Risk

by Raquel Belle

  I listen to the people talk and it sounds like no one is really from here. LA is a city full of people from everywhere else.

  I see cops paying an informant. I see a guy from a bakery paying off the cops. It’s all plain to see if you know what you’re looking for. If you’re just minding your business and going about your life, you wouldn’t even know it was there.

  It’s a hive of activity. It’s like you can get a slice of pizza and watch a mugging at every corner. The air tastes like dirt, the smog is ever present. It’s just LA.

  By the time I get back to the hotel I find myself wondering if any of this is even worth it. Can I fit in to this world? Is this world worth saving? Is there a point to any of this? Has anything I’ve done ever mattered?

  I put the thoughts aside and push through the revolving door—there’s work to be done. You have to be disciplined and compartmentalize. As I walk into the lobby I see a guy in a suit on a couch with a copy of the Iliad. It makes me pause, I don’t know why.

  But then the bees come flooding in.

  I get to my knees and I’m holding my head. The noise is deafening. It’s like an overdriven guitar plugged right into my brain. I feel waves around me and I feel myself going under.

  When I come to I’m lying flat on the ground, the guy in the suit is crouching next to me. There’s a couple of hotel staff standing there and the lady from reception is on a radio calling for an ambulance. I sit up. Once in two years and now twice in less than a week.

  Fuck.

  “I’m okay,” I say.

  The guy in the suit asks, “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m good, how long?”

  “Ten or fifteen seconds. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah, low blood sugar, I’m fine. A bit hot out today is all.” He helps me up. I turn to the receptionist, “Cancel that ma’am. I’m fine, there’s no need.”

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather get checked out?”

  “It’s nothing, I know what it is. Please, don’t trouble yourself. Sorry about this. I’m fine, really.”

  I gather myself and head upstairs.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Deanna

  Shopping’s all done, earrings are all fixed—I found a cheap costume jewelry store and got some lightweight gold material to stick on the earpieces. It might not even be necessary because the way I’m wearing my hair, it ought to camouflage most of it. I only thought of that after, but what the heck…it’s nice to be thorough. A giggle or a hair flick the wrong way and I might give myself away.

  Then again, this is LA so I can always pass for being eccentric.

  I was a bit concerned that my outfit wasn’t sparkly enough to pass as a lady of means so I gave Anton a call and asked if he could arrange a necklace, bracelet, wristwatch and something to wear on my ankle. He’s sending up some items that he’s ‘borrowing’ for twenty-four hours. We have to give everything back in the morning.

  I got some snakeskin Versace heels and…wait for it—an electric orchid asymmetric cutout sequined crepe mini dress in green—that’s what it says on the label. Some designer named MuLïn.

  I saw it in the window and new it was the right combination of slutty and stylish. It shows off a lot of skin in all the right places. It’s way above the knee with an exposed midriff and a sash that hangs from the top-section. Let’s just say it’s a dress that I would never, ever, normally wear. Okay, maybe I would.

  I just hope I can pull it off. I think this is for girls a lot taller than I am.

  I also picked up a nice clutch from the Chloe Black collection.

  The annoying thing is that Lilly has tons of this stuff, but we couldn’t exactly drive the five hours to Vegas and make it back in time to get this done tonight.

  I’ve just finished working on my hair—I bought a straightener—and now I’m going to start on makeup.

  I’ve already finished doing my nails—fingers and toes.

  I think it’s better if I overdo it on the makeup. I always find that idiots like it when you dress up like a clown. The subtleties of doing makeup well is lost on most guys. When you do it right you’re meant to look like you’re not wearing makeup.

  I’m trying to stay focused and get this done…and I am, but from the moment I walked out the door earlier, all I could think about was Jack.

  Was Superman asking Deanna the dumb waitress to be his girlfriend?

  No, guys like that don’t have girlfriends. And they certainly don’t wind up with losers like me. I just hope I didn’t hurt his feelings. Less than seventy-two hours and I care about him more than I want to…so much so that it scares me.

  He looked so sad when I left and I never want to make him feel that way. Maybe next time I should just keep my stupid feelings to myself and put out. A good fuck fixes most things, right?

  I’m the girl you use and let go of, not the one you end up with forever. Superman needs a Lois Lane…and I’m no Lois Lane.

  I’m tempted to call Lilly and talk it out with her but she looked at me funny just from knowing we wanted to share a room. What would she say if I told her I’d developed real feelings for Jack?

  I decide to call her anyway, I need to hear her voice. I dial and use the speakerphone so I can keep working. It rings four times before she picks up.

  “Hello, Lilly Milner speaking.”

  “What’s up pussycat?”

  “Deanna?”

  “Don’t you check your caller ID?”

  “Just busy, restaurant stuff,” she does sound busy, “how’s Los Angeles?”

  “Okay. A few close calls but I think I’ve got my sea legs now.”

  “You’re on a boat?”

  I laugh, “Nope, still on land, it’s just an expression.”

  “Where’s Jack? Everything going okay down there?”

  “That’s a good question. You know, speaking of Jack—” I don’t even get to finish my sentence.

  “Terry is still on DEFCON 1,” she sighs. The exasperation in her voice is plain as day. I guess I’ll have to skip talking about Jack. If Terry had been around for what happened yesterday, he’d be giving me his I told you so look. I’ll change the subject.

  “Is David back from Monte Carlo?”

  “Yeah, he got in today, he’s here with me, do you want to say hi?”

  I hear the door open, “I have to go, Jack’s home. Talk later. Love you, bye.”

  “Okay, love you too, bye.”

  Click.

  ***

  Jack

  I poke my head into the bedroom and see Deanna seated at the vanity in a bra and panties, some kind of lacy black stuff that’s almost not there. Her hair has been done and she’s doing her make-up. She looks good enough to eat. I know I can’t though, not after what happened before.

  “Hey, you’re back,” she says, “where’d you go?”

  “Oh, nowhere. Just to grab a beer with Pete. I got bored so I thought I’d take a walk,” then I remember that she doesn’t drink anymore, “shit, I’m sorry, I forgot about the uh—”

  “Hey, it’s fine, I said before, that’s just my thing, you do you. I don’t own you or anything.”

  There she goes again, drawing lines between us.

  “How’s Pete doing?” Deanna asks.

  I decide to go brush my teeth so I head to the bathroom as I call over my shoulder, “He’s fine. Tried to rob the bar,” I laugh, hoping it’ll cut some of the tension.

  “You’re kidding!”

  “It’s alright, I stopped him and got him out of there. He promised me he wouldn’t do it again. I believe him.”

  I quickly brush and come back out to hear a knock on the door.

  “Could you get that please?”

  “Well you’re not going to get it dressed like that.”

  She smiles.

  I open the door and find Anton standing there. “Anton, what’s up?”

  “For Deanna,” he says, and hands me some leather boxes, “this jewelry is the rea
l thing, Morton. Don’t take your eyes off of it. I’m just renting it from a friend. If it goes missing, our goose is cooked.”

  “Jewelry?”

  “Yes, she’s playing a part, she’s got to play it perfectly. Did you even read the brief on Whittaker, Morton?”

  “I’ve had a lot on my mind, Anton. Deanna told me she had everything under control. Looks like you guys have got all your bases covered and then some. I doubt anyone even needs me on this thing,” I laugh, but it’s hollow, I’m a liability now.

  “This is supposed to be the easy part, we’re saving the hard part for you,” Anton searches my eyes before he smiles.

  I wonder if he knows about me? About today in the lobby?

  “Is she in there?”

  “Yeah, she’s getting dressed.”

  Anton lowers his voice and leans in close, “Between you and me, she’s a lot more than just a waitress, Morton. I was going to see what I could find but since you’re together I thought it would be courteous to ask your permission first. Do you want me to?”

  “No. I thought the same thing. I don’t know if we’re together,” I shrug, “but I trust her and if there’s something she needs to tell me…she’ll tell me.”

  Anton nods, “It’s your call,” then he turns and leaves.

  I pause at the door after closing it. I hope I’m doing the right thing.

  I come back to her and place the boxes on the bed, “Presents from Anton.”

  “Excellent,” she stands, “can you help me with my dress?”

  “Sure.”

  ***

  Deanna

  I don’t know why I said it. I don’t own you or anything. I don’t know. I feel like that was just a nasty thing to say. Is this my defense mechanism because I don’t want to believe that he cares about me? Does that even make sense?

  I try making him help me get the dress on as an olive branch but he does it with the utmost care and I swear I don’t feel his skin brush against mine even once.

  All I want is to feel his touch. There’s a hum of electricity between us and I’m waiting for a spark to ignite it but it never comes. My body is on fire for him, I want him to take me and devour me, but he doesn’t do it. It’s my fault. I’ve ruined it. What do you expect when you push someone away? When you lie?

  Once the dress is on I slip into my heels and check myself out in the mirror. I think I look like a very, very expensive whore. The $20,000 a night kind…if there even are ones like that.

  I put on the jewelry. They’re magnificent pieces. A multi-teardrop diamond and gold necklace…the diamonds are massive by the way.

  There’s a Cartier wristwatch. I don’t know what the bracelet is but it’s loud as hell and so is the ankle piece. Anton chose well. I’d sent him pictures of the dress and shoes, so maybe the guy at the jewelry place picked these out—Anton doesn’t seem like a jewelry aficionado.

  Jack watches me every step of the way and I want him to touch me but he doesn’t. Once everything is on I check myself out in the mirror once more.

  If this doesn’t do it, nothing will.

  “What do you think?” I turn to him.

  He comes to me and gently puts his hands on my hips—the exposed parts—and holds me there. He stares into my eyes.

  I feel like I’m in a trance. The places where his hands rest on me feel so hot. I want his hands to be all over me. I can’t pull my eyes away from his. I feel his chest rise and fall. An eternity passes. His eyes move to my mouth and then I realize how long it’s been. He’s not smiling. It’s intense…penetrating.

  I want him to tear all this shit off of me and have me right now…but then I remind myself—we have to do this…we have work.

  I put my hand to his massive chest and say, “We should get going,” but it comes out as less than a whisper. I clear my throat and try again, “We should—”

  He releases me suddenly and takes a deep breath through his nose as he turns around. Now I’ve made it worse, he’s frustrated. Eye on the prize, Deanna. We’ve got a job to do.

  “Wait, I almost forgot,” I say. Jack chuckles and puts a hand to his face. I got some Viktor and Rolf. I douse myself liberally with it. You can’t have a honeytrap without smelling like honey.

  I think that’s about everything.

  “Right, let’s go,” I say, grabbing my lovely new clutch purse. I hand Jack the laptop just in case we need to use it and then we take the elevator down to the lobby, then the next down to the garage. We don’t talk along the way. He’s so stern that I have to wonder if there’s something else going on that I don’t know about.

  When we get to the garage we hop into the Escalade and I punch the Wolf Club into the GPS. It’s near Beverly Hills but not quite in the neighborhood.

  Jack starts driving. He still doesn’t talk.

  This perfume is nice but I think I put on enough to kill a small village. The plan is to make an entrance though, so I want this guy to smell me coming. I’d already called his office and checked with his secretary if he’d be there. He should be. We have about an hour to make this happen.

  “Do you like this scent?” I ask Jack.

  “No,” he laughs.

  Chapter Twenty

  Jack

  When we get to the Wolf Club we’re lucky enough to find a parking right across the street. Deanna opens up the computer and places it on my lap. She clicks a few things.

  “Thank God, there’s Wi-Fi. Okay. So, these are the things I’m going to talk about, all the tabs are open so when you hear the name of something, go to that tab and follow along with me. If I get stuck, help me out. I should be okay because I’ve memorized most of it.”

  “Alright,” I say, I’m not a whizz with computers but I think I can handle this much.

  “If we get to something I don’t know about, then open up a new tab like this,” she shows me how, “then search for it on Wikipedia, like this,” she demonstrates.

  “Okay.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she says, “he probably won’t care but this is just to make sure.” I think she can tell I’m a bit out of my element because she gives me a reassuring smile and nods.

  “Right.”

  “Come here,” she says, she pulls me to her and gives me a kiss. She rubs her thumb across my lips to get the lipstick off. “I’ll start the call when I close the door, we don’t want feedback.”

  “Right,” I say, I need to confirm my suspicion somehow, “Good luck.”

  She winks and then she’s out of the car. She closes the door, pulls the phone from her clutch and starts the call.

  I answer it. “You got me?”

  “Loud and clear,” she says. She puts the phone back in the clutch and walks off.

  “Wait, what’s the panic word?”

  “Tiramisu.” Gotcha.

  One of the rules in this game is that when there’s doubt, there is no doubt—she’s definitely done this before. I hear her heels click-clack across the street. I watch her get to the entrance, she hesitates for a moment and then she’s gone. Why the pause? Suddenly it hits me—she’s a recovering alcoholic walking in to a bar.

  ***

  Deanna

  I’d been so preoccupied with Jack and this mission of ours that it totally slipped my mind that I’m going to a bar and I might have to drink. I’m not going to be able to sell my act unless there’s a martini in my hand.

  As I step through the bright 80’s themed neon of the entryway I hear Jack through the earpieces, “Deanna you don’t have to do this, we can abort, we’ll find another way.”

  “No, it’s okay, don’t make a big deal out of it.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t think…a bar—”

  “I’ve got this, don’t worry.” I feel like I’m trying to convince myself instead of him. “Now shush, I don’t want to look like a crazy person talking to herself.”

  “Right. Break a leg.”

  There are a couple of bouncers manning the entrance on either side. They
look me over and smile, I return the gesture, the key is to seem approachable. Smile when you enter a room to put everyone at ease, it says—I’m glad to be here.

  The Wolf Club is a big square on the inside. Everything is white marble and gold, the length of each of the four of the walls are illuminated bar counters, staff on one side and patrons seated on the other. In the middle of the room are round, polished wood, bar tables with aluminum barstools around them. It looks ultra-trendy. The place is at about three-quarters of capacity.

  I quickly scan the room for Melvin but I don’t see him. If I stare any longer I’m going to look conspicuous, so I walk over to an empty table and seat myself, then throw up a well-manicured finger painted in Jungle Red to get the attention of a waitress. I see her nod to say—I’ll be right with you.

  Before she gets to me though, a pointy man in a tan suit appears at my side and puts his hand on the back of my chair.

  “Hey there sexy,” he looks me up and down—slowly—in the most lascivious way ever, it’s creepy as fuck. He even licks his lips. “How about I buy you a drink and we see what’s what?”

  I feel myself unconsciously nodding to myself at what a gigantic moron he is.

  “Thanks, but no,” I say, “I’m waiting for my husband.”

  The guy gives me a look like—your loss—and leaves.

  I hear Jack in my ear, “Your husband, huh? Looking like that you’re not going to be waiting long.”

  I laugh. He’s sweet.

  The waitress gets to me, “Hey, what can I get you?”

  “Can I get a virgin vodka martini please?” I smile at her.

  She chuckles, “Water and olives?”

  “Yeah, I’m meeting someone but I don’t drink.”

  “Coming up,” she winks.

  “That was easy,” Jack says.

  I cover my mouth and joke, “Waitresses have a code.”

  “She doesn’t know you’re a waitress.”