She reared back and started to laugh, a full-throated belly laugh. Then she abruptly stopped laughing and plunged the cherry into the mess of toppings, sinking her finger deep into the whipped cream until it was up to her knuckles. He could feel the cherry pressed against him, fruit to nuts.
I swear to God I am not enjoying this, he thought. The little guy might be having a ball down there, but I am definitely not.
She wiggled her finger and scraped it against him until the cherry was dislodged from her fingernail. She extracted her finger and left the cherry under the pile.
Sunny licked whipped cream from her finger. “Mmmmm,” she said.
“Now what?” he asked. His forehead was beaded with sweat.
“Now I’m going to bring someone in. Someone who has a great big sweet tooth.”
The beads turned into little streams, like droplets coursing down a windshield. “Who is this person?”
“You’ll see,” she said as she went out through the padded leather door. A moment later she returned with a strange-looking dog on a black leather leash. It had an odd face, no expression whatsoever, and it was staring right at Marvelli.
“This is Dragon. Say hello, Dragon.” The dog bared its teeth but didn’t make a sound. It held that expression like some kind of tribal devil mask. A chill ran down Marvelli’s arms from his shoulders to his fingertips.
“Now I’m going to ask you one more time,” Sunny said evenly. “And if you don’t give me a truthful answer, I will let Dragon go.”
“He doesn’t look very active,” Marvelli said.
Sunny scooped up a finger full of whipped cream and chocolate sauce and quickly smeared it on Dragon’s muzzle. The dog inhaled it with an ungodly snort, then started to whine urgently. The sound was supernatural, unlike anything Marvelli had ever heard coming out of a dog. Dragon raised his head and started sniffing madly. He got up on his back legs, straining at the leash. Sunny had to lean back like a water skier to keep Dragon off. Marvelli was afraid that if she tottered on her stiletto heels and lost her balance, Dragon would lunge and make it to the “banana split,” and Marvelli had a sinking feeling that Dragon wouldn’t stop with the toppings.
“Okay,” Sunny said, as she struggled with the dog. “Your last chance. Yes or no. Are you here to harm Arnie?”
The hellhound pawed at the air frantically. Spit was dripping from his teeth.
14
Loretta was in the passenger seat of Dorie’s vanilla-white Lexus coupe, waiting for a break in the conversation. “You know, Dorie,” she quickly said, “I was thinking. Maybe I should check into a hotel after all. I don’t want to impose on you and Barry any more than I already have.”
“Don’t be silly, Loretta. You’re not imposing.” Dorie was sitting behind the wheel. She’d just pulled into the short driveway of a big Victorian in the Haight-Asbury district, stopping inches from the garage door. She yanked the parking brake and looked over at Loretta. “Come on. I want to introduce you to Arnie.” She went to open her door, but Loretta grabbed her wrist.
“Hold on,” Loretta said. She was biting her bottom lip as she gazed up through the windshield at the garishly painted house.
“What’s wrong, Loretta? I thought you wanted to meet Arnie.” Dorie was distressed. She was all set to blame herself if Loretta wasn’t happy.
“I do want to meet Arnie. It’s just that”—Think fast, she told herself—“it’s just that I’m … shy.”
Dorie’s eyes doubled in size. “Shy? You?”
“Yes, me. I don’t want him to think I’m a groupie or anything. Do you know what I mean? Anyway, Arnie must be a busy guy. He’s got more important things to do than meet me.”
But in truth, that wasn’t the reason she’d changed her mind. She was afraid that if she made contact with Krupnick, she might run into Marvelli, and she didn’t want to face him now. What if he had decided to dump her for Vissa? If that was the case, Loretta didn’t want to hear any bullshit excuses from him, and she didn’t want any scenes. If it was over between them, then it was over. She didn’t want to break down and cry in front of him, and she didn’t want to hear his side of it. Forgiveness and understanding weren’t in her repertoire. Going off by herself and sulking with a half-gallon of ice cream while she plotted a couple of murders was more her style.
But that really wasn’t her style either. She could deal with being angry better than she could deal with being hurt. She could make a good show out of being furious, but being hurt meant that she was vulnerable, and Loretta Kovacs never wanted anyone to know that she could be vulnerable.
Fat girls aren’t allowed to cry, she thought. The little skinny minnies can cry and get away with it because they look cute crying. We just look pathetic. Fat girls have to be strong. Always.
“Loretta? Are you all right?” Dorie touched Loretta’s arm, and suddenly Loretta snapped out of it. She was so upset she’d fuzzed out for a minute.
Loretta cleared her throat. “I’m fine,” she said, but her throat was so tight it ached as if she had been crying her eyes out. She blinked back the mere possibility of tears and tipped her head back to catch her breath. “Dorie, I really don’t think we should be bothering Arnie—”
Dorie pointed at the front porch. “But he’s already here.”
The man Loretta had briefly seen at the plant was standing at the front door. He was wearing a mocha-colored collarless shirt, blue jeans, white socks, and no shoes. Loretta stared at his face—the smarmy smile, the broad nose, the peaked eyebrows—and compared it to the mug shots she’d seen of Ira Krupnick. It was definitely him, she decided, but she didn’t care. He wasn’t her case. Let Vissa and Marvelli worry about it, she thought.
He waved and curled his finger, signaling for them to come in.
“Come on,” Dorie said enthusiastically. “You’re gonna love this house. You won’t believe what he’s done with it.”
Loretta sighed. She didn’t see any way out of this. “Okay, but let’s not stay too long.”
But Dorie was already out of the car. She ran up onto the porch and gave Krupnick a big hug. But even as he embraced her, his eyes were on Loretta, which made her a little uneasy. Why was he staring at her like that? she wondered.
As she mounted the steps, Krupnick’s smile broadened, showing his teeth. “Hello,” he said over Dorie’s shoulder. “Nice of you to come.”
Not really, Loretta thought glumly.
“Come in, come in,” Krupnick said. “It’s Loretta, right?” He extended his hand to her even though Dorie was still hanging on to his neck. He had to get to know her before she came into the house. Sunny had told him that she shouldn’t enter as a stranger.
Loretta took his hand—not exactly warmly—but her touch startled him. Soft electricity, he thought. She had a lot of chi, powerful chi. Suddenly he changed his mind about her. There was a lot more to this Loretta than he’d thought. She was interesting as well as dangerous.
“I told Dorie I really didn’t want to impose on you,” Loretta said.
Krupnick smiled. “What would life be without impositions? Boring, right?”
“Are you sure we’re not bothering you?”
“Not at all,” he said. The lady doth protest too much, he thought. What’s she hiding? “Come on in,” he said.
Dorie led the way in, heading upstairs to the living room. Loretta followed her, and Krupnick brought up the rear. He kept his eye on her, watching her face when she wasn’t looking. When they reached the top of the stairs, Loretta scanned the room and zoomed in on the large oil painting, a bold full-frontal nude. Loretta stared at it, studying it frankly. Krupnick looked for signs of disapproval, shock, or apprehension, but her expression remained neutral—neutral but curious. Most people looked away from that picture and pretended it wasn’t there, but Loretta acknowledged it. She was an interesting woman, this Loretta.
“Sit down, sit down.” He motioned toward one of the beige-and-white-striped couches. He took his usual positio
n on the couch under the skylight, lounging on his hip with his elbow propped on the arm.
“So,” he said when they were all settled, “what do you do for fun?” He was looking right at Loretta.
“Excuse me?” There was a little attitude in her voice. He liked women with attitude. Like Sunny.
“I mean, what have you been doing for fun? On your visit.”
“Not a whole lot,” Loretta said. “I really just got here.”
“I took her to the plant,” Dorie volunteered.
“Really?” He wondered why Loretta hadn’t mentioned that. Was she hiding something? Like her true intentions?
He watched Loretta’s eyes as she scanned the erotic books on the coffee table. She grinned despite herself. Arnie grinned, too. She was a go-er, he thought.
Loretta had set down her pocketbook on top of his copy of The Joy of Sex. He wished she’d go to the bathroom so that he could go through it, find her driver’s license, a credit card, something that would tell him who she really was. Maybe she wasn’t that dangerous after all. Maybe she was harmless—well, not harmless, just not a threat. He was thinking hard about seducing her. He’d never done it with a woman that big. Actually he’d never given much thought to large women before, but Loretta was exceptional. There was a lot going on behind those emerald eyes, and there was a lot of Loretta to play with.
“Can I give Loretta the house tour?” Dorie asked. “This is really a fantastic house,” she said to Loretta.
“Sure,” he said. “By all means. But can I get you anything to drink first.”
“Not for me, thanks,” Loretta said.
“Me neither,” Dorie said.
“Then go ahead, show Loretta around. I’ll wait here, though. I’ve already seen the place.” They all laughed; Loretta was being polite.
“Come on. I’ll show you the top floor first,” Dorie said, and the two of them headed for the stairs.
He watched them going up, comparing Dorie’s skinny derriere to Loretta’s ample butt. He couldn’t believe how much she was turning him on. He’d never felt this way about a big woman. The feeling itself turned him on even more.
After they’d disappeared up the stairs, he glanced at the coffee table, but Loretta’s purse wasn’t there anymore. She’d taken it with her. Why? he wondered. Was she paranoid? Didn’t she trust him? Or was she hiding something in there? He had a bad feeling about this. But still, she was really making him horny.
But horny isn’t always good, he thought. Horny had gotten him into trouble before. Most women are not what they seem, he told himself. Forget about this one. Just get her out of here. She’s a stranger.
But then he looked up at the naked woman in the painting, and his opinion started to change, like a jewel turning to face the light. Loretta in a threesome with him and Dorie. Loretta in a foursome with him, Dorie, and Sunny. Loretta with Sunny—that would be interesting.
He looked at The Joy of Sex. Horny isn’t bad, he thought. For the most part horny is good. Sex is a positive. It creates good chi, spreads it all around. He shifted his position on the couch because his shorts were getting tight. Sex is definitely a positive, he kept thinking. He had to shift his position again.
After a while the two women returned to the top of the stairs. He could see their ankles from where he was sitting. Loretta didn’t have bad legs, he thought. Not bad at all. They were big but very shapely. He watched her legs descending the stairs, taking in her body one slice at a time until he could see her face. Her purse was hanging from her shoulder on a strap. All he wanted was a little peek. Just two minutes to go through her wallet. He wanted Sunny to be wrong. He wanted Loretta to be all right.
“You have a beautiful house,” Loretta said, as she went back to the couch.
“Thank you.”
“Loretta really likes the skylights in your bedroom,” Dorie said.
“Do you really?” They’re great to wake up to, he thought. He shifted his position again, trying to get comfortable.
Loretta raised a devilish eyebrow. Her expression made him raise his eyebrows. They were like dueling Jack Nicholsons.
“Would anybody like some ice cream?” he asked. “I have some private stock Elmer Fudge Whirl.”
“I could be tempted,” Loretta said.
I’ll bet you could, he thought. In his head he sounded just like Jack Nicholson.
15
Marvelli’s eyes were bugging out of his head. Dragon’s upper lip was curled back over his teeth. He looked like he should be growling or barking, but he didn’t make a sound. It was like watching a scary silent movie starring Dragon as a ghost dog.
But what frightened Marvelli even more than Dragon was the fact that his shorts were tighter than ever, and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why. The little guy down below had gone berserk; he was responding to all the wrong stimuli. Marvelli glanced down at the sloppy sundae dribbling over his thighs. He looked at Dragon’s slobbering yellow-fanged jaws. He looked at Sunny in her rubber Minnie Mouse skirt, her cleavage in bondage. She was tottering precariously on her stiletto heels, barely keeping her dog at bay.
This is no time to be aroused! he shouted in his head at the not-so-little guy.
But the little guy wasn’t listening. Underneath the whipped cream and hot fudge, the butterscotch, the wet nuts, and the jimmies lurked a very dumb banana. Dragon had a sweet tooth—a lot of them in fact—and they were all sharp. If the beast got to the toppings, dollars to doughnuts, he’d scarf up the little guy, too.
The little guy could die! Marvelli thought. Like Pinocchio inside the whale, but without a happy ending.
Marvelli winced at the thought of a bleeding crotch wound. It occurred to him that he could bleed out and die right here.
But if I lose the little guy, I may as well be dead, he thought. Life wouldn’t be worth living.
“What’s wrong?” Sunny said with a strange giggle. “You look a little nervous.”
The giggle was totally unexpected coming out of her. It suddenly made her sound girlish and playful, and of course that just turned the little guy on more.
Stop it! Marvelli ordered the little guy. Cease! Desist! Reduce!
“What’s wrong?” Sunny asked. “You seem to be a little hot under the … collar.” She was staring at his crotch, leaning closer to get a better look. But the closer she came, the closer Dragon came. The dog was inches away, so close Marvelli could feel hot dog breath on his thighs.
“Why don’t you put the dog away?” he asked, trying not to sound as scared as he was. “Please?”
“But why?” Sunny said with mock innocence. “All he wants to do is lick the sweet stuff off. Don’t you want him to lick it off?”
“No. I’d rather he didn’t.”
“Then who would you like to lick it off?” She was running her tongue slowly across her upper lip.
Not you, he thought, but he didn’t dare say it. He didn’t want to piss her off.
Dragon was still straining at the leash. The whites of his tiny eyes were showing under the fuzzy folds that covered his brow. That dog didn’t just want the toppings, Marvelli thought. That dog was a meat eater.
A dark cloud of loss, regret, and resignation passed over Marvelli. The little guy was doomed. Sadly Marvelli recalled the fun the two of them had had over the years, the tender moments, the rollicking times. He thought back to the women they had been with—Loretta, his late wife, high-school flames, relationships that never really got off the ground but that he still remembered fondly. He even felt sad about the women he liked who never got to meet the little guy. Then out of the blue he remembered that one time with Vissa, and suddenly the little guy was a pole vault trying to set a record without a vaulter.
Stop! Marvelli screamed in his head, but he couldn’t stop thinking about her. It had happened years ago, but Marvelli still remembered every detail. It had been intoxicating, mesmerizing, overwhelming. He couldn’t really put it into words, but there was just something out
-of-this-world about Vissa. But as good as it had been, he knew he should never have done it with her. It wasn’t right—he was married, his wife was sick. He’d regretted it while he was doing it practically. He should have kept the little guy locked up in his Levi’s because if he had never done it with Vissa, then he wouldn’t have anything to remember now, and he wouldn’t be bursting at the seams. The little guy would be that much smaller, that much less for Dragon to find in the whipped cream. But thanks to that one time with Vissa, the little guy was standing up straight, saluting the flag. No way Dragon could miss him now.
“Hey! Hey!” Sunny said, raising her voice. “Come back. You’re a million miles away. I hate when people do that.”
“Don’t take it personal,” he said with a pained groan.
“I do take it personal. I’m standing right here. Don’t go feasting on your fantasies without me.”
“Sorry. I won’t do it again.”
“So don’t keep it to yourself. Share it with me.”
Marvelli’s face flushed. “I can’t do that.” It wasn’t that he was embarrassed because he was thinking about Vissa. He was ashamed that he wasn’t thinking about Loretta.
“Why are you groaning like that?” she demanded. “Are you hurt? Dragon hasn’t touched you yet.”
Marvelli could only groan again.
Her lopsided grin suddenly returned. “Is there yeast in that whipped cream?” she asked. “Or are you just glad to see me?” She reeled in Dragon and picked up the wooden spoon she had used to spread the wet nuts. Stretching her arm out as far as it would go, so that she could hold Dragon back, she scraped away some of the toppings.
“Oh, me, oh, my,” she said deadpan, when she found fabric. “Your assets certainly have been growing, haven’t they?” She scraped off most of the whipped cream and examined the bulge in Marvelli’s shorts with clinical detachment. “I wouldn’t have expected anything like this from someone like you. You seem like such a … white guy.”
“Well, I am Italian,” he muttered.
Hot Fudge (A Loretta Kovacs thriller) Page 11
