Afterward I slumped against the Mace-man’s chest in post-coital bliss wondering if he had controlled the timing of our perfectly unison climax, or if it had occurred naturally. Eldridge wrapped his arms around me, his forehead leaning against mine. I listened to the whispers of surf, dune grasses and ocean breeze, so contented in my spell that when a crack of lightning split the dark I thought it was the gods celebrating the orgasm he gave me after my three-month drought.
“Come on,” Eldridge said. “Before the rain hits.” He set me on my feet and we scrambled to get dressed. We’d just surpassed partial nudity status when another streak of lightning grabbed our attention. Thunder rolled and the sky opened up, drenching us.
Laughing and jubilant, the two of us ran for the apartment, grabbing our shoes on the way. We crossed the lawn and clumped up a wooden slat stairway to the second story walkway that was covered by a roof.
Eldridge grinned at me and stroked his fingers along my wet cheek. “Fucking on location sure has its benefits,” he said, nuzzling his lips along my neck, “but when it comes to classic lovemaking, there’s nothing like a nice comfy bed.”
“I think we should make a test,” I said, running my tongue around the outer edge of his ear. “Definitely need more data.” Visions of a gorgeous naked Eldridge sprawled across the sheets danced in my head. I recalled what Jaleel told me that day at the gym: “A woman never come back the same after a night with the Mace-man.”
He stopped at number 203, unlocked the door, and we stepped in.
“Hello, Ridge.” A familiar breathy singsong voice. Tara Buckley was curled up on the sofa in teeny weenie ass-baring shorts and D-cup lace bra. Miss Playboy centerfold.
Had Eldridge planned this? Was he into threesomes?
“How did you get in here?” he asked, sounding a bit surprised.
“That nice super I met when we came here last month.” Extending her legs, Tara was careful to point her feet to prettify the line of her luscious gams. I lurked near the door, praying Eldridge wouldn’t look back at me just now. One guess who’d win the compare and contrast contest. I’d learned over and over that short and cute always loses out to tall and beautiful.
Eldridge tilted his head. “The super let you in?”
She flashed her perfect smile, which no doubt cost her a bundle. “Uh-huh. He wouldn’t want your fiancée to be left waiting in the parking lot.”
His fiancée? Suddenly I felt sick. And angry. How could I let myself walk into this again? I was back in high school. Another rendezvous with a sexy bad boy, cut short by the arrival of his cheerleader girlfriend.
Eldridge flicked me a worried glance. Was their engagement something he didn’t want me to know about? Something that would ruin his chances for spontaneous sex with the dingbat when the A-list lady wasn’t around?
I struggled to keep my face and body neutral, non-expressive and perfectly still, fearing that my slightest move would reveal my rage, or worse yet, the tears I was fighting like mad to hold back. If only I had some of Gwen’s perfume to splash on. Then he’d be the one who made a damn fool of himself over me. I ransacked my brain for a hideously cutting and superior insult to drop on Mr. Mace before I left, but couldn’t think of any. So, I just turned for the door.
Eldridge quickly blocked my way. While holding the door shut with his forceful hand, he looked at Tara and said, “How did you know I was here?”
“I went down to Gleason’s and asked around.”
Mace’s brow creased as if her answer did not compute. “Jaleel’s the only one who knew, and he’d never tell you.”
“No, but he told Miguel, and I had no problem getting it out of him,” Tara said with self-satisfied glee.
Mace dropped his hands to his sides and walked toward her, visibly strained. “Please don’t do this, Tara. I told you from the beginning that I have no intentions of getting involved. But you just keep on crowding me and trying to control me. Trying to take over my fucking life. Crashing in on me at my apartment, or the gym, or when I’m out trying to get something to eat. All that’s bad enough. But this? You’re going way too far.”
So. They weren’t engaged. Sounded like the fiancée thing was just a trick Tara used on the super. And from what Eldridge just said, they weren’t exactly the hot and happy duo I’d imagined. Knowing Tara, I was already aware of her obsessive control issues, but I couldn’t help wondering if it were more than that. Did the former pro-boxer possess a knockout power in the romantic arena as well? A power that left women at his mercy?
I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out.
The door was free to open now, but I realized I didn’t have my phone or a car. There was a phone on the coffee table. I lifted the receiver and punched in Benita’s cell number.
Eldridge touched my arm. “Please don’t leave.”
“Looks like you guys have some unfinished business to take care of.”
He let out a sigh. “Then let me drive you home.”
“No, that’s okay.” It was after midnight, but luckily Benita was still awake. After my brief exchange with her, I hung up and slipped my wet feet into my espadrilles. “Binnie’ll be right over,” I told him.
Tara strolled to the refrigerator, opened it and said, “You didn’t buy any eggs, Ridge. Looks like we’ll being going out for breakfast. Unless you want to spend the morning in bed. That might be more fun.” She seemed oblivious to the things Eldridge said. Or maybe she saw my exit as a triumph. Actually, I felt kind of sorry for her. Or as sorry as you could feel for a domineering competitive megalomaniac.
I stepped outside onto the deck, pulling the door shut. I was halfway down the wooden stairway when I heard Eldridge behind me. “Don’t,” I said, hurrying my steps. I couldn’t stop picturing him going back to Tara, having a passionate quarrel, and then screwing the hell out of her for the rest of the night. I’d been telling myself that I only wanted a little sexy fun with the Mace-man, but the deep rage and hurt I felt only moments ago told me I was playing with fire.
He caught up with me at the bottom and grabbed my wrist. “I’m not letting you wait in that parking lot alone.”
“Eldridge, I don’t want a bodyguard. You did a great job rescuing my butt from those creeps tonight. Who knows if I’d be alive right now if you hadn’t been there. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that. But from here on Binnie and I can handle this on our own.”
“Too bad. You’re stuck with me.” That stubborn tone was back.
“No. I mean it. You’re fired. And please don’t discuss what I told you with anyone.” My eyes darted to the door on the second floor.
“What do you take me for?”
I answered with an indifferent shrug and hurried through the open yard to the entrance corridor. Eldridge walked next to me, his hand on the small of my back. It felt great, but I pulled away. The rain had slowed to a drizzle. I was already wet, so I strode forward into the parking lot that bordered the road. Eldridge followed and stood next to me, both of us engulfed by an awkward silence that had us fidgeting.
“You’re angry with me,” he said. “Because of Tara. But there was never anything real between us. We just kind of hung with each other for a few months.”
“Why are you telling me this? It’s none of my business.”
“That’s not the point. I don’t like you thinking I’m a guy who uses women. I may not be ready to settle down, and I enjoy my freedom, but I’m not a heel.”
“Even if what you say is true,” I said, brushing some rain-soaked hair from my eyes, “what’s in it for me? A fun spin around the block and then what? See ya later, pal?”
Hands on his hips, Eldridge looked down at the ground, and shook his head. “I can’t answer that.” Then he fixed those diamond eyes on me. “Does your next lover have to be your future husband?”
Next lover? That’s an interesting concept. Headlights swept across the parking lot. Then came that familiar beeping. I was saved by the Camry.
Eldridge held
the car door for me. I extended a handshake. He instead leaned forward and planted a kiss on my mouth that would keep me awake most of the night.
As if my life wasn’t complicated enough.
TWENTY-TWO
As soon as we drove off, I filled Benita in on the particulars of my misadventure, including Eldridge’s take on Curtis, aka The Monster.
“Wait’ll you hear what I came up with,” Benita said, referring to her investigation at the Circle of the Sacred Yoni retreat house. “First I casually introduced myself to several of the retreat’s members, being the talented actor that I am. Everybody I met there seemed pretty nice. That Yoni crowd isn’t bad. I might consider becoming a member. You should see the inside of the house. Five stars all the way.”
I rolled my eyes. “Is that your big news? The retreat gets a thumbs-up rating. Who were you going undercover for, anyway? Travel And Leisure?”
“Excuse me, but you were suppose to be looking for the tablet, and instead you decided to go out to dinner.”
“You know that is not how it happened.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I see you ended up at the Mace-man’s lair.”
I looked away. “Why do screwed up men have to be so damned sexually attractive?”
“Hey, at least you didn’t marry one,” she said, hanging a left at the intersection. “Fippy made another proposal to me on tonight’s weather report. The idiot’s going to lose his job if he keeps it up.”
“Call him, Binnie. He deserves that much.”
She groaned. “You call him.”
After a tense pause where I didn’t dare make any further suggestions, I returned to our most pressing issue. “So, what’s the story on Lady Vivian? No sign?”
“She went back to the city. We’ll have to catch up with her at Raffy’s show. But I did get some juicy material. During a little chitchat around the coffee table I asked the sisters from the Circle how Lady Viv was doing, and one of the women mentioned her collection of art objects. You remember Raffy said she was obsessed with owning all kinds of artifacts related to goddesses. Now get this. According to two of the Yonis, Lady Viv is real excited because she’s about to get a supremely rare artifact from a source she wouldn’t reveal. Viv told one of the women she was really pushing the envelope to get it. The other woman implied it was some kind of illicit deal, something illegal, even dangerous. I tried getting more info, but the only other thing they knew was when Viv expected to be getting this priceless object…This weekend.”
“Whoa. Coincidence?”
“I call it interesting timing.” Pulling the car into the driveway, Benita switched off the engine and turned to me. “I’ve got more. Viv just acquired an antique Japanese figurine of Kwan Yin. They said it was eighteen inches high. Carved and painted wood. Sound familiar?”
“That thief.” It fit the exact description of a Kwan Yin statuette Gwen had given me years ago. And it was one of the things stolen by Curtis and company when they ransacked our last apartment. “I want my Kwan Yin back!” I said, stepping out of the car.
Eager to pursue matters further we hurried inside the house. Closing and locking the front door behind us, Benita said, “And let’s not forget that Lady Viv’s appearance might inspire a name like Chub Dubs. If it weren’t for Schumacher, I’d say that seals the deal.”
We made our way up the stairs. As we passed my aunt’s room, I peeked in. I was glad Lana was asleep. She had been my crying post since childhood, but I didn’t relish telling her about my ducking live rounds out on some empty road in the Northwest Woods. Give the poor woman a break. I could tell she was worried about us. She hadn’t smoked any weed all day.
We went to our room where I peeled off my wet clothes and fell exhausted onto my bed. Thanks to Gwen and her notorious perfume I’d been interrogated, forcefully evicted, chased and shot at this evening. Not to mention ending my involuntary celibacy with my voluntary Mohawk bodyguard.
Benita changed into yellow plaid pajamas and sat quietly in the rocker. Her short hair stuck out in wisps. “Guess we better allow for the possibility that it may not be your Kwan Yin figurine.”
“You’re right. I’d been so certain Kyle Drummond was our man, and thanks to my stupidity that poor soul was murdered.”
Bam! Benita’s fist slammed against the rocker’s arm. “Cut it out. Drummond was not a poor soul. He was a rich sleazeball who stuck his greedy nose into the path of Gwen’s killer.”
She walked to her bed, and the two of us lay on our backs gazing out the skylight windows at the dark and cloudy night.
In my half-sleep I heard her murmur, “You’re not responsible for anything Gwen’s killer does. All you can do is prove who the hell it is.”
***
Sunlight came bursting through the skylights painting everything in its brightness and making it hard to have any bad feelings about the world. Salt air and the faint rumble of the surf came through the open windows. I lay there listening to seagulls in the distance and songbirds right outside in Lana’s garden. My body felt rested and my brain refreshed. I sat up. Nine a.m. Nothing like six solid hours of deep uninterrupted sleep, a rare commodity in the city. I looked over at Benita’s bed and saw that it was made. Obviously she’d gotten up and off to a head start. Last night I’d taken a hot bath in a soothing remedy Inez had given me and could still smell the lemon and coconut. I scooted off the bed and shuffled to the bathroom adjoining our room. I wiped a damp washcloth over my face.
Benita came through the door in her running pants. “I just went for a jog on the beach. Tossed in a little shadow boxing, some push-ups, sit-ups. This is our last day, and, man, I am ready to kick ass.”
Friday. One more day before the boys from Hummerland come to collect. So much for my peaceful morning.
Benita stripped and skipped past me with her towel. She turned on the water and
stepped into the shower.
I found my cell in the heap of yesterday’s clothes that I’d thrown on the floor. I checked for messages. No clients. And no Eldridge. Too early.
Hmm. What if I gave him the wrong cell number? Maybe he left a message at the loft. Best to check and see if any clients called on that phone, anyway. I punched in the digits, entered the code for my voice-mail and waited. One message about a client referral from a doctor at Beth Israel Hospital. And…who else? Walsh Plunkett. Asking me out to dinner. Again. No mention of an appointment for therapy.
I fluffed out my hair and smudged on some eyeliner and lipstick. The split lip Curtis gave me last week had pretty well healed. I flipped on a bright pink and green sundress. The colors lifted my spirits, and it would be comfortable for our long drive back to DUMBO today. Plus I looked pretty good in it. There was that slight chance Eldridge might appear out of the blue. He had a tendency to do that.
I couldn’t help dwelling on that last thing he asked me about: my “next lover.” But I also wondered what became of him and Tara last night. Did they kiss and make up? Were they still in bed, or maybe scrambling eggs side by side in that charming little kitchenette? Then again, he may have finally given her the boot. Kicked her out of his life, then drove himself to some lonely Montauk bar to have a beer and congratulate himself for once again successfully preserving his precious male freedom.
Cut it out, Saylor, I told myself. Don’t get your panties in a twist over this guy.
You’ve got far more important things to think about.
Benita toweled off and hopped into a pair of jet black and hot yellow boxing shorts that looked about ten sizes too big.
“Where did those things come from?”
“Used to be Jaleel’s.” She pulled on a bright red tank. “What say we get to the computer before breakfast?”
We headed downstairs to Lana’s office. If Eldridge’s hunch about Curtis was right, then we now had a last name on the guy. We Googled Curtis Bardarson, but aside from a chiropractor in Detroit, nothing of interest came up. I don’t suppose many hit men have their own websites.
/> We’d searched for Lady Vivian Hatch-Oliver yesterday, but today we entered words that got us a magazine article on her collection of goddess objects, her home in Surrey outside London, plus a confirmation of the NYC address Raffy had written on a napkin for us the other night.
“I knew Lady Viv’s address looked familiar,” I said. “It’s the same high-rise where Candice Stoutz lives.”
“Name sounds familiar. Refresh me.”
“A long-time client of mine. Remember the woman who got into a little tiff with Walsh Plunkett at my Do-Me-Good party?”
“Oh, yeah. Her husband only wants blowjobs.”
“Right. And Candice is the one who called my cell when the posse had us trapped in that lot last week. What I’m thinking is that she might be a way to get into Lady Viv’s place. I tell the doorman I’m there to see Candice. She tells him to let me in. After a brief ‘I was just in the neighborhood hello’ I go to Viv’s apartment instead of leaving the building.”
“Fine. But how do you get through the door of Viv’s apartment?”
“Pretend I’m a cleaning person?”
Benita shook her head. “As rich as she is, she might have full-time live-in help. If not, you can bet the doorman calls her if one of the peons working for her is on their way up.”
“Well, maybe we’ll get all we need at Raffy’s art show tonight.” I braced my forehead against my palm. “Wait a sec. How can we go to Raffy’s show in DUMBO when we’re supposed to go to Manhattan to spy on that meeting Schumacher is having with his ‘boys’?”
“No problem. Raffy’s art opening starts at five thirty. If we leave by six forty-five we can make it to 126th Street in time to catch Schumacher. Of course, if we get something on Lady Viv that tells us she’s our man, we’ll skip Schumacher and just head to the police with our evidence.”
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