Dakota Blues Box Set

by Lynne M Spreen

  “Is that true, Ms. Grace?” asked the reporter. “What can you tell us about this project?”

  Karen smiled into the blinking red light of the minicam. “We’re in the very preliminary stages, but it’ll be a game changer, as Mr. Natchez can verify.” She tossed the reporter a few more tidbits, and then the bandleader led the crowd in a countdown to the new year. Cameras flashed as Ted leaned her backward in a cinematic kiss in the middle of the dance floor. When she straightened back up, people applauded.

  Through the champagne haze, Karen thought of Curt and felt a twinge of guilt, but before she could think any more about him and wonder what he was doing on another quiet night in North Dakota, Ted took her in his arms. He drew her closer, and as they danced, she could feel the vibration of his voice, humming along with the music. She wanted to lay her cheek against his chest, his strong arms around her. His fingers played along her back, and she stifled a sigh. If she didn’t leave soon, her defenses would definitely fail her. When the number ended, she pulled away. “It’s been a long day,” she said. “Remember where we started?”

  “I remember every detail.” He trailed two fingers lightly along the length of her upper arms. Goose bumps rose on her skin. “Are you cold?” He looked at her, smiling.

  “I should call a cab.” She didn’t make a move for her purse or wrap, though.

  “You might have to wait a long time, it being New Year’s and all. Plus, I’m not sure about you riding around the city at this hour on this kinda night.”

  “You could ride with me,” she said.

  “Or you could make the call from my place upstairs. I’d ply you with refreshments while you wait in comfort and safety.”

  Safety being a relative term, Karen chose the latter of the two dangers, nodding slowly, her eyes locked on his. In the elevator, he put his key in a slot and pushed P. When the door opened, they stepped into a private foyer. Another door unlocked into a lavish living room where the fireplace crackled. A butler stood holding a tray with two perfect crystal snifters. “Port, sir?”

  “Thank you, Alfred. And you may call it a night, my friend.”

  “Yes, sir.” Alfred nodded and disappeared.

  Karen crossed the room, her heels sinking into the plush carpets. At the corner of the living room, floor-to-ceiling windows revealed sparkling Savannah, far below. When she had lived in Newport Beach, many of her friends had lived in penthouses like this, with views of the harbor and the ocean beyond. Karen herself had owned a mansion in an exclusive neighborhood, but she’d lost it in the divorce. In the year since, she had struggled to make the best of things, but in truth, she missed the luxury of her old way of life. For a moment, she closed her eyes and permitted herself to believe she was home. “It’s so beautiful,” she murmured.

  Ted came up behind her. His warm hands grasped her shoulders, and his voice rumbled in her ear. “Yes, you are.” He turned her around, touching her lips with one finger. When she didn’t object, he tipped her chin up and kissed her, exploring her mouth with his tongue. She felt the heat, from her breasts to her belly to the achingly soft place between her thighs.

  “Do you still want me to call you a cab?” he asked. When she kissed him deeply in reply, his hands caressed her back, her waist, and the curves of her hips. Held tight against his chest, Karen felt his erection press against her and inhaled the fragrance of his cologne. He left a line of kisses from her earlobe to her collarbone and was rewarded with her soft moan.

  He took her hand and led her to his bedroom, lit with candlelight and perfumed by the cherry aroma of the fireplace. She allowed him to unzip her dress, and it slid to the floor. Still wearing her heels, she kicked it aside, and he groaned with lust. Karen smiled. With her new push-up bra and thong undies, she felt like a wanton temptress, a she-devil in control of this powerful man.

  With a growl, he eased her down onto the bed. The last thing Karen thought of as her bare backside hit the satin sheets was that she never did call Curt to wish him happy New Year.

  CHAPTER 13

  JESSIE WAS GOING TO a lot of trouble to prepare their holiday dinner. Since Lenny had to work over Christmas, he’d promised they would celebrate New Year’s instead. There was a turkey in the oven already, all stuffed and draped with strips of bacon and covered in foil. She’d made a pumpkin pie last night, after he fell asleep on the couch.

  As Jessie stood at the sink, peeling potatoes, she looked out the window. The dog’s rope had wrapped around his water bucket sometime during the night, tipping the cheap plastic container and spilling most of the contents. She rinsed and dried her hands and went outside.

  Booger stared at her, growling. Even from this safe distance, she could see his hackles bristling and the muscles quivering under his iron-gray coat. The dog had been Lenny’s idea. He’d found him running loose in a dry creek bed and spent a day and a half trapping the half-starved animal, saying he’d be a killer watchdog and not to coddle him. Jessie turned on the hose full blast and aimed the stream at the bucket, intending to fill it from a safe distance, but the dog leaped into the water, snapping his jaws. He fell back, choking and coughing.

  “Get out of the way, you dumb dog, and I’ll fill it up,” Jessie said, but the animal was relentless. “Okay, fine. Be thirsty.” She gave up and went in the house to continue preparing the feast. The turkey would be ready by six o’clock. She hoped Lenny would come home on time. After hearing her plans to cook a traditional family meal, he and Kegger had bolted for the sports bar down the highway. Staying out of her way, as they put it.

  “Let’s see. Turkey, potatoes, gravy, cranberries, beans, rolls, butter, pie...that’s it. Okay.” Everything was cooking along just fine. Everything was on track. The aroma of turkey would soon fill the home, and she felt peaceful and satisfied. This must be what adulthood was like, having your own place and your own family. She knew from her psychology books that this was the beginning of her autonomy, that from here on out she would be making more and more adult decisions. Now if only Lenny could act more like an adult. But she felt sure that would happen eventually. She glanced at her watch. There was still time to do some studying.

  When the baby began fussing, Jessie got her up out of bed and played with her for a couple hours while keeping an eye on the turkey. It was almost done. All she had to do was mash the potatoes and make the gravy, which could wait until later, when Sunshine was down for the night.

  At six o’clock, Jessie fed and bathed her, read her a story from the new book she’d gotten at Christmas, and tucked her into her crib. Then, moving quietly in the bedroom, she put on a white blouse that looked festive and a decent pair of pants that might have worked for church, if she ever went. Her parents hadn’t raised her in any religion, and she hadn’t felt the need, but now with Sunshine her responsibility, it was probably time to find a congregation. The lady at the thrift shop had suggested the Baptist church down the street, and Jessie thought she’d check it out at some point. Maybe the three of them could go there and become part of the spiritual community. Plus maybe Lenny could make connections and find somebody to hire him.

  She put her hair in a ponytail, placing a sprig of fake holly at the rubber band, and dug through her meager box of makeup for eye shadow, mascara, and lipstick. Then she went back in the kitchen and donned an apron. The oven door opened with a tearing screech, making Jessie wince. She stepped back from the wave of aromatic heat and then leaned in to check out the turkey. It had turned a gorgeous, dark honey gold, just like the picture in the cookbook. The thermometer told her it was finished, so Jessie, careful with such a heavy load, removed it from the oven and set it on a cutting board to rest. If Lenny didn’t get home pretty soon, she’d have to cut up the bird herself, which would be disappointing since having the man do the carving was traditional. Jessie frittered away another hour straightening the house, replacing a couple of lights on the tabletop Christmas tree, and moving the mistletoe from one doorway to another—but still no Lenny.

 
Finally, she decided to tackle the carving, because at this point he probably wouldn’t be that careful, and she didn’t want him wrecking her beautiful turkey. She set a couple of serving plates near her workstation and opened the cookbook to page forty-seven. There, next to four illustrations of a bird in various stages of dismemberment, were Grandma Frieda’s scrawly handwritten notes.

  Jessie propped open the cookbook and began drawing a sharp knife through the meat. Grandma’s funeral had been a total downer. At her age, Jessie hadn’t gone to many, but this was the worst. Not only was it heartbreaking to say good-bye, but her mother was hysterical, babbling about keeping some woman from coming inside the church because allegedly she’d kidnapped Grandma. As if. Nobody could kidnap Frieda Richter if she didn’t want to go. Jessie was just happy she had gotten to do one last road trip—and at her age! She was doing things her own way.

  And who was the woman who took Grandma along anyway? People mumbled about it after Sandy ran her off. Whoever she was, this Karen chick must have been some tough bitch to put up with Grandma Frieda all that time.

  Looking back at the book, Jessie pulled on one of the drumsticks, cutting precisely between the two round circles of the joint. The legs separated from the body with a satisfying crack of gristle and bone. Then the wings. She set them on a plate and peered at the directions. Karen Grace had had something for her at the funeral, but Sandy had run her off before Jessie could get it. It looked like an envelope, which could only mean one thing: money. And Jessie could sure use it.

  Jessie cut steaming slices of turkey with each pass. It was a big job, and when she finished, she was amazed at the giant piles of meat in each dish—one of dark, one of white.

  And still no Lenny.

  DINNER WAS TWO HOURS past ready.

  At seven thirty, she’d had a glass of wine and a bite to eat, figuring it would hold her over for a while. At nine, she gave up and ate, sitting by herself in the silent kitchen and thumbing through the cookbook. At ten, when she was lying on the couch, watching Miracle on 34th Street, the headlights from Lenny’s work truck flashed in the living room window. Jessie aimed the remote at the TV, and the room went dark. She watched from behind a curtain as Lenny and Kegger staggered toward the trailer, arguing. The dog barked and ran back and forth at the end of his rope like a frantic pendulum. Stomping their feet on the wooden porch, they banged the door open and spilled inside, shaking the trailer with their noise and movements. “What the fuck,” said Lenny. “Why’s it so fucking dark—?”

  A lamp clicked on. Jessie sat in a corner chair, silently eyeing the two men.

  “Hey, look at you. All dressed up and pretty.” Lenny belched. “Happy New Year, babe.” He stumbled over, leaned on the chair arms, getting into her space and trying to kiss her, but she turned her face away, scowling. He straightened up. “So be that way. What’s for dinner?”

  “Like you care.”

  “I do. Me ’n’ Keg are hungry, and it smells real good in here. So, we gonna eat?”

  “Do what you want. I’m going to bed.” Her special dinner, so carefully prepared over the course of the day, sat cooling in the refrigerator. All she’d wanted was a nice holiday meal with her family. Good food, a little conversation, and the beginning of a tradition. Now everything was ruined. He could feed his own damn self. She stood and turned toward the bedroom.

  Lenny grabbed her by the arm as she passed. His eyes were bloodshot and watery. “I said, I’m hungry.”

  “Ow!” She pulled her arm back and rubbed the spot, sure to bruise purple by morning.

  “Get in there.”

  “Lenny!”

  He shoved her toward the dark kitchen, but she braced herself, resisting, incredulous. He pushed her from behind, propelling her, forcing her toward the stove. She grabbed the refrigerator door, trying to anchor herself. “Stop it! Leave me alone! Let me go—” Off-balance, Jessie threw her arm up, her fist connecting with Lenny’s chin.

  In the next instant, the trailer seemed to collapse around her, the sky landed on her, the roar of a thousand trains filled her head as she was flung to the floor face first, and in the next second, she was levitating upward, her throat aching with the angle, every strand of hair screaming from the roots as Lenny pulled her up by her ponytail, slammed her down, and then hauled her to her feet again. Steering her by the hair, he drove her into the counter, twisting her head so she had to face him. He breathed stale beer-breath into her face. Sweat and grease emanated from his pores.

  “Fix. My. Fucking. Dinner.” With a final yank, he released his grip.

  Jessie collapsed against the sink, grasping the edge of the counter and holding tight to keep from falling. A single drop of blood rolled off the tip of her nose and landed on the white porcelain. It splattered and spread, caught a runnel of water, and raced toward the black hole of the garbage disposal. Jessie stared at it, gasping for breath, her heart pounding. Her first thought was to survive, to comply, to get Lenny to calm down so he wouldn’t do anything that would hurt the baby. Her second thought was of her textbooks, the ones that spoke of domestic violence, and the stark recognition of it now. She had always presumed, with the certainty born of a middle-class birth and a peaceful childhood, that she would never be a victim. She had no frame of reference, no experience. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

  Lenny had a temper, sure. She’d seen the potential, seen him throw things at the dog or fling a tool when frustration overwhelmed him. But never this. Never violence. This was new, dark territory. Jessie needed to think, but her head pounded. She could barely figure out what to do next. In the living room, she heard his recliner squeak, the footrest extending. The refrigerator’s door handle was cracked in two.

  Jessie wiped her nose with her forearm and stared at the pink streaks on her sleeve. Her arm trembled. She held out both hands. They shook like she was a hundred years old, yet she couldn’t feel them. Her hands were numb and cold.

  “Later, man.” She heard the screen door open and the outer door close. Kegger was only just now leaving? In what universe did a person stand by watching while his friend beat up a woman?

  Jessie shivered, realizing it was now her, the baby, and Lenny.

  “The fuck’re you doing with my dinner?” Lenny yelled from the living room, where the television blared in the background, a man shouting about great deals on used cars, especially for people with bad credit.

  “It’s coming.” Feeling as if her head was wrapped in layers of damp cotton, Jessie tiptoed to the refrigerator and began to pull out the leftovers.

  CHAPTER 14

  ON NEW YEAR’S DAY, Karen awoke alone in Ted’s bedroom. She sat up, temples throbbing. Across the room, her cocktail dress had been hung on a hanger, her shoes neatly positioned next to her purse. She wondered if the butler did the honors, and if so, had he been puttering around in the room while she slept? She leaned forward, groaning and rubbing her temples, but the pain went deeper than blood and bone and tissue, straight to the place where humiliation lived. Was this who she was going to be now? Seduced by power and money, she had lost her head last night. She wondered if Ted had already left for Hong Kong or if she would have to face his smirk this morning. The penthouse was unearthly quiet.

  She clutched the sheet around her like a toga, crossed the room, and pulled the drapes apart. Sunlight angled over the rooftops of Savannah, searing her eyes. With a moan, she let the curtain fall back. She found a robe in the closet and pulled the belt tight. The smell of coffee enticed her downstairs. Barefoot, she wandered into the kitchen. At a small round table in a nook overlooking the river, she found a fresh pot alongside a basketful of muffins. Fighting a wave of nausea, she filled a cup and carried it to the table, where a white velvet box sat atop an envelope bearing her name. It looked like a jewelry box, adding to the feeling she’d been bought. But you couldn’t have a buyer without a seller.

  She took a sip of coffee and swallowed, looking away from the table and down toward the city. If she left
now, disturbing nothing, she would never have to know what the box and envelope contained. She would never have to work to erase from her memory whatever further humiliation lay waiting. She could leave Savannah forever. She looked back at the envelope.

  On the other hand...

  She set the cup down and, hands shaking, opened the box. Inside, a pair of diamond teardrop earrings shimmered. Her first emotion was excitement. They were worth ten grand if a dime. Her second was shame. There’d been times in her life when she’d felt as if she were prostituting herself for business, but never had it felt so literal until this moment.

  She tore open the envelope. Inside, she found a scribbled note:

  Left early for China. Happy New Year.

  The second piece of paper was a contract with a check for $15,000, a fraction of the amount she’d requested from the investors. She skimmed the document. It was brief and concise. With the least amount of funding, and in the shortest amount of time, the committee expected her to produce and deliver to them a toy, a bauble that they didn’t appreciate or respect. On top of that, someone had stapled a law firm’s business card to the document, in case she was so stupid she couldn’t understand the wording or was too incompetent to secure legal counsel on her own. She folded the document and returned it to the envelope.

  The check was a bone. Was she supposed to dive after it like some starving dog, happy to have a token from the man whose empire was worth billions? The check and the earrings felt like payment, and possibly the hint of a retainer, to a high-class call girl, nothing more.

  Karen crumpled his note and left it on the table. She stared out the window, across the river to the rolling green grasslands on the edge of the city. If a guy offered you a couple hundred dollars after a night in his bed, you’d be insulted. But if he left you diamond earrings, what then? She knew what her mother would say, but it wasn’t Mom she was thinking about right now, nor her Catholic upbringing, nor her father’s ironclad sense of propriety.