by L. A. Banks
She grasped the shell around her neck. The shell was hot and slippery as the rough ridges undulated up and down beneath her fingers. She felt dizzy and disoriented. Her stomach lurched and her throat grew raw. She was paying the price of the curse. She rested her head against the coolness of the sink and slowly, the burning faded away. The movement of the shell beneath her fingertips slowed. The heat dispersed. When the shell was cool again, she fingered it and found that one of the ridges had smoothed down, only two were left.
Urgent knocking sounded on the door. “Paloma,” Brandi called, “are you all right?”
She took a second to compose herself. “Yes,” she answered, surprised at how normal her voice sounded. “I’ll be out in a couple minutes.”
She pushed herself to her feet and stared in the mirror, surprised at how normal she looked. Every hair on her head was in place and her face showed none of the turmoil she’d just experienced. She turned on the faucet and washed her hands and face. When she felt better, she opened the door and found Brandi hovering outside.
“Do you want a ride to the hospital?” Brandi asked.
“Thanks, but no. I need to take care of this myself.”
“I’d like to take care of him myself.”
Paloma hugged Brandi, unable to express in words her feelings of gratitude at her sister-in-law’s loyalty. “Homicide is a felony and you’re too pretty to go to jail.”
“I grew up in the Cabrini Green Projects in Chicago,” Brandi said. “I can find someone to take care of him and who can get rid of the body so it will never be found.”
“Obviously,” Paloma said in a dry tone, “you don’t watch TV. They always find the body.”
“Maybe, but if I had a .45 and an alibi—” Brandi grinned “—you’d be a free woman.”
Paloma chuckled. “Thanks, but that’s too quick and too painless. I want him to suffer.” She touched the shell.
Brandi frowned. “I have never heard you talk like this before. What happened to my live and let live sister-in-law?”
What indeed? “She was stomped down too hard this time.” She kissed Brandi again. “I’ll talk to you later.”
In the parking lot outside her brother’s office Paloma hailed a cab and gave the driver orders to take her to the hospital. As she sat in the back seat watching Las Vegas pass by, her throat ached. She couldn’t stop fingering the shell. Miss Odile’s words kept repeating themselves over and over in her mind. Sex got you into this and sex will get you out.
The cab let her off in front of the emergency room entrance. Paloma was directed to a cubicle at the end of a long hall. When she pushed aside the privacy curtain, Keith appeared overjoyed to see her despite the fact Miss Thang, also known as Syrah, was with him, clucking over him like a mother hen while her eyes shot daggers at Paloma. Paloma stiffened at the sight of the other woman, but decided now was not the time to make a scene.
Keith sat on the side of a hospital bed. A bandage had been applied to one cheek and a small spot of blood seeped through. A bruise shone on his chin. He held one hand awkwardly, though nothing else appeared to be wrong with him.
Paloma walked right up to Keith and gently folded him into a hug. “My poor baby,” she crooned and wondered where she’d learned such acting skill. Maybe she should call Darius Montgomery after all and see if she could get a job acting in one of his films.
She stroked Keith’s face. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, nuzzling her breast like a newborn and sliding a hand over her butt. “Do you want me to call your mamma?”
“I just want to go home,” Keith said plaintively.
He looked up at her and she smiled as sweetly as she could at him, when she really wanted to gloat.
She started leading him to the door. She glanced back at Syrah standing alone in the center of the room. Paloma waved. “I can take it from here, Syrah. You go on home. Keith will call you later.” In another few days, he’ll be all yours, anyway, honey. Just wait, be patient a little bit longer.
“Tell me what happened,” Paloma said once she had him settled in the cab and headed home.
Keith’s face contorted as he held tight to her hand. “I don’t know exactly. This old lady just stepped out in front of me and wham…” He leaned back on the headrest, frowning. “I swerved to avoid her and hit a tree.” He paused, his frown deepening. “I don’t know why, but that old bat reminded me of your crazy aunt. You know. The one who lives in the swamp. Miss…what’s her face, I can’t remember her name.”
“Odile,” Paloma said calmly, “and she’s not crazy.” She patted his hand. She noticed just the faintest tremor in his fingers as he held on to her.
“Anybody who brings a twelve foot python to a wedding is crazy,” Keith snapped.
Paloma glanced away. She hadn’t been amused either, but Miss Odile did what she wanted and like all the other members of her large family, Paloma simply ignored the old woman’s eccentricities. “I’m glad you have so much respect for my family.”
“Don’t take it that way, baby.” Keith took her hand, gripping it tightly. “I didn’t mean to sound so…so…” he didn’t finish his sentence.
“So…what was Syrah doing at the hospital?”
“I didn’t ask her to come,” Keith said quickly, defensively, “I just called to let her know I was all right. I didn’t want her to see my accident on the news or something and have her worry. She rushed down to the hospital to hold my hand.” He sounded pleased at Syrah’s behavior.
“She’s such a thoughtful girl.” Paloma patted his hand. Her private thoughts about Syrah were much different. The slut!
“That’s how girls are raised in South Carolina,” Keith said as he patted her knee. “I just love Southern girls.”
Don’t you now, Paloma thought as the cab turned down their street and pulled into the driveway. She helped Keith out of the cab and up the steps.
As Keith fumbled for the door key, Paloma found herself pausing, reluctant to enter this house that had been her home for the last four years.
The memory of Keith and Syrah in her bed rose to her mind as she helped him up the stairs and down the hall to the master suite. The room had been tidied, so obviously the servants had returned from their afternoon off.
She managed to get Keith into bed. He sank down on the mattress and closed his eyes. He looked soft and vulnerable as he fell into sleep and began to snore.
Paloma watched him for a moment, then went across the hall to the spare bedroom. She couldn’t share a room with him anymore. Not after he’d desecrated everything she considered hers. He had no idea she knew anything and she felt a feeling of contempt creep over her.
The guest room was neat and tidy. Paloma sat down on the bed for a moment trying to decide what to do. The shell at her throat had grown warm again and she touched it hesitantly. So much power resided inside this innocent-looking object. The kind of power that most people feared.
She entered the bathroom and turned on the water in both the sink and the shower. She stood in front of the mirror and started singing scales. Her voice was hoarse and raw, as though she been screaming for hours, and wouldn’t hit a high C, a note she’d always hit perfectly before. She did a few exercises to clear her throat and then started again. No high C. Her voice cracked and faded.
She clutched the shell fingering the smooth area where the third ridge had been.
Chapter Three
* * *
Richard Talmage, general manager and half-owner of the Istanbul casino, was a short, dapper man with a British accent. He wore a conservative dark blue suit, blue tie and a hard-edged manner. He sat across from Paloma in the Minaret restaurant, a place that tried hard to look like a Turkish bazaar, but couldn’t quite complete the translation.
Most of the lunch crowd had departed and over half the tables were empty. The remains of lunch had been cleared away, except for Keith’s who still picked at his sandwich complaining about his sore jaw and other assorted aches and pains
from his car accident.
Finally, Keith ordered another bourbon and fell silent as he watched Richard and Paloma, a greedy glow in his eyes. Paloma sipped her red wine, grateful for the warmth.
Richard smiled at Paloma. “About the contract.”
“She’s ready to sign,” Keith broke in as he balled up his napkin and signaled for the hovering waitress to take his plate.
Paloma covered Keith’s hand with hers. “A lot has happened in the last few days.” Her voice was hoarse and both Keith and Richard studied her carefully. “Keith was in an accident, I had a family situation in Louisiana to attend to, and I just don’t feel like I’m in a good place to sign a contract.”
“I’m willing to go up another ten million,” Richard said, his eyes regarding Paloma with something she didn’t quite understand. What did he know that she didn’t?
Keith held his breath. “That’s generous, Richard. I know Paloma appreciates your offer.”
Paloma smiled. “I do, but again I need a bit more time to handle my personal life.” Keith’s hand squeezed her knee. “You know I’d sign the contract just to live in the penthouse.”
Keith’s hand tightened on her knee. She was going to have a bruise.
“Are you all right?” Richard stared intently at her. “You sound a little hoarse.”
“I just need to rest my voice. A singer can only stress vocal chords for so long. And I’ve been doing six shows a week for most of four years now.” She had Mondays off.
“She’ll be fine,” Keith interrupted. “I’ll see that she goes to the doctor.”
Richard nodded. He gathered up his copy of the contract and packed it away in his briefcase. “I’ll make the changes. I don’t think an extra ten mil will break the bank.” He and Keith shook hands and Richard left.
“What the hell are you doing?” Keith hit his palm on the table. “The casino just handed you another ten million dollars for a year’s worth of work. You just turned away forty million dollars.”
“Honey, it’s only money. And we have plenty.” Okay, maybe not plenty, but if Keith hadn’t drained her accounts, she would definitely have enough to live on for the rest of her life.
Keith opened his mouth, but for a second no sound came out. Finally, he sputtered, “That’s…that’s not the point.”
“Don’t be greedy, Keith.” She shook her finger at him. “You’re courting bad luck or karma, or whatever. Greed always comes back at you.”
“Don’t give me any of that backwoods, bayou, voodoo bull shit,” he sneered. “Money is the only thing that matters.”
“Really? Is money the only thing keeping us together? Am I nothing but an ATM machine to you?” She really enjoyed seeing him squirm. He didn’t have the balls to tell her the truth, though she could see the indecision on his face. Tell her, not tell her.
Paloma stood and adjusted the strap of her purse across her shoulder. “I don’t want to deal with this contract stuff right now.” She left the restaurant, took a short cut through the grand bazaar heading toward the valet parking lot.
As she waited for her car, she knew she had to get away. Without a thought, she found herself on the road to Henderson and turning down the street where her mother lived.
When Paloma walked in the front door, her mother took one look at her and drew her into a tight hug.
“You look tired,” Marianne said. “Sit down and I’ll get us a glass of sweet tea.”
Paloma lay back on the sofa and looked out over her mother’s garden. A small bird sat on the edge of the bird bath and took little sips of water while eyeing the neighbor’s cat warily. A lizard ran across the patio and disappeared beneath the ice plant. A humming bird stopped at the feeder, tiny wings tight against its little body as it thrust its long bill into the feeder.
When Marianne returned and handed her a glass of iced sweet tea, Paloma could only take a small sip. “It’s happening.” She touched her throat. “I can’t even reach a high C.”
Her mother, sadness reflected in her dark eyes, leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Paloma had made the decision and would stand by it for the rest of her life. “I need to know, can I be who I am if I’m a schoolteacher?”
Kindergarten. Paloma always thought she’d be a great Kindergarten teacher.
“If I told you once, I’ve told you a hundred thousand times.” Her mother’s voice was indulgent. “You can be whoever and whatever you want. I won’t love you any less. No one in our family will.”
Paloma closed her eyes. She didn’t like the whining tone she heard in her own voice. “I know I sound petty, but I love being Paloma Alexander, headlining at the Istanbul, going on tour, recording CDs, having thousands of fans cheering for me every night.” Maybe she was wrong to define herself by who she was on stage, but she had worked hard to get where she was and giving up her lifestyle would be difficult.
“You’ve spent a lot of years letting your career consume you,” Marianne said. “I realize you had to give up a portion of who you are, but living in obscurity isn’t a bad thing. You’ve made your mark on the world, time to move on.”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself.”
Marianne’s eyebrows rose. “Go back to college and finish your degree.”
Right. Paloma had keenly felt the lack of an education, but Keith had discouraged her from returning to school. You don’t need a college diploma, baby, she heard in her mind. You can get what you want without one. Maybe, but as she’d just discovered she had no fall back position.
Paloma’s phone rang. She rummaged through her purse searching for her phone and found the business card of the nice young man, Darius Montgomery, at the airport and how good he’d made her feel. The memory of his gushing adoration would have to last her the rest of her life. She tucked the card into a side pocket and answered her phone.
“Baby, come home,” Keith said.
“I’m going to stay with my mom tonight.”
“But, baby, I need you.”
Yeah, you need me to sign that contract, she thought. “I want to spend some time with my mother. We have some family business to discuss. She got an offer for her house in New Orleans.”
“Just sell it,” Keith said, “people with property down there are making money, hand over fist.”
Not hardly, Paloma thought sadly. The government was screwing them and most of them didn’t even know it. “I bought my mother that house as security,” Paloma said, her voice cool, “and she is not selling it.”
“What about what I want? You ever think about that?” His voice sounded petulant and whiny. “I think about you every minute of every day. I want you home—now.”
She studied her manicured nails. “Stop acting like a baby. I’ll be home tomorrow. You can entertain yourself for one night.”
Good, Keith thought, she was going to stay with her mother for the night, as he hung up the phone and looked around at the opulent penthouse. Not bad for a good ole boy from the wrong side of the tracks.
He didn’t need Paloma when he had Syrah. He picked up the phone and called her. “Get your ass over here,” he barked into the phone before Syrah had a chance to even say anything. He hung up and stood at the window looking down on the city lighting up the dark with a thousand colors. Las Vegas had the kind of energy he thrived on.
He loved Las Vegas. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he’d end up here. But Paloma had bought all this for him and damn if he was going to give it up.
Damn, he might have lost his car, but the second she signed that contract, he’d get himself something better with a little more prestige. A Rolls Royce Phantom, now that was a car.
He liked the way the girls sized him up when he stepped out of his car, as though measuring his bankroll by the size of his wheels. He just needed Paloma to sign the damn contract. He didn’t understand why she was dragging her feet.
Thinking about the afternoon refueled his anger. How
could Paloma just walk out and not come home? He wanted a little more of what she gave him earlier in the day. Sex with her had never been so wild before and he wanted more. But since then she’d been distant and cool.
What the hell kind of uppity bitch was she to deny him what he wanted? If not for him, for his foresight, she’d still be singing at county fairs and fending off unwanted advances from drunks. No wonder he always had to have something on the side. If Paloma ever found out, she’d hand him his tickets out of town.
Try as he might he never could make her do what he wanted. She’d insisted on being sophisticated and elegant which was all fine and good, but teenagers wanted hoes who showed their ass and sang about dirty sex and badass hoodlums. That translated into dollars.
He thought about the major clothing endorsements, the shoes, the handbags, the everything that never came her way because she had to maintain her dignity, her class. Dignity never got a person anywhere. And Paloma never did anything if she thought her family would disapprove. Her family was at fault.
When he’d met Paloma, her family hadn’t had two dimes to rub together. Big fucking deal that there had been some old money family back in the day, by the time he’d come along, they’d had nothing but their image, a run-down mansion with holes in the walls and the facade of still being the kind of powerful folk only money could buy. If not for him, they’d still be back in their big house, falling down around their ears, wishing for the old times.
Twenty minutes later, the door to the penthouse opened and Syrah stepped into the foyer. He smiled at her and she gave him a kiss. All he could think of was that this bitch was going to make it big. She talked like a ho, dressed like a ho and fucked like a ho. He was going to make a pile of money off her.
“Hey, baby.” Syrah pressed her over-full breasts against his chest. She stuck her hand down his pants and fingered his flaccid dick. He leaned back waiting for her magic to bring him to life, but nothing happened.