by J. M. Barlog
“Do I know you?” Rick asked, his eyes testimony to the confusion in his voice.
“You might,” Bridget teased with that melting smile.
“On a billboard maybe?”
“Detective, you flatter me.”
“I’m sorry, this must sound real hokey.”
Rick returned to his notebook to relocate the question that Bridget’s smile had caused to evaporate from his mind.
“I’m teasing,” Bridget chimed, reaching out to brush his forearm in a playful way. “Exotica perfumes, about a year ago. I did a few magazines and billboards. The product died before we could get to television, though one spot did air during the late night movies.”
“Yes. You wore that...”
“Skintight black leotard, lying on a huge velvet pillow, exuding a million dollars worth of sex appeal.”
“That’s it. You’re the Exotica girl.”
“You remembered. I didn’t last very long. It seems the perfume’s scent turned out to smell more like animal sweat.”
Bridget smiled pleasantly enough and her lively eyes sparkled when she spoke. She answered Rick’s questions, though at times, appeared puzzled by their implications.
“I thought Jenny just had an accident. It sounds like you’re trying to say she was at fault.”
“It’s routine. Have you spent much time with Jenny and Warren together?”
“You mean before the accident? Jenny isn’t seeing anyone now. I understand there were scars,” she said, her voice trailing off as if revealing a confidence.
“Yes, prior to the accident.”
“Yeah, I guess. We get together at least a couple, three, maybe four times a month. Jenny was the one who got me that gig as the Exotica girl. My career was a real struggle before that. Now I’ve been working pretty steady ever since. But nothing as big as the Exotica gig.”
“Would you characterize their relationship as happy?”
“I guess. I mean they rarely fought when I was with them, if that’s what you mean.”
“Does Jenny drink?”
“Jenny, drink? No. Jenny only drinks when it’s expected of her.”
“Has Jenny ever indicated that she was unhappy or having problems?”
“No...well...I guess. I mean lately, before the accident, it seemed like Jenny wasn’t herself.”
“How do you mean?”
“I don’t know. Jenny is normally perky and full of life. She thrives on challenges. But she seemed preoccupied about something.”
“She ever confide in you what that might be?”
“She never went into detail, but I think it had to do with her and Warren. Mind you, she never said her marriage was in trouble, but she did intimate to me that things were less than perfect in Camelot, if you know what I mean.”
Rick had to mask his surging interest.
“In what ways?”
“She didn’t get specific. But you want my opinion?”
“Very much.”
“I think they were having problems. Jenny spends sixty hours a week at her agency. You can’t neglect a man like Warren for very long before he starts to look for something better, you know what I mean?”
Bridget smiled temptingly. A smile that crawls under your skin and takes you over.
Rick found himself staring at those soft eyes in a way that was not strictly business. The lingering silence made it seem as if Rick had run out of questions.
Bridget rose, pulling the towel away from her neck and throwing her chest out in such a way that forced Rick to notice her pert, hardened nipples through the thin material.
“That’s just my opinion. Call it an unspoken language. There’s just something in the way they acted when they were together over the past few months that seemed out-of-kilter with the cosmos.”
Rick sensed that maybe Bridget knew more about that unspoken language between people, especially the opposite sex. She was using it on him right now, whether she realized it or not.
“Then Jenny never confided in you as to what the real problem might have been?” Rick asked, holding strict eye contact in an attempt to overcome his attraction to Bridget, attempting to maintain his professionalism.
“No. And that tells me it must be very serious, if she kept it from her best friend.”
Rick rose. He was very close to Bridget. He felt her breath on him, and swore he could feel the warmth radiating off her skin. She lingered, in no hurry to distance herself from him.
“Anything else?”
“No.”
Bridget stepped back to show him to the door.
Rick’s sixth sense kicked in. Something seemed wrong with this picture, though at the moment all he could do was make another careful pass of the surroundings before making his way back to her door. Rick paused for a moment as if he wanted to speak, using the tactic to try again to hone in on the incongruity that altered his senses. Why did he suddenly feel as if he were missing something here? There was something out of place, yet his eyes couldn’t latch on to it.
“What is this all about, anyway? It was an accident wasn’t it?”
The question forced Rick back to Bridget.
“My investigation’s just routine. Oh, one more question.”
“Yes?”
Bridget had her hand on the door handle, but kept the door closed when Rick mentioned more questions.
“Is there anyone else who might provide me with information about the Garretts.”
“Not that I can think of. Is there something wrong? I mean about Jenny’s accident?”
“State law requires we make a full and complete investigation regarding any accident that involves serious injury.”
“Serious injury?”
“A nine-year-old girl is still in a coma.”
“Oh. I never knew.”
10
Kate arrived, hurried and late, at the Riverfront Towers apartments on the lower east side. She fumbled with her keys, her heart racing, before unlocking the door. Once inside, she immediately kicked off her shoes. A puckish smile spread like a wild fire across her face. She sampled the air, picking up the inviting scent of his Nautica men’s cologne.
This time she remembered to switch off her blasted little beeper, then plunked it into her purse, which she tossed haphazardly onto the bureau in the foyer. A devilish excitement tugged at her now yearning pleasure spot when she detected the faint drone of impassioned voices emanating from the bedroom. She knew she was already beginning to become wet.
Damn she was late.
Kate entered the bedroom to find young, sculpted, pliable Kevin naked and splay-legged on the bed half-hidden and half-exposed beneath the sheet. His shoulder-length chestnut hair, still wet from a shower, had been hastily slicked back, giving him that famed Antonio Banderas look. Her eyes went right to her reason for coming. It appeared as if Kevin had been limbering up in anticipation of her.
Kate shed her clothes as if they were on fire. They weren’t—but her passions were. Just seeing him poised in innocence for her made her want it even more.
To her right, the moans of women in the throes of orgasm pulsed out of the television speaker. Kevin had some porn orgy movie going. And after a mere glance at it, Kate returned to her task of getting naked. The sight of his now awakening erection sent her heart into palpitations.
Kevin set his glass of scotch on the night table and smiled while he turned to make his manhood more prominent to Kate.
That is exactly why you’re enamored with Kevin, Kate told herself. His was the biggest thing she had ever had inside her. And she had had many over the fifteen years since she surrendered her virginity in the back of a decked-out van. And as a special bonus, it turned out Kevin’s manhood was bigger than his brain. All the better for her. He was trainable.
“I saved you one,” he said, angling up a mirror like a serving tray. A thin, even white line pointed directly at Kate.
“Ten more minutes and I was going to do it myself.”
“A
lways so impatient, Kevin.”
By now all that remained were her panties, which Kate slid out of, noticing she stained them with her excitement.
“You’re forty minutes late!”
“Sorry, baby,” Kate offered. She slid under the sheet and let the tips of her fingers smooth slowly over his tool. “I couldn’t shake old man Kingston. Looks to me like you kept yourself occupied, anyway.”
Her eyes bounced from Kevin to the television screen, where a man and woman were bucking in wild, and vocal, copulation.
“I love the way you do that,” Kevin said, indicating the small screen.
“Then don’t spoil the moment by scolding,” she cooed, breathing heavily against his cheek before letting her tongue wisp into his ear. “You’ll just have to punish me for being bad.”
Neither wasted time nor movements as they began working on each other’s pleasure spots with the skill of seasoned surgeons. Their genuine moans of pleasure overshadowed the poorly dubbed versions coming out of the television.
Though lean and muscular, Kevin was callow when it came to business, just two years out of college. Yet he had an untapped well of sexual energy with a nature prone to exploring uncharted territories, and he took guidance without becoming bitter; though Kate, at times, thought him more a lap dog than a student lover.
Kate needed Kevin as her release when the pressures mounted at the agency. With Jenny out indefinitely now, she needed him more and more with each passing week. Theirs was a relationship more of lust than love, at least for her. He fulfilled her need to escape into the salacious fantasy that consummate sex offered. And, for the most part, he made sure she was satisfied before allowing himself to blast off.
Kevin’s impatience toward her proved so far to be his only flaw. But he made up for it in repetitions. The man was a machine that performed on command; like those modern robots used in manufacturing. Feed him fuel and he performs.
After reaching her third climax within the hour, Kate curled up in Kevin’s eager arms, squeezing his dark nub between her fingers and strumming the tips of her nails lightly over his hairless chest. Kevin responded in kind, fondling her breasts, hoping shortly to go for a fourth.
Jenny had never once questioned why Kate insisted on using Jarvison and Lewis as their accounting firm. Kate assumed Jenny never even suspected that Kevin here did more than just maintain the agency’s books.
A thick down comforter, rich in floral colors, kept their legs cozy, while outside rain pelted the window pane. Their bodies so close together took care of the rest. After Jenny’s accident, Kate would have gone mad had it not been for Kevin’s massive woman- pleaser.
“I need a little favor, Kevie,” Kate cooed, working her hand expertly down under the blanket, while flicking at his nipple with her wet tongue.
“I should have figured. Lately, the only time you fuck me is when I’m supposed to do something for you.” Kevin shifted his weight to flop himself into her waiting hand.
Kate began kneading gently, lovingly.
“The police are investigating Jenny’s accident.”
“So?”
Kevin closed his eyes. He moaned as Kate began a slow slide from his nipple down the center of his washboard stomach, leaving glistening saliva to mark her trail. Kevin’s hand left her breast, slid down along the curve of her soft hip and sought the velutinous nest between her legs.
The flames of re-awakened passion roared inside him. Once more, he thought, and this time before she can withdraw it in time, then it’s back to the office.
“The detective wants a look at the agency’s books.”
The fire died, doused by Kate’s words. Kevin stopped, opening his eyes round and wide.
Kate worked him harder.
“What for?”
“Just routine.”
“It’s not just fucking routine, Kate...”
“So? You said you could take care of things. You said I wouldn’t have to worry about...”
Kevin’s face had become ashen. His mouth went suddenly as dry as cotton. He had difficulty swallowing.
“What?” Kate asked, feeling Kevin deflate in her hand despite her efforts.
“Fuck.”
“You said it would be all right. Kevin?”
Kevin pulled away from her, leaving the bed.
“I said I could hide it from your partner. I said we could put in places she would never think of questioning.”
“So?”
“So? The fucking cops are a helluva lot smarter than your partner.”
“Kevie...” Kate said, taking his hand and pulling him back onto the bed, so she could grab hold of his tool.
“You’re a good accountant and great with this magic wand. Why do you think I insisted you be assigned our account? You think I wanted old man Jarvison humping me? You’ll take care of it for me. I need to turn the books over to the cops, or I’ll start looking suspicious.”
“Suspicious about what? Kate, this isn’t...”
Kevin stopped mid-sentence. Kate positioned her face over his mid-section and began to work on him.
“I’ll take care of...” he moaned in ecstasy.
11
Jenny went through the next three days without seeing the apparition. But she found no peace—even its absence plagued her. Was it an hallucination like Dr. Rosenstein said? Or could there really be a spirit of herself tormenting her?
Tomorrow she was to see Rosenstein again. He would help her cope. Jenny wondered how he would explain away the hemorrhaging when she last encountered that specter.
And then there were the voices. They came without warning, lasted only a second or two, and never offered her more than a few seemingly disjointed words. But each time they raced through her head, she stopped all activity at that moment so she could write down those fragments she recalled.
“Pump the bag, hurry... The pressure’s falling below...”
She found if she concentrated on what she had heard, she could even differentiate between the voices and concluded they were neither hers nor Warren’s—nor anyone else familiar to her. One thread, though, common to all the voices was a driving sense of urgency. Panic filled each word.
Even seeing them on paper delivered up no explanation for their continuing troublesome presence in her mind. Troublesome, though, seemed an inappropriate description, since they startled her each time they popped into her head. It felt as if people had suddenly appeared beside her and were shouting into her ears.
After a magnificently attempted dinner of Fettuccini Alfredo that turned out overly dry because it had been Warren’s first attempt at such a dish, Warren left to run an errand. He promised to be back as soon as possible and forbade Jenny from doing anything that might prove overly taxing on her.
Jenny was tired, but not fatigued. She was tired of flipping through the magazines and cable channels. She was tired of sitting in bed most of every day. She reflected gratefully on the fact that she had a career; it spared her the mundane life of game shows, soap operas and old movies.
But what about when they began their family? The thought popped into her mind as if a genie had suddenly appeared out of a bottle. What about a family? Why did that pop into her mind? Were they planning a family?
Something hidden behind dark recesses in her mind peeked out when she thought about plans for a family.
Jenny hiked up the television volume to drown out those spooky spurious sounds every old house makes. She reasoned that if she couldn’t hear it, then it wasn’t there, and she needn’t be frightened by it.
Warren had hesitated about leaving her alone. She could see it in his eyes before he left. But Jenny had convinced him she would be all right. They had to live a normal life; it was wrong to fear every minute of every day. And besides the spirit appeared while he was here in the house anyway, so it wasn’t like he was a deterrent to the thing.
Mr. Chips rose abruptly.
Jenny tensed.
The dog began to whine.
&
nbsp; “Not now, Chips, I’ll let you out later.”
But Chips never once looked back at Jenny. Instead, he planted his front paws and stared at the open bedroom door. Suddenly, he began backing away—inching toward Jenny.
“What?”
Icy terror seized every muscle in Jenny’s body. Chips didn’t need to go out. Chips...
Jenny looked up.
“No, please, God no...”
The dog issued a low, vile growl. Then he launched into braying with maddening force. His lips curled back to expose white fangs, and he flattened his ears, though he never advanced toward the open doorway.
Jenny’s heart pounded out of control inside her chest.
Should she run? Where could she go to escape?
First the hideous face bloomed, all mangled, empty and lifeless. Then the ragged body materialized in the room. It lasted a moment—unmoving—staring sightlessly at Jenny.
Then Jenny screamed!
****
Dr. Rosenstein sat beside Jenny as she lay on her bed. Seconds later the injection began to work its soothing magic. Jenny’s trembling hands fell limp at her sides; and her eyes glassed over as a result of the medication.
“I’m telling you, Mr. Chips saw it, too. The dog was terrified and refused move from my bedside. This can’t be an hallucination.”
“Just relax, Jenny. Let the sedative work. Try to put the experience from your mind for right now.”
“But...Mr. Chips...”
Sy patted Jenny’s hand soothingly until she finally succumbed and closed her eyes. Despite her efforts to fight the drug’s intent, her muscles lost rigidity.
“How do you feel now?”
“Just...great,” Jenny said with no hint of spirit on her ashen face.
Sy remained close until Jenny drifted off into a light sleep. Even then, he convinced himself to remain a minute longer, withdrawing a few steps from the bed. Such an emotional upheaval could overcome even a potent sedative.
“Why did...Mr. Chips...growl?” Jenny asked, her eyes still closed, her words buoying out of her slumber.
“The technical term, Jenny, is anxiety transference,” Sy whispered. “Not unusual between people and their pets. Your dog was reacting to your actions. Just let your mind drift into sleep.”