Generation of Liars

by Marks, Camilla

  The car pulled up to the restaurant where I had arranged reservations. The acclaimed eatery was housed in a small building that looked like a jewel box. We piled onto the sidewalk and entered through the elegant turnstile doors that led inside.

  From the moment we entered through the door, the champagne from the car began making me talk too loud. “I’ll have the fish,” I proclaimed to a passing penguin-suited waiter.

  “The maître d’ hasn’t even sat us yet,” Rabbit chided.

  Cleopatra shot me a demeaning look. “Alice, dear,” she let my name seethe on her tongue, “I don’t think you’re meant to order until you have a table and a menu in front of you.”

  “Sorry.” I let a small burp escape. My legs wobbled and I crashed backwards into a stack of menus, scattering them like a grenade had just gone off.

  Judging by the embarrassment on Motley and Rabbits’ faces when I got back on my feet, I knew I was doing a good job. The drunkenness was pure theatrics. It was the only way Motley would have his guard down. As far as he knew, stupid drunk little Alice could never be planning to tie him up and grab the dynamite stick. I still wasn’t sure how I was going to do it, but tonight was the night.

  Motley requested a table in the back of the restaurant and slipped the maître d’ a wad of cash as an apology once we were seated. My lips twisted into a grin, knowing that my plan was working. I shot up from the table. “Excuse me, I have to use the little girl’s room.” I wobbled to the bathroom, taking the wrong turn more than once in order to bump into crowded tables of elite diners.

  Once inside the bathroom, I rested my purse on the counter and pulled out a sewing needle and a Zippo lighter I had thrown in there before leaving my apartment. I hit the flint on the lighter and submerged the tip of the needle into the flame for thirty seconds. I peered into the mirror, at the crowns of silky blond hair erupting from my scalp, and the seductively painted eyes, and I stuck my tongue out. I snapped my eyes shut and rapidly plunged the needle into the thick, pink flesh.

  I heard the bathroom door crunch open behind me, and I quickly let the needle fall into the drain.

  I spun around and guardedly bumped my ass against the sink. I looked up and saw Cleopatra standing with each of her hands set on the place where her orbed hips met her succinct waist. A nasty sneer was on her lips. “What are you doing in here?” Her dainty nose contracted. “It smells like smoke in here. Were you smoking in here? Honestly, Alice, get some class.” My tongue, which was burning and expanding inside my hot mouth, was too swollen for me to form a reply. “Let’s go,” she said authoritatively. She propped the door open with the toe of her high heel shoe. I followed Cleopatra back to the table. My tongue had already begun the metamorphosis of turning to a heavy, dead organ inside my mouth.

  “Alice, you’re being quiet. Are you sobering up?” Motley asked, once our cocktails arrived.

  “I’m not dunk.” The clumsy words spun off my numbed tongue.

  “Drunk, Alice. You’re not drunk.”

  “Duh, that’s what I just sad.”

  “Said, Alice, said.”

  “Look at her,” Cleopatra remarked. “She’s so intoxicated she can’t even pronounce her words correctly.”

  I fought back the triumphant smile that was forming on my lips, pleased that my plan was working. The waiter approached the table and set down our plates. He put a tremendous, juicy rack of ribs in front of Motley. Cleopatra picked at a skeletal monkfish with a side of carrot crinkles splayed out like a lotus flower. Rabbit had ordered a hamburger and, calculating his level of pleasure based on how few words he said as he ate it, I guessed that he enjoyed it. I shot a glance at Rabbit, feeling envious that he had the luxury of cashing out early and being home free, feeling envious that he wasn’t marked for extinction like I knew I was. I wondered if he knew about Motley’s plan, if it bothered him at all to sail me down the river.

  The meal went by slowly until Motley drained his bourbon and set down his linen napkin, which was dotted with barbeque-stained kiss marks. “On account of Alice being a sloppy mess, I think we should skip dessert and call it a night.”

  “I completely agree,” Cleopatra said, looking up from reapplying red lipstick in her compact mirror. Rabbit, whose eyes were hooded under heavy, tired lids, could only nod in agreement. Motley told us he would handle the check and instructed Rabbit to get me back into the car.

  Rabbit got the keys from the valet and cornered me in the backseat. “What’s the deal, Alice?” I pretended to be passed out. “Alice, you’re not drunk. Cut the crap.”

  “How did you know?” I let my face spring back to a sober pose.

  “Because you pulled this same exact stunt in Sydney on that mob boss last spring when you wanted him to think you were drunk so you could steal his hard drive. Let me guess, you sterilized a sewing needle with your lighter and pricked your tongue to fake a lisp again too?”

  “Why the hell did you let me go through dinner like this without calling me out?”

  “Because I figured if you were putting this much effort in your little act, you had a reason. You’re cooking up some scheme. What is it?”

  I dug my teeth into my lips, wondering if I could trust Rabbit. His track record was garbage. Ratting on my face smooch with Pressley and then going off to Amsterdam with Motley and leaving me behind. It had a teacher’s pet kind of vibe and teacher’s pet was always a dirty snitch. “I don’t think I can trust you.”

  “Alice, I know we aren’t like friends or anything,” he said, awkwardly, struggling not to choke on the syrupy sentimentality of admitting we might be allies. “But we’ve been in some pretty tough situations together. If you need help, well, I want to help you.”

  Sure, I had been faking my drunkenness, but it’s not like I had been sipping ginger ale in there, so there was a little buzz and it loosened my tonsils. I opened my lips, to tell him, subtly and discretely, the plan Motley had been carrying out. But when I spoke, I blurted it all out. “Motley is selling the dynamite stick to the U.S. government in exchange for immunity. Then, he’s going to off me.”

  “Off you?”

  “As in, kill me.”

  “Alice, you can’t be serious.” I could tell Rabbit really didn’t know about Motley’s plan. People can’t fake turning that shade of white.

  “I’m dead serious, Rabbit.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I heard him on the phone. He was talking to someone at the U.S. State Department and he was brokering a deal for immunity.”

  “Why would Motley collaborate with the State Department?”

  “Because if he turns in the dynamite stick he won’t be wanted anymore. He’ll be a State Department hero, and free to live as he chooses without prison breathing down his neck. The government has offered immunity for anyone who coughs up the dynamite stick. That reporter from Zipped, Skip Hask, told me all about it. Motley had us sabotage the servers at Cibix so that he could be the one to make the deal, and not them.”

  The last vestiges of color drained from Rabbit’s face and his eyelids began to beat rapidly. “You mean if Motley succeeds, I’m going to have to go back to being Lenny Rabitz?”

  “Geez, Rabbit, did I not just tell you that I was going to be killed? And all you care about is covering your own ass?”

  “I’m sorry, Alice, you’re right. This sucks. We can’t let him do this. I don’t want to be Lenny again. Lenny is a loser. Lenny’s parents hate him. Lenny doesn’t get chicks. Oh, and I don’t want you to be killed, either.”

  “What are we going to do to stop this?” I asked, relieved to finally have someone to collaborate with.

  “Isn’t it obvious? We take the dynamite stick away from Motley.” Rabbit’s vigor took me off guard.

  “That’s what I was working towards. The whole drunk-sorority-girl act is to get Motley’s guard down. Then strike. Maybe seduce him. Maybe kill him. I was just going to play it by ear.”

  Rabbit looked out the car window. “Here t
hey come back towards the car. We’ve got to act cool.”

  “Just follow my lead.” I slumped onto the seat and gurgled so that a rivulet of spit trickled out the corners of my mouth and basted my chin.

  Motley slid into the driver’s seat and Cleopatra climbed in the front seat next to him. “Is she sobering up at all?” he wanted to know.

  “She’s still pretty out there,” replied Rabbit. “I wouldn’t trust dumping her back at her place. Better take her back to your house so we can take turns keeping an eye on her.” Motley switched on classical music and eased into traffic bound for the 18th arrondissement. I knew he would probably dump me off and let traffic roll over me if Rabbit wasn’t there.

  Once the car was parked in the garage, Rabbit pretended to drag me out. “I will put her down for the night and keep an eye on her.”

  “You do that,” Motley replied. He and Cleopatra disappeared inside the house with their arms twisted into each other’s.

  Chapter Twenty-nine: In the Water

  RABBIT LAID ME down on Motley’s giant four-post king-size bed. He kneeled beside me on the bed and whispered to me, “The dynamite stick is in his office.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I saw him stash it inside the top drawer yesterday, right after he wrote me the check, before I came into the kitchen and saw you on the computer.”

  “How do we get in there and get the disk without him noticing?”

  “Usually he goes into his office and has a cigar after getting home for the night. I need you to distract him and get him out of the office. I can take care of the disk.”

  Motley’s bedroom door swung open.

  Cleopatra swayed in with her back to us. “I’m just going to draw a bath, Motley dear.” She turned into the room and her eyes landed on the sight of Rabbit and I tangled on the bed. She shot us an ornery look and breezed past us and closed herself into the master bathroom connected to the master suite. We could hear the bathtub’s faucet roaring like a waterfall on the other side.

  “I hate her,” I said. I lit a cigarette. My bare legs were crossed over Motley’s golden-embroidered bedspread.

  I could see sweat piling on the edge of Rabbit’s hairline. “Are you sure we can’t put this off for a better time?” he asked.

  “No!” I clawed the sheets. “Motley is leaving for America tomorrow. We have to do this now.”

  “I just don’t see how we can do this without getting caught.”

  “I have a plan to lure him out of his office,” I said. “All I need you to do is just go to his office and pretend you have to tell him something. But on your way out, you have to make sure you leave the door open a little. Okay?”

  “Leave the door open a little. Got it.”

  “It’s got to be wide enough for him to see somebody walking by the door from his seat behind the desk.”

  Rabbit sprang to his feet. “What should I say I have to tell him?”

  I don’t know,” I said, pulling my dress up over my head. “Just make something up, thank him for dinner. Oh, and could you toss me that robe by the door before you leave?”

  Rabbit tossed me Motley’s fluffy white robe, which had an elegant black M monogramed on the breast pocket. I sat on the bed, wrapped inside the robe with my skinny, pale legs crossed like birch limbs. I took a series of deep, focusing breaths like David Xad had taught me during our training three years earlier. I would need to be focused and prepare, just like David, who went as far as exiling himself in Rio to prepare for battle with an opponent. The biggest opponent of my life so far was sitting one floor below me and I needed to have my mind in the right place if I was going to pull this off and walk away alive.

  I slid off the bed and tiptoed to the hallway with my silver high heel shoes dangling from my fingers. I couldn’t leave them behind since my confession was hidden inside. This was the time for last wills and testaments.

  I slinked down the staircase, allowing the robe to drape from my shoulders and the belt to drag behind me like an alluring tail. I slowly sauntered by Motley’s office. The door was open a slice, just like I had instructed Rabbit to do, and when I cut my eyes to the side, I caught Motley watching me through the opening. Just when I had gotten past the door he called out, “Alice.”

  I trolled backwards. “Yes?”

  “What are you doing?”

  I presented myself in the doorway. “I was feeling much better. I thought I might go for a swim. Remember, you told me the other day when you invited me to stay here that I should take full advantage of the pool.”

  “I’m happy to see you’ve regained your sprightly nature, Alice. Drunk and sloppy doesn’t become you.”

  “I’ll be in the pool if you need me.” I said it like an invitation, backing up gracefully and rolling my shoulders into an arch to make the robe reveal a greater portion of my back. I padded down the hall and took in the view of the calm-watered turquoise pool. A stack of towels and guest swimsuits were neatly piled on the pool’s perimeter. I helped myself to a black swimsuit, dropping the robe to my ankles and sliding into the stretchy apparatus of the bikini. I placed my high heels down beside the rim of the pool. I entered the water waist deep and fanned my arms out around me to create a set of rings that rippled to the other end of the pool. The water was perfect; warm and still.

  The heavy pool-room door creaked open and I looked up just in time to see Motley cut a long shadow over the pool’s white cement outline.

  “The water is just right,” I enticed. “Why don’t you come in?”

  Chapter Thirty: Diamond Skin

  HIS EYES WERE skimming the length of the pool. “I’ll be right back, Alice. I’ll get my swimsuit.”

  That or a gun. I was prepared for either.

  When Motley came back, he was wearing black swim trunks and he was holding two fat cigars and a Zippo lighter. He squatted beside the pool and I swam to the ledge and put my elbows up on the rim and let him put a very pricey Romeo Y Julieta in my mouth and light it.

  “What about Cleopatra?” I asked.

  “She can wait.” Motley took a few puffs of his cigar and then he laid it down on the tile and dived into the water.

  “Here fishy, fishy,” I said, splashing around him. There was a feeling of tangible adrenaline in the air. I felt like if my skin touched Motley’s we would both spark off like electric eels.

  “Alice, I’m not entirely sure you have sobered up.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “You still don’t quite seem yourself.” He perked an eyebrow. “It’s like your mind is elsewhere, busy plotting something.”

  I took a lingering puff of the cigar and then placed it down on the damp cement. “Did Rabbit leave? Because I was plotting to have some time alone with you.”

  “Nothing nefarious, I hope.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I opened my arms up around me and floated onto my back. I did long, elegant strokes with my arms out like angel wings. But I was an avenging angel.

  Motley put his hand out in the water to stop me and pull me in towards him. “Are you sure, Alice?” He got close enough to lap the beads of water off my nose with his smoke-drenched tongue. “Because betrayal can be such a mood killer.”

  “And what mood is that?” I brushed up close to him and pressed my shoulders so that they aligned with his. Our lips brushed. Kissing him made my stomach turn. He grabbed my waist and his hands crept down around the band of my bikini bottoms. He reached up and grabbed my face. His eyes gazed into mine and I bit my lip. His eyes were bluer than the pool water. I tasted the chlorine dripping down my face and into my mouth. He pushed his lips to mine and gave me a kiss that sucked all the air out of me, then he pulled his lips away with my skull still in his hands and he pushed my head down as hard as he could and dunked me.

  The pressure of it felt like whiplash.

  I screamed underwater and kicked up bubbles.

  I clawed the skin on his abdomen and tried to fight my way
back up. I kicked him at the knees, but it only made him push down harder. The chlorine was stabbing my eyes and the pressure in my lungs was erupting. I struggled until my body went limp, just a floating rag doll beneath him. Was this it? Was I meant to die here, embalmed in chlorine?

  In my foggy, lack-of-oxygen state, I saw my mentor David Xad’s face down there in the water with me. My hair, like the leaves of a blond lotus flower, circled all around me as I concentrated on the breathing technique David Xad had taught me in the Java Sea three years earlier. He had set me adrift on a raft with a paper lantern an hour before a storm was to plow in. I had gone under the salty waves, cold and heavy against my body, and every time I was overtaken, I closed my eyes and seized my diaphragm to stop the water from entering my body. The warm chlorinated pool that surrounded me now took on the smell of the wild salt and stinging algae of the Java Sea as I recalled those breathing techniques.

  Motley loosened his grip on my neck and pushed my slack body away from him. I bobbed like driftwood.

  He turned around to reach for one of the cigars, smoldering like sacrificial incense on the rim of the pool, and took in a soothing inhale of smoke. I popped up out of the water and punched the back of his head forward so that his forehead bashed into the hard cement rim. The blood showed up immediately, polluting the water like spilled red ink. I rushed up out of the pool and scooped up my high heels and turned back to look at the scene. The reflection of Motley’s pale body fractured the surface of the water; he was motionless and the water’s shadows made him appear larger and more bloated than he was. He looked like a day-old corpse. But I wasn’t sure if he was dead. He would either drown right there with the cigar smoke still in his lungs or he would get up out of the pool and find me and kill me. I ran for the door. I caught a reflection of myself as I breezed by the doors; my lips were steel blue and my skin was as colorless as diamonds. I was shaking and dripping water all the way to Motley’s office. I locked the door shut behind me and did big, heaving breaths.