“Oh my god! You actually live here every day of the year? Your parents must be loaded!” She says in a Midwestern twang.
Stewart drapes his scrawny arm over her shoulder, more for me than her. “Baby, he bought the place. I told you, he’s a famous chef around here.” He gives her a quick squeeze before letting her go. “Caide, this is Diane from Dallas.” He winks at me over her head. I mentally roll my eyes at him.
I hold my hand out to shake hers. “Hi Diane from Dallas, would you prefer I call you Diane?” I laugh to lighten up the mood.
“You can call me Diane, or you can call me Double D. I’m a dancer at a gentlemen’s club in Dallas. I’m better known as Double D.”
So much for her wholesome looks, minus her rack, which is probably a double d now that I look at it. You can’t walk in here and announce you’re a ‘dancer’ and go by Double D and not get your chest looked at. Stewart is smitten with himself for his latest score.
“Baby, you didn’t tell me you’re a dancer. You’ll have to give me a show later.” His arm goes back over her shoulder, as though I’d jump her bones because she’s a dancer.
She laughs at him. “You never asked.”
“He didn’t either,” Stewart says and walks her to the kitchen with him. It isn’t as though the kitchen is behind walls or anything. I had the whole place remodeled when I bought it. The wall that separated the kitchen from the living room was removed and a new sleek kitchen with commercial grade appliances was added. Stewart has Diane from Dallas up against the refrigerator and he’s rubbing his hands up and down her sides.
“Could you grab me a beer before you melt everything in the fridge? I’m going to change and we’ll head out to the beach.”
Stewart walks over and hands me a beer. “What do you think?” He whispers to me. He always needs to make sure he doesn’t have beer-goggles on when it comes to women he picks up at the beach.
“I think you better wear a rain coat before you dip in the pool. You have no idea who else she’s met out here,” I whisper back.
Stewart and I walked down to the beach with our regular gear: ice-chest full of beer and wine coolers for the ladies, drunk watermelon for everyone and sodas for the liquor smugglers. There’s always someone with a flask of whiskey at these things. I left what was left of my whiskey at the cottage. These guys prefer Pabst Blue Ribbon; I’d never trust them with a real bottle of whiskey. I reserve it for my clients or Christmas and me of course. My flask is in the ice-chest for later tonight.
Double D carried the grocery bags full of chips, hotdog buns, mustard and ketchup. I’m a chef away from the beach, out here, we’re all chefs. I called DJ Dark Knight to set up and keep us entertained all night. The tourists flock to us like ants to honey. The beach is never short of marines from Camp Lejeune, which means girls everywhere. Who needs a nightclub on a Friday night when you have all the ingredients at the beach? Marines have a tendency to get sloppy drunk and so rowdy they either get run off or pass out. The beach patrol keeps an eye on our area and we’re pretty good at spotting the trouble makers.
Dark Knight already has his equipment set up and playing Caribbean music. He’ll switch to dance music once the families clear out and we’re all a little lit.
It’s almost nine and the sun is going down. I lean back in a beach chair, sunglasses on to block the moon, beer in one hand, flask in the other as I stare out at the ocean. My flask is almost empty and I’ve had about five beers. The alcohol from earlier is kicking back into full gear.
A girl I’ve seen at the beach a few times this summer runs along the water line squealing in delight. She has a beer and she’s smoking a cigarette. Some people behind me must know her since they’re calling for her to come over.
She stumbles a little and walks our way. Instead of going to her friends, she stops in front of me. From down here, she looks tall with perfectly tanned long legs. Her white shorts and red bikini top are what I notice after checking out her legs. “You’re Caide aren’t you?” She asks, her words slur a little. Its okay, my brain understands the language of slur after who knows how many drinks.
“Yeah baby, I’m Caide…who are you?” I don’t bother standing, or removing my sunglasses. She’ll go home with me regardless what I do.
“I’m Kendra, I was at a house party you had last winter. I don’t think you noticed me; you were busy cooking on the grill. I didn’t get to stay very long, so I didn’t get to meet you.” She takes a long drink from her beer and puts her cigarette in the bottle.
“Want another drink?” I do and then I want to have my way with you. “I was going to head back to my house to refill my flask. Would you like to come with me?” Of course you do, because you’re dressed for attention and you know my reputation. I’m a notch, one to tell your friends about….you went home with the chef. I stifle a laugh. “I’ve got beer and wine coolers here, or I have a full bar at my place.”
She smiles, her teeth are perfectly straight and white. She bites her lower lip and smoothes her hair down with her hand. “Let’s grab a couple of beers so we can chase some whiskey shooters.” Her left hand reaches out for me; I take it and fumble enough as I stand to pull her up to me.
I slide my arm around her and kiss her mouth. No invitation to do so, but she didn’t seem to mind. Her tongues tastes of tobacco, not my favorite taste, but some alcohol should wash it away. It will at least make me not care if she tastes like an ashtray or not. “Let’s get out of here,” I whisper to her. We grab three beers from the cooler and leave. Her friends give her a few wolf-calls and she shakes her ass at them. Hopefully, she’ll shake her ass for me.
The street is alive with families and beach lovers. The cops are surely patrolling, looking for the drunks of the night. You just don’t drive drunk on Emerald Isle, the cops will bust you in a heartbeat. They’re pretty good at giving drunk and disorderly tickets too. I prefer to stay under their radar, but they know me and most of them will give me a lift home if needed. Tonight, it isn’t needed.
We stumble together through my front door. My cat Dexter is offended as we walk in and disturb his marathon nap. He’s a black and gray Tabby I rescued last year after Heather left. I thought maybe it was a good idea to have a friend around, but I needed one that could handle my crazy hours and life. Dexter is that cat.
Kendra leans over and tries to pet Dex, but he hisses at her. The same way he has hissed at girls before her. He has never hissed at Lucy or Heather. He did hiss at Heather’s mom, which was incredible. “Oh, the kitty doesn’t want to play?”
“No, Dexter is temperamental towards women. I want to play, come over to the counter.” Kendra is attractive, I decide after getting a good look at her under the light. Her legs really are long and tan. She’s not gorgeous, but she isn’t bad looking either. Her hair is light brown and a little frizzy from the humidity, which we can’t escape at the beach. She’s young, really young, shit…hopefully not jail-bait. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but how old are you?”
“Twenty, I’ll be twenty-one in two months. Maybe you can make me my birthday dinner.”
She’s already planning on me being with her in two months. I hate girls so desperate for a boyfriend. “We’ll see. Let’s drink to almost twenty-one.” I pulled out a bottle of Makers Mark whiskey to drink. I’m too drunk to care about how smooth my whiskey is, so I don’t offer up my Four Roses. We hold up our shot glasses and swigged them down. Her brown eyes water, but she doesn’t complain about the burn. I quickly fill them up again. “To being drunk tonight!” We clink our glasses and swallow it down.
I take her glass and set it on the counter. I pull her in and my hands run along her bare back. I fiddle with her bikini strings until I’ve successfully undone the ones on her neck and behind her back. I have her pulled close enough to me to keep her top from falling off. I step back, letting the top fall to the floor. I take her bottom lip between my teeth and bite it lightly. She moans against my mouth. Her body is pushing closer to me, and I o
nly have one thing on my mind.
My hands on her hips, I lift her up and set her on the kitchen counter. Her legs wrap around me and she leans back and moans against my touch. My hands slide along her thighs, they’re perfectly smooth as any twenty-year old girl’s should be. She’s arches so far back, her head is resting on the cool marble counter of the bar.
I unbutton her shorts and slide them off, tossing them and the bikini bottoms over with the top. I lift her up and over my shoulder to carry her to the bedroom. She doesn’t weigh anything and she laughs all the way down the hall. I haphazardly pull the comforter off the bed so I won’t tick the cleaning lady off again. I’d been scolded by her about having to take the blanket to the dry cleaners too much.
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I go in the bathroom to take a quick shower. I gave her a t-shirt to sleep in, if she didn’t want to sleep naked. I wipe the steam from the mirror and see my blue eyes are bloodshot and glassy. I towel dry my hair and run a comb through it. My mom is always on me to cut my hair off, it isn’t as though it’s long; it just isn’t in a business man cut. My hair is straight as a board and dark as night like my dad’s. The girls like the way my hair contrasts with my blue eyes, I’m not going to mess with a well oiled machine.
I put on some shorts and climb into bed beside no-name girl.
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Why is it so bright in here? Is the cleaning lady here? No, it’s Saturday, she doesn’t come again until Monday. It smells like food. Someone’s cooking in my house? Oh yeah, I had a girl here last night. What was her name? I get up and put on a pair of board shorts. I walk into an empty living room. “Hello? Is someone here?”
“If you’re trying to figure out if that chick is here, she isn’t. She cooked some food and left. I think that’s Gage’s old lady though,” Stewart says. He stays here most weekends and the rule is he isn’t allowed to have an overnight guest I haven’t met.
“She wasn’t acting like someone’s old lady last night. Do you know her name?”
“Do you really care? I’m pretty sure her name is Kendra. Gage was walking up and down the beach looking for her. Lucky for you, no one told him where she was. We figured the chances were pretty high that she was still with you and we didn’t think you were up for a fight. I hope you took your own advice and wore a raincoat.” Stewart pulled a bottle of orange juice out and poured us both a glass.
“Hey, I’m going by Heather’s parent’s house to make arrangements for Lucy to live here with me. That room you’re staying in will be redecorated for her. Basically, I’m saying you can’t crash here anymore,” I say as I pour a cup of coffee.
Stewart stopped shoving the bacon Kendra made in his mouth for a brief second to stare at me. “You want her here like every day dude?”
Typical Stewart reaction, all he’s worried about is where he’ll be able to park his drunk ass. He lives at home with his sick mother, so I can’t give him too much crap. “Like, totally dude!” I reply sarcastically.
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Chapter Two
Never to suffer would never to have been blessed
~Edgar Allan Poe
The ride to Heather’s parents is only about fifteen minutes, so I spend the drive praying they’re home. The neighborhood is non-descript with its overpriced houses and five different floor plans. The pond I’ve had to have passed a thousand times has a huge water fountain shooting out from the middle. I don’t remember ever seeing it before. How can something so pretty be overlooked so many times?
I pull up to their house with its American flag and memorial wreath on the door. I remind myself they just lost their daughter and Lucy is a part of her. I have to remember not to remind them, she’s a part of me too. Alan answers the door, a look of aggravation flashes across his face as he looks at me.
“Caide, what are you doing here?” He asks curtly.
Trying to find something to do with my hands, I put them in the front pockets of my shorts. “I’m here to see Lucy, she’s my daughter.” I grit my teeth to keep me from saying something that will turn into a fight. “My daughter lost her mother, she needs her father. If you don’t mind, I’d like to see her.” Or I’m going to bust you in the lip, asshat!
“I do mind, as a matter of fact. You can’t just barge in here any time you want,” He raises his cigar to his mouth, trying to intimidate me or something.
Smoke until you’re six feet under, dumbass. Like I’m scared of you with your half-lung. “Alan, I didn’t come to fight, I want to see Lucy.”
“Whoever’s at the door let them in; you’re wasting the air conditioning.” Darla says as she pulls back the door and sees Alan and I having our friendly talk. “Oh, I see.”
“Caide is here to see Lucy,” Alan says.
“Is that so? Today isn’t good for us. Call next week,” Darla blurts out.
“Next week? What are you? High? I’m seeing my daughter now.”
“You can’t…truth be known, she’s asleep.”
I hear a child’s voice and a girl’s voice I’ve never heard before. “Miss Darla, can I take Lucy to the neighborhood park? She’s all fresh from her nap.” A girl who’s holding Lucy on her hip comes to the door.
“Lucy, hey baby…did you have a good nap?” Lucy looks up at the sound of my voice and her face breaks out into a huge grin. Lucy leans forward as far as she can without losing her balance. I hold my arms out to her and she wiggles away from the girl.
“We haven’t met. I’m Caide…Lucy’s dad.” The girl’s eyes go wide as if she’s scared of me. “Are you a relative of Heather’s?”
“No, I’m the nanny. I’ve been caring for Lucy since the beginning of July.”
“Damn Caide, who says you can bombard in on us like this? We’re mourning our daughter,” Darla complains.
My gut is telling me to grab Lucy and run. “I understand, Darla. I was the one who called you trying to get help for her. You act as if it’s my fault. I loved her too! She was the mother of my daughter; I’m not a complete…” I want to say dick but I don’t, “jerk. I planned on her being my wife one day!” I shout and Lucy puckers up in tears. My arms go around her and pull her in tighter; she sets her head on my shoulder. “It’s okay Goosey Lucy, I didn’t mean to shout. You okay?” I whisper in her ear. Lucy shakes her head yes and snuggles in tighter. All of this is happening in the doorway of their cookie cutter house, in their cookie cutter neighborhood.
Darla turns away from Alan, to look at me. “Come in before the neighbors start to gossip.”
I reluctantly follow them into the kitchen. The last time I was here was to pick up Heather and Lucy for a night out. Nothing’s changed, same coffee cup boarder around the room and fake flower arrangement on the round breakfast table. I pull out a wooden chair, trying to tuck the plastic tablecloth edge so Lucy won’t pull on it. The no-name nanny puts a plastic cup full of Animal Crackers in front of Lucy. She squeals in delight and fills her hand full of the tasteless cookies.
“You have a lot of nerve showing up here Caide,” Alan snarls.
“Don’t you think this is a discussion better held when I don’t have my daughter in my lap?” I kiss Lucy on the neck to reassure her everything’s fine.
“Erin, please take Lucy to her room and play with her. Caide will come back there when we’re finished talking,” Alan orders the now-named nanny, Erin.
Instead of fighting him over where Lucy should be, I hand her to Erin. Darla stands and pours three glasses of sweet tea. She knows I love her tea, so I don’t say anything. She’s still the Southern Belle, even when she dislikes her guest. As she sits down, she puts a platter of cookies on the table and slides the centerpiece over to the side.
I remind myself they are grieving, hell, I am too. “Look, I’m not here to cause trouble. I’m here to see my daughter, this is a big change for her too.”
“It wouldn’t have happened if it weren’
t for you. You’re the reason Heather started doing drugs in the first place, now she’s dead!” Darla wipes a tear from her eye.
Breathe, I remind myself. “I’m the reason she became a junkie? You’re kidding me. You know I called you to help her. I loved her, don’t you get that? I thought she would do better living with you guys. How can you sit here and look me in the eyes and say it’s my fault?” My stomach clenches at the memory of bringing her here. She begged me not to make her live with them. She hated the way they controlled her. I fight to keep control of my anger, or I’d have a field day with them. “I cut her off, how is that enabling her? I heard you bailed her out of jail for a possession charge. Didn’t think I’d hear about it; did you? I have eyes and ears too. Maybe, if she spent a little time in jail, she would have cleaned up a little bit. No, mommy and daddy insisted their little princess couldn’t be in a dirty cell. I’m not here for finger pointing. I’m here because I have a daughter who will be coming home to live with me,” I blurt out.
They both gasp as if I just told them I was a serial killer. “You can’t take her!” Darla jumps up, catching the table with her thighs making it lift a little. Alan reaches for her hand and tells her to sit down.
“Why would she live with you? You’d take her from her home, the only familiar place she’s had as a constant in her life?” Alan asks.
Remember, they lost their daughter, they’re grasping for straws, I remind myself. “I’m her father, that’s why. She is legally my daughter and I want her to live with me. You see how she reacts to me when I’m around. You can’t deny me my daughter.”
“We’re not denying you anything. Don’t you think this is a little soon? She lost her mother a few days ago.”
Everything in me wants to scream and shout to shut up and give me my daughter. Alan and I are going to butt heads all day I can tell. “Alan, I know she lost her mother this week. You both act as if I don’t care; you know I do, I want nothing but the best for Lucy. Don’t try to act as if Lucy is better off with you. I’m not the one who was a junkie.”
Cry Me a River PG-13 Edition Page 2