“Who told you that I saw Kara? Who lied to you? Hello? Saturday… hello?”
But Saturday couldn’t speak; shock had stolen the very oxygen from her lungs, and in a split second, she found herself breathing nothing but strange-smelling fumes as a white towel found its way over her face, and the echoing sounds of Mark’s voice slipped readily from her grasp.
And then she was falling… falling… falling…
Interlude:
The Missing Piece of the Puzzle
When Saturday regained consciousness, she was groggy and out of sorts.
She started to roll over in bed as she normally would have after a nap, but she found that she couldn’t. Something was preventing her from turning.
And this wasn’t a nap.
She had been rendered unconscious: knocked out… by something… someone.
And there wasn’t just one thing that was keeping her confined in the bed. There were multiple things: scarves bound tightly around her ankles and wrists, pinning her to the spot.
She pulled at the scarves weakly, testing the restraints. They were tight: really taut. Whoever had tied them had done it well.
Whoever.
She knew the whoever; the “whoever” was…
“Don’t scream,” Kara said stolidly from the far side of the room.
She was barely more covered than she had been when she was naked, her tiny hourglass form draped with a small teddy that was so pale pink that the color was almost imperceptible.
She moseyed over to the bed from the doorway, placing her knees on the duvet.
She climbed over Saturday’s body, placing her legs on either side, causing Saturday to whimper in fear.
Her face was twisted and grotesque: changed somehow… now that her true insanity was allowed to show.
She was the rogue vision of Scarlett Johansson, her beautiful features arranged darkly into a sight that was more frightening than any ogre imaginable.
She placed a finger over Saturday’s lips, shushing her silently, her unhinged nature reflecting wildly in her vivid blue eyes.
“I didn’t mean for you to find out this way, darling. I wanted it to be more special, but… time ran out. It could have been the two of us… just me and you.
“But you’ve decided to let that green-eyed monster named Mark ruin what we had.”
She leaned down to kiss Saturday’s forehead: about two inches above the two hazel eyes that shimmered with unshed tears.
“I have done everything to make this work. Ya know, I initially thought Francois was competition at the bar, but that quickly turned out to be untrue.
“I pretended to like that arrogant prick of a photographer, James: siphoning information about your precious Mark… trying to show you, to convince you that he was no good for you!” she shouted, startling Saturday.
“You didn’t appreciate me, Daze. After all that I’ve done for you.” Kara shook her head angrily, her blonde wisps of hair flying haphazardly around her head.
“I thought and thought and thought about what to do. I watched, and I waited. I talked to my therapist. I even checked myself into that dumb treatment center she talked about. She suggested that I commit myself after I told her that I refused to live without you,” she cackled crazily, as if that were the funniest thing in the world.
She looked down at Saturday with hostility, poking a finger into her chest.
“Do you know how hard it was to pretend that I was in Los Angeles all of that time? Calling at “appropriate” hours, showing up with all that stuff at the airport? I almost got caught trying to place that letter underneath your door!”
“Luckily, your little guest ran down the wrong stairwell. He’s pretty quick. Guess you’ve got yourself a real track star there, don’t ya, babe?”
She grabbed Saturday’s chin roughly, using her other hand to wipe impatiently at the tears on Saturday’s cheeks.
Fear ran hotly through Saturday’s veins as if she had taken a direct shot of it through the heart.
Kara ran a deliberate hand down the middle of Saturday’s navy dress, eliciting a small whine from Saturday’s lips at the touch.
“It doesn’t matter anymore…” Kara continued. “I’m here now, baby. I’ve been working on getting myself together for you… for us. And now I’m ready. I came here… to claim you.
“So, what do you say to that?” she asked, her voice deepening menacingly.
Saturday lay silent for a few moments, gazing up at the horrific picture of her friend, her best friend, straddling her… threatening her.
She had heard every word that had come out of Kara’s mouth. The most alarming of them: “I refused to live without you.”
She thought carefully about the next words coming off of her lips.
“I say…” she began, suppressing the quiver in her pitch. “That I’m so glad that you have.”
“You are?” Kara squeaked: her pretty brows rising in skeptical surprise.
“Yeah,” she replied, her voice growing stronger. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. I just… didn’t know how to show it.”
Kara’s expression altered from one of disbelief to one of unfiltered joy. Her craziness knew no bounds.
Her mood swung swiftly like a pendulum, snapping from suspicion to electrified acceptance in the blink of an eye.
This woman was a talent like Saturday had never seen. She had duped Saturday like a certified pro: her ability to mask her imbalance a formidable performance like none other.
Kara happily clasped pieces of hair behind her ears.
“Really?” she crooned. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear you say those words.”
She leaned in closer than before, kissing Saturday openly on the mouth. Saturday returned the kiss, pushing as much emotion as she possibly could into the strokes of her mouth and tongue.
When Kara separated from the kiss, she had stars in her eyes.
“I knew it, baby. I knew it,” she whispered.
Saturday gave her a watery smile, managing to keep her tone soft and steady as she said her following words.
“Of course, baby. Of course. Now… if you could just untie me from the bed posts, then I can really show you how I feel.”
Kara paused for a quick second, stopping Saturday’s heartbeat cold.
She didn’t know what emotion she would get from Kara next.
But then Kara started nodding excitedly, rushing off of the bed to loosen the straps that she had positioned Saturday in.
She started with the arms first, disentangling them from the top posts and then glancing down to see Saturday’s reaction.
Saturday took a queue from Mark, winking coquettishly at the blonde before nodding in the direction of the ties at her legs.
Kara started moving immediately, heading to the lower columns to unfasten the scarves twisted there.
A previously woozy Saturday got her bearings together quickly. She raised herself to a seating position in the bed, rubbing at the spots on her wrists where the binds had been.
She stared over at an anxious Kara, who stood expectantly at the corner of the bed.
And Saturday knew just what to give her.
Saturday placed her feet on the side of bed, standing quite steadily on her feet.
She wiggled her toes to make sure that the feeling had returned.
She rounded the bed, advancing towards Kara.
Suddenly, Saturday lashed out, wildly grasping for her former friend’s golden hair. But she was still under the influence of the chemical used to incapacitate her, and what seemed like a direct grab had turned into a misguided attack.
She barely grazed the blonde’s head, leaving herself open to a counterassault.
Kara pushed her forcefully away, swinging her hands blindly to knock a woozy Saturday off balance.
“You lying bitch!” Kara screamed, enraged. “I knew you would wind up like the others!”
Saturday hit an unforgiving floor, smacking brutally ag
ainst the unyielding wood.
Kara climbed on top of her, clawing viciously at her hair and face.
“I’m going to teach you what happens when you bite the hand that feeds you!” she screeched.
Saturday shielded her head with her arms and hands, preventing further slashes to her throat and face from the irrationally furious pixie.
She rolled Kara violently, using her arms and legs to swing her momentum sideways.
Kara went flying across the room, picking herself up slowly as Saturday scrambled awkwardly to her feet.
She adjusted her posture as the infuriated Kara came rushing at her, her arms extended above her head to launch ferociously at Saturday.
Once Kara was within those prerequisite three steps… Saturday gathered her wits… took a solid stance… and struck.
The move she had wasted on preparing for Cristiano came completely in hand that night.
She round-housed on Kara, bashing her squarely across the temple, knocking her head almost off of her shoulders.
She glanced down at Kara’s figure, panting heavily as she stared.
Saturday took a daring risk then, nudging the fallen girl with her biggest toe.
It was an unnecessary move; the pale-haired vixen was out cold.
The tears streaked heavily down her face now, the incredulity of this entire night now pressing cumbersomely on the ducts in her eyes.
She wandered wobbly into the living room, retrieved her phone, and immediately called 9-1-1.
She waited patiently on the couch, hanging her weary head in her own hands.
An unexpected person arrived before any cop could step in the door.
He burst through the now open door, yelling her name.
“Saturday! Daisy!”
“I’m in here!” she called out to an alert Mark.
His green eyes were frenzied, his posture combative as he searched around desperately for her.
Upon sight, he grabbed her immediately into his arms, holding her possessively and yet delicately before withdrawing to look down at her.
“What the hell is going on? The line just went dead. It took me forever to find this place. James has never even been in here!”
He spun around suddenly, taking in the surroundings.
“Where’s Kara?” he asked.
“In there,” she waved toward the bedroom. “By the bed. On the floor.”
He eyes grew to the size of saucers in unspoken surprise: his head twisting quickly to glance back at the bedroom doorway.
She sighed exasperatingly, placing a palm on her forehead.
“It’s a long story,” she said.
He clasped her face tenderly with his palms.
“Well, then, I guess you’d better get started.”
***
Prominent Fashionista arrested:
New York City Golden Girl and Local Fashionista, Kara Stanton, was arrested for second degree kidnapping and forcible detainment, a class B felony. Allegedly, the twenty-seven year-old Assistant Creative Director of fashion line …
Saturday couldn’t read any more of the story, throwing the heavy, printed newspaper across the table to Jay, as she picked up her coffee.
“I can’t read this filth anymore,” she said, grimacing.
“Nor can I,” Jay agreed, picking up the paper.
“And that is one dreadful picture of our little maniac,” he continued.
Jay smirked abruptly, whistling. “That is one hell of a shiner, too.”
Saturday hid a small smile despite her despair.
“Kickboxing does wonders for my reaction time.”
“So…” Jay piped up. “What now? Where do you go from here?”
“Well, now that Kara’s in jail… I guess I’m just going to start rebuilding. My paintings are selling well. Really well, now. I’m going to quit the job at the Greenhouse: focus on my art career full-time.”
Jay’s mouth dropped at her candid declaration.
“Well, look at you. You little superstar, you. That fucking rocks, Saturday. This is so exciting.”
He reached for her hand, grasping her small fingers in his large ones.
“And what about Mark?”
Saturday stared down at the restaurant table, slumping slightly as she thought about her beautiful beau.
“I don’t know, Jay… it’s been awkward these last couple of days. I’ve been acting a little weird… but I can’t help it. I mean, Mark had his issues. Serious freaking issues… but I kind of let Kara poison me against him. I guess I just feel…I don’t know… a little guilty.”
“Well, tell him, not me,” Jay gestured, pointing at his own chest.
“I know; I know. It’s just that… I haven’t been able to talk to him all morning and afternoon. He’s been so insanely overprotective since this crazy… thing happened with Kara, but not today.”
Last night, Mark had arrived at Saturday’s apartment (as he did every night since Kara’s arrest), but this time, he brought a package with him: a tall and thinly enveloped square. He sat it upright by the bed before climbing under the covers.
When Saturday asked about it, he kissed her lips, telling her to get some sleep.
When she woke this morning, it was to a quickly dressing Mark who ducked hurriedly out of her bedroom after picking up a phone call.
Straightening the collar of his jacket, he placed his full lips on hers before walking out of the front door, his voice low and clipped as he talked closely to his cell.
He turned assuring eyes on her, vowing verbally to return. He winked at her, pointing to the package before slipping out.
But he didn’t come back… and in his absence, she had opened the parcel he had left behind.
It had a note attached to the back.
For my muse, it read simply.
She peeled back the brown wrapping paper, gasping audibly as she saw what was hidden inside.
It was the Beaumont painting from Nancy Rich’s library. The portrait.
The woman near the moonlit sky.
She had fallen in love with it the moment her eyes had touched its surface. Something about that painting had moved Saturday, made her insides tighten with longing.
The wistful look on the woman’s face, the strength set in her jawline, the perfection of her profile.
She had wanted to be that woman…
She was that woman.
It’s me. The woman in the portrait is me.
That weekend at the Riches had been dreamlike, and she was too mesmerized at the time to see beyond first appearances.
She had been the Jasmine to Mark’s Aladdin, drifting on a magic carpet from which she never wanted to come down: unable to distinguish between the peasant Aladdin and the Prince version.
And now the carpet seemed to be hitting the brakes.
Today, Mark had left without an explanation, disappeared with no more than two words. She hadn’t seen him all day, nor heard a peep since his early morning departure.
Was the painting a parting gift?
A tap on her wrist made her aware of where she was again. Jay was staring at her curiously, waiting for her to continue.
She resumed her train of thought.
“I don’t know where he is or why he just left. I think something’s going on with him, but I just don’t know what.”
Jay started to respond to her ramblings, when something above Saturday’s head caught his eye.
He leaned in closer, whispering sneakily.
“Well, doll. Looks like this is your chance to say something.”
He rose from the table abruptly, and Saturday finally looked up and saw what Jay was looking at.
Mark.
He was here… in a white button-down shirt and deep grey slacks. His hair was well groomed: brushed back and neat compared to its usual sexily tousled state.
The distinctive stubble on his face was now gone: replaced by baby-smooth, nearly olive skin. He looked intently at her while she gazed gapingly up at h
im.
“I’ll leave you two alone,” Jay interjected into their staring contest, brushing past Mark and smiling in his direction.
Saturday managed a small wave to Jay as Mark skirted the restaurant table, sitting in Jay’s former seat.
“Hi,” he said to her.
“Hi, yourself.”
He grinned for a brief moment before lowering his eyes at the table’s surface, his face growing grimmer by the second.
He glanced back into her eyes.
“I’m sorry I’ve been MIA all day. I got this important call. A lot has been going on.”
“It’s ok,” she replied, attempting a casual shrug. “The thing with Kara happened two weeks ago. I don’t need constant surveillance anymore.”
“I know. I just don’t like to leave you alone for too long, that’s all.”
He fell silent again, blinking rapidly at the tabletop in front of them.
He was uncomfortable.
Saturday’s breathing began to quicken at the look on his face.
“Mark… what’s happening? I know there’s something going on.”
He nodded slowly, capturing her eye again.
“Yes. There is.” He sighed. “I received an important call today. I might... relocate to Los Angeles.”
Saturday’s head started swimming in a lightheaded daze immediately, the newly fallen silence turning into a deafening roar between her ears.
She couldn’t believe it.
“It would only be for a year or two,” he resumed. “Joshua has found a great studio space, and I’d be allotted my own personal spot in several prominent galleries out there. It would be a great new opportunity, and I’m really looking forward to exploring it.”
He placed a warm hand over her ice-cold ones.
“I want you to come.”
Saturday bit her lip to keep from crying.
“Oh, yeah?” she stated absently, staring down at her feet.
“Visiting L.A. would probably be nice,” she kept on, trying to talk numbly through the pain. “I’ve never been there, so I would imagine…”
“No, Daisy. Not to visit,” he interrupted. “To stay.”
Behind the Blindfold: A Sexy Mystery Duet Page 28