Crimson Footprints II: New Beginnings

by Shewanda Pugh

  “Deena in?” Kenji asked, glancing surreptitiously around the lobby.

  “Didn’t show today,” Carlos said. “Listen, Mami, I’ve got fifteen minutes and a twenty in my pocket.”

  Kenji snatched Lizzie by the wrist and swept her to the elevator. Grateful when it opened immediately, he yanked her inside and held his breath till it swallowed them whole.

  ~*~

  “Why would you show up dressed like that?” Kenji shouted as the door to his office closed behind them.

  Lizzie shrugged and plopped into the plush armchair facing his desk. Her eyes locked with his as he lowered himself into his chair, scowling.

  “What happened with the kid?” she said. “Did they tell you?”

  “Why don’t you call and ask?”

  “Don’t play games, Kenji. You know damned well Deena can’t stand to see or talk to me.”

  “Well, I can see you came here today to make a strong argument against that.”

  “One more time. What happened with the kid, Kanji?”

  He waited.

  “Kenji. Please. Can you tell me whether he’s my nephew or not?”

  “He is. Ninety-nine percent certainty.”

  She stared, eyes growing wide, and then suddenly damp. He looked away. He shouldn’t have been the one to tell her.

  Lizzie cleared her throat. “So, what you do here?” she said loudly.

  When he didn’t answer, she sauntered around his desk, catching him by surprise. “Other than read about sports?”

  Kenji’s cheeks flashed hot. He hurriedly punched off the monitor. “It’s a slow day. That’s all.”

  “Mhm, I bet.” She returned to her seat with a smile. “Bet my sister never has slow days.”

  “Yeah. You’d, uh, win that bet.”

  She smiled, folded her arms. “But you . . . Rich daddy. Nice office. Nicer bank account. You have a lot of ’em is my guess.”

  Lizzie shoved aside Kenji’s briefcase, a black leather Prada that hit the floor with a thud. “I bet you pretty much do whatever you want around here.”

  She let his jacket fall away, revealing a body too naked for Kenji’s comfort. He got up and went to the window.

  “You’d bet wrong,” he said, the darkness of shade engulfing his room as he closed the blinds.

  That wasn’t good either.

  Lizzie’s eyes followed him.

  “When my sister went to work for your daddy she didn’t have shit. He stuck her in a cubicle with a bunch of other nobodies on the first floor. She was here seven years before she got a window. By then, she was fucking your brother, which probably helped.”

  She had most of that right, except the implication that Deena’s relationship with Tak had somehow helped her early on. He could remember at least some of those seven years, but was surprised she knew anything about them. Back then, Lizzie was a strung-out teenager intent on selling her body and snorting coke. Now, she was a strung-out woman intent on selling her body and snorting coke.

  “I didn’t think you kept up with Deena like that,” Kenji said, back pressed to the window.

  Lizzie eyed him suspiciously. “I don’t.”

  Deftly, Kenji returned to his seat. He managed to turn on his monitor for the sole purpose of looking busy.

  She went back to hovering over his desk, shifting thighs so that soft smooth flesh would catch his attention, breasts perked like an avalanche waiting to happen. Finally, Kenji met her gaze.

  “You can stop now. Nothing’s gonna come from it.”

  “Well, shit.” She stomped over to her chair with exaggerated frustration and collapsed. When she caught him staring wide-eyed, she dissolved into laughter. “You’re really not interested, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  “You don’t like me? You don’t think I’m sexy at all?”

  Kenji searched for a shred of work on his desk. There was none. Finally, he looked up. “I think you’re beautiful,” he said. “I’m just not into paying money for sex.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Yeah, right, what?”

  “Yeah, right, you. On your high and mighty. You don’t pay money for sex. All guys pay money for sex.”

  Kenji sighed. “You’re misinformed, Lizzie.”

  “Am I? Aren’t you paying for sex every time you take a girl out for dinner and a movie or some other bullshit? Aren’t you just waiting for the goods at the end of the night?”

  Kenji chuckled. “The goods?”

  “Oh, don’t play! You guys are all alike. There’s one thing on your mind, all the time, even now.”

  Kenji returned to his monitor. An internal memo appeared, something about signing a congratulations card in Human Resources for the new addition to Deena’s family. He dismissed it like the others.

  “You think too highly of yourself,” he said. “You think that because you show everything you’re the sexiest girl in the place. Some guys like a surprise, you know. And even more, like to know that everyone else hasn’t had a sample first.”

  Lizzie’s gaze narrowed. “You just think that’s what you want. But I promise you, when it’s going down, you won’t be thinking of that.”

  “Well, you won’t have to worry about it ‘going down.’”

  He turned to his computer, a Fandango ad brandishing the screen. Having given up the guise of finding work, Kenji bit his lip with a thought.

  “There’s a new Spiderman out. Have you seen it?”

  Lizzie raised a brow. “What?”

  “Spiderman.” He looked up in impatience. “You’ve heard of him, haven’t you?”

  Lizzie sputtered. “Of course, I’ve heard of him.”

  “Well, do you wanna go or what? It’s supposed to be good.”

  She blinked her confusion.

  Kenji clicked the advertisement.

  “Say ‘no’ if you want. We can see something else, if that’s not your thing. I don’t do chick flicks, though.”

  “You—want me to go to a movie with you?”

  “Sure, why not?” He scrolled down for times. “There’s one at seven. That should be fun.” He shot her a look. “I’m not paying you, by the way.”

  “Seven tonight?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “But I thought you didn’t want to—”

  “Do you not know how to be a normal person? People go to the movies together. They pay admission, sit down, enjoy the show. That’s all I’m talking about. You in or not?” He swiveled away from his desk, stood, and stretched. Ten minutes in an office left him with a caged-in feeling.

  “You could meet me here and we’ll go down to the theatre on Lincoln in South Beach. Maybe get something to eat, too,” he suggested.

  “Why?”

  “’Cause I thought it’d be fun. But fuck it, if you’re gonna act like that.”

  “No, I—” she reached for him, and then drew back. “Seven? Meet you here?”

  “The movie’s at seven. Meet me here at six. In the lobby.” Kenji eyed her for a moment. “And wear some pants.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Kenji stood in the lobby of the firm, a hand in his pocket as he waited. The Prada briefcase he pretended to tote around was back up on the seventh floor, stored in his closet for another night. It turned out Deena was gone for the week, so he could do away with the pretenses. Yippee.

  Lizzie showed up ten minutes late, in skinny blue jeans, shiny black pumps, and a fitted red halter with a V so deep and wide it barely held her jiggling breasts in check with three strips of rhinestones. They sparkled as she walked.

  Kenji lifted his gaze. “You’re late,” he said. “Let’s move.”

  Lizzie nodded. Her wavy brown hair, pulled high into a messy ponytail, shifted with the movement. Two oversized hoop earrings, silver with rhinestones, also shook. She panted only slightly.

  “Where’d you walk from?” he asked, suddenly remembering she didn’t have a car. That’d been a little inconsiderate of him.

  “
The bus stop. Where else?”

  Kenji rolled his eyes.

  “Oh, I don’t know. The People Mover, the passenger side of a moving car . . . Never can tell with you.”

  Lizzie scowled, honey brown eyes darkening, before breaking with a giggle. “That’s true,” she finally said.

  Kenji snorted. “Come on, Looney Tunes. The garage is this way.” He looked down at her feet. “If you can make it in those heels.”

  Kenji’s car was on the second floor, a candy red Audi with a drop top. It was his father’s gift to him for passing the AREs, replacing the Mustang he drove in college. Lizzie plopped down on a leather gray bucket seat, causing Kenji to have to reach underneath her for the access card he needed to exit the mammoth garage.

  “I usually charge for stuff like that,” she said as he slipped the card out from beneath her.

  His cheeks went hot, and he turned away, starting the car as she laughed.

  The drive from Brickell to South Beach was about ten minutes. Even for a distance that short, she wanted him to put the top down on the car. He obliged before turning on the Wild Thugz and cranking it up.

  “What do you know about Wild Thugz?” Lizzie demanded, laughing.

  Kenji glanced at her in seriousness. “All I know is that a ‘niggaz claim to fame—’”

  “—is when a bitch’s calling his name!” Lizzie shouted, finishing the infamous line.

  But then she scowled. “I don’t think you can say ‘nigga.’”

  She thumped him in the head with two fingers, walloping him right. Kenji batted distractedly, missing without the benefit of looking, insufficiently protected when she did it a second time.

  Kenji laughed. “Would you quit? I’m driving! Besides, I can say it! My niece is black. Sort of.”

  “Barely!”

  “Barely counts.”

  At six thirty, Kenji pulled up in front of a South Beach high-rise. Lizzie looked at him and raised a brow.

  “I’m just changing real quick. Stay in the car. I’ll be back.”

  “What? I can’t come in?”

  “Course not. I like my possessions.”

  Kenji slammed the door behind him, leaving Lizzie with folded arms and a running engine.

  A seventeenth-floor condo, yet another gift from Dad, was what waited for him upstairs. Kenji rode the elevator, unlocked the front door, and dashed for the bedroom. The night before, when he’d returned from the concert, he’d peeled off his jeans and Polo shirt, dropped them where he stood, and climbed into bed. He stepped over those now and went to the closet, hoping for something that wasn’t too wrinkled. He found a navy Polo and dark jeans, close fit, and paired them with some canvas dock shoes that were checkered white and blue.

  Ten minutes. Not bad, he thought, when he made it back to the car. But Lizzie was scowling at him.

  “God, you really couldn’t invite me up? Offer me a cup of water or some shit? I thought you people had class.”

  Kenji smirked. “You people? Would that be Asians?”

  Lizzie rolled her eyes. “That only works when you’re black.”

  He pulled on his seat belt. “Well, as I’ve already explained to you, my niece is black.” He shifted into drive and took off from the parallel parking space labeled “Tanaka.”

  ~*~

  The umpteenth Spiderman remake rocked, so much so that Kenji didn’t mind explaining near everything to Lizzie. She needed to be briefed on basic stuff that even his grandmother knew, like why Peter Parker was a spider to begin with, or what was up with him and the girl. Then again, his grandmother probably just knew that stuff because he’d told her, so apt was he to go off on a comic book tangent.

  Movie done, Kenji and Lizzie walked over to Senorita’s, a Cuban restaurant on Ocean Drive, for dinner.

  Their waitress was a short and wrinkled woman, though she couldn’t have been more than forty-five. Frail but animated, she interrupted herself with suggestions for the suggestions she was making, always with the arms flapping. A brittle-looking blonde with hair swept in a ponytail, she had emphatic crow’s feet and watery lumps for brown eyes.

  Kenji looked down at his menu. He hated when he saw people like that, older and in hard professions—stocking shelves, serving burgers, sweeping floors. They embarrassed him and reminded him of an inescapable truth: that all he’d done for the things he had was be born into the right family. He glanced at Lizzie, found her attention on him, and looked away.

  “Rum and Coke,” Kenji said, muttering the first drink that came to mind. It was his brother’s preference, not his own.

  Lizzie scrutinized the drink menu. She turned it over, frowning. “There’s so many things I haven’t tried. I don’t know what to pick.”

  “Try a Chocotini. It’s chock full of chocolate,” the waitress said. “Oh, but instead, you should have the Godiva Chocolate Liqueur. That’s good, but it’s only served on Valentine’s Day. You could think about it, you know, if you ever come back then. Otherwise, I’d recommend the Chocolate Mint Martini, Chocolate Cake Martini, the Espresso Martini, or the Triple Chocolate Dip Trip. You did say you liked chocolate, right?”

  “No,” Kenji blurted.

  Lizzie laughed.

  “Oh. Well, in that case—”

  “I’ll have the Chocotini,” Lizzie said.

  “It’s speed,” Lizzie explained the moment the waitress disappeared. “She’s on speed. Guess you can see how it got its name.”

  Kenji shot a look at the waitress and near ducked when her gaze swept toward him. Heaven forbid she start in on the entrée selections.

  “The movie,” he said when he saw he had Lizzie’s attention. “How’d you like the movie?”

  She shrugged. “It was cool. You’re really into that comic book stuff, huh?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Well, when I asked you where Peter Parker’s parents were, you gave me a pretty good bio.”

  Kenji shrugged. “I thought you wanted an answer.”

  “I did. Just not the long one.” She flipped over her menu. “It’s cool though.”

  Kenji stared at her, trying to catch a glimpse of her eyes without being obvious. Earlier he’d thought them honey, but a moment ago, they seemed closer to bronze. He really wanted to know.

  “This is probably gonna sound crazy,” Lizzie said, “but, I’ve never done this before.”

  He blinked. “Done what?”

  She looked up.

  Bronze. A deeply hued brown tinged in gold.

  “Movies, dinner with a guy. This is new.”

  Kenji grinned, all ready for the punch line. But when it didn’t come, his smile faded.

  “You’ve never had a boyfriend take you out before?”

  Her elbow rested on the table, chin on her hand, and slowly, she shook her head at him. “No boyfriends. Ever.”

  He began to smile again. Truly, she was teasing him. After all, all things equal, the girl was gorgeous. Plenty of guys existed who were chumps for a pretty face.

  “Come on, Lizzie. Guys pay to be with you. Certainly someone has—”

  But again, she shook her head. “The closest I ever came to a date,” she said eyes on a napkin she fingered, “was this guy once in high school.”

  “And what? He cheated?”

  “He asked me to his house for a party. I came over, saw a room full of guys, and realized I was the party.”

  “Shit.”

  She shrugged. “I already had a name for myself, even if I didn’t know it. I was easy, so, they did to me what you do to an easy girl.”

  The moment stretched on between them.

  “And?” he said eventually. “After that?”

  “After that, I decided that no one else would take from me without paying. After that, I hooked up with Snow.”

  “Snow?”

  The waitress placed a Chocotini in front of Lizzie; and a rum and Coke Kenji didn’t want in front of him.

  “Ready to order?” she prompted.

 
; Kenji glanced at his menu.

  “Pick something for me,” Lizzie whispered.

  He glanced at her, then back at the menu. “Bistec a la plancha for me and the Ensalada de mariscos for her.”

  The waitress bounded off with the order.

  “Tell me about Snow,” he said.

  Lizzie stared at him.

  “He was my first. The first time I got fucked, did crack, coke, X, heroin. It all came from Snow.”

  “And this is a guy . . . from high school?”

  “He went to high school with Deena and my cousin Keisha. He’s the father of Keisha’s kid, her fiancé, and my pimp.”

  Kenji took a long gulp of the rum. The words reached him slow, delayed.

  “Wait. He went to high school with Deena?”

  Lizzie sipped her chocolate. It painted her lips, glistening them like gloss. “That’s right. I was a kid the first time I had sex with him. He was twenty. Maybe twenty-one.”

  “Then he should be in prison. Why isn’t he in prison?”

  She looked away. “For what? I was already a slut. Eleven and giving blow jobs for stupid shit, that was me. A Whopper, a CD, makeup, a purse. And anyway, it was me who went looking for him. I went right up to him and just started sucking.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause I was mad at my cousin. She was always calling me a slut. So, I went after her boyfriend figuring I’d show her what a slut was.”

  Kenji took another long gulp, hardly tasting the drink he loathed, and suddenly wishing it was stronger.

  “It’s hardly his fault,” Lizzie went on. “I mean, think about it. I went up to him, unzipped his pants, and put him in my mouth. What man could resist that?”

  “From a kid?” Kenji blurted. “All of them! Or nearly all of them.”

  He went back to his drink, swigging it in a go. “And by the way, there’s nothing erotic about a child who’s obviously been abused acting out. It’s just gross.”

  She lowered her gaze.

  “And who even—”

  “Never mind. I don’t want to talk anymore.”

  “Lizzie, if you think—”

  “I SAID I DON’T WANNA TALK ANYMORE!”

  “Okay. Yeah. Of course. I’ll just . . . enjoy my drink,” he said reaching for the glass. He scowled into emptiness.