by Gina LaManna
The doorbell rang, an hour early.
“Hey,” I said, pulling open the door to find Ira standing outside. “What are you doing here so early?”
He had another bouquet of flowers in his hands so large that I could barely make out his sun-kissed hair through the purple buds. But I could definitely make out his sock- and sandal-clad feet, which was how I knew it was him in the first place.
“What are those?” Meg asked as she walked up behind me, a bagel in one hand and a donut in the other. She nodded at Ira’s feet.
“Where’d you get the bagel?” I asked. “I don’t have any food besides the party stuff.”
Meg ignored me. “Excuse me,” she said to the bouquet of flowers. “Who do these feet belong to? I’m wondering on account of I have a bone to pick with their owner.”
I relieved Ira of the bouquet. “Come on inside, and please, feel free to ignore her. Thank you for the flowers. Again.”
“Hmmph.” Meg was staring at Ira’s feet again. “That’s the best form of birth control I’ve ever seen, right there.”
Ira looked down, fairly nonplussed at Meg’s rude line of questioning. “It’s comfortable. I don’t want to be judged by my physical belongings. I want to be known for what’s in here.” He tapped his chest. Ira seemed to have a lot going on in there.
As much as I wouldn’t agree out loud, Meg did have a point. Socks and Sandals – 1, Libido – 0. It was simple math.
“Meg,” I said sternly. “Leave it alone. Thanks for coming, Ira.”
“Do you need any help getting set up?” he asked. “I thought I’d swing by and help you get ready.”
“This place is already spotless,” Meg said. “But you can come watch Cops with me on the TV if you want. It’s extra fun, since I know lots of the criminals on that show. They’re regulars at my bar now.”
Ira shrugged. “Sounds fine to me.”
I secured a vase, filled it with water, and plunked the flowers in before I squished onto the couch next to Ira and Meg. They hooted and hollered when One-Eyed Arnie nearly outran the police, and clapped loudly as Dirty Mo managed to take out six mailboxes on a high-speed chase.
I was relieved when the doorbell finally rang right at six on the dot, even if some of that relief disappeared once I saw that it was Mister Kim.
When I opened the door, however, I was in for my second surprise of the evening: Mister Kim had brought a guest. The woman next to him was extremely short and tiny, which was why I hadn’t seen her through the peephole. She had bird-like features and dark, glittering eyes that darted around quickly, scrutinizing me and my apartment before stepping a foot inside.
“Hey, I’m Lacey.” I extended my hand, and the woman reciprocated with a cool, firm handshake and a quick smile.
Mister Kim cleared his throat. “This is Miss Youn. She my date. A date is okay, yes?”
I nodded. “Sure, no problem. I have plenty of food.”
I stepped back and let them in. Mister Kim stood behind his date, offering to take her coat. He looked a bit nervous, and a lot less cocky than when I’d met him yesterday.
“May I hang my coat?” he asked.
“Let me.” I reached for his jacket, wondering exactly how the two knew each other. They didn’t seem in love, based solely on how little they touched. Their movements around each other were a bit robotic. Then again, it could’ve been a first date.
By the time I’d hung my landlord’s and his guest’s jackets in the hallway closet, the movers had piled into my apartment in a seemingly unending stream of bodies, depositing bottles of wine and cans of beer on the table. There were even a few bottles of O’Doul’s for those on the sobriety train. The apartment had taken on a lively, festive quality with the addition of the moving men. There were at least eight of them, and they were each individually loud with lots to say to anyone who would listen.
Dom, a friend from Marinello’s – the best Italian restaurant in town – was speaking candidly to Miss Youn, who held a Bud Light in her hand and looked as if she’d rather be reading the encyclopedia than listening to the current conversation.
Meanwhile, Ira and Meg were in a deep discussion with a couple of moving guys next to the kitchen, suspiciously close to the drinks table. Mister Kim sat on a bean bag chair in the far corner of the room, his knees up to his chest, a bottle of water next to him.
“Everything okay?” I asked him as I walked by. “Can I get you a drink?”
“No. I’m okay.” Mister Kim’s gaze remained firmly pointed at the ground.
“Your wife is… lovely.” Okay, maybe I was fishing, but I couldn’t help being curious. I waited for a moment, but Mister Kim didn’t seem inclined to respond. It became clear that he wasn’t going to answer, so I turned around to rejoin the rest of the room. Before I could do so, the pressure in the air changed. My breath slowed a bit, and all of the conversations dialed back a few notches.
Anthony had arrived, in style as usual.
He was dressed in a crisp work suit, pants fitted sharply around a firm butt that looked more than good enough to squeeze. His broad chest was on display as he slowly closed the door behind him; how he’d entered I could only guess at, since I’d been locking it after each guest. His hands were shoved casually in his pockets, but I could tell by the way he moved that he had at least one gun and a knife somewhere on his person.
He took a few steps towards me and pulled something out of his pocket. It was a small box, beautiful and wrapped, a thin silver ribbon tied in a perfect knot on top.
“Happy apartment,” Anthony said. He leaned over and kissed me briefly on the cheek. “Don’t worry, I didn’t pick it out.”
“That’s so…almost thoughtful,” I said. I accepted the box, my heartbeat speeding up a little bit. As I looked around the room, I could see Meg’s eyes fixated on the box. She caught my gaze as I gave her a crazed look. She raised her shoulders, and I knew we were thinking the same thing.
This better not be a ring. We hadn’t even hooked up yet!
Of course it won’t be a ring. I popped the box open before my thoughts could become any wilder than they already were.
“Oh, these are beautiful,” I gushed. It was the tiniest pair of diamond studs I’d ever seen; elegant and classy, and most certainly real. They shone brightly, even in the dim light. “I love them!”
“Good.” Anthony nodded. He looked around.
“Can I get you a drink?” I forced my mouth to speak, the box still open in my hands.
“Please.”
“Let me put these on first, okay? If you need something fast – wine’s in the kitchen. I have a bottle of Jack tucked away in my sleeping bag for special occasions if that suits your fancy.”
“Where’s your sleeping bag?”
Is it just me or did his eyes just twinkle with a little bit of mischief?
“Uh, it’s…rolled up…and not usable.” I shrugged. “At least not currently.”
“Shame.”
“It might be usable later.” What the heck? I flushed with embarrassment. Now I wasn’t only going along with the flirting, I was initiating it.
Lacey – 1, Common Sense – 0. I wasn’t exactly sure which I wanted to win of the two.
Anthony pulled me closer using the sleeve of my dress as a leash of sorts. “Keep me posted on that.” He took his time glancing in the vicinity of my neckline, a brand new red number I hadn’t yet worn. “I like this dress on you.”
“Th-thanks.” The doorbell rang again, and I hustled off to let even more people in.
This time, the only person on the other side of the door was Clay. He looked furious initially, then curious when his gaze landed on the box in my hand.
“Earrings,” I said in explanation.
“Hrmph.” He was back to angry.
“Wine’s in the kitchen, Jack’s in my sleeping bag. I’m sorry about everything, but we’ll talk later. Thanks for coming.” I gave him a small peck on the cheek, and as I pulled away, I gave the sl
ightest nod backwards at Mister Kim. Clay ignored me, already stomping towards the kitchen.
I took the moment of quiet to scoot into the bathroom and insert the tiny diamonds into my ears. They were perfect. Small enough to not draw attention or questions and, honestly, too small to make me feel bad or confused about Anthony’s intentions. Still, they were beautiful, shiny, and feminine.
When I came out, I was pleasantly surprised. The party was in full swing and a very light buzz seemed to be descending on the crowd. People chatted with one another; Mister Kim was wrapped up in a conversation with one of the movers, Meg and a few of the other moving guys guffawed loudly over some (probably inappropriate) story, and Miss Youn was actually listening to Ira. She seemed to be warming to the company, even loosening up a bit. Only Clay was disengaged from the group, sulking in the corner with his fist gripping the neck of a bottle of wine.
I’d done it! I’d thrown a successful party. Now I just needed to cheer my favorite cousin back up. I headed towards him, taking a quick detour into my bedroom to snatch a tumbler of Jack as a peace offering. I noted that Anthony must have already helped himself, due to the massively depleted bottle.
Determined to apologize and set things straight with Clay, I fought through the crowd towards his corner. As soon as I reached him, the doorbell rang. I couldn’t think of who it would be. Nobody else had RSVP’d.
Except…oh, no. My hand froze on Clay’s arm as I realized the one person who had an outstanding invitation.
Blake – and his potential plus one.
“Come here,” I hissed.
“The door,” Clay said miserably.
Anthony took one glance in my direction, saw my panicked eyes, and thankfully put together the gist of what was happening. He took a step towards the door and gave a nearly imperceptible nod towards the back of the apartment. I ducked with Clay into the kitchen just as Anthony opened the front door with caution.
“Hurry,” I said to Clay. “You need to come with me. I’ll explain.”
I peeked out from the kitchen and waited to see…
And there she was – the purple-lipped masseuse. Blake had shown up after all, with Laura in tow.
We needed to move, stat. I grabbed Clay’s hand and together we scurried across the hall into my bedroom. The space was loaded with boxes and supplies, along with every last item that didn’t fit into the hallway closet. A tea kettle clattered to the floor as Clay tried to turn around to face me, and I knocked over a box of books as I took a step backwards.
“Hey, that tea kettle is mine,” Clay said.
“No, it’s actually mine,” I clarified. “You just adopted it as yours when I moved in.”
“Whatever.” Clay gave me a disbelieving expression before he glanced around at my new bedroom, and I became keenly aware of the cramped space. He drew his eyes away from the bed and back towards me. “What am I doing in here?”
“I need you to stay in here for…the rest of the party.” I nodded. “Sorry.”
“Excuse me? Why did you invite me then?” Clay crossed his arms.
I cringed a bit. “I forgot – well, there’s a little shock out in the living room right now.”
“What sort of a shock?” Clay tightened his arms around his body. “Are we talking about a running-low-on-snacks shock, or a murderer-on-the-loose shock?”
“A masseuse on the loose?” I shrugged and tried to make my voice even. “Laura, your masseuse from yesterday, is out there.”
Clay made a disgruntled noise in his throat as he attempted to pace. He made zero progress, due to the maze of boxes. “What were you thinking, Lacey?”
“I invited Blake over before I knew that his girlfriend would be your masseuse. By the time I saw her on screen, it was too late. The invite had already been sent. I promise you, Clay, it wasn’t on purpose.” I paused. “Look, I’m really sorry for everything that happened. You’ve been really great, and…well, I owe you. Thanks, Clay. It means a lot.”
Clay took deep breaths, looking like a bull about to charge.
“I told you I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll make it up to you. But for now, it would be bad if she recognized you. And no offense, but you lit a fire in the massage room. You’re a memorable guy. I just don’t want all of the work you and I have done so far to be for naught.”
“Naught?” Clay looked down at me. “Since when have you started expanding your vocabulary?”
“Please,” I said, ignoring the jab. I knew he was just upset. “Think of it this way – I’m fairly certain that I have one of your computers in here. Somewhere. You can play games and have a drink or two. It’s nothing you wouldn’t be doing at home anyway, right?”
Clay narrowed his eyes. “I want the Blue Label stuff.”
“I don’t have any…I only have the regular stuff.” I looked away.
“The secret stash. Give it.”
“What? I just told you, I only have the regular—”
“I gave you my offer.”
“Fine.” I dug around for my box of underwear, pulled out the emergency reserve of Johnny Walker Blue, and handed it over. “It’s yours. I’ll bring you some cake in about twenty minutes. Computer’s somewhere next to that plunger over there.”
“You’re playing this dangerously,” Clay warned as he got to his knees and army crawled through a small hole in the dune of boxes, towards the computer. “Things could get bad if people start talking, primarily Mister Kim and Laura…if they recognize each other.”
“That’s what I need to find out,” I said to Clay. “Maybe it’s actually lucky that she showed up. We didn’t get enough evidence from the video yesterday, so I need to see if he recognizes her. If he does, that means he works directly with the girls, which could mean that he isn’t very high up in the organization. We’re not sure if Laura does anything even close to wrong, but if she’s involved with the prostitution ring in any way, maybe Kim will recognize her.”
Clay simply shook his head. “Just warn me before anything happens. I’m not getting caught next to a plunger when they set your apartment on fire.”
I gave a long, loud sigh and escaped back to the party.
“Blake…uh, hi,” I said. I had barely managed to close the bedroom door behind me before he appeared in the hallway.
“Hey,” he said. “Nice new digs. I like it – lots of space, lots of privacy.”
I looked into his eyes to see if there was an undertone to his comments. I thought there might have been for a second, but his eyes flashed and it was gone.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m pretty happy with it. Is Laura here?”
“She’s in the bathroom.” Blake shifted a little uncomfortably. “I appreciate you extending the invite. I…that was adult of you.”
“No problem.” I smiled. “I’m trying. So, are you two a…thing?”
Blake gave a small, pained smile. “I’m assuming from your messages yesterday that we’re done. So, I thought I’d give it a go with Laura.”
I swallowed hard, but nodded. “Congratulations. I’m, uh, I’m happy for you.”
Blake looked around. “New apartment, fresh start?”
I shrugged. “Guess you could say that.”
“Well, thanks for the invite. Laura – oh, here she is.” Blake reached for Laura as she emerged from the bathroom. “Lacey was just asking about you.”
“Thanks for the invite,” Laura said. Her lips were just as plum colored as they were at the spa.
“No problem.” I forced myself to shake her hand. I thought I’d let Blake know about her gig at the spa once the assignment was complete, but now that he and I were only friends, meddling didn’t seem like such a good idea. I didn’t want to pull a Nora and play matchmaker. Or reverse matchmaker. Relationship-breaker? “I’m glad you could make it.” At least that part wasn’t a lie. She could turn out to be a very valuable resource.
There was an awkward silence as the three of us stood in the hallway.
“Have you met everyone?
” I asked. “Let me introduce you.”
I led Laura into the living room, followed closely by Blake. We’d barely stepped foot past the couch when Ira came up to me, slipping his arm over my shoulders.
“There you are, Lace,” he said, using a nickname I hadn’t invited him to use. “Who’s your friend?”
“This is Laura,” I said. “She’s Blake’s girlfriend.”
Laura extended her hand and shook Ira’s, smiling wildly. She looked a lot friendlier now that she didn’t seem to see me as a threat. I subtly tried to shrug Ira’s arm off, but he didn’t budge. Instead, I decided to go with it. Maybe I could just let Laura think I was dating someone else in order to get her to loosen up a bit more.
I felt a gaze boring into my forehead from across the room. Anthony’s stare seared through the air as Ira’s arm pulled me closer to his side. The yogi gave my cheek a little peck, oblivious to Anthony’s murderous glare. However, I wasn’t sure if the murderous part was due to Ira’s arm around me, or Ira in general, particularly after the whole “forced yoga” experiment at the house.
I flicked my eyes back to Laura and Ira, who’d started an utterly boring conversation about breathing calmly. I made an effort to listen politely as they discussed the pros and cons of all sorts of different ways to inhale. I knew only one method of sucking in oxygen, and it’d been working pretty well for me over the last almost thirty years. I didn’t feel the need to fix something that wasn’t broken.
A breathy voice in my ear whispered, “He looks at you kinda like how you look at tiramisu.” I turned to find Blake standing between me and Laura. I thought for a moment that he was talking about Ira. Then, I caught him sneaking glances across the room at Anthony. I stepped away from the breathing discussion group, crossing my arms as I turned to Blake.
“Does he have something to do with your family?” Blake guessed.
“Kind of,” I admitted, looking down at my feet. “What’s it to you, anyway?”
Blake rolled his eyes. “I think I’m gonna grab a drink.”
