by Aven Jayce
“I’ve also been thinking about David’s suicide,” she says. “He wouldn’t be behind the Scarlett unless he was meeting someone from the family back there.”
I close my eyes and sigh, allowing her to voice her final thoughts, no matter how difficult they are to hear. And she knows I’m thinking the same thing.
“Your father’s hiding something. I didn’t want to admit it earlier, but he’s been acting strangely, and now I’m unsure if I believe him.”
I don’t disagree with her, or say anything, not a word or a sound. My lips touch the back of her neck and I inhale the scent of her flesh. She smells clean like fresh cut grass. It calms my heart as I run my fingers over her stomach and listen to her take deep cleansing breaths; ridding her body and mind of the conversations from the night.
It takes awhile, but she calms down and finally drifts off to sleep. I’m able to slip away after holding her in my arms for some time. The fatigue I feel is purely physical, but mentally I’m wide-awake, still depressed, but stable. I look out at the dark, drizzly city, and then back to my wife. Both she and the city are quiet, shrouded in secrets that aren’t their own, and illuminated by our distant moon. The clouds are breaking apart and I’m able to make out a few stars. The name Celeste comes to mind as I’m looking into the night sky. I wonder if Soph would consider it if we have a girl. It sounds so heavenly, or even Haley, after the comet, and then again, maybe those are too similar to my porn name. For a boy, I’ve been thinking about Valen. In high school, I used to read a lot about the Roman Empire, one of my favorite periods in history, and I can remember a few Roman emperors with that name. Damn, that’s such a good sign that I’m thinking about the baby and not what we just talked about. Fuck yeah, I grin. What a badass release of some of my past.
I scratch my nuts and daydream about tomorrow. We need to go out, have a date, do something other than work and fuck. She’s different from most women, and it’s hard for me to make plans, or even surprise her with anything since she’s not a soap opera-pink-bubblegum-gossip-salon-girl. I know she just went shopping, a rare occasion, so we don’t need to do that, and we both dislike movies because it means sitting for two hours without talking to one another. It defeats the whole point of spending time together. I don’t want to disappear into another world while I’m in a theater; I want to be in hers. Maybe I’ll take a completely different approach and take her to the Butterfly House at the Botanical Gardens. Then again, that’s sorta girly, but at least a quiet setting to talk. No, even better, the City Museum. No, too noisy. Oh hell, it’ll come to me. I’ll look up some places online in the morning.
The storm left our loft cold, which is unusual for a summer night in St. Louis. I’d expect it to be humid and sticky, but it’s just the opposite. Plus the electricity is still flickering in and out, so the air conditioner’s not circulating the dampness out of the air. I think about putting another log on the fire but decide to slide into my flannel pajama bottoms instead. It’s less work, and I don’t want to wake Sophia, not now, when I need to take a crap. Her knowing what I’m doing, and waiting for me to come back to bed is too much pressure.
I head for our first floor bathroom with the iPad and a pen and paper to write down addresses from Realtor.com. I’ve been curious as to what’s available in our price range and there’s no better time to search the internet for houses than when you’re taking a shit. Jesus, that’s perfect. We can take a walk along the Gateway Trail in the morning, like my mother suggested, then pick up a coffee and drive around the city looking at real estate. She’d fucking love that.
I tuck in as I sit, actually relaxed for once, and excited about something other than my wife’s body and the baby. Tomorrow... tomorrow’s gonna be the best day we’ve ever had together. I’ll make sure of it.
“Cove?” Sophia taps on the door.
Fuckin’ A. Five-minutes would’ve been nice. Now, I’m gonna be pushing ‘cause she knows I’m in here. “Yeah?”
“Just want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine.”
“What are you doing?”
“Soph,” I sigh. “What do you think I’m doing?”
“Are you coming to bed soon?”
“Can I finish? Or do you want me to shit in the bed?”
She laughs and I hear her step away from the door. “Do you mind if I go back to sleep?”
“I’d prefer it.”
Our staircase creaks as she walks upstairs. Women just don’t understand men’s crapping habits. We’re either gonna go right in front of them with the door open, or need a good hour of privacy to sit and think. Goddammit, we’re not a year into this marriage and shitting in the house is still kind of awkward. I never see her go, never smell her either, and I still believe women never shit. Their bodies just absorb it somehow and it never comes out.
Oh, fuck it. I close the iPad and finish hastily, and then when I’m back in the main room, check to make sure our morning coffee is prepared and the front door is locked. I start upstairs but pause when a text chimes on Sophia’s phone... who the hell’s that?
Privacy. Don’t look at it. My mind tells me to let it go and get my ass back to bed, but my inner core needs to know. Trust her... walk away... nope. Come on, everyone looks at their partner’s phones. Right?
Yeah, they do, but that doesn’t mean they should. I pick up her phone. It’s that guy Evan from her Facebook site.
Soon...
Soon what? Damn, I shouldn’t have looked. I’ll just ask her, right? Admit that I crossed some lines and read the text. No, she’ll tell me on her own. I won’t say a word.
Wait, where’s my phone?
I check the counter then the table next to the door, see my keys, and remember it’s sitting in the cup holder of my car. It’s late, but I need it in case something happens to Ivy or the Scarlett. I slide into my shoes, grab my keys, and head out the door.
The building’s dead silent this time of the night so it doesn’t matter if I’m in the elevator without a shirt. I wasn’t bothered being in just my boxers the other day with dried cum on my stomach either, and compared to that, I’m overdressed for the short trip to the parking garage. I guess one positive from working in the porn industry is that I’ve always been comfortable with my body. I overheard one of my workers at the Scarlett tell her friends that her boyfriend refuses to get undressed with the lights on, and won’t have sex unless the room’s pitch black. Fuck that shit. I want to see my wife’s body and it turns me on that she loves to gawk at mine.
The door opens and I’m in the basement.
Oh shit... cold weather shrinkage... my balls are taut and my dick disappears. This usually only happens in the winter, but the cold front has taken my body off guard. It’s too early for fall and we should have another month before we experience these dips in temperature. I shiver and my nipples are erect as I grab my phone and jog over to the elevator. Yeah, I’m starting that fire again when I get upstairs. Fuck this.
Damn it. The elevator went back to the ground floor. I hit the button and wait... wait... wait... shit, it’s creepy down here. I feel someone’s eyes are on me. No. That’s just my mind wandering. Don’t be a pussy. I look over my shoulder and almost piss my pants when a figure appears in the basement about ten yards away. It’s that guy from the street who I almost hit with my car. He’s still here. Water drips off his clothing as he walks toward the elevator just as it dings and I step inside.
“Fucking close, damn it.” I tap the button. “Close.”
The door shuts and I exhale as he disappears and I’m alone... at least for a moment. A second later the door slides open and the figure steps inside; his dark hood’s still up, wet, and obscuring his face.
Am I overreacting? Is it just someone from the building?
“What floor?” I whisper, with a shaky finger pointed at the panel, ready to push a button.
There’s no response.
He’s my height and build; standing directly in front of the do
or and panting like one of Haverty’s dogs.... I could take him. If this guy wants to fight I’m ready.
“What floor?” I say again, this time with confidence that I’m not scared of the prick, or at least suppressing my fears the best I can.
And then it happens. It’s true; the slow motion, life flashing before one’s eyes event that people talk about when they’re about to die really does exist. My past whirls through my head as a switchblade is pulled from his jeans and held to my chest.
I think about Sophia first, then the baby who I may never meet, my parents, and then Sophia again.
“Fuck, man,” I whisper. “You need money? I’ve probably got something in my car.” Maybe I should just give him the car.
He presses the knife’s point against my hammering heart and the suicidal thoughts I had earlier change instantly to a fierce desire to live. Screw Paul, and David, and everyone else. This fucker too. I won’t let him kill me.
“I have a wife who’s pregnant. Tell me what you want and I’ll get it for you. Anything.”
“You knocked some bitch up, Star?” He closes the blade and pulls off the hood with a deep laugh. “Bet you just shit your pants, didn’t you?”
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me?” I bend over and place my hands on my knees and exhale a robust laugh. “Damn you, you asshole.”
“Gotcha, little shit.”
I straighten and hug the dumbass and then we pat one another on the back.
Marcus Wild, Jameson Industries number two man. I was number one, Paul’s Star, but Marcus was every bit as legendary, and as far as I’m concerned, just as adored by the fans as myself. We hit it off well, right from the start when Paul requested we work together in a few scenes. He was kind and playful, unlike some of the older guys who were brutal and beat the crap out of me. Marcus was also someone I had an unspoken connection to, close in age and rank within the business, and if I’m not mistaken, possibly one of Paul’s boy toys when he was younger. I saw him follow Paul into his office on occasion, but like myself, he moved out of the spotlight and into behind the scenes work. I haven’t seen him for a couple of years, and I suppose the life of a porn star is similar to being a cop; when you’re too old to work in the field, you get a desk job and are never seen or heard from again.
Marcus’s blue eyes, light blonde hair, pearly white teeth, and tan face make him look like a Malibu Ken doll; only he dresses a hell of a lot better.
“Congratulations on your kid. Got a wife too, or just a whore?”
“A beautiful, loving wife, and I’m surprised you haven’t heard who I married... hey, what the hell are you doing in St. Louis anyway?”
“Tying up some loose ends,” he grins. “You going up?” he looks at the buttons for the floors and back at me.
Why the hell is he here? I haven’t seen him in years.
“Marcus, it’s good to see you and that fucking stunt you just pulled was classic, so forgive me when I ask how the hell you knew where I lived... and for the love of God please tell me you’re here to see me, and not my father. I can’t take any more secrets from him.”
He gives me an inquisitive look and places his hands in his pockets. “Your dad lives with you? Isn’t that fitting? I know you were fucked up over him being in prison and all, but wow, you guys live together? You taking care of him ‘til he gets back on his feet?”
I laugh and shake my head; not volunteering any more personal information until I figure out exactly what’s going on with this guy. What does he want?
“I’d invite you up, but my wife’s probably asleep, and I try to keep some sensitive subjects away from her, such as Jameson Industries.”
“Oh yeah, she knows you were a porn star?”
I nod.
“Right on. So she probably wouldn’t like me much if she found out I had my hands on your dick?”
“Marcus, this isn’t a joke. I’m tired, just tell me what you want. You obviously didn’t show up here to reminisce ‘bout old times.”
He digs in his ear as if it’s a distraction that gives him time to think then looks at his finger, digs again, and glares into my face.
“Are you okay? Do you need some money?” I wonder if he’s broke? Most of Paul’s former porn stars get hooked on drugs and end up living on the streets. I’d be surprised if he wasn’t like the rest, although, when I look him over he’s dressed well, and those badass Martin Dingman Arlo shoes cost a fortune. I know, ‘cause I want a pair myself.
“Star, we’re friends, right?”
I never know how to answer that question. “Call me Cove,” I finally say.
“Cove,” he laughs. “Sorry man, I know your real name. And I see by your fingers that you’ve had a nice talk with David recently. He get what he wanted from you?”
A drop of water from the tip of his bangs lands on his cheek and slides down his face. I watch another fall to his nose and a few more drip onto his shoulders. He swipes the hair to the side then wipes his face with his hands and smiles.
“What do you think he wanted from me?” I ask cautiously.
“You sure you’re not going up? It’s cold in this elevator and I have a feeling you make a decent living from your wine bar, so your place must be big enough for us to sit and talk without disturbing your wife. Right?”
I try to think quickly but realize I don’t have much of a choice here, he’s the one with the knife, but then again maybe I do have a way out. It’s too confining to sit in my car, and I’m sure as hell not getting in his, but the lobby should suffice. I push the first floor button and apologize for not taking him to our place. “Sorry, you’re right, our home is a good size, but I don’t want to take a chance of waking my wife. Trust me, you don’t want to see her when she’s angry.”
He nods, never letting go of the smile on his face.
As suspected, the lobby’s vacant and private at this time of the night. We take a seat on the large sofa that’s been placed in the room more for decoration than functionality. His back is to the front door and mine to the elevator. I watch a few cars splash through puddles as they pass in front of our building.
“Well, Marcus. What loose ends do you have in St. Louis and how do you know I saw David? My fingers could be broken for many reasons. And why did you seek me out?”
He sets his foot on his upper thigh and places his arm on the sofa back, leaning in a relaxing manner. His eyes set on mine while he speaks. “Cove, I’m not the type of guy to fuck around, not like Paul, or David. I learned a lot from them, but they were both pussies. So, let me get to the point of my visit. I’m sure you’re aware of David’s untimely death.”
“Suicide.”
“Yes, well... shit. You know better than that.”
“Is it in the news already? How’d you hear about it?” I ask in fear of what will be said about the Scarlett.
“We had a meeting this evening and he never showed.”
“David was in town for something else, and unless you tell me what the meeting was for, I won’t believe otherwise.”
“Yep, your wife’s inheritance. He did have two reasons to be in town, now didn’t he? Money, and money.”
“So you already knew I was married. Tell me how you have information about my wife’s inheritance?”
“Don’t you ever look at the company’s site anymore?” he asks. “See what’s happening in the business, how Jameson Industries is number one once more, supreme and invincible,” his voice raises, “indestructible and all-powerful because of the new head of the company, Marcus Wild. I’ve filled Paul’s shoes nicely, and I know you married his daughter. I knew you found yourself a wife and not a whore.”
“No shit?” my words fumble out of my mouth. “You took over for Paul?”
“Yeah, number one, Cove. So, you wanna join me? Drive the company off the charts? Paul and David were good, but not smart enough to keep themselves out of a pine box. I’m a goddamn genius compared to them; a combination of the two, their best qualities and greatest
strengths, without the addictions and age which sent them under.”
“Everyone’s addicted to something,” I mumble.
“True, my friend. And usually it’s money, or alcohol, and not young boys. Right?” He looks at his diamond watch, something that probably cost an easy fifty grand, and I stare at his shoes again. “It’s the liquor that gets people in trouble, and I don’t have that problem,” he places his hand on my leg and holds my knee tightly. “But, I sure as fuck love money. Now, you know the St. Louis area well, and you were one of the best employees in this city, what do you say? I’ll make you head of the mid-west region.”
“Working for Paul was never anything I did by choice. It was a forced profession and one I’ll never step into again,” is my answer.
“Yeah, but I doubt Paul ever paid you what you were worth. You’ve got a kid on the way, how about two mil a year to start? What did you make from him? Hundred grand? Two hundred? Nickels and dimes compared to what you’ll get now.”
“You know what?” I lean forward and set my hand on his knee in an imitating gesture. “It’s actually the money that gets people in trouble, and I don’t have that problem. But I sure as fuck love alcohol. Now if you’d excuse me, I’m gonna go have a drink and go to bed.”
“Actually,” he secures his grip not allowing me to leave. “Not yet, Cove. I didn’t stop by today just to offer you a job, besides, I already knew you’d say no, just wanted to fuck with you a little bit.”
“Well don’t. I’ve dealt with a suicide and an attempted suicide today. Get to the fucking point.” Marcus is right, he’s a combination of Paul and David and it makes me sick. Plus, why the hell is he smiling all the time? What an assbag. He used to be such a nice guy. As usual, you can’t trust a soul in that company.
“Alright then, no more games. I want the money David was after. We came here together for business, and the money was part of it. His ‘suicide,’ as you call it, is going to complicate some areas of the company he had access too, at least for a little while. The twelve million will compensate for those losses until my right of entry returns in those areas. And, as far as David was concerned, he just wanted the money because he’s a greedy cocksucker. I want it to tide me over until his assets get sorted out.”