Kyra. My sweet, loving, tender, soft Kyra. My tears are flowing now. I miss her so damned much. It’s not fair. She was everything to me. She was my beginning, and she was supposed to be my fucking ending.
I wipe tears away with the back of my hand, then slap my open palm down on my thigh and squeeze. I need to stop. I need to put my focus back on that bitch. The one responsible for Kyra never returning my calls, or coming home.
“Focus.”
But it’s so hard.
I scream out, punch my thigh, hit my steering wheel, grab handfuls of my hair and pull. I try to make the stinging in my scalp keep my mind from going back to the past. Back to a time when life was good, with promises to only get better.
“Focus,” I say again as I pull. “Goddammit . . . focus!”
But I can’t. My eyes are staring at that bitch through my salty waterfall, but my mind has already drifted. I’m no longer in the car. I’m back in the past, in the club where Kyra and I first met. I’m back smelling smoke and sweat mixed with layers of cologne and perfume. Music is blasting. The DJ’s on some shit. He’s like a fucking aerobics instructor, playing shit that’s guaranteed to make us lose weight.
I’m alone, walking around, watching people dance to the techno hip-hop that’s thumping. The club’s on fire in a blaze of dark red lighting. Strobe lights flash every couple of seconds like lightning, giving glimpses of the people who are packed like sardines on the dance floor. Each flash shows a different face. A new pair of eyes closed and lost to the rhythm. I’ve seen the faces before. They’re the same goddamn faces I always see.
I’m sipping a Corona, watching them, and while I do, I think about moving to a new place so that I don’t have to see the same goddamned people anymore.
And then I see her.
She’s not dressed weird or differently. Her hairstyle or color doesn’t separate her from the rest. She’s the same average height as everyone else. She’s in the middle of the floor, alone, moving to the music just like everyone else, but she sticks out. There’s just something about her. Something as entrancing as the thumping bass and electronic chords in the music.
I’m glued where I’m standing, unable to take my eyes off of her. I’m a fucking voyeur enjoying the show that she has no idea she’s putting on. Goddamn she’s sexy. Great curves, great ass, nice, full breasts. Shit, I’d like to get my hands on them. I was already sweating from the temperature in the club, but I’m sweating even more now. I haven’t been turned on like this in a long time. Not since my ex, who’d broken my fucking heart.
What’s her story? Which way does she roll?
I’m wondering that as I stare at her. I take another sip of my Corona. I want to step to her. Want to ask what her name is. I think about it. Be bold and walk right up to her, I say to myself. Don’t think.
I take another sip of my beer and then nod. I’m going to do it. I’m going to make the move. But just as I lift my heel, someone steps in front of her.
A fucking man. And he’s holding two drinks in his hand.
“Fuck.”
I put my heel back down, close my hands tight around my beer, and just watch as she takes the drink from him and smiles. The man leans forward and plants a kiss on her lips. It shouldn’t, but that shit pisses me off. It doesn’t make any sense, but I feel like those are my lips that asshole is kissing.
But they’re not.
I take an angry swallow of my Corona and am about to say, “Fuck it,” and keep it moving when I notice something. When he’d kissed her on her lips, his mouth had lingered there for a few seconds, but there’d been no emotional reaction from her.
“Shit!”
I watch her intensely. I pay attention to her body language as her date wraps his arms around her and pulls her body against his. He kisses her on her neck, whispers in her ear. She smiles as if what he’d said had been pleasing to her.
But she’s faking it.
No one else can see it, but I can. She’s not into him. And it’s not that she’s not into him, it’s that she’s not into him. She’s not into his kind.
The untrained eye would never have caught it, but I’m not untrained. I can see it in her eyes. She might be doing the “right” thing by being with him, but she clearly wants to be with someone who understands her. Someone who feels what she feels. Someone who desires the things she’s longing for.
I sip my beer and stare. The longer I stare, the more I see how uninspired she is. I watch her for three more songs before she excuses herself from her date and heads to the bathroom. Her steps are unbalanced, which means she’s feeling nice. They always say that the truth comes out when you’re feeling nice. I drink the rest of my Corona, and this time I say, “Fuck it.” I’m going to find out.
I make my way to the bathroom, watching her ass switch as she walks a few feet in front of me. What I’m going to say exactly, I’m not really sure, but I’m going to say something.
We’re a few feet away from the bathroom. I don’t usually give a damn about people, but I don’t want anyone in my business. If I’m going to step, then I need to step now. And that’s what I’m about to do when the unexpected happens.
She turns around and looks at me and says, “You’ve been watching me.”
I’m shocked, almost speechless. It takes me a few seconds, but I get myself together. “How do you know?”
She smiles. It’s sexy, seductive, naughty. “Because I’ve been watching you.”
“You have?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t catch that.”
“You weren’t supposed to.”
I’m looking at her curiously. “You’re not in the closet or confused?”
She shakes her pretty little head. “No.”
“So what are you doing with him?”
She laughs. Up close and personal, the laugh is sexy as hell. “I’m playing him,” she says.
I look at her with a raised eyebrow. “Really?”
She holds up her left hand. A diamond is blinging from her ring finger. “We’re getting married next week.”
“You are?”
“Yes. I’ll stay with him for about a year and then I’ll divorce his ass and take half of his money.”
My eyes snap open. “Are you serious?”
“Very.”
“Damn.”
She laughs.
I say, “So, do you always tell random strangers your business?”
She smiles again. “No.”
“Then why did you tell me? Or are you just bullshitting me?”
She takes a step toward me. There’s a look in her eyes that’s lustful and dangerous. It gives me the chills, it’s so fucking sexy. She’s inches away from me. So close I can smell the alcohol on her breath.
“You’re sexy,” she says.
“So are you,” I reply. My heart’s beating as heavily as the bass in the club. I know what’s about to happen, yet can’t believe it’s about to happen. “Aren’t you worried about your fiancé seeing us?”
“He’s fifteen years older than me and is as blind as a bat without his glasses. He never wears them when we go to a club because he says he looks old with them on. And he can’t wear contact lenses. He’s not seeing anything.”
She leans forward and puts her lips against mine and kisses me hard and forceful. Her tongue knocks and I part my lips to let it in. The music and everyone in the club disappears as we kiss as though we’d kissed before. It was natural, familiar and so fucking good. So fucking right. We kiss for a few more intense seconds and then she pulls back. The music, the people inside return.
I put my hand over my mouth. “Wow.”
She smiles. “I’m Kyra.”
“I’m Vivian.”
“I felt something when I saw you Vivian.”
I nod. “I felt it too.”
“I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you.”
“You obviously saw me unable to keep my eyes off of you.”
“There’s something
between us, Vivian. Something that just feels meant to be.”
“I was jealous when I saw you kissing him.”
Kyra smiles. “I like jealousy. It turns me on.”
We talk for a few more minutes and then, after another delicious kiss, go our separate ways. I’m hers and she’s mine when we do.
For five years, we loved one another and scammed pitiful, unsuspecting men at the same time. We took turns playing the “good wife.” Those times were always torture for me because we couldn’t be together. We would take some time off every now and then to have our time though. I loved those times. I miss them.
Five years.
We were beautiful together. A perfect match. Yin and fucking yang. I did any and everything for Kyra and she did the same for me.
Five fucking years.
I’m back in the present now, tears still running down my face. That bitch is going off on her mother now.
I pull on my hair. “You took her away from me, you cunt. But you’re going to get yours.”
Through tears I watch her look for me again before she says something else to her mother, and then gets in her car and pulls away. “I know how you think,” I say with a smile. “I know where you’re going next. But I’ve already beaten you there.”
I look in my rearview mirror and make eye contact with Myles Rogers. He was supposed to have been the big catch for Kyra and me. The husband who was going to take us over the edge. We were going to retire after we got Myles’s money. We were going to let our love be free. No more pretending. It was just going to be me and Kyra against the world, living in peace, love, and lesbian bliss.
Myles looks at me, his eyes wide with fear. Duct tape covers his mouth and is wrapped tightly around his wrists and ankles. I used a taser gun on his ass to render him fucking immobile. He never saw it coming. He’s sweating like a fucking pig now.
“She’s going to try to see you,” I say. “She wants to know if you sent her the article. Too bad you won’t be there to answer her questions.”
Myles mumbles defiantly. Sounds like he cursing at me.
I turn around and hit him over and over in his face. “Shut the fuck up!” I hit him again. “Kyra’s dead and you’re going to pay for it. All of you are. And that bitch is going to pay the worst of all. An eye for an eye.”
I hit him, spit on him, and then turn and start the engine.
Soon, you goddamned whore. So very soon you will pay for what you did.
28
Two minutes out of the gym’s parking lot, I was on my BlackBerry. My right hand was clenched tightly around my steering wheel, while my left hand found Marlene’s number and hit the send button.
My heart beat heavily. Beads of sweat ran down my forehead. Stress. That’s what the sweat consisted of. Stress and anxiety.
Someone knew. Someone had sent my mother. Who? Why? More importantly, how? How in the hell could someone have known?
I just made it through a yellow light, then ran a red. To hell with the traffic ticket if it came. I opened and closed my fingers around the wheel. Marlene’s phone rang once, twice, and then another time before she answered.
“Hey!”
My godson was crying in the background. Screaming actually.
I said, “My mother . . . she was here. Someone knows about Kyra. Do you know who? Did you have anything to do with this?”
Benjamin screamed out. Heard him stomp his feet. Marlene tried to calm him down. Told him to, “Hold on, sweetie. It’s coming.” She must have given him his milk because the wailing stopped instantly. “OK,” Marlene said, her attention back on me. “Now what are you talking about, Lisette? Your mother? Kyra? Did I have anything to do with what?”
I clenched my jaw, and took a slow, deep breath. I’d rambled. Something I never do. I needed to get a hold of myself. Needed to calm down. I came to a stop at a red light. “My mother came to see me at the gym tonight. She had a newspaper clipping about Kyra’s disappearance on it. Written in red across the article were the words, ‘your daughter knows what happened to her.’”
“What?”
“She also had a plain piece of paper with my home address along with the gym’s address and today’s date and time of the kickboxing class I just finished.”
Marlene said again, “What?”
“Someone sent the clipping and the piece of paper to her.”
“Your mother? I don’t understand. Why? I mean, you haven’t spoken to her in years.”
One night over drinks, I’d confided in Marlene the story of my mother’s abandonment. It had been one of Marlene’s rare free nights. Steve had actually picked up Benjamin for his appointed weekend, and Marlene wanted to get out of the house and get some dinner and drinks. We went to Publics in Nolita. Marlene had grilled kangaroo on a coriander falafel with red wine. I had pan-seared Tasmanian sea trout with my never-fail drink of choice–cosmopolitan.
I hadn’t planned on opening up about my past, but for some reason that night, I did. I blamed it on the humidity of the evening. Marlene said that whether I wanted to admit it or not, she’d broken through my very hard shell and had become something I’d never had–a girlfriend.
I said, “I know.”
“Who else knows about her?”
“No one.”
“So then how did someone know how to get in touch with her? And they sent her information about Kyra?”
“Newspaper clippings.”
“And the gym’s address?”
“I was subbing for our instructor who just happened to get robbed and had a few ribs and his ankle broken.”
“And your mother was given today’s date?” Marlene said. “Jesus,” she whispered.
I made a right turn on Lexington Avenue.
“The robbery was no coincidence,” I said. “Someone set this up.”
“But . . . but who? And why? Jesus, Lisette, what the hell is going on?”
“I don’t know, Marlene. That’s why I’m calling you. Someone knows I had something to do with Kyra’s disappearance.”
“Christ, Lisette. I don’t even know what happened.”
I’d never told her how I’d given Kyra my regards. All she ever knew was that I’d gotten her back for ever thinking she was better than me, and that was all she needed to know.
“I don’t know who the hell this person is, but I need to know ASAP.”
In the background Benjamin began to whine again. Marlene grunted. I could tell she’d picked him up. “All right, sweetie . . . just close your eyes,” she said in a soothing tone, before saying to me, “What do you want me to do?”
“Call your friend Lisa. Ask her again about her association with Kyra.”
“OK, but I don’t know how much information I’ll get. She swears that she didn’t give the number to Kyra directly. She said she gave it to a friend, and that friend gave it to Kyra.”
“Find out who the friend is.”
“I’ll try.”
“Don’t try, Marlene. Find this person. Tonight.”
“OK. But what if I can’t find out anything?”
“Then call all of our clients. Ask them if they knew about Kyra. And if they didn’t, then ask if their friends did.”
“OK.” Marlene hushed Benjamin again as I made a left onto 123rd street. I was in Harlem, driving with intense purpose. “Lisette . . . what if none of the clients know anything? Who else is there?”
I sped through a red light. Ignored blaring car horns as I did. “Myles Rogers,” I said. He didn’t know what I’d done, but if anyone, other than Lisa, her friend, or my three thugs, could say anything about my relationship with her, it would be him.
“That makes sense,” Marlene said.
“Get Benji to sleep and then make those calls. Call me when you have something.”
I ended the call, tossed my BlackBerry onto my passenger seat and gritted my teeth as I raced through a yellow light.
Myles Rogers.
Last time I’d seen him, I’d thrown his
laptop into the middle of the street.
Myles Rogers.
He could talk, but I’d saved his ass. I doubted he’d give me up to anyone, but I needed to know for sure.
29
Aida was the one who was late this time, purposefully. It was another hot day–about eighty-five degrees. The humidity was back after having taken a couple of days off, and made eighty-five feel like ninety.
Aida had plans for the day. She was going to wash her car, go to the mall to buy a new string bikini, and then hit Victoria’s Secret for something special to wear later that night when she saw Griffin again.
She’d spoken to him earlier in the day, not because she had to or needed to, but instead because she wanted to. When they spoke he told her that he couldn’t stop thinking about her. That he’d been having dreams about her. Hot dreams. Intense dreams. Dreams that consisted of them being naked and intertwined.
Aida had masturbated while they’d talked. The sound of Griffin’s voice, the memory of the sex they’d had in the back seat of his Escalade a few days earlier, and then in a hotel room later that night, still very fresh in her mind. She moaned loudly, breathlessly, as she fingered herself deeply to the rhythm and deep tone of Griffin’s voice as he told her all about the things he’d done to her in his dreams. Things he promised he was going to do to her next time. Rough things. Deep things. Fast, slow, potent things. Things that made Aida squirm as she lay back, planted her heels on her Tempur-Pedic mattress, and spread her legs wide.
Aida’s fingers dove deep into her warm pool of ecstasy between her legs, making her catch her breath. Griffin coached her as she played. He had her go faster, deeper. Told her to put as many fingers as she could inside. Ordered her to taste herself and describe her sweetness to him. Aida rocked her hips from side to side. Allowed her fingers to become Griffin’s dick. Let them pound her the way he had. The way he would have again, had he been there. She cursed, squealed, called his name, told him how good he felt. Told him that she had to have him again. That she needed to feel him again. Her hips rose off of the bed and her legs shook as she came to the suave and sexy sounds of Griffin’s commands. It wasn’t as good as the real thing, but, shit, it had been a very close second. Before the phone call ended, they made plans to see each other later that night.
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