by Brian Bakos
34. Mission to the REX
“This is a little rich for my blood!” Sharese exclaimed as she looked up the vertical expanse of the REX apartments.
Atop the six floors of the main building reposed a two-story penthouse, set back from the edge and covering much of the roof space. It appeared to be a later addition; its austere, gleaming white surfaces and broad rectangular windows were in marked contrast to the sedate, reddish brick and modest windows of the lower building.
“That must be the ‘ivory tower,’” she murmured.
Sharese gathered up her nerve and crossed the street to the REX. The doorman let her in with a polite tip of his cap. As she walked across the lobby toward the security station, she could feel his eyes roving over her, pulling off her clothes, bit by bit.
You’ve still got what it takes, girl! she thought with pride. Some of her self-assurance returned.
The security guard looked up at her from his desk.
“May I help you?” he asked.
Sharese felt suddenly awkward, intimidated; much of her new-found confidence fled back out the door. Maybe she was totally wrong in her notions. Maybe that lady at the casino was just a malicious old whack job. Maybe the “rich man’s daughter” was a fiction.
Well, it was too late to back out now.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m here to see Patricia Armstrong.”
The name hung in the air. Sharese expected the security guard to say there was nobody by that name in the building. Instead he said:
“Whom shall I say is calling?”
“Sharese Lee ... I’m a friend of Laila Armstrong.”
“Just a moment, please,” the guard said.
He picked up a phone and spoke into it with a low, professional voice that Sharese could barely overhear. She took an instinctive step backward. Why had she set herself up to be humiliated this way – and in front of this absolute hunk of a security guard, too? Right this minute, Patricia must be telling him to throw her out. She turned her mind to other, more congenial thoughts.
I wonder if he’s wearing a gun?
She couldn’t tell, as the high, curvy desk concealed his lower portions. If he did have one, she’d like to see him in his gun belt – and nothing else.
He put down the phone and smiled at her.
“Miss Armstrong will be right down,” he said.
Sharese could hardly contain her surprise. “Oh, that’s ... fine. Thank you.”
She tore her eyes off the sexy young security guard and looked toward the elevator doors. The lighted display over one of them indicated the progress of a car descending from the uppermost floor.
So, at last she was going to meet “The Great Patricia,” as Laila called her. For years she’d heard about Patricia but had never laid eyes on her, had never even seen a photograph. She had no idea what to expect. Would Patricia be some heavy-set, Amazon type woman – a Frank Armstrong with boobs? Would she come into the lobby snarling fire?
The elevator door glided open to reveal a stunning, black-haired woman dressed in white slacks and a flowing silk top. She had dark, piercing eyes and a rather severe look to her face which softened to a smile when she beheld her visitor.
“Why, Sharese Lee,” she said warmly, taking Sharese’s hand. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Hello ... pleased to meet you,” Sharese said, still struggling to contain her astonishment.
Patricia was almost as tall as her, but the spiked heels were exaggerating the effect. Everything about the woman spoke of class and money. Sharese felt rather shabby in her presence, despite her own expensive outfit.
“So, what can I do for you?” Patricia inquired.
“Uh ... I was just hoping that we could discuss a few things,” Sharese said.
“Of course,” Patricia said. “Won’t you come up to my place? I was just about to have a drink.”
“Sure ... thanks,” Sharese replied.
She followed Patricia back to the elevator. A placard beside it read: Penthouse use only. Patricia waved her card over the reader and pushed the UP button.
Dang, Sharese thought, she’s got her own private elevator!
The door slid open and Patricia gestured for Sharese to go in first. She did so, retreating to the back of the car. Patricia entered next and pushed the button for the top floor.
“I’m glad you stopped by, Sharese,” she said. “I’ve been wanting to meet you for some time.”
Sharese managed an accommodating little smile and a nod.
“Thank you for having me.”
Somehow the words didn’t seem right. Patricia shot her a knowing smile in return. Again, Sharese had the sense of being visually undressed, as she’d felt under the doorman’s gaze.
They entered the most elegant and tasteful apartment Sharese had ever been in. Everything about the main living area was perfect, from the expensive wood floor with its abstract-patterned throw rug to the skylight pyramid in the ceiling. Large paintings adorned the walls and sculptures occupied the side niches. A fireplace column stood in the middle of the room and an open staircase of white steps led to the upper floor.
“Wow!” Sharese couldn’t help saying. “This is beautiful!”
“I’m glad you like it,” Patricia said. “I decorated it myself.”
“I love it!” Sharese said. “You’ve got wonderful taste, Patricia.”
“Why thank you, Sharese.” Patricia’s voice was just a shade to the masculine side, like honey with a touch of pepper sauce thrown in.
The penthouse’s ambiance also had a masculine air, as attested to by the black leather chairs and the female nude sculptures. You might think that a sophisticated bachelor lived here – except for the L-shaped couch in pastel blue with a blood red pillow set in one end.
“Won’t you sit down?” Patricia indicated the couch. “I’ll make us some drinks.”
Patricia headed for the bar area while Sharese took a place on the blue sofa midway between the blood red pillow and the angle of the L. Outside the extensive floor to ceiling windows, dusk was setting in and lights were twinkling on in other buildings. The river was visible in middle distance.
“Are strawberry daiquiris okay?” Patricia asked. “Or I could make pineapple.”
“Strawberry is fine,” Sharese said.
Patricia began adding ingredients to her blender.
“I understand you were a professional bartender at one time,” she said.
“Yes, I was – back in the day,” Sharese said.
Her working-class North Carolina speech seemed out of place in such opulent surroundings. Since she’d come north in the Three Musketeers restaurant days, Sharese had lost a much her accent. But when she was nervous, like now, it always came back.
“Please don’t be too critical of my humble efforts, then,” Patricia said.
The blender whirred into life. Sharese settled back on the couch and tried to unwind. Things were certainly taking a different tack than she had expected.
What had she expected, anyway? The pronouncement of that creepy woman at the casino had weighed on her throughout the day’s shenanigans; she simply couldn’t get it out of her mind. So, after she’d dropped off Candy and Nichole, against every ounce of her better judgment, she’d come here to confront “the rich man’s daughter” about some supposed “plot.”
She felt distinctly foolish now, which increased her discomfort. Only her deep concern for Laila could have brought her into such a situation.
Patricia arrived with the daiquiris.
“I hope it’s not too terrible,” she said, handing one to Sharese.
Sharese sipped the drink. It was quite good, and very strong.
“It’s wonderful,” she said.
“Glad to hear that.”
Patricia sat on the couch to Sharese’s left, quite close to her. Sharese sidled toward the pillow, increasing the distance between them.
“So, what did you want to talk to me about, Sharese?”
“Um
...” Sharese took a swig from her daiquiri. “It’s about Laila, actually.”
“What about her?” Patricia asked.
“Well ... she’s been acting kind of strange lately, she looks very dragged out. I was wondering if you knew anything.”
Patricia was looking steadily at her. She gave a tiny shake of her head.
“No, I don’t,” she said. “I only saw her for a few minutes at the hospital. We were all a bit upset then.”
“I’m sorry to bother you like this,” Sharese said. “Laila’s been my friend a long time, though, and ... well, I was just curious.”
Patricia moved closer and crossed her legs.
“Is there anything else you’re ‘curious’ about, Sharese?”
Sharese’s eyes widened, and she retreated farther toward the pillow. It was quite close to her now.
“Uh, no, there isn’t,” she said. “And ... I think I’d better drink up and go.”
“But you just got here,” Patricia said. “Why so nervous?”
She set her own drink on the coffee table beside an ornate little box.
“I’ve got just the thing for that,” she said.
Patricia withdrew a perfectly rolled joint from the box along with a lighter that looked like it was made of pure silver. She lit the joint, inhaled deeply. Sharese looked on, fascinated. Patricia’s movements were flowing and sensuous, like a cat’s. She was the sexiest woman Sharese had ever seen in her life, and ... What was going on here?
Patricia blew out the smoke languidly.
“Mmm, very nice!”
She handed over the joint. Sharese took it gingerly.
“Go ahead,” Patricia said. “It has some ‘special ingredients’ I know you’ll like.”
“Okay ... sure,” Sharese replied reluctantly.
She was no stranger to doing a joint now and then, but this one looked dangerous. This whole situation seemed dangerous. She took a toke. Patricia watched her closely, her tongue running over her lips.
Sharese returned the joint. Patricia flicked a remote and soft, romantic type music started playing. The next time the joint came back, Patricia’s arm came with it, wrapped over Sharese’s shoulders. Sharese tried to move away, but she was already up against the blood red pillow beside the sofa arm.
Things were happening fast! Sharese was in uncharted territory and feeling scared ... but also rather interested. What was in that joint, anyway?
“Uh ... I don’t do that kind of thing,” Sharese said.
“What kind of thing?” Patricia asked innocently, pushing another remote button that dimmed the lights.
“You know ... girl on girl type things,” Sharese said.
“Girl on girl?” Patricia laughed seductively. “You make it sound like child’s play. We’re both mature women, aren’t we?”
Sharese didn’t answer. In all her extensive sexual history, she’d never come upon a situation like this before! Patricia took the joint from her fingers and dragged on it. She pressed her mouth against Sharese’s and blew in the smoke, then ...
One thing led to another until the morning came.