“Oh my,” the old woman repeated, before turning and starting to stroll in the opposite direction, abandoning her wares and leaving the two women staring after her.
“Well, that was . . . odd,” Marcie said, eventually.
Keisha was staring at the items laid out on the bench as if one might leap up and bite her. “She sounded like she knew you. Knew who we were. What was she talking about?”
“I have no idea,” Marcie said. “I guess that shit is her sales pitch. Freaks people out and then gets them to part with their money for all this trash.”
“It’s not trash,” Keisha said softly, eyes still scanning the objects.
“Well, if it isn’t, why did she walk off and leave it all here? Maybe she’s drunk.”
“Maybe.” Keisha didn’t sound convinced, and her eyes darted over to where the woman was strolling away. Was Keisha afraid?
“Do you want any of this?” Marcie looked down at the strange bags and vials and strings of colored beads and small wax carvings laid out on a large patterned scarf. Only now that she was closer could she make out the small chalk markings under the bench, symbols etched in white on the ground. This old woman took herself seriously, or maybe it was all for any passing tourists’ benefit.
“No!” Keisha looked shocked. “I wouldn’t buy it, let alone steal it. Those charm bags could be for anything.”
“It looks like a heap of cheap tourist crap if you ask me. Jason and I brought some like it back from New Orleans a few years ago,” Marcie said. She was quite enjoying seeing Keisha so unsettled. “But if she doesn’t come back someone will steal it.”
“Then they’d be a fool. My family are from Nigeria. They call this juju. Do good, get good, do bad, get bad. And bad can get really bad. It’s all about karma. These bags and stuff should protect you from it.”
Marcie smiled. “She’s an old drunk conning tourists out of a few dollars when they stray from their road trips and think they’ve found some Louisiana voodoo. And if she is drunk, then she’s ahead of us.” The overhanging trees suddenly felt claustrophobic. She was trying to laugh it off, but Keisha was right. The woman had talked like she knew them. This crazy city full of crazy people made crazy by the heat and too much liquor in the sun. “Let’s get back to yours and fix that.”
11.
Keisha had been stuck between Virginia and Emmett ever since they’d got back and she hadn’t gotten to talk to Jason and Marcie at all. Virginia had swooped down on her and that was that. The diamond glinting against her possibly surgically enhanced bosom was a match for the sparkle of gossip in her eyes. She hadn’t shut up. First, she’d gone on about her children, one in Paris studying fashion, one graduated from Harvard and living in New York, and the youngest, Richard, still here in Savannah sharing an apartment downtown with three others and setting up an Internet start-up that Virginia laughed about not understanding even though she was paying most of the bills for the venture. After that she was all fawning about how nice it was to see William happy again, asking a few questions about London, but then going on about the sainted Eleanor—whose portrait was still on the wall, Keisha noted—and how tragic it was she’d been lost so relatively young.
Relatively young was right. People in Keisha’s tower block back home died young. If it wasn’t the teenage gang stabbings, it was drugs or drink or just the weariness of poverty; a government that squeezed the poorer members of society as the rich got richer. Keisha came from society’s disposable stock. At least Eleanor had had the best care and a wealthy life. She’d had a family who no doubt treated her like a princess and gave her everything she wanted, before handing her over to William, who then did the same. Eleanor hadn’t had to pay anything back. She wasn’t held accountable for anyone else’s failings like Keisha had been. As if it had been Keisha’s fault that her mother drank herself to death when she arrived in England, forcing Auntie Ayo and Uncle Yahuba to have to raise her little girl, now wanting every penny they’d spent on her returned and then some. It was hard to feel sympathy for Eleanor.
“But she knew she was loved and that’s important at the end, don’t you think?” Virginia was still talking. “Iris kept her beautiful and Elizabeth kept her comfortable. Emmett would play cards with her, and Jason would come and read to her in those last days too. An hour every afternoon. Even when she was so confused and getting herself upset about things.” Virginia looked down to the other end of the table. “You were very good to Eleanor, Jason. She knew that, even when she was fading.”
At last the conversation had opened up and there was an opportunity for a glance and a secret smile. Something to store away for later. Something alive. She’d felt smothered by the dead today, and although they’d made a joke of the mad old woman in the square by the time they’d reached Marcie’s car, there was something in her tone, her confidence, that reminded Keisha of Auntie Ayo and her dark secrets. Maybe she’d google later about Louisiana voodoo, or whatever Marcie had called it. Seeing those trinkets had left her feeling on edge. She’d thought that kind of stuff was only in New Orleans. She had hoped to be out of reach of Auntie Ayo’s long shadow here, but maybe she hadn’t run far enough. Even in the sunshine, it seemed that ghosts fought for breath.
“That’s very kind,” Jason said. “But I’m sure Keisha doesn’t want us talking about Eleanor all the time.”
“Jason’s right,” William said. “It’s time to focus on the future. Speaking of which, when do you two leave us? Grand Cayman again, Virginia said?”
“Wednesday morning,” Emmett answered. He smiled, the expression strained. Keisha wondered if he’d had Botox. He must be nearly sixty, and the skin on his small face was unnaturally still, no movement in his forehead or around his eyes, making smiling seem like an effort. “It’s only for a couple of weeks. Some work, some pleasure. We may do some island hopping.”
“It’s such a relaxed way of life,” Virginia crooned. Her face was stretched smooth from her full cheeks, but she too, no doubt, had rid herself of any unwelcome wrinkles. It seemed the way of life here. Sure, plenty of girls Keisha knew in the club back home were Botoxing in their twenties, but the look on firm skin was more subtle, less like the preservation of the dead. Even the tissue-thin skin around Iris’s eyes spoke of work done in the past when youth had still been close enough to try to grasp.
“So much less hectic than here. I’m always so busy. Between the club, my charity work, Richard’s start-up, the church, and the Mission. Well.” Virginia shrugged as if her short list explained some kind of exhausting daily routine.
Keisha wondered how she’d cope in London. The pace of life here seemed so luxuriously slow in comparison, each day like a cat’s stretch. It would be blissful if it wasn’t for Billy. Her irritation with him was heightened by the proximity of Jason and Marcie, she knew that. It bubbled constantly under her skin. Why was desire so hard? Why was the danger so alluring? So self-destructive? She needed to rein in her impetuous heart. Thank fuck for her Valium. She’d take one later. How many did she have left? Fifty maybe? She’d brought as many as she could get her hands on, but at some point she’d have to tell Billy she’d taken them for years to calm her anxieties and needed more, but not yet. They weren’t his business.
“Maybe we should have a party here when you’re back,” William said. “Something for the Fourth of July. Noah and Iris will be home then too. It’ll make a change from our usual dinner at the club.” He smiled at Keisha. “New wife, new traditions.”
“Great idea,” Emmett said, raising his glass. “We’ll be back before you know it.”
“You’ll still do Monday and Wednesday lunchtimes at the Mission, won’t you, Marcie?” Virginia asked.
Marcie shrugged. “I’ll try. But I’m quite busy myself. The house and everything.”
“When I bought that house I thought it was pretty perfect.” Jason rested his elbows on the table as he leaned in, talking as if Marcie wasn’t there. “But apparently it needs a full remodel. Who knew?”
Marcie’s perfectly made-up face tightened even as Jason laughed, turning the comment into a joke, and Keisha’s stomach fizzed with intrigue. There was definitely some discord between them. She could almost taste it. She could use it. A quiet throb started down between her legs even as she told herself once more not to let her loins fuck this sweet situation up for her. Oh, but she loved the longing. The distraction from the craziness that threatened her head. The itch of lust was almost as good as the act. Almost.
“Miss Elizabeth is outside, Mr. Radford, sir.” Zelda had silently appeared in the doorway. She didn’t glance at Keisha even as she nodded at the other guests, and Keisha tried not to let it sting.
“We’d better go and see what she wants, honey.” William heaved himself up out of his chair. His eyes were shining as he came and took her hand, his palm sweaty despite the AC, and she couldn’t stop herself suddenly picturing his damp, salty crotch, and the line of wet skin under the overhang of his belly. “Y’all coming?”
They dutifully traipsed out front into the thick heat, designer sunglasses dropping quickly in front of eyes so that any injected skin wouldn’t fight back and wrinkle further from squinting in the sun.
“Voilà!” Elizabeth said as they rounded the corner to the drive in front of the garage. She was holding her hands out sideways like a magician’s assistant introducing an act. Not that the gift needed pointing out. Keisha’s heart leapt as she let out a squeal of delight. Freedom.
“A little runaround to tide you over until the Mercedes arrives.”
“Oh Billy, it’s wonderful!” She kissed him without hesitation, pressing her lips against his red cheek. “Thank you, thank you!”
“It’s not new but only one owner. Low mileage. The best I could do at short notice.”
Keisha traced her fingers across the hood like she would on a new lover’s skin. It was sleek and low, a proper American convertible sports car and the metallic red shone bright and clean. Even second-hand it must have been at least forty grand worth of car, and in a few weeks her delicious $150,000 Mercedes would arrive. The sums added to the tingles in her body. She’d have to make sure all the paperwork was in her name. She couldn’t stop smiling, giggling like a child. Dolly would just die. Keisha hadn’t called her back, ignoring the texts that had come in while she was sleeping. Maybe she should totally ghost her now. Dolly would only find some way to pull all of this down. She was too jealous to be happy for her.
“Well, aren’t you the lucky girl,” Emmett said. “A little red Corvette.”
“It’s very showy.” Marcie, as ever, loitering at the back as if she didn’t want to be seen.
“I like showy.” Keisha plastered on a huge smile as she grabbed the keys from Elizabeth and pulled open the driver’s door. The seats were low and the perfect leather smelled new. A rich, wealthy scent. This is why she had to keep Billy happy. She pushed the seat back to accommodate her long legs and through the windshield she could see the others looking on, expressions unreadable behind their shades. Keisha wasn’t fooled. They—well, maybe except one—liked her only because Billy did, but she didn’t care. Billy was the bank account. Her shot at freedom. He was all that mattered.
She started the engine, enjoying its throaty purr vibrating through the leather beneath her. “Can I take her out? Just for a minute? Get a feel for her?”
“If someone goes with you. She’s got some bite and remember you drive on the wrong side of the road in England.”
“Get in then, hubby!” He was the Billy she’d met in London again, kind and generous. The car was glorious. The fact that he’d buy her something like this on a whim just to tide her over was also glorious.
“If I get in that, you’ll need to call the fire department to pull me out again.”
“I’ll go with her.” The volunteer had spoken before Billy had barely finished his sentence. Jason. Of course it was.
William slapped him on the back. “Good work, wingman. Take care of her.”
“Come on!” She revved the engine. “And buckle up!” She laughed.
She was still laughing as they pulled away, wheels screeching on the tarmac, one arm waving out the window at those they’d left behind.
12.
The car, the car, the sleek shiny car. That, and the numbing buzz of the half Valium and wine, was enough to keep Keisha pliant while Billy’s tongue pressed against hers as he panted into her mouth. His saliva was thick and unpleasant, his lips cold and rubbery—old man mouth—and rather than squirm her head to one side she pushed his head down to her chest and arched her back as if it were desire and not revulsion that made her shiver. His weight shifted as he followed her silent command, his fat fingers kneading her breasts, twisting one nipple while sucking at the other.
That was better. She could get into her zone now, close her eyes, and drift into a fantasy of younger hands and warmer lips pressing her back onto the hood of her new red sports car. She pushed Billy’s head down farther. She’d come fast tonight. She was too full of heat. She hadn’t had such a crush in ages. It would keep the darkness at bay.
She moaned as his tongue worked at her and he groaned and grunted in reply. She wished he’d stay silent. She didn’t want him shattering her fantasy, not now, not while she was so close. She concentrated harder, blocking him out. It didn’t take long after that, and this time there was nothing fake about the orgasm that shuddered through her, expelling its excess energy in a loud gasp.
Billy clambered back up the bed and lay beside her, his chest heaving as if he’d fucked her senseless for an hour. She rolled onto her side to face him and smiled despite her inner revulsion, before reaching down to his semi-erect cock. The car, the money, the future. She tried to think like Dolly. His skin was soft, no hint of tautness there, and she realized that semi-erect was a flattering exaggeration. He was pretty much flaccid.
“Is it me?” she asked, wide eyes hinting at insecurity. Like fuck was it her. She could make a man rock hard from fifty paces when she put her mind to it and she knew it.
“No, no, don’t think that. You have no idea how much I want to. I didn’t take . . . you know . . . the pill. Thought I could do without it.” He couldn’t bring himself to look at her. Embarrassed. How strange it must be to be a man. So much of their self-worth wrapped up in that tiny odd-looking appendage. No amount of time on the treadmill or foul coconut water could get the blood pumping to the right place.
“You did just fine without it.” She curled up into his chest, happy in his impotence. None of his games tonight. No “trying new things.”
“I thought I’d feel younger with you.” He stared up at the ceiling, and she knew his thoughts were swirling toward death and decay. Maybe he needed the Valium. “But somehow you make me feel twice as old.”
“Don’t say that,” she murmured. “Don’t take it all so seriously. You’re fine. Who cares if you have to take the pills? That’s what they’re there for.” She sounded calm, but her unease was growing. What if he changed his mind about her? What if she had to go home empty-handed?
“I want you to be happy,” he said. There was an edge of disgruntlement, of irritation, in his voice. Embarrassment in a man could be dangerous.
She leaned up so she could look at him. “I am happy. You know that. You’ve made me so happy. And safe. And that’s more than anyone else has in my whole life. I couldn’t be any happier.” She was amazed at how earnest she sounded given the enormity of the lies. “And,” she continued, “little blue pills or not, you satisfy me.”
He smiled at her then and she relaxed. Crisis averted. If there was one thing she understood about Billy, it was that he’d never abide any hint of pity.
“Jason’s booked us a boys’ weekend in Atlanta next weekend,” he said. “Delayed bachelor party.”
“That’s nice.” She kept her tone neutral, even though her heart tripped slightly.
“Something’s up with him and I can’t figure it out,” Billy continued. “And if
he thinks I don’t notice that he can’t keep his eyes off you, then he’s crazy.”
She laughed aloud at that. If only he knew. If only. “He’s your friend. I think he’s just being nice,” she said. “And I guess if he’s been in charge or whatever while you’ve been away, it must be a bit weird for him if you’re changing your mind.”
“That’s true. I don’t know. Maybe I’m imagining it.”
“Go on your boys’ trip. You’re a smart man. You’ll figure it out.”
“You’re right,” he said, pulling her close to kiss her. “You want me to do that again?”
“I don’t think I’m ready.” She kissed him back, chaste, mouth closed. “That was amazing. How about we just snuggle?”
“Deal,” he said, chuckling. He reached over and flicked out the light, plummeting them into darkness. “Damn, it was a lucky day when I met you.”
As it was, although William was snoring within ten minutes, Keisha couldn’t sleep, not even after the wine and the Valium and the orgasm. It had satisfied her immediate lust momentarily, but the terrible desire for someone else was still there. She got up and headed down to the warm night air of the terrace, taking her old UK mobile with her. The cicadas were chattering, echoing the buzz of thoughts in her head. There had to be a way for her to have her cake and eat it too. She couldn’t live like this for much longer, with no excitement. It had been only four months with Billy and already she was suffocating. If this went on too much longer all her old anxieties would come back. She was never good when she felt trapped. Never.
When she’d met him, she’d wanted the rich life far away from home so much she hadn’t thought long term. The same old man every night. Keeping him happy while waiting endlessly for him to die or until she’d gotten enough hidden away to leave him. How much would be enough? Enough to satisfy Uncle Yahuba and free her from fear of Auntie Ayo. But also enough for her. She understood greed, it was a family trait, and greed took people to dark places. She wanted as much as she could get, what was wrong with that? She’d have earned it. And after that she never wanted to be under someone else’s control again. All her life she’d felt owned. No more.
Dead to Her Page 6