Vows, Vendettas and a Little Black Dress

by Kyra Davis

  “That was the general idea,” I admitted. “But only if she’s guilty.”

  “I’ll certainly see if I can make her a suspect but Rick is the more likely candidate.”

  “I don’t think Rick would shoot me,” Mary Ann said. “Even if he is a bit of a jerk.”

  I idly swirled my whipped cream around with my straw. I wondered if other people sat around with their friends chatting about which one of them would shoot the other. The fact that I had engaged in so many of these types of conversations was probably evidence of how dysfunctional my life had become. Still it made things interesting in an oh-my-God-I’m-going to-die kind of way.

  “Of course he didn’t want to shoot you,” Chrissie said clearly exasperated. “Unless your ex is blind or as stupid as you are then he would have recognized that Dena wasn’t you no matter how nervous or hurried he was. But if Rick wanted to make you pay he wouldn’t need or want to shoot you.”

  Mary Ann shot me a desperate look in hopes I could explain what Chrissie was getting at but this time I was as lost as she was.

  Marcus sighed and crossed his ankle over his knee. “Chrissie…is it all right if I call you that? Or do you prefer be-atch?”

  Chrissie glared and waited for him to continue.

  “Fabulous, we’ll go with the latter then? So Miss Be-atch, don’t you agree that when a guy breaks into his ex-girlfriend’s apartment with a gun it’s usually because he wants to shoot her?”

  “Don’t be dense,” she said in a voice that was clearly straining for patience. “He wants an eye for an eye. That’s from the Bible. Did you read the Bible or did you just burn it after you got to the part where they destroyed the sodomites?”

  “Oh, please, honey, spare me the righteous indignation. There are Satanists who are better Christians than you. At least they believe in something other than themselves.”

  Chrissie’s lips curled back from her teeth. I half expected a couple of fangs to pop out. “Mary Ann caused Rick pain,” she said, her voice lowering just enough to force us all to lean forward. “He wanted her to suffer the same. There is no pain in death, at least not for the person who’s dead. But if he killed or seriously injured the person closest to her?” Chrissie smiled. “It was a given that Mary Ann was going to suffer.”

  I sucked in a sharp breath. I hadn’t thought of that. In fact I probably never would have thought of that. But that’s why we called Chrissie. What was almost unthinkable to most people was perfectly obvious to someone as twisted and dark as her.

  She turned to Mary Ann. “Your life is on the line and so is mine. You are the one with the power to save us, not me. But you’re going to have to risk everything to do it.”

  “Wait, how exactly will she have to risk everything?” I asked.

  “She has to face Rick of course. She has to reel him in and give him what he needs to truly self-destruct.”

  “Yeah, I’m not liking the way this sounds. Why can’t we at least start with Fawn?”

  “Yes, I’m sure you’d love to start with Fawn. After all, I’m the one who can get close to her so I’ll be the one who will be in danger. That’s preferable to Mary Ann being in danger, right?”

  “Much,” Marcus and I said in unison.

  “I’ll contact Fawn but it’s not going to get you the results you want.” Again she turned to Mary Ann. “Call Rick. Apologize for how you treated him at your last meeting. Tell him you were rude to soothe Monty or something along those lines. Tell him you need him. That’s what he really wants to hear.”

  “How do you know what Rick wants to hear?” Mary Ann asked.

  “It’s what every man wants to hear. Ask to meet him alone at his house.”

  “Say what?” Marcus uncrossed his leg and pulled himself to the edge of his seat. “Why not just throw her into the arena with a man-eating lion?”

  “Once you’re there and you’re sure that he trusts you ask him for a favor,” Chrissie went on, completely ignoring Marcus. “Tell him you want to talk to the police. You were so upset the night of the shooting you aren’t sure you gave them a good account of things and you want to find out where they are in their investigation. Tell Rick that you want him there holding your hand while you meet with them.”

  “Won’t that alert Rick to what she has planned?” I asked. Of course it wasn’t the question I should have asked. I should have asked, What the hell are you thinking? There was no way Mary Ann could go to Rick’s house alone.

  “If she plays it right there shouldn’t be a problem. He’ll want to believe her and if he’s guilty he will certainly want to be by her side when she talks to the police. He’ll want to guide her account of things.”

  “But am I really going to talk to the police?” Mary Ann asked.

  “Absolutely. And you’re going to get him to mention, in front of an officer, that he heard Dena was shot on the night it happened. Make sure he expressly conveys that he heard Dena’s name. It’s incriminating evidence and it will count for something.”

  “We already thought of that,” I said impatiently.

  “Oh, good, nice to know you’re not completely moronic,” she snapped as she stood up. “In the meantime I’ll need you two to come up with a name of someone who might actually recommend Fawn’s work. I’ll need a name to drop when I call her.”

  “That’s it?” I said dryly. “That’s the whole plan?”

  “No, not at all. I’ve simply given you a place to start which is more than you were able to work out on your own. When it’s time for the next step I’ll explain it but let’s not overwhelm the few brain cells you have. Call when you can get me a credible reference for Fawn. Mary Ann?” She looked down at Mary Ann and for the first time I thought I saw a flicker of fear. “Everything is in your hands now. God help us.”

  She turned and walked out the door. Marcus and I exchanged looks. If this really was in Mary Ann’s hands then God probably couldn’t help us. Particularly since neither of us was going to let Mary Ann go spend any alone time with Rick.

  CHAPTER 19

  What do atheists scream when they have orgasms?

  –Fatally Yours

  Marcus, Mary Ann and I stayed a good hour longer at the café after Chrissie left. We spent most of the time arguing. Mary Ann wanted to see Chrissie’s plan through. She didn’t really believe that Rick was guilty but if he was she felt that it was her responsibility to bring him down. Marcus and I had different ideas. Marcus felt we should go to the police again and tell them about Rick’s claim that he had heard about Dena on the news. He suggested we find another officer to relate the Buena Vista Park incident to. If we were adamant enough someone was bound to believe us.

  Of course my experience with the police had taught me something different. My view was that if we really wanted to get the goods on Rick and Fawn we needed to go the route of the vigilante. That meant breaking into their respective residents. I had become rather accustomed to that course of action and while it had led to more than a few close calls it always proved to be an enlightening experience. In fact if I were going to put together some twisted brochure advocating a life of crime to young teens I’d lead with “Why settle for walking in another’s shoes when you can break into their house?”

  Marcus and Mary Ann thought that was irresponsible or something silly like that. In the end we brought Mary Ann back to Monty’s and we stayed with her until the evening hours, refusing to leave until Monty arrived. When he did show up Marcus and I made a quick exit. Mary Ann was toying with the idea of telling him the truth about her suspicions and the park and of course I told her I’d support that decision but I couldn’t exactly advocate it anymore considering the choices I had made within my own relationship.

  And when I got home my relationship was waiting for me. Marcus pointed to the Harley parked in my driveway as I pulled up behind it. “How are the home fires burning?” he asked.

  I didn’t say anything, turning my attention to the shadows cast by the iridescent glow of the porch
light.

  “Oh, dear, are you two fighting again?”

  “It’s worse this time,” I whispered. “Marcus, the guy won’t tell me anything about his life before I came along. I know who he is now but I don’t know a thing about his history. I’m sleeping with a man about whom I know almost nothing. Do you know what that’s like?”

  “Yes, sweetie.” Marcus gave me a withering look. “It’s like every one of my Saturday nights for the past five years.”

  “But this isn’t a Saturday night! This is Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and so on! It’s my life! That’s what I’m supposed to be doing here. I’m supposed to be sharing my life with this guy but he won’t share! How is that supposed to work?”

  Marcus sighed and ran his tapered fingers over the dashboard. “Do you trust the perception you have of the person he is now? Is there any chance he’s hiding his true colors…his current true colors from you?”

  “I really don’t think so. In fact I’m positive that he’s not putting on some kind of act for me. This is about his past, that’s it.”

  “Except you want to bring his past into the present. You can insist on that. You can get all up in his face and make it a deal breaker if you’re feeling daring. But just be sure you’re ready for what you might get.”

  “You mean be ready for him walking away rather than talking to me?”

  “No, honey. That will be the easier of the two options. It won’t get scary unless he actually starts talking because people who don’t talk about their past have secrets. Big, ugly, hairy secrets that can come out and bite you in the ass like an infestation of bedbugs. And you know how bedbugs are. Once you know they’re there it’s the only thing you can think about. No amount of Ambien can make you forget about your bedbug problem.”

  “But what you’re saying is not that we don’t have bedbugs but that it’s better for us to pretend we don’t!”

  “Yes, but right now the only one who is getting metaphorically bitten up is your Russian plaything. If you wind soldier boy up and make him talk then those bedbugs are going to be crawling to your side of the bed, too.”

  “So you think I should stop asking Anatoly to talk to me about his life?”

  “Not necessarily. I just think you need to be sure you’re ready for the red welts you’re going to be inviting into your life.”

  “Great, that’s just great.”

  A man with a dog walked by the house and I watched in mild disgust as the dog took a dump on the sidewalk.

  Marcus wrinkled his nose in distaste. “I’m sure there’s a metaphor in that, too, although I’m absolutely positive I don’t want to dwell on it. Go inside and deal with your bug problem. I have to get my place together for Zach.”

  “Will you be by tomorrow at all?”

  “Call me when you know what time Dena’s going to be there and I’ll see if I can come and be part of the welcoming committee.”

  I kissed Marcus on the cheek and we both got out of the car. He went to his Miata still parked on the street and I went inside to deal with Anatoly.

  He was waiting for me in the foyer. He quietly closed the door behind me and took my coat. For once he actually carefully hung it on the coatrack rather than just throwing it in the general direction of a hook.

  “I wasn’t sure if you’d be here,” I said quietly.

  “I’m not staying in my apartment.”

  “Okay.”

  Together we walked into the living room. I bent down to greet Mr. Katz, who was curled up on my window seat. Anatoly simply stood in the middle of the room, his hands by his sides. His eyes traveled to the built-in mahogany bookcase. It was overflowing with books; almost all of them mine but a few of them his. It was Sophie, Sophie, Sophie with a dash of Anatoly. That’s pretty much how the whole house was done. He had moved enough of his things in to make his presence known but not enough to make it seem as if he belonged here. “I’m sorry about the Spanish,” he said quietly. “I should have told you.”

  “Yes.”

  “I studied the language when I was living in New York. It was…a useful thing to know.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “I’m going to make us some drinks,” he said.

  “Okay.”

  I sat down beside Mr. Katz as Anatoly disappeared into the dining room and then presumably into the kitchen. I had a sneaky suspicion that some bedbugs were about to be unleashed.

  When he came back he had made me a melontini and he had a Jack Daniels on the rocks for himself. That was unusual. Anatoly usually stuck to beer. I took my drink and sipped it hesitantly. It was strong.

  He sat down next to me on the window seat. “I was in the Russian Army.”

  “I know.”

  “I was drafted shortly before the draft was abolished from standard Russian military policy. The Soviet Union was dissolving and while the rest of the world celebrated, Russia was in chaos. Anti-Semitism that had been kept marginally under control during the communist regime was being expressed with renewed intensity. All the government-supported jobs were disappearing and the private sector hadn’t had time to sufficiently fill in the void. I was trying to support my mother and my brother…but obviously I wasn’t making enough. So I did some dealing on the black market.”

  “Okay.” I took another sip of my drink. I was going to try very hard to stick to one-or two-word answers for as long possible.

  “It’s not okay,” he said with a smile. “I did some things that were foolish and frequently dangerous. I was desperate and I was scared and it led me to take some big risks.”

  I didn’t say anything that time. I couldn’t remember Anatoly ever telling me he was scared. The very word seemed inconsistent with his entire personality. Nothing fazed him. Now picturing him as a scared, desperate teenager…it was almost impossible to summon up the image.

  “When you take those kinds of risks in a time and place where the law is constantly changing you learn how to be secretive.” He took a long drink of his Jack Daniels and I quietly pet my cat as I listened to the delicate sound of ice cubes knocking against glass. “Being secretive,” he finally added, “was a matter of survival.”

  “Ah.” Mr. Katz looked up at me with slanted eyes, silently urging me to point out the obvious. “Anatoly,” I said tentatively, “you do know that San Francisco isn’t part of the Soviet Union, former or otherwise. Unless you’re still taking a lot of illegal risks—”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then you don’t have to keep everything to yourself. You can talk. You can even talk without thinking. It’s sort of the American way. Not only do we not censor ourselves but we actually take the most banal and idiotic verbal exchanges and broadcast them to the entire world on VH1 reality television shows.”

  “I’ve noticed,” Anatoly said with a smile. “I’m going to try to be less secretive with you. But, Sophie, you’re asking me to change a lifelong habit. Not just a habit, a survival strategy. It’s going to take some time.”

  “I’ll give you time. As long as you actually make some kind of tangible effort, I’m cool.” I bit down on my lip and forced myself to meet his gaze. “Until tonight you haven’t made an effort.”

  “I know.” For a minute we both just sat there staring at each other, the only sound coming from my purring cat. And then with two words Anatoly broke through the invisible wall that had been building up between the two of us. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  He reached for my hand and I gave it freely. Behind him I could still see the porch light. It was giving him an unnatural halo even as it illuminated the front steps to our home….

  The front steps… Oh, shit! I jumped to my feet.

  Anatoly arched his eyebrows in surprise. “What’s wrong?”

  “I screwed up! I’ve been so busy and distracted I totally forgot to make this place wheelchair accessible for Dena and she’s moving in tomorrow!”

  “Sophie, it’s all right—”

  “No, no, no! It’s a total mess! I can’t even
get her up to the front door! And how the hell is she supposed to take a shower? Anatoly, I am the biggest loser on earth!”

  “It’s taken care of.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I ordered everything today. The ramp, the portable shower, everything. It will be delivered tomorrow morning.”

  “You did that? For Dena?”

  “Yes, because it needed to be done. And because I like Dena and you love her. And I love you.”

  How many times have men tried to woo me with flowers, romantic dinners or even jewelry? Too many times to count and their efforts have always left me feeling flattered, touched and very occasionally giddy. But the romance of this gesture…it actually took my breath away.

  I sat back down beside him and I think I grabbed him but it’s possible that he pulled me to him at the exact same time with the exact same immense force. His mouth was on mine and we struggled to press our bodies closer together even though that wasn’t possible by that point. My hands ran up and down his black T-shirt and I felt the cotton fabric bunch up under my palms as I struggled to get closer, closer and still closer.

  Mr. Katz made a run for it. This was definitely not his scene. I felt Anatoly’s hand move up my outer thigh and then to the top button of my jeans. “I want to make you feel good,” he said as he slipped his fingers inside of me.

  I let out a moan and my head fell back against the window, making the glass quiver in time with my own body. Anatoly scooped me up in his arms and before I could say a word he was carrying me up the stairs to our bedroom.

  And it was our bedroom. Not mine, ours. And that realization alone sparked a new spasm of ecstasy.

  Anatoly lowered me to the bed and he took off my jeans and then my shirt shortly before I ripped off his. I felt the full length of him press up against me and I reached down to guide him inside me.

  Marcus had been wrong. There were no bedbugs here. Only this need. This erotic chemistry that neither of us had ever been able to deny.