’t talk about other women. She wondered how he would react if she asked him straight out? She herself would slough off a question so invasive. Would he? She knew about Grace, but what of the others? So much to be determined, she decided. Her lids became heavy. She rolled over, pulled his pillow to her breast, and inhaled. Just then, she heard a noise coming from outside, tires crunching on gravel. A moment later, the garage door opened and closed. He’s home. Her heart beat faster. She heard the car door slam. Then another. She sat up in bed…and waited.
* * *
“What a
cute place,” Blondie said, slipping out of her jean jacket.
“Glad you like it,” Jess said, trying not to stare at her dirty feet and chipped, fluorescent-orange toenail polish. “Make yourself at home.”
Blondie climbed up on a bar stool and wadded up her jacket, propping it under her elbow. “Lived here long?”
“No, just moved in.”
“Oh? Where you from?”
“Detroit.”
“Where’s that?”
“Michigan. Certainly you’ve heard of Michigan, haven’t you?”
“Oh yeah. Detroit Lions, I get it.”
“Yes. Detroit Lions.” Jess opened the fridge. “Wine or beer?”
“I thought you were making me food?”
“Yes, of course. Aren’t you thirsty?”
Blondie twisted in her seat, swinging her legs like a five-year old. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“No.” Jess pulled a beer from the fridge. “Mind if I have one? I don’t drink and drive. This is my first tonight.”
“Oh, I like that. In that case, I’ll have one too. Can I have a glass, though? Drinking out of the bottle gives me hiccups.”
“As you wish.” Jess opened cabinet door after cabinet door, searching for a glass. “Here we go,” he said, locating the right one. “Still getting used to the digs.”
“What brings you to California?” Blondie leaned forward, her breasts spilling over the top of her sweater.
“Work. I’m a filmmaker.”
“Really? I’m an actress! I think this is kismet!”
Jess poured beer into a glass, handed it to her, and raised his bottle. “Could be. I think we should toast.” They clinked bottle to glass, and each took a swig.
“I hate Tony,” she sneered. “He’s so rotten to me. Just because he’s a cop, that doesn’t give him the right to be a dick.”
The Black Dress Page 24