5.25 A High Heels Haunting

by Gemma Halliday

  Instead of reading my Match messages, I pulled up a Google screen and typed in: Blake Stone. Immediately my screen was filled with images of Blake. In a tuxedo on a runway, in a Speedo doing an ad for sunscreen (I think I drooled a little on my keyboard at the vision of his six-pack), laying in a field touting the merits of a certain cologne. I physically pinched myself at the thought that I had, just minutes earlier, been in a serious lip-lock with this same man.

  I went back to Google, and despite my rational self, couldn’t help adding a word to the search: Blake Stone girlfriend. Yeah, I know, we all have ex’s. But the way he’d been so upset at the mere thought of her, I had to see who she was. I steeled myself against the idea she was some gorgeous European supermodel. Or, worse yet, a gorgeous rocket scientist. I waited as the results came up. Not nearly as many, but in between the ads, I found a celebrity gossip sight that looked promising. I click on the link, and an article came up about male model Blake Stone seen at a nightclub with girlfriend, Angel Cressley.

  Angel.

  I typed her name into the search engine and prayed she was some homely kindergarten teacher.

  No such luck.

  Images immediately filled my screen. Dozens of them. Of a tall, long legged blonde in a skimpy black dress, an itty bitty bikini, an evening gown.

  And a pair of red, patent leather ankle strap rhinestone studded stiletto heels.

  It was her.

  Blake’s ex-girlfriend was the model on the Maddie Springer website.

  Chapter Four

  It was cold out. Freezing. The breeze from the bay cutting through the air. I was shivering, standing in the dark, waiting. Waiting for what, I wasn’t quite sure. But I knew it was coming. And not in a good way. The feeling of dread grew by the second as I stood there, my teeth chattering against the wind. And then I felt him. I felt him long before I saw him. He was there, behind me. Closing in. But somehow I couldn’t turn around to see him, couldn't make my legs move away. My feet were glued to the spot. And he was getting closer. I tried to scream, but no sound came out. Tears started to roll down my cheeks as I stood there, freezing. And then I felt him. I mean really felt him. His hands on my shoulder. Clamping down on me, pushing me. I tried to move away, to lash out with my arms. But they moved in slow motion like I was under water. And that’s when I realized it. I was under water. Cold, wet, shivering, I looked up and saw the glassy surface of the water above me, saw bubbles rising from my mouth as I tried to scream again and again, his hands holding me under, the pressure building in my throat, in my head, behind my eyes. I thrashed, but it didn’t do any good. I could feel myself slipping away as his grip grew tighter and tighter. My vision started blurring, my eyelids growing heavy. And that’s when I looked down and saw the red patent leather heels on my feet.

  And this time I did scream.

  * * *

  I sat straight up in bed, panting, my head whipping wildly around the room. Alarm clock. Pink striped comforter. Tabby lounging on the windowsill. No large body of water, no faceless man in the shadows.

  I gulped in large breaths of air and fell back on my pillows. A dream. That’s all it was. A vivid one, but just a dream.

  I rolled over and looked at the red blinking numbers on my clock. 7:12. I looked up at the ceiling.

  Would it be wrong to take another vacation day?

  * * *

  Actually, once I called in and asked for another vacation day, Peterman informed me that the Sholtskie Plumbing account I’d been working on was having server troubles and I might as well take the whole week. I didn’t argue. The thought of going back to Kya’s life wasn’t an appealing one. I wanted to put it off as long as I could.

  Instead, I’d much rather spend my day shopping for a hot new outfit to wear for my picnic with Blake on Sunday. Because, despite my realization that She was Blake’s ex, I was still looking forward to it. Granted, it was a little unnerving that he’d dated my idol before me, but so what? Obviously things hadn’t worked out, right? Maybe he preferred slightly mousy web designers to jet-setting supermodels?

  Yeah, right, a small part of my brain told me. The world is full of men who hate supermodels. But I told that part of my brain to shut up. I was going to enjoy this while it lasted.

  So, Sunday morning I was dressed in a pair of hip hugging white capris, hot, red little spaghetti strap top and my red heels. At some point I was going to have to wear some other shoes or Blake would start thinking I was whacked. But I was still too superstitious for that point to be now.

  I followed 880 north through the East Bay to a warehouse in Oakland where R.J. and Alec’s receptionist had informed me the shoot location was. It wasn’t a great neighborhood – definitely not one I’d walk alone at night – but it wasn’t in the worst part of town either. A handful of cars were already parked in the lot, and I added mine to the row, making my way inside.

  I was immediately assaulted by bright lights, large, multi-bulb things on tall metal stands. All five of them were focused on a stage set in the middle of the warehouse. A back wall, painted a light blue like a cloudy sky, was laid out behind a giant four poster bed swathed in layers of gauzy white sheets. Off to the side a folding table held photographic equipment and a laptop, and beyond that sat wardrobe racks and make-up tables. A handful of peopled milled around a wardrobe rack while others toyed with the lights, moving them half an inch to the right or left.

  “Kya!”

  I tuned to see R.J. approaching, his chinos pressed with crisp lines on the front, his smile as wide as ever. “Kya, doll, I’m so glad to see you. Emmy, this is Kya Star.” He gestured to a women with red hair held back in a ponytail, a camera in her hand. “Kya, Emmy McDonald is the photographer today.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Emmy said, extending one hand.

  I shook it. “You too.”

  “And of course you know Blake.” R.J. gestured behind himself as Blake walked onto the bedroom set. I felt drool pool in the corners of my moth as I saw he was dressed only in a pair of pale blue boxer shorts. Through my insta-lust I managed a feeble wave. Blake returned it, giving me a lopsided grin in the process.

  “Okay, let’s get you into wardrobe, yes?” R.J. bustled me over to the rack of clothes where a man with frizzy hair and a metallic shirt thrust a negligee at me. I looked from the scrap of fabric (and I do mean scrap) to R.J.

  “I’m modeling this?”

  He nodded. “It’s an ad for Jessica Simpson’s new perfume. Didn’t Julie tell you?”

  I nodded. “Yes, but I didn’t know…” I trailed off, my eyes going to the faux bedroom where Blake was lounging on the bed as someone checked the light balance.

  “Don’t worry, it’s all very tastefully done. Emmy won’t let you down. Now, hop into this, we’ve still got to get you made up and,” he added fingering a lock of my hair, “we’ve got to so something about this hair.”

  “R.J.?” Emmy called, lining up shots through her camera. “How long?”

  “She’ll be ready in five minutes, love.” He turned to me. “Come on, let’s get a move on, Kya.”

  I looked from the negligee to R.J. to Blake’s nearly nude form. Not exactly how I’d envisioned our first time in bed together… but what the hell? I’d gone this far.

  I slipped the negligees on, was whisked to the hair expert, who painted gold highlights onto my ash blonde locks and worked some kind of goopy stuff into it that made it shine under the bright lights. Then the make-up person threw about fifteen different shades of eye shadow on me that, when he was done, seemed to blend together seamlessly to give me those kind of sexy bedroom eyes that only girls in Maybeline commercials have. I hardly recognized myself when he was done. Even my too long legs and too skinny arms almost looked right in the soft, white lingerie.

  “Ready, Kya?” Emmy prodded again.

  My heart pounded like a jackhammer in my chest as I stepped out onto the stage.

  “Hey there, gorgeous.” Blake lay on the bed, his head propped up on one
arm as he grinned at me. “I have to admit, I didn’t think it would be this easy to get you into bed.”

  I couldn’t help the giggle that escaped me. “Likewise.” I stared at his abs straight out of a movie. Vaguely I wondered how many crunches a day he did to keep those things looking like that. And they ended in a perfect tight V, his boxers covering just enough from view to keep me from jumping him on the spot. He looked positively amazing. I had the carnal urge to reach out and lick him. For the hundredth time I wondered just what I was doing here.

  “Kya, would you mind getting on the bed with Blake, we’re going to try a few different positions.”

  I almost laughed out loud. Would I mind? Hell, I’d died and gone to heaven. If it weren’t for the camera, lights and handful of crew members watching our every move, I’d be living out every woman’s fantasy.

  I gingerly lay down on the bed beside Blake, trying not to smudge my sexy make-up on the white sheets.

  “That’s good, now, put your arm up over your head, right like that,” Emmy directed as I complied. “Now if you could tilt your head just a little to the left, there, now look at Blake.”

  I did, feeling my heart beat double time. His face was inches away from mine. His eyes dark and intent – though whether he was playing for the cameras or feeling a fraction of the pure animal lust rushing through me I’d be hard pressed to say.

  “Blake, shift a little to your right. Great, now put your arm around her.”

  He did. I felt his legs brush against mine, his arm encircling my wait. Oh, Mama. My breath started to come out in quick little pants as I tried to get my surging body under control.

  Blake must have noticed, as he gave me a little wink. “You know, I’m really looking forward to our picnic now,” he whispered, barely moving his mouth as Emmy began to click away.

  I tried not to smile. “Me too,” I whispered back.

  “You’ve got beautiful eyes, Kya.”

  The complement threw me for a moment, and I froze.

  “Kya, move a little to your left. There, perfect. Blake, could you move in a little closer?”

  He did. And I felt something hard press against my thigh. Ohmigod, was that what I thought it was?

  I licked my lips.

  “Perfect, Kya, do that again.”

  Do what? My brain was in a total fog, all I could do was focus on Blake’s dark, chocolate eyes. And the thick bulge pressing into my right thigh.

  He gave me another wink. “Can’t help it,” he whispered. “You’re too damned hot, Kya.”

  I think I laughed.

  But masochist that I was, my mind immediately went to the pictures I’d seen last night of him and Angel. Had he said the same things to her? I knew they worked together on Maddie's High Heels Seduction web campaign. I suddenly wondered if they’d done any lingerie shots together, too. Had she been in this same position? Hearing the same sweet nothings murmured to her out of the corner of his mouth as the cameras clicked away?

  “Kya, you’re stiffening up on me. Relax, try shifting over to your side,” Emmy instructed as she continued clicking.

  I rolled over, my back to Blake.

  “That’s it, Blake, come up behind her, maybe nuzzle at her neck a little.”

  His warm breath was on my ear. I shivered, my eyes fluttering closed for half a second. God, that felt good.

  “That’s it, perfect, Kya.”

  Little did she know, I was no actress.

  “You taste good,” Blake murmured, his lips grazing my neck.

  I sighed out loud, arching my back, trying not to become a total sex kitten on camera. I wondered if he was this good when the cameras weren’t rolling. I wondered if I’d get a chance to find out.

  Had Angel found out?

  Damn. I was obsessed with her.

  I gave myself a mental shake and tried to focus on the latest direction Emmy was giving me instead. On the crew, on R.J. standing to the side, beaming like a proud parent.

  Somehow, I made it through the shoot without driving myself nuts thinking about Angel or having an embarrassing orgasm on the set. When we were done, Blake gave me a quick peck on the cheek and said he’d meet me outside before walking off set to find his pants.

  “You done good, kid,” R.J. said, slapping me on the back as I threw on a robe. “I knew you were a natural.”

  “Thanks. You think the pictures came out okay?”

  “Do I think?” R.J. laughed. “Honey, I know. I was watching the monitors. You rocked that set, doll. Hell, you had me wanting to buy a case of that perfume.”

  I knew he was pumping me up a little, but I couldn’t help the smile that hit my cheeks. I’d actually pulled it off. Me!

  “Drop by the office in the morning and Alec will have your check ready for you.”

  “Thanks. Hey, R.J.?”

  “Yes, sweets?” he asked, steering me over to wardrobe.

  “Can I ask you something? Something about Blake?”

  He nodded. “Sure, toots.”

  “His… his girlfriend. Angel. Do you know what happened between them?” I bit my lip, not sure I really wanted to know the answer. But somehow unable to stop myself from asking anyway.

  R.J.’s brow furrowed, his lips pursing together. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, just that when he mentioned her, well, Blake kind of got this look on his face. Like he’d swallowed a bad oyster or something. I don’t mean to pry I just… I guess I’m just a little worried he’s not really over her, you know? Did she break things off with him or what?”

  R.J.’s jaw tightened. He glanced over both shoulders. Then he leaned in. “Look, I wouldn’t mention Angel around Blake again if I were you. She didn’t break up with him. She died.”

  I sucked in a breath. “Died?”

  He nodded, his voice hushed. “Six months ago. Blake took it really hard. He… well, he was depressed. Didn’t get out of bed for days. He’s only come back to work again the last couple of months. It was… it was a real tragedy.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, genuinely meaning it. I suddenly felt like an ass. How could I be jealous of a dead woman?

  I glanced over at Blake, smiling and chatting with Emmy. I couldn’t imagine what he must have gone though.

  “Yeah, it was hard on us all for awhile there.”

  “Did you know her, too?”

  R.J. nodded, an unreadable look behind his eyes. “Yeah. I was the girl’s agent. She was the one who introduced me to Blake in the first place. A terrible tragedy. She was so young, so vibrant. She had such a great career ahead of her. What a waste.”

  I put a hand on R.J.’s arm, unsure what to say. “I’m so sorry,” I repeated.

  He nodded. “Thanks.”

  “What… I mean, if you don’t mind me asking… what happened to her? Was she ill?’

  “Ill?” R.J. asked. He shook his head. “No she wasn’t ill. She drowned.”

  Chapter Five

  My skin went cold, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end as I remembered my dream from the night before. It was probably coincidence. I’d probably heard about her death on the news at the time, and my subconscious had pulled it up again last night. One thing had nothing to do with the other.

  “She drowned?” I asked, my voice shaky.

  R.J. nodded. “In Blake’s swimming pool. She was spending the night and must have wandered out for a midnight swim, because the next morning Blake found her there. Dead.”

  “Oh my God.” I covered my mouth with my hands, instant tears pricking the back of my eyes. I couldn’t image what a horrible moment that must have been for him, finding a loved one that way.

  R.J. continued. “He did CPR until the paramedics arrived, but they said she’d likely been dead for hours at that point. He was a wreck. Felt completely guilty that he hadn’t heard her, hadn’t woken up in time to save her.”

  I shook my head. “But there’s no way he could have known. What could he have done?”

  R.J. shrugg
ed. “I know, darlin’. But guilt isn’t a logical emotion.”

  “Ready?”

  I spun around to find Blake smiling at me, a picnic basket in one hand.

  “Uh, yeah. Just… just let me change.”

  His smile faltered. “You okay?” he asked.

  I blinked, sniffing back unshed tears at his loss. “Yeah, fine. It’s just… it’s been quite a day.” I forced a smile I didn’t really feel.

  But I guess it was convincing enough, as his two dimples showed up in response. “Well, it’s not over yet. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  I scuttled behind a make-shift curtain and quickly pulled my own clothes back on. I did a cursory wipe down on my face, getting off the heavier of the pancake make-up, then shoved my feet into the heels and met Blake at the door. We agreed I’d follow him across the bay to a beach he knew just west of the Golden Gate.

  But as we crawled through traffic, all I could think about was what R.J. had told me. I was right when I’d assumed Blake wasn’t over his ex-girlfriend. But it wasn’t the relationship, it was the loss. I mean, how did one ever get over that? I wondered if I was the first girl he’d seen since Angel. Likely. R.J. said he’d only been back to work a couple of months. I bit my lip, chewing thoughtfully as we wound down the coast.

  The water was a crystal clear blue, the sun sparkling above it like one of those famous California days captured on a postcard. Blake pulled into a spot along the curb, and I followed suit, inhaling the crisp, salty air deeply into my lungs as I stepped out of the car. I hadn’t been entirely dishonest when I’d said it had been a hell of a day. Keeping up the ‘Kya Star’ charade was beginning to wear on me. I was looking forward to a nice afternoon on the beach. Blake grabbed my hand and led me to a spot near the ocean and spread out a thick blanket on the sand.