Slash and Burn

by Valerie Bronwen

  Lance was the very large man standing on her other side, who just smiled and mumbled something and went back to focusing on his food. He was at least six foot four, and he had the thickly muscled body of a football player. His dark hair was a little long, and he’d slicked it up into a fauxhawk in the center of his head. He was wearing gravity-defying baggy jeans that hung from his hips and a white oversized Lady Gaga T-shirt. There were some pimples scattered loosely over his tanned skin, and like his mother, he had enormous brown eyes. There was a tattoo of an ankh on his forearm.

  Jerry excused himself and disappeared back into the crowd as Leslie looked at me a little more sharply. “You’re the one who found the body, aren’t you?”

  I might as well resign myself to being identified that way all weekend, I thought as I said out loud, “Yes, I did. She landed just a few feet from where I was sitting.”

  “That must have been traumatizing,” she commiserated, putting her right hand on my arm. “You poor thing.”

  “It was good enough for her,” Lance rumbled in a deep baritone voice. “The bitch had it coming.”

  “Lance!” Leslie snapped.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled to me, lowering his eyes and going back to piling enough food on his plate to feed a small village.

  She clicked her tongue and shook her head at me. “I didn’t raise him to talk about women that way, you know. But—” She sighed. “When it comes to that woman—God rest her soul—I guess I shouldn’t be surprised at anything anyone says, really. I know you’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but…”

  “I heard she targeted you and your son? That must have been dreadful.”

  Lance scowled, took his plate, and walked away from us.

  “He’s just a kid, for all his size,” Leslie observed. “Let’s sit down and talk while we eat?” She turned and looked at where Lance had sat down and was wolfing his food down like he’d not eaten in weeks. She sighed and allowed me to lead her to where I’d been sitting. She put her plate on her lap once she was seated. “He’s only nineteen, you see. He came out to me when he was thirteen. He was so terrified we’d reject him.” She clicked her tongue again. “You hear about it all the time, of course, parents rejecting their gay children. How any parent can stop loving their child is beyond me.” She looked at me. “Was that your experience?”

  “No.” I smiled. “I came out to my parents when I was thirteen, but I wasn’t worried about it. My parents were very liberal, and it didn’t faze or bother them in the least. My older brother was gay.”

  “Was?”

  “He died about ten years ago.”

  “I’m sorry!”

  “It’s okay.” I smiled back at her. “I still miss him, of course, but I’ve come to terms with the loss. Time does help.”

  “Yes, it does, but it never really makes up for that empty feeling, does it?” She said softly. “Lance was actually a twin. His brother died shortly after he was born. I always wonder what Marlon would have been like…you never get over it.” She broke off suddenly. “But it was horrible what that woman did, you know.” She shook her head. “I didn’t mind—when you’re an author, you have to expect to be attacked and have horrible things said about your work.”

  “It doesn’t make it any easier,” I replied. “I can still remember my first bad review—word for word.”

  “Really?” She looked startled. “I suppose that’s one way of dealing with it, but me? I just put that kind of thing out of my head. Acknowledge and move on, that’s always been my motto. But attacking me through my child was pretty low, even for someone as despicable as Antinous.” Her eyes glittered. “Yes, it really did upset me when it happened at first. I cried—the bitch actually made me cry.” She laughed. “Listen to me! I guess I’m not as over it as I thought. But I did put it out of my head, and that would have been the end of it. But Antinous wasn’t the kind of person who liked to be ignored, you know? She did everything for attention, really. Such a sad person, if you think about it. I’ve never understood the mentality that any attention was better than no attention, have you?”

  “I’ve known any number of people like that,” I replied. “And no, I can never figure it out either. But then I don’t really go out of my way seeking attention.”

  Liar. If you didn’t want attention you wouldn’t publish, now would you?

  “I don’t know how Lance found out about it. But he did.” She closed her eyes. “He was horribly upset—his father and I have been divorced now for almost ten years, and his father isn’t very involved—he’s followed me up with a couple of trophy wives he trades in when they age out—and Lance got into it with her online a few times, that’s how Anne Howard got involved.”

  “She’s the one who outed Antinous as a woman, right?”

  Leslie nodded. “I’ve never met her—Anne, I mean—but we’ve corresponded briefly.” She gave me a sad smile. “Somehow, Anne found out that Antinous and Lance were fighting online—and there was already some bad blood there. They used to be friends, from what I gathered, and then they had a massive falling-out of some kind. Anyway, they had this feud going—and Anne hired a private detective to find out whatever he could about Antinous. He was the one who found out about the model she’d been using for public appearances, and so forth, and just sat on the information, waiting for her to do something else. When Anne found out about her coming after me and Lance, that was it—she exposed her to the entire world.” She shrugged. “I don’t know what she hoped to gain from it, but it certainly didn’t run her out of publishing, did it?”

  No, but someone made sure she was finished.

  Chapter Seven

  I woke up Saturday morning with a slight headache and a severe case of cottonmouth, but that wasn’t the worst part.

  That would be the fact that I wasn’t alone in my bed.

  It might have been ten years, but I’d recognize those distinctive snores anywhere.

  Dani.

  I had a vague memory of staggering back to the hotel with her. I moaned to myself. Great, this is just exactly what you need. You finally come to terms with everything that happened in the past, and now this? This is a complication you do not need, Tracy. How could you have been so stupid?

  Prosecco, that’s how.

  This is a prime example of why I don’t get drunk at parties anymore.

  Carefully, I pushed the covers back and slipped out of the bed without waking her. She’d always slept like the dead—I used to tease her that she could sleep through a nuclear holocaust, and that had obviously not changed. I had a vague memory that she’d been too drunk to drive when we’d finally decided to call it a night, and the prosecco had loosened me up enough to invite her to spend the night rather than telling her to call a goddamned cab and pick up her car in the morning.

  I shut the bathroom door behind me carefully, so it didn’t make any noise, and got a cup of coffee started in the Keurig. It brewed while I brushed my teeth and washed my face. I rinsed my mouth out a few times, then brushed again. It felt like my teeth and tongue had grown fur during the night, and my sinuses were achy despite the arctic temperature in the hotel. I took my vitamins and a Claritin and washed my face yet again as the cobwebs started clearing out of my idiot head.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid—you’re way too old to be acting like a teenager in heat, I chided my reflection in the mirror. It wasn’t pretty. My hair looked like a rat’s nest, and my eyes were so red and puffy I could probably frighten small children. They also ached a bit, and I gulped down some aspirin to try to make everything stop hurting.

  As I stared at my scary reflection, more vague memories from last night flashed through my mind like a montage from some bad romantic comedy—all that was missing was a sappy power ballad from a once-popular hard rock band. I remembered kissing her in the elevator and pushing her up against the wall, my leg going in between hers while I stroked her breasts. She hadn’t resisted. In fact, I could feel her heat on my leg as her arms went around t
o pull me closer into her, her hands cupping my butt and pulling me tighter against her. Then the elevator stopped at my floor and we’d separated, smiling at each other. I remembered being so turned on the hall seemed endless, like we would never get to my room, and then I’d had to fumble through my shoulder bag to find my key card. She was playing with my breasts from behind me, tweaking and tugging and pinching my nipples until I was ready to scream from ache and desire and need. I had some more vague memories—of kissing passionately once the door slammed shut behind us, tearing at her clothes with the reckless abandon and a heated need that only alcohol and a far-too-long period of celibacy combined could create.

  I didn’t like to think about how long it had been since I’d been with another woman.

  I got her clothes off her and shoved her back against the wall yet again as she smiled at me and tilted my head back, pressing her lips against mine, stoking my inner furnace so hot I finally grabbed her hand and shoved it between my legs. She smiled lazily at me, and somehow we wound up naked in bed, me on top of her, exploring every inch of her body with my hands, my mouth, my tongue. I’d once known that body so well that I could bring her to the edge without even having to think about what I was doing, but this time I wanted to drive her insane with desire, almost punish her for leaving me all those years ago, reminding her of what I did for her, how I’d always satisfied her in ways no other woman could…

  Age had taken a toll on both of our bodies since the last time we’d been together—breasts maybe not as firm, hips a bit thicker, skin not as elastic—but her lips had felt good against mine, her skin like silken velvet to my touch, and then she’d flipped me onto my back and reminded me why I’d missed her in my bed.

  I slipped out of the bathroom, my coffee in hand. She was still snoring, an arm flung awkwardly over her face. Her hair was also tangled and snarled, her mouth open, and the blanket had crept down a bit, exposing the tops of her breasts. I felt another, treacherous rush of desire and hurried out into the living room before my body betrayed me for a second time in less than twenty-four hours. The living room curtains were open, and the brightness of the day almost blinded me for a moment before I sank down on the couch.

  I wanted to jump out the window.

  How could you have been so stupid, Tracy?

  This was not how I thought running into Dani again would play out whenever I thought about it. I’d imagined it so many times, sitting alone in my house on the sofa with the cats curled up beside me as I drank glass after glass of wine with some horribly saccharine-sweet romantic comedy playing on my big-screen television. I’d imagined throwing a drink in her face and screaming at her, I’d imagined being coldly polite and aloof—pretty much visualized it any number of ways, each more satisfying to me than the last. Some of those scenes had actually made it into my romance novels—but my fictional couples always overcame every obstacle I’d thrown in their path, riding off into the sunset together at the end to live happily ever after. But every single first draft of those novels had an original ending where the injured party refused to forgive her faithless or heartless or insanely stupid love interest, which I of course had to change to get the damned things published. How many murder victims had I based on Dani in the Laura novels, if I were going to be completely honest with myself? More than just one, actually, which is not something of which one should be proud. But I’d never once imagined that when Dani and I finally saw each other again after all those years and all of the heartache and lonely nights, we’d end up in bed together.

  Stupid fucking prosecco.

  Why had I allowed myself to get so stinking drunk?

  Jerry had refilled my glass twice more at the opening reception, and I had no idea what time it was when I saw Dani descending the stairs to the courtyard. I had a pretty healthy buzz going by then and I felt my heart leap when I saw her. When she spotted me, she smiled her most dazzling smile, the one that always made me a little weak and more than a little malleable, and made her way through the chattering crowd in my direction. Jerry saw her coming, so he topped off my glass one last time from the prosecco bottle before vanishing into the crowd, leaving me alone to deal with my ex. She stopped at the bar and got a plastic cup of red wine before joining me where I was standing off to the side, watching the crowd. I knew I needed to get some more food into my stomach, but perversely waited as I sipped from the prosecco.

  It was delicious. Jerry had excellent taste in liquor.

  “There you are,” Dani said with her big smile still in place, taking a sip of the wine and wincing.

  “The red’s undrinkable,” I said, trying not to laugh at the expression on her face.

  “Yes, I’d noticed,” she replied, glancing at my cup. “What’re you drinking?”

  “Prosecco,” I replied with a big grin. “Jerry has a bottle stashed somewhere.” I waved my hand. “He keeps filling me up.” I frowned at the bubbly liquid.

  “You’re drunk.” She laughed, quite pleased, and took another sip from her cup. She shuddered and tossed it into a nearby trash receptacle. “I suppose now’s the time to ask you for a favor.” She stepped in so close I could smell her perfume. Opium, like always.

  “Let me guess—you’re covering the murder and you want my story.” I really did have the most delightful buzz going. It had lifted my spirits and put me in a really good mood. It’s quite marvelous, actually—this is why I love prosecco, and also why it’s dangerous for me to drink it. “I suppose I should be offended,” I went on, musing out loud. “Is that the real reason you found me and wanted to talk?” I resisted the urge to reach over and pinch her cheek.

  Oh, prosecco! You are a harsh mistress.

  She sighed. “You always have to make me out to be some kind of monster. And okay, I was an absolute shit to you ten years ago, okay? I admit it, are you happy now? If you’d been willing to talk to me then—”

  “I’m in a good mood now.” I glowered at her. “Don’t spoil it for me.”

  “Can’t we let the past be the past and be friends now?” Dani’s voice was earnest, and I didn’t think it was all an act.

  “That would be nice,” I replied with a smile. I patted her arm with my free hand. “I admit I’m a little oversensitive when it comes to you. But I don’t think anyone would blame me for it, do you?”

  I’d like to say the prosecco was doing the talking for me, but it wasn’t. It did feel good to be talking to her again. And she still was a damned attractive woman. Bygones could be bygones, and caution to the wind, water under the bridge—all of it. Ten years was ten years.

  “Of course not.” She sighed. “But you’re right, I am covering the story and I would like to hear what you have to say—you don’t have to go on camera if you don’t want to.” She glanced around. “You want to get out of here and go somewhere we can talk? Some place where I can get a decent glass of red wine?” She glanced over at my cup with a smile. “Or some prosecco?”

  “Sure,” I remember slurring, and followed her out of the party and down the street. We wound up at the Rib Room at the Royal Orleans Hotel, and she ordered us a bottle of prosecco—which was exactly what I didn’t need. It was delicious, and I was more than happy to slurp it down like water as my buzz deepened. She also ordered some appetizers. Once we had our plates of chicken fingers and mozzarella sticks, I told her what I had seen. I could see the disappointment on her face.

  “That’s it?” she’d said. “You really didn’t see anything, then? You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

  “I would be lying if I said anything else. It’s all in the police report, which surely you’ve managed to get a copy of—you’re too good at your job not to have, right?” I hiccupped and took another drink. This prosecco wasn’t as good as the bottle Jerry had at the party, but it was working just fine for me.

  Maybe a bit too well.

  “I wish.” She shook her head. “I haven’t been able to yet, and my sources at the station aren’t being helpful at all.” Her face dark
ened. “That prick Randisi hates me.” She ran a hand through her hair, which somehow managed to fall back perfectly into place.

  “I didn’t like him.” I frowned and finished my glass, covering my mouth to conceal the burp. “Pompous sexist asshole.”

  “Yeah, well, a couple of years ago I exposed his partner on the force for taking bribes. He’s had it in for me ever since. Like it’s my fault his partner was corrupt.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure he had a rough time with Internal Affairs for a while, but he kept his own nose clean—well, at least they weren’t able to hang anything on him. And I didn’t find any evidence that Randisi was crooked. But the fucker holds a grudge.”

  I was really far too drunk at that point to be out in public, let alone drinking more. “Fuck him.” I sounded like I was slurring, and the edges of my vision were getting fuzzy.

  Dani laughed and refilled my glass. “It’s nice to be sitting with you in a bar again, just talking.” She took a deep breath. “I am sorry about how everything went down between us.”

  “You hurt me,” I remember replying, admitting something I wouldn’t have in a million years had liquor not loosened my tongue. “Really bad, Dani. How could you do that to me? After my parents died and my brother—” I felt my eyes filling up with tears, so I took a deep breath and wiped at them with a cocktail napkin. I was damned if I was going to let Dani see me cry. I hadn’t let her when it all went down, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to ten years later.