by Velvet
“All of a sudden, you do a one-eighty, acting like you can’t keep your hands off of me, when not too long ago, I couldn’t get you to touch me. Don’t get me wrong, I love the new you, but I want—no—I need to know exactly what made you change.”
“Naomi, why are you getting yourself all worked up? I’ve cut back on my hours, and I’m spending more time at home. What more do you want?” Jacob asked, getting agitated. It was just like a woman to never be satisfied. When he was working long hours, she was complaining, and now that he was home, she wasn’t satisfied either.
“I want the truth. At first I thought it was work that was keeping you away, but lately my intuition has been telling me you’re seeing someone, or should I say you were seeing someone. Since you have all of this free time, I’m guessing that your affair, or whatever it was, is over.”
“Naomi, please stop with these irrational accusations. Are you hormonal this week?” he asked, trying to make light of her statement.
“No. I don’t have my period, if that’s what you mean!” She sounded pissed. “Anyway, I see I’m not going to get a straight answer out of you. I’m going to drop this for now, but like I told you before, I’m not stupid. If your work schedule and out-of-town trips suddenly increase again, then I’ll know that your lover is back on the scene,” she spat out, and hung up.
Jacob sat there dumbfounded. He knew it was coming, but he didn’t think that Naomi’s wrath would be this harsh. He was so glad that he had come to his senses before his wife had actual proof of his infidelities. He tried to put their conversation out of his head and went back to work. Twenty minutes later, his secretary buzzed again.
“Excuse me, Mr. Reed, there’s a Mr. Davis on line one.”
“From?” he inquired.
“I’m sorry, but he wouldn’t say.”
“He wouldn’t say?” Jacob was a bit put off. Charlotte was usually extremely efficient, getting the necessary information from random callers. “Well, tell this Mr. Davis, whoever he is, that I’m in a meeting, and take a message,” he instructed and disconnected the line.
Jacob ran out for a quick lunch. Twenty minutes later he was back behind his desk, plowing through a mountain of work, when Charlotte buzzed again.
“Yes, Charlotte?” he asked, annoyed. He was right in the middle of finalizing the annual projections for FACEZ and didn’t want to be disturbed.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you,” she said timidly, picking up on his tone, “but Mr. Davis is calling again.”
“Well, tell him if he can’t disclose the nature of his business, then he can stop calling, because I don’t have time to entertain random callers,” Jacob said, ready to hang up.
“Wait a minute,” she raised her voice an octave, “he said to tell you ‘Remember Cinnamon.’ ”
At the mention of the redheaded vixen, Jacob’s heart skipped a few beats and his blood pressure shot up. He unloosened the knot in his tie, cleared his throat, and said, “Uh, send his call through.”
“Mr. Reed. Davis here,” said a gruff voice.
Jacob deepened his pitch and asked, “What can I do for you, Mr. Davis?”
“Remember Cinnamon?”
“Excuse me.”
“Cinnamon. London. A romp in the sack,” he said in brief, fragmented sentences.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jacob lied. As far as he was concerned, that episode was a onetime occurrence that he chose not to revisit, especially with a stranger. “What company did you say you’re with?”
“I didn’t,” was his glib response. “But since you asked, I’m a private investigator, looking into the disappearance of Cinnamon.”
“And what makes you think I know the whereabouts of this China person?”
“Cinnamon. Her name is Cinnamon, and you were one of her last clients. She’s the most requested girl at Let Us Entertain You, and frankly, without her in rotation, sales have dipped. So you can see why the service is in a hurry to track her down,” he said, disclosing more information than Jacob cared to know.
“Look, mister, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now if you don’t mind, I’m late for an important meeting,” Jacob said, trying to end this unpleasant conversation.
“Actually I do mind. If you could just answer a few questions, it would be helpful. Like did she say anything about taking off for a while?” he asked, ignoring Jacob’s comment.
“I told you I don’t know any Cinnabun. Now I really have to go. Good-bye.” Jacob slammed down the receiver before the PI had a chance to ask any more questions.
His heart was racing so fast that he thought he would go into cardiac arrest any second. Jacob leaned back in his chair and wiped the beads of perspiration from his forehead. How the hell did he find me? After all, I paid her in cash, he thought.
Thinking that he didn’t leave a paper trail, Jacob felt vindicated and breathed a welcome sigh of relief, which was short-lived. Suddenly that same breath caught in his throat, choking him. “Oh, shit!” He nearly flipped out of his chair as he thought about the personal information that he gave the receptionist that had led directly to his door. Not only did he give the escort service his credit card number, he also gave them his driver’s license number, which was a surefire tracking device.
“Well, it’s not like I had anything to do with her disappearance,” Jacob reasoned. “She probably ran off with one of her johns, popping Ecstasy pills.”
He really didn’t care where she was, what she was doing, or whom she was doing it with; his only concern was steering clear of that nosy investigator. He prayed his dumb role was convincing, and had thrown the detective off the trail. “She’s a hooker with a gazillion johns. I’m sure he’ll be too busy investigating her many clients to come knocking on my door.”
Jacob couldn’t help but think about the conversation with his wife. If Naomi ever finds out about this, my ass is toast!
34
NAOMI WAS still fuming from her conversation with Jacob. She shouldn’t have been so worked up, since the end result—more sex, and him spending time at home—was exactly what she wanted, but she felt like she was getting her husband’s attention by default. She may not have found any evidence of him having an affair when she combed through his pockets, but that didn’t prove a thing. People who cheated were adept at hiding the evidence. I’ll just have to keep a close eye on him, she thought.
Though Naomi was at her volunteer job, she took the time to call Kennedy. Rio was in his office on a conference call, so she had used the opportunity to confront Jacob. She had planned to call him and talk about the seed money for her business, but the more she thought about his complete shift in attitude, the more suspicious she became, until she couldn’t control her anger any longer. Now that she had calmed down, it was time to find out the status of Kennedy’s situation with Nigel.
“Hey, girl, what’s up?” she asked the moment Kennedy picked up.
“Hey,” she said, sounding depressed.
“Have you talked to your guy yet?”
“No. He still hasn’t returned any of my calls.”
“Did you call him at work?”
“Yeah, and somebody named Henry something answered the phone in the lab. He said Nigel wasn’t available, and he really didn’t offer up any other information. I called his cell phone several times after that, but his phone goes directly to voice mail. I don’t know if he’s out of town or what. This is so unlike Nigel, not to call me,” she said sadly.
“Don’t sound so sad, Ken, I’m sure he’s just busy with work,” Naomi said, trying to console her.
“Thanks, girl.”
“Kennedy, I hate to cut our conversation short. I’ve been on the phone all morning, and I need to finish cataloging these slides before the end of the day.”
“Okay, no problem. Thanks for lending your ear. I’ll talk to you later.”
Naomi hung up and delved into work. She played catch-up for the next few hours, and didn’t take the time to eat o
r drink anything. Her stomach began to growl, signaling lunchtime. She put the slides aside, got up, and knocked on Rio’s closed door.
“Come in,” he yelled from within.
She eased the door open. “You wanna get something to eat? I’m starving.” She rubbed her belly for emphasis.
“I’ve been on the phone all morning, and I’m starving like Marvin too. You want to go down to Kaminz?”
Chef Kaminsky Thomas had recently opened a café on the ground level of the museum that overlooked the elaborate Sculpture Garden. The menu was an abbreviated version of his ultraswank Tribeca location. “Sounds good to me.”
“Let me check my messages before we leave. I’m expecting an important call, and a few came through when I was on the phone.” He picked up the receiver and dialed the code to his voice mail. “It won’t take long.”
Naomi walked back to her desk. Five minutes later, Rio came bouncing out of his office, all smiles.
Standing up and looking into his giddy face, Naomi asked, “What are you so happy about?”
“I just secured the last piece for the Jacob Lawrence exhibit. The collector is out of the country on business, but called and left a message that he’s going to sell us his painting. Come on”—he draped his arm through hers—“I’ll tell you all about it over lunch.”
The elevator was taking forever, so they took the winding white marble staircase instead. Showing no signs of the former dank and dreary Peace Corps armory, the museum had been gutted and renovated into a six-story modern marvel, with airy skylights and glass-block walls. As they made their way across the main gallery, Rio stopped.
“This is where the Lawrence exhibit will be hung,” he said, waving his arms toward the blank walls that were being primed with a fresh coat of museum-issue stark white paint.
“It’s going to be an awesome show.”
“Yes, it is,” he said, picking up the pace.
The aroma from the café greeted them long before they graced the threshold. Walking over to the cafeteria-style counter, they salivated at the gourmet entrées. Naomi selected a poached salmon and dill wrap, and Rio chose a blue cheese burger with sweet potato chips. After paying for their meals, they settled at one of the white ceramic tables.
Taking a huge bite out of his burger, Rio patted the edges of his mouth with a napkin and said, “Like I was saying upstairs, after months of negotiation, I will finally purchase the final painting that’ll complete the Lawrence exhibit.”
Naomi had cataloged the slides for the show a few weeks ago, and didn’t notice any missing pieces. “I thought the series was complete,” Naomi said, savoring the delicious salmon wrap.
“Nearly complete,” he said, munching on an auburn-colored chip. “There were two pieces held by a private collector. He sold the museum the first piece, but was reluctant to let go of the last piece, but after negotiating for months I finally convinced him to sell.” Taking a final bite out of his burger, Rio continued. “Once we finish with lunch, I’ll need for you to complete the paperwork, so we can have the artwork transported from his apartment to the museum once he gets back in the country.”
“No problem.”
They devoured their meals like pigs pulling up to the trough, and headed back up to the office. Naomi could hear the phones ringing off the hook as they walked down the hallway. Once inside, she proceeded to check the voice mail, while Rio retreated into his office.
“Hey, babe, just called to say that I love you.” That was Jacob sounding like a sappy greeting card. He’s probably feeling guilty from whatever he’s done, she thought.
“Hello, my name is Eleanor Sharpio, and I’m calling to inquire about docent positions at the museum. I can be reached at 212-555-6330. Thank you.”
Naomi couldn’t count the number of calls she received from lonely trophy wives tired of spending their days in and out of the designer boutiques along Madison Avenue, longing for a more meaningful pastime. She wrote the woman’s name and number on a pad, erased the message, and went on to the next.
“Naomi, it’s Kennedy. Call me as soon as you get this message.” Click.
Before Naomi could call her back, Rio came out of his office with a manila folder tucked under his arm.
“Here’s the file on the Lawrence acquisition. When you get a chance, can you go over the paperwork and make sure I’ve crossed all the I’s and dotted all the T’s?” He laughed. “ ’Cause you know what a scatterbrain I can be sometimes.”
Laughing along with him, she took the folder out of his hand and said, “Sure.” He was absolutely right; most weeks Rio was a brilliant curator, orchestrating exhibits with his eyes closed. But then there were weeks when he could barely orchestrate his way out of his office. Naomi attributed those days to the breakup with his beau of the week. Rio changed boyfriends like some people changed dry cleaners—often.
She put the folder on her desk unopened and returned Kennedy’s call.
“Hello?” Kennedy answered, frantically picking up on the first ring.
“Hey, Ken, what’s up? Did you hear from Nigel?”
“No, that’s why I’ve decided to go over to FACEZ and have a little chat with Mira,” she blurted into the receiver.
“Why are going to do that? I thought we discussed the implications of falsely accusing Nigel.”
“I’m not going to accuse him of anything. I’m just going to feel her out and see if she knows anything.”
“Anything, like what?”
“Like his whereabouts. Not knowing where Nigel is, is driving me crazy. Maybe Mira found out about the check, and he skipped town with the money before being thrown in jail.”
“Don’t be silly, Kennedy. I never met the man, but I’m sure he isn’t a criminal. You do realize that what you’re accusing him of—espionage—is criminal?” Naomi asked, trying to bring her friend back to reality.
Kennedy hesitated a moment, letting Naomi’s words sink in.
Naomi took Kennedy’s silence to continue to try to talk some sense into her friend. “Look, you’re really being irrational. You don’t even know Mira that well, so why do you have a vested interest in her company?” Naomi said, asking the million-dollar question.
“It’s not that I care what goes on over at FACEZ, it’s just that if Nigel is selling company secrets, I need to know. Because if that is the case, then he’s not someone I want to be involved with. If he can lie and cheat to his boss, then there’s no telling what kind of lies he’ll try to feed me.”
“Kennedy, do you honestly think that Nigel would do something like that? I mean, think about it. You’ve been dating him for a few months, and if he was involved in a slimy deal like spying and selling what he knows, then I think your instincts would have detected a glitch in his personality. Don’t you?”
Kennedy thought for a second, and said, “Maybe you’re right.”
“Okay, then it’s settled. You’re going to steer clear of FACEZ. Right?” Naomi asked, still trying to convince Kennedy not to make a fool of herself.
“I hear what you’re saying, but I have to find out for myself. I’ll call you back once I talk to Mira,” she said, and hung up before Naomi could plead more of Nigel’s case.
“Oh, well,” Naomi sighed, and prayed that Kennedy’s visit wouldn’t backfire in her face.
Naomi hung up the phone and went back to work. The rest of the afternoon was a blur as she cataloged slides for a modular installation scheduled for the mini gallery adjacent to the main gallery. “Oops, I forgot to schedule a pickup for the Lawrence piece,” Naomi said, glancing at the file that had gotten buried underneath the slides. She opened the folder, thumbed through the invoices and attached notes; everything seemed to be in order. Just as she was about to close the folder and call down to shipping and receiving, a copy of a brief handwritten note caught her eye. She read it, and gasped.
“Oh, shit!” Naomi said, and quickly dialed Kennedy’s number as she reread the note. But there was no answer. “I gotta get to Kenne
dy before she confronts Mira!”
35
MIRA AND Tyler had been inseparable since the night of the book club meeting. They had fucked every day since the meeting. True to form, Mira had insisted that Tyler abandon work and spend all her time in bed. Tyler readily agreed, but said that she had to complete one last assignment, and then she would be free. Tyler went back to the house to finish the sketches, and then pack so that she could head back over to Mira’s.
Though it was a workday, Mira didn’t feel much like working. She had lust on her mind, and wanted to munch and be munched. She rarely took an entire day off, but she felt entitled. After all, she was the boss. Mira called her assistant and instructed her to cancel all meetings, but to forward any important calls to her home phone.
While Mira waited for Tyler to return, she showered and shaved her fuzzy triangle. She normally got Brazilian waxes in the comfort of her home, but her regular technician was on vacation, and she didn’t want a stranger in the crack of her ass—unless they were down there eating her out.
Instead of wearing clothes, she wore a layer of lavender-scented body butter. She perched herself on the bed and called Tyler. “Hey there, what’s taking you so long? I’m horny, and can hardly wait for you to get back.”
“I can’t wait to get back either. I’m almost finished with my work, and should be there in a few hours.”
“Well, draw faster. I’m lying here in the buff, waiting for you to eat my muff.”
Tyler chuckled at her rhyme. “I didn’t know you were a poet.”
“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me,” Mira said slyly. “And as soon as you get over here, I’m going to show you a few.”
“Okay, okay. Now you’ve got me all hot and bothered. Let me get off the phone. The faster I get finished, the faster I can be at your front door.” And with that, Tyler hung up.
Mira went into the kitchen and popped a bottle of Dom. She wanted to jump-start the party, so that by the time Tyler arrived she’d have a nice buzz.
