LifeoftheParty

by Trudy Doyle

  “We don’t have much time,” she said, glancing left and right.

  “Sorry, doll. Can’t always be your sixty-minute man, you know.” Then he grabbed ahold of her thighs and pulled her to his mouth.

  “Damn!” she yelped, Doug devouring every inch of her pussy. She was hot and sweet and just like he liked her, his tongue tracing every crevice, every fold, his finger sliding into her vagina. When it did, she came like thunder rumbling, her pussy trembling against his mouth, her moans low and earthy. He rose, kissing her quickly.

  “Turn around,” he said, unzipping. “Spread your legs and brace against the shed.”

  “Aye, aye, captain.”

  He slid her skirt over her ass, driving his cock into her pussy. “Jesus,” he breathed, her muscles clenching around his shaft. His eyes fell to half-mast. It always had amazed him how good it felt to fuck her, how she could take nearly all of him, how he couldn’t get enough of her. When he started to move in and out, slowly at first, she groaned, her hips twitching as she fell into his rhythm. She felt so good, so much better than she’d ever felt before, he sped up, grabbing hold of her hips, angling himself deeper. So deep he imagined he could touch her heart.

  He reached out, bracing against the shed.

  “Doug,” she moaned, and he lost it.

  Could a person really take this much pressure? This much pummeling? He didn’t know and damn it, he didn’t care. All he knew was Gina was coming again and he was about to, his mind tumbling toward that senseless, crazy place he lived to visit, never so much as with Gina. But he had just enough sense left to pull out, grab her panties and come into them, his semen soaking the silk until his palm went damp. Then he tossed them, Gina catching their flight into the bushes.

  She turned just as he pulled her skirt down. “Doug! What the—?”

  “Someone’s coming, Nature Girl,” he said, zipping. “We better get out of here.”

  “You owe me some underwear,” she said, slipping slightly when he tugged her.

  * * * * *

  HOLLY HOUSE INN—RIVERBORO

  1:27 P.M.

  “We can order room service,” Doug said, nuzzling her neck as they exited the elevator.

  “But I have to get to the office, if only for a little while.” Gina tilted her head to catch a quick kiss. “I probably have a million messages by now.”

  He slung his arm over her shoulder as they walked up the hall. “Yeah, well, you got to eat—” Suddenly he froze, pushing her behind him.

  Gina followed his line of vision. Her door was opened, barely a quarter of an inch.

  “Get back,” Doug whispered, slowly drawing out his Glock.

  Chapter Eight

  HOLLY HOUSE INN—RIVERBORO

  FRIDAY 1 NOVEMBER

  1:28 P.M.

  Gina gripped his arm. “But Doug! What if—”

  “I said get back,” he hissed, shrugging her off. She finally relented, slinking back a few steps, her heart in her throat. Oh God, she thought, if anything happens to him…

  He was nearly at the door of her suite, his hand already reaching for it. Gina pressed herself to the wall parallel, her hands flat against the wall, almost as if she were taking the building’s pulse. If it could talk, would it be as terrified as she was? With the man she loved walking dead into uncertainty? When he reached the door, he stopped and, cocking his pistol, pushed the door open.

  Gina held her breath. He walked in.

  Silence. Something squeaked. Then more of it, interminable.

  Then, “Gina?”

  She swallowed. Hard. “Y-yes?”

  He poked his head from the doorway. “Come on in.”

  She did. Her suite appeared exactly how she left it.

  Doug stood in the center of the living room, his Glock already holstered, his hands in his pockets.

  “Nothing?” she asked.

  He cocked his head to the left and to the right. “The bed’s still a mess. My toothbrush is exactly where I left it, and the towels are still on the floor. So we couldn’t blame it on the maid.”

  Gina took a quick look out the door. The housekeeping cart was still a few rooms away. “Maybe she was going to start but had to do something else. We can ask her. She’s just down the hall.”

  He swiped a hand over his chin. “No, we won’t have to. She wasn’t here. But maybe her showing up scared someone away.” He went to the desk. “Were you at this desk this morning?”

  “No. I wasn’t even out here. We got up, took a shower.” She cast him a meaningful glance. He returned it with a half-grin. “Then we got dressed and left.”

  “And you didn’t use the phone. The house phone, I mean.”

  “Why should I? I have my BlackBerry.”

  “To call the front desk maybe?”

  “Doug, you were practically behind me the whole morning.”

  “A rather nice place to be.”

  She smiled, the tension easing a bit. “Then you would know if I were using this phone, wouldn’t you? Why would you ask?”

  He looked to the desk again. “It’s off the hook.”

  She hadn’t noticed. But there it lay, the receiver on its side about six inches away from the base. “You know if you get a regular room, they charge fifty cents an outside call. Maybe if…”

  Doug looked at her. Then he shook out a handkerchief from his pocket, picked the receiver up with it and pushed the red button for the front desk. After a few moments someone answered.

  “Good afternoon,” Doug said. “I just have a question. Do you know if anyone made a call from this room this morning?” He paused, listening. “Thank you.” And hung up. He looked to Gina. “No calls.” Then he pulled the receiver cord out and, wrapping the phone in his handkerchief, stuck it in his pocket.

  “Get your things together,” he said. “You’re checking out.”

  “I am? But this is the only hotel in town. I’d have to go at least five miles away, and I know Jack wouldn’t like it—”

  “Jack will survive,” Doug said, already walking toward the bedroom. By the time she caught up with him he was tossing her suitcase to the bed.

  “But where am I supposed to go? I can’t go too far. Oh damn, Doug. Maybe I should call the police after all.”

  “No,” he said, “I finally agree with you on that point. Publicity will only bring out more crazies. And another hotel won’t do any good. Nor will any other place with a public entrance.”

  She threw out her hands. “Then where do you expect me to go?”

  “My place.”

  “Your place? Over on Parker Square? Right next to that big office complex? A million people could blend in with no problem.”

  He plucked a pair of shoes from the floor and threw them into the suitcase. “I moved out of there a long time ago. Where I live now, you’ll be as safe as a baby in its mama’s arms.”

  She snatched up a carry-on, sliding bottles and jars into it. “Quiet, is it?”

  Doug laughed softly. “Doll, it’s so quiet even the cops don’t go there anymore.”

  Gina laughed too, though barely. Why didn’t she like the sound of that?

  * * * *

  HENRY STREET—CITY OF CAMDEN

  2:37 P.M.

  Gina stepped from the car, her heel catching on an asphalt crevice. She yanked it out, cursing. To reach his stoop she had to walk around a pile of garbage, some of which had been recently burning. Since Henry Street had alternate side of the street parking, the opposite side simply parked on the sidewalk. On her side the cars were lined bumper-to-bumper, that is if they had them.

  As far as she could see, every third or fourth house was either boarded up or a burned-out shell. The ones that weren’t had bars on the windows and double deadbolts. There were no shade trees besides the few stunted waste trees poking from the empty, garbage-strewn lots at either end of the block. No children playing, no sign of life in general. Potholes abounded, broken glass glittered in the curbs, the stop sign was missing from its pole
. The stuccoed side of a building across the street was pitted with bullet holes. Gina cringed, scaling Doug’s bricked stoop, nearly losing her balance when a loose one wobbled under her shoe.

  “Damn, got to fix that,” Doug said, cupping her elbow.

  She grabbed the door handle, righting herself. At least his old house didn’t look too disreputable. But still… “You’re kidding, right?”

  He yanked her huge suitcase up a step. “What do you mean?”

  She flung her hand toward the street. “You actually live here?”

  He eyed her, impassive. “Yeah, I do.”

  “I thought you said the neighborhood was quiet.”

  “As quiet as a cemetery.”

  “Because it is a cemetery.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” He hauled the suitcase up one more step then set it down, rooting in his pockets for the keys. “The folks here might not be from the upper echelon, but they’re all decent, working-class people just trying to make their way in the world.”

  “Yeah, by robbing 7-11s.”

  He found the key, shoving it into a lock. “You’ve been spending too much time in Georgetown, woman. You’re forgetting your roots. Not that they live on my block, but aren’t the very people you’re maligning the kind you used to defend?”

  She looked at him. He was right, of course. Drug dealers, money launderers, weapons smugglers, robbers, thieves, murderers—she had defended them all. Most verdicts she had been proud of, some she was not, but in all she had done her best to the complete letter of the law. Yet, although she didn’t regret the years she had spent as an attorney for the defense, neither did she miss it. She was much more content where she was now.

  Which is where?

  A sudden thought coursed through her—where exactly was she now? She loved her position with Jack. There was no question about it. But now that she was reunited with Doug, after this weekend was over, where would their relationship take them? If Jack won the governorship she’d be back in New Jersey, and Trenton was an easy commute, even from Camden. But she’d have to be in Washington for at least another year. Could their still-shaky liaison survive the separation? That coming separation was wishful thinking, at best. First it would have to survive what she’d yet to tell him.

  She watched him enter into a worn but surprisingly clean vestibule, the rubber-matted staircase ahead smelling of oiled wood and recent disinfection.

  “Come on,” he said, yanking the strap of his own wardrobe bag to his shoulder, hefting her big suitcase. “I’m upstairs.”

  Gina caught a glimpse of the downstairs hall. Two doors with numbers, a stroller tucked in the corner at the far end, a philodendron hanging from a hook by the window. She crossed in front of Doug for the steps. He looked like a pack mule. “Let me get your bag,” she said, reaching for it.

  “I got it,” he said, a bit indignant, and she relented, knowing better. She felt a pleasant little twinge at the memory of his bulging biceps and she smiled, anticipating the feel of his hard body atop hers. Just as soon as they could manage it, she hoped.

  “What are you smiling about?” he asked.

  She tilted her head toward the stairwell. “You have a bed up there?”

  His eyes went cobalt. “You bet I do.”

  She thumbed his tie, pulled him close, brushed her lips over his. “Suddenly I’m very sleepy.”

  “Don’t worry, doll,” he said, pulling her in for a deeply erotic kiss, “I got ways of waking you up—”

  “Douglas? Douglas, is that you?”

  He sighed against Gina’s mouth, smiling sheepishly before once again hefting her suitcase. “Sure is, Miss Ella. Coming right up.” He looked to Gina. “Miss Ella owns the building. Hell of a nice lady.”

  “Sounds like she’s your surrogate mother.”

  He thought about that a moment. “Maybe she is. Come on.”

  Miss Ella was waiting for them when they reached the top. She had a broom in her hand and a wide, lipsticked smile for Doug. “Douglas, a brick is loose on the stoop again. Somebody gonna kill themselves.”

  “I know, I’ll get some mortar for it first thing.” Doug touched Gina’s arm. “Miss Ella? I want you to meet my friend, Gina. Gina, Miss Ella.”

  “Good afternoon, Miss Ella,” Gina said, smiling graciously.

  The older woman gave her an impassive up-and-down before shooting her gaze to Doug. “I like the looks of this one. Damn sight better than the trash you been bringing here before.” She looked back to Gina. “That’s a compliment, miss, what I’m saying.”

  Gina nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Yes.” Doug laughed. “High praise. Gina will be staying with me for a couple of days. She works for Congressman Falco.”

  At that, Miss Ella’s eyes widened. “You don’t say. Well, that is impressive. I’ve met him a few times. Nice man. Nice face too.”

  Doug set the suitcase to the floor. “Miss Ella’s a ward leader and works the polls every election. She’s also the secretary for the local Democratic Club.” He tilted his head to Gina. “Gina was with the DNC.”

  Miss Ella smiled wide. “Well, well, young lady, you can stay here anytime. Douglas, I think you better marry this one.”

  Gina felt herself turning crimson. “One step at a time, Miss Ella, one step.”

  Doug raked back his hair and moved closer, lowering his voice. “Miss Ella, I have a favor to ask you. Gina’s being here is kind of on the hush now, so I’d appreciate it—”

  “Say no more,” she said, holding up a hand. “My lips are zipped. Ain’t nobody’s business who in your house anyhow. So I won’t be saying a thing, don’t worry.”

  “Thanks,” he said, picking up the suitcase. “I’ll get on that mortar first thing.”

  She took one look at Gina, then went back to sweeping. “Sure you will, Douglas, but I ain’t holding my breath.”

  He laughed, unlocking his door, then stood aside to let Gina step in.

  She stepped into a Spartan space that was at first glance surprisingly cozy. There was one big room, with a small kitchen, a closet, and what she assumed was a bathroom on one side. In the big space was a sofa, an easy chair and TV atop a bookcase near the entrance, the hardwood floor covered in a large hooked rug. Opposite the door was a window with dark, plaid curtains right next to… Gina’s eyes widened on the biggest, heaviest iron bed she had ever seen.

  Gina dropped her carry-on, walking up to the painted cast-iron footboard. “You weren’t kidding, were you?”

  He ran his hand over its gleaming-white surface. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she? Was nothing but rust and chipping lead paint when I found her up in the attic. Miss Ella wanted to throw it out, but I asked her if I could have it. She looked at me like I was nuts, but she let me. Spent six months stripping, painting and putting her back together.” He pressed his hand to the plush dark-blue quilt atop it. “Got a new mattress and box spring. Hop on up.”

  Gina stepped back, suddenly feeling a bit sick. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Why?” asked Doug softly. “What’s wrong?”

  It was irrational and she knew it, as she hadn’t exactly been a saint. But she couldn’t help herself. With any other man it would’ve been ridiculous, but with Doug, it was unthinkable.

  “I just can’t.” She dug her hand through her hair. “I know it doesn’t make sense, but just the thought of you making love with someone else in this—”

  “Whoa, whoa, wait a minute.” He took her by the shoulders. “Making love?” He stooped to look in her eyes. “Did you already forget what I told you last night? I haven’t fucked anyone since you. Don’t you believe me?”

  She shrugged. “But what Miss Ella just said—”

  “Miss Ella was exactly right. Because what she saw was what I should’ve never been disrespecting her house with in the first place. But when I did I was usually too hammered to give a shit. You care to know?”

  “Not really.”

  “Too bad. I’m going to tell
you anyway.” He turned. “See that wall?” He pointed to the bare space near the door. “What you see there is basically a crime scene. Because that’s where I committed one every now and then when I was too drunk or beyond caring to get it in an alley. Where whatever whore I managed to buy off Ferry Avenue would open my pants and blow me before I’d stuff a twenty down her tits and toss her back on the street.”

  He turned, gripping her arms again. “Making love? Is that what you think it was? All it was was come shots down a lot of strangers’ throats. Who didn’t give a damn about me past how much money they could get or if maybe I’d forget seeing them buying a bag of smack the week before. Trust me, there was no love made here. Could you say the same thing, wherever the hell you’ve been?”

  She couldn’t look at him. “No. But it’s not the same.”

  “Oh yeah?” He dropped his hands, staring dead into her. “No,” he said, taking a step back. “I guess it wasn’t. You were probably in love with them. Far as I know, you maybe still are.”

  He may as well have stuck a knife in her heart. “Oh Doug, that’s so not true. Those men—and believe me when I say there weren’t that many—I was never in love with any of them.” She turned back to the big bed, gripping the iron bars. “What they were was a balm against loneliness, a temporary respite from getting over you.”

  “Getting over me? Sweetheart, you do have a short memory. You were the one who left, remember?”

  She gripped the bars tighter. “What I remember is you throwing me out.”

  “You wanted to kill our baby!”

  She punched his chest. “An embryo, which was so much more important than a living, breathing me.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Never.”

  “Oh really? It’s what you were all about, Doug, from the first time we were together. Remember that day? Fucking on the credenza? When you came in me without a condom, you swore you’d marry me if I got pregnant. And you never mentioned it again until weeks later when you found out I was.” She moved to the other side of the bed. “Jesus, Doug, you guard your sperm like they’re some kind of precious jewels. And the one time you didn’t, the one time you gifted me with your hallowed spunk, I became nothing more to you than some broodmare to carry your genius to the next generation.”