by William Cain
“I asked the maid to bring a club soda with lemon for the two of us. And some fruit. Join me?” Addie asks.
She had noticed Daisy earlier, watching her, tailing her. Addie knows Fuendes will be careful and play the waiting game. She’ll wait until Addie’s alone. Addie’s also decided to not make it so easy to be cornered. She decided to go to Miami Beach Marina because they’ll both be seen. It’s familiar territory to Fuendes, since this is Joey’s marina. This is his home away from home, this large apartment on the water, next to the boats.
Daisy Fuendes puts her knife away and then makes it to the landing on the second floor. She sizes up the woman seated in front of the windows overlooking the marina. She’s shapely with curly, long brown hair and attractive features. And those eyes. The cop’s not a tall person, Daisy decides. Today, Addie’s wearing navy linen drawstring pants and a loose cream-colored, sleeveless blouse. Those must be her colors, Daisy thinks, impressed with this unpretentious woman. She knows Addie’s not afraid.
As she steps forward, Addie reaches behind herself and pulls her weapon. Fuendes is instantly on guard and begins to draw her knife, preparing to make her throw. She won’t be dying today. She has a dozen moves she can make to avoid injury. Before she can bring her arm up, though, Addie places her service weapon on the table to her right.
“Let’s make this a friendly discussion,” Addie says passively. “It’s a beautiful day today. No sense in ruining it.”
“I’m not your friend,” Daisy replies, “and I’m not giving you an opening by putting my knife down. It’s the first rule of training—never give your weapons over.”
“Oh, come on, Daisy. Don’t be so uptight. I’m not asking for you to give me anything, like your Benchmade, or that little ankle gun you carry everywhere you go,” she says, pointing to Daisy’s feet.
Daisy hesitates, scowls, then takes her Benchmade lock knife and gun and puts them on the table furthest away from Addie.
“Fine,” she announces in a huff.
They remain staring at each other for a bit. Addie sees a dark-skinned, wiry, black-haired, attractive woman walking toward the seat directly in front of her. She wonders what kind of personality you have to be in the profession Daisy’s in. Everyone has their insecurities; what’s hers? Addie thinks as Daisy takes her seat and becomes settled in.
“I hear you’ve been twisting a few arms,” Daisy says casually, unable to hide her Cubano accent, or maybe she’s using it; it’s part of her.
“How else was I going to meet you?” Addie returns, laughing.
Daisy is more comfortable now, believing Addie’s not here to make life difficult for her. Smacking her lips, she tells Addie, eyes wide, expressing herself, “You know I go to those places a lot. Now, I have some explaining to do. They know what I do for a living, but I still have to make nice in my hometown.”
Addie reflects, then replies, “Maybe we should go back together, and I’ll apologize myself, personally. That should make things better. They’ll see that we’re friends. It’ll really blow their minds.” She’s smiling as she makes this offer.
And Daisy is also smiling, “You’re funny. What’s your name?”
“Henson. Addie Henson. From Asheville P.D.”
Pausing, Daisy makes a statement, “You’re Helen’s friend.”
“Yes,” Addie answers, knowing she's referring to Helen Richter, another 'cleaner'. They're all part of the same private club, and they back each other up when they have to. If you don't want to be on the mob's radar, you really don't want to be on their radar.
Placing her hand softly on Addie’s forearm, Daisy tells her coyly, “Any friend of Helen’s is a friend of mine.”
Addie likes eye contact, and their gaze is unbroken. “Are you hitting on me, Daisy?” she asks, smiling warmly.
“Maybe,” and Daisy actually looks shy.
Addie never considered being with a woman. She’s not against it. It just never occurred to her. But, and there’s always a but, Frank is in her life. That’s what she wants. What she needs. “There’s someone else in my life, Daisy, but I appreciate the attention.”
Daisy laughs, “I wonder why I said that. Now I know why Helen likes you.”
The small talk over, Addie asks, “About Joey. Where did he go?”
“It’s not unusual for him to disappear. But this time, he’s gone too long,” Daisy replies. “I found his family in Peru. Joey’s not with them.”
“How’d that happen?”
“The older son, Teddy, called me.”
“Called you?”
“Sure. They know who I am. That I work for Joey. Joey and I even dated a little. They’re worried about him. They’re worried over this sudden move. So am I.”
Addie pauses, “I’m not satisfied.”
Daisy tells her, “Neither am I. And I can prove to you Riggoti didn’t kill Elsie Battaglia. So, let me tell you what I did.”
And Daisy Fuendes goes into detail about Joey’s disappearance. It’s a real eye opener for Addie, and when she’s done, and after Addie’s digested all this telling information, she tells Daisy, “I’ll make this clear with the MPD. And, I’ll make good with his kids, too.”
Placing her hand on Addie’s arm again, and she’s not coy about it this time, Daisy quietly offers, “Then it looks like I owe you a favor.” She breaks into an eye-raising, mischievous yet engaging look.
Addie purses her lips in a friendly way and puts her hand on Daisy’s. Softly, she tells her, “Sometime, maybe.”
Then Addie adds, “There is something else, though...”
Daisy looks at her quizzically.
Addie gives her the look she wants. The choice in the look is important, a look of understanding, a look of sympathy, a look of compadre.
Everyone wants the look, Addie knows, as she tells her,
“Maybe you can do me a favor…a different kind of favor.”
And she gives her the look of need, one woman to another. Addie’s expression is non-threatening. She needs Daisy and she doesn’t have a problem showing it.
She knows Daisy will respond in kind.
Chapter 2 Couples
Feb
Just be you and wait for the people who want that. Naval Ravikant
It’s late night in Heritage Hills, cold outside, the wind blowing softly, quiet. The homes are spaced conveniently apart as the gated, secured community is very exclusive; available to those that have that almost-blue blood flowing. It’s a rich place, and the people who live there love it, isolated against commonplace America. Inside her own home, Reggi Thomas is tossing in her sleep. Afraid, scared, terrified.
Reggi’s running, running. Faster and faster. He’s after her, her first husband John, and he has a steak fork, long and deadly. She saw him pick it up and start for her, and now she’s on the run, filled with terror. He wants to sink it into her back, and she can hear him grunting as he chases her around the house. She begins to scream wildly as he starts to laugh that ugly guttural laugh of a killer. He’s drunk, and that’s the only thing in her favor as she hears him slip and fall. She hopes he rammed the slender, two-pronged fork into his gut. He deserves it for the beatings he’s given her. She pauses for a moment to see if he’s indeed dead or not, and she peers around the corner of a door jamb. Suddenly, he’s directly in front of her face, and it isn’t John Paulson at all. It’s Ken Jones, and he’s wearing a horrible sneer, the fork in his right hand. He pulls it back to make the plunge deep into her soft flesh, and, with one wild scream, she wakes up, eyes crazy, sweating heavily. Her bedclothes and sheets are dripping, and as she breathes deeply, she slides her feet off the bed. Sitting on the edge, she takes her head in her hands and suddenly regurgitates last night’s dinner. She begins to cry.
She knows why this is happening; it’s happened before, decades ago. That’s when she tried to kill John. She had let herself drift more and more, trying to escape her sad life. John treated her like furniture, using her and beating her depending on hi
s mood and how much he drank. They had three young children, and the role of father didn’t play out well for him. He hated it, and he took it out on her with his unusually nasty sexual appetite and his drunken orgies filled with violence. Reggi began to drift inwardly to keep some semblance of life, the white picket fence, alive. It became obsessive, and then it entered her sleep, where nightmares mixed with laughter and gaiety. Then the blackouts started—and she had a doozy. Her husband John lay in front of her, in bed, and he wasn’t asleep. He deserved it, she remembers thinking, and suddenly the Memphis Police arrived and arrested her. They took her kids from her and she spent time in a “special” hospital.
And now it’s happening again, and she can’t stop it, the onslaught of mixed feelings, smiling on the outside and dying on the inside. She needs help. Maybe it’s Megan’s fault. Of the two girls, Megan’s the one she despises most. She doesn’t know why, but she dislikes both her daughters, Megan for being defiant, and Charlotte for being stuck up and rich. But Megan’s the one she usually focuses her hate on. Every time they talk, there’s the dark cloud of loathing hanging over their heads, raining and raining its pestilence, killing what should be a mother-daughter love, turning it into something dark. Last night’s phone call with her was just one more stage show for Megan; her pointing out how destitute Reggi is now over her poor money management, spending freely, borrowing more and more, and never able to pay it back. Megan’s so disrespectful, rubbing it in so badly Reggi almost hung up on her. She tried to explain and make clear to Megan that it was Joe’s fault, her second husband. When he was alive, he insisted on the best hotels, the best cars, the best trips, and then this country club in Heritage Hills—they never should have moved to Heritage Hills. But Megan wouldn’t have it and told her mother over and over how Reggi changes factual history to suit her fancy. Reggi’s dignity is indestructible, just like what Nancy Sinatra said about her husband Frank. They ended the call after both were satisfied they had gotten their points across—it’s a repeat of many past conversations, and it’s growing a beard.
She makes her way to the bath and freshens herself up, finding the scrub brush, bucket, and slop towels to clean up her mess, her vomit beside the bed. Afterward, she feels better and decides to have a bite to eat. Heading to the kitchen, she makes herself coffee and a small breakfast of muffin and fruit. When she’s halfway through, the phone rings. It’s Frank calling from New York, and she excitedly answers it.
“Well, hello, Francis!”
“Hello, Mother,” he replies.
“Taking time out of your busy day to call your mom?”
“I just wanted to see how you were doing. And how you and your boyfriend are doing.”
Frank’s referring to Ken Jones, the man Reggi’s telling her family she’s been seeing, a lot. “He hasn’t asked me to marry him yet, if that’s what you mean. And you can stop calling him my boyfriend. I’m a little too old for that, he’s not a boy. Guess what?”
“I’ll bite, what?” Frank answers, a little bored of the conversation already, and he begins to look over some papers on his desk.
“He wants to meet my children. That would be you, Frank.”
“I know who I am, Mom. I’m fine with it.” But Frank is a little surprised with this announcement. This means it’s getting serious. He can’t believe his mother is going to marry someone at the age of seventy-nine. However, she probably needs to, since she’s near penniless, and this Ken Jones is told to be very wealthy.
“He told me he’d like to take everyone on the yacht down to Barbados. It has enough sleeping berths for all three of you and your family. What do you think of that?” Frank can hear she’s beaming.
“Sounds good, Mom. It does sound like a fun time. Getting everyone together to do something like that. It makes a great memory, Mom. Hey, Mom? Can I tell you a little something?”
“Sure, Frank, what is it?”
“I’m happy for you.”
There’s a pause, and he waits to hear her response a bit longer. Finally, she tells him, “Thank you.”
Reggi believes she deserves to be happy after her ordeal with Joe, his Alzheimer’s, and his passing some time ago. That was a long, arduous two years.
She daydreams about her wedding with Ken, when he asks. It’ll be the wedding of the decade. No cost will be too high, not with the immense fortune Ken is sitting on. Reggi reflects on all the lavish parties they’ve been to together, the yacht they bought, the mansion in Naples, the ranch in Wyoming, the pony he gave her, and his alcoholism and rehabilitation. She knows she was a big part of that and feels that Ken owes her for helping him change his life. He showers her with gifts, and she refuses them all. She’ll continue to do so until they tie the knot. Reggi has her values, and she knows Ken admires her selflessness, strength and core ethics.
◆◆◆
Later in the conversation, after they’ve discussed Barbados to death, talked about the crummy weather in New York’s winter month of February, his son Frannie, and if he has seen Frédérica lately, Reggi asks, “And how are you and Adelaide doing? You two start seeing each other again?”
Glumly, Frank answers, “No. But we have been talking a lot more lately. I think she’s ready to see me soon. I’m not pushing it, but she knows I’m there, and that I’m patiently waiting.”
“That’s smart, Frank, that’s the right move, don’t push her away,” Reggi advises her oldest child. She loves him, and they have a solid relationship, and she only wants what’s best for him.
“I tell you, Mom, I am the best pest ever. I am good. And cute. What woman can resist that combination? I’ll get her back.”
“Good. I could tell the two of you had that certain connection when you met last August,” Reggi tells him, remembering when they first met. It was at Reggi’s house in Heritage Hills. Adelaide, in her official role as detective with Asheville P.D., was asking all the neighbors about a crime, and Frank happened to be visiting.
“I remember, too, Mom. Listen, I gotta go make the money, talk soon, okay? Love you,” he says quickly.
Reggi doesn’t want to hang up, but she knows she has to, “Love you, too, bye.”
She wants Frank to be happy, like all parents want for their kids. And their grandkids. Of the five of them, Frannie, Connor, Patrick, Haley and Madison—the one she feels closest to is Madison. She confides in her grandmother, and Reggi likes her special bond with Madison, Charlotte’s older daughter. She knows Charlotte doesn’t quite understand why.
And that’s just tough cookies.
◆◆◆
Adelaide thinks he might take Frédérica back, Frank knows. And, she’s worried over being separated by one thousand miles—he in New York, she in Asheville—it all served as a convenient excuse to break up with him. But he visits his family in Asheville too often. That argument won’t work, it won’t hold up. He knows he’s wearing her down. Being a pest has its advantages, and he smiles inwardly.
He quietly considers his mother’s situation. He tries not to think about it too much, but he’s incredulous that his mother will marry this guy named Ken Jones, who he hasn’t even met yet. This is happening too fast. And he thinks her behavior is weird. She’s talking to herself, acting things out…marrying Jones at her age? What the hell is going on?
His mind slides away from his mother and always returns to Adelaide.
He misses her, that pigheaded cop who can hum the tune to every sit-com, who can’t cook, who gets cuter when she’s tipsy. She’s on his mind almost every waking moment. She’s in his dreams, too. He fell for her from the first moment they met at his mother’s house in Heritage Hills and they locked eyes. It was an instant connection they both admitted to.
All this drama is annoying.
Back to the business at hand, Frank isn’t really that busy, but he’s got something he needs to do. That special time of day is arriving soon, and he hopes she’s waiting for him. He kind of knows she will be, but you never know. He believes, hopes, she loves him
. And she better quit this little game she’s playing soon. It’s driving him crazy not being able to see Adelaide and not being able to be with her. Over the last four months, he’s turned down a lot of offers and blind dates, he’s just not interested in anybody else. She answers all of his calls and all of his IM sessions, so what is she waiting for? Frédérica got dumped by her boyfriend and she wanted to come back to Frank. Even with her knockout body and sexual libido dangling before him, he said no. He wasn’t interested in her, either. He’s very frustrated, but he won’t give up and convinces himself that this is how you feel right before the quiet period, as Adelaide likes to call it, is over.
Soon, it’s that special time, and he pings her cell.
ft: ‘hi’
ah: ‘hi, was waiting for you frankie’
ft: ‘all things good come to she who waits’
ah: ‘ha ha. yer cute’
ft: ’yer damn right i’m cute … hey listen, i might come down there in a week or so. is hotel henson open?’
ah: ‘hmmmmm, i’d have to give that some thought. would you be bringing bad frank or cute frank?’
Wow, Frank’s thinking, she’s open to the idea.
ft: ‘a little of both’
ah: ‘it does intrigue me’
ft: ‘what are you wearing?’
ah: ‘what?’
ft: ‘what are you wearing adelaide?’
ah: ‘ha ha, you little pig, i’m not going down that road’
The conversation continues on at length, taking up their mutual lunchtime. Frank’s very excited. She’s considering seeing him again, and it plays out plainly in her messages. It’s been four months since she iced their relationship. Frank’s ex-wife didn’t pay a return visit to him. She tried, and Frank said no. Addie feels comfortable lifting the wall she put up, but she won’t tell him just yet.
