Live and Let Die
Bianca Sloane
Table of Contents
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
PROLOGUE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
FORTY-THREE
FORTY-FOUR
FORTY-FIVE
FORTY-SIX
FORTY-SEVEN
FORTY-EIGHT
FORTY-NINE
FIFTY
FIFTY-ONE
FIFTY-TWO
FIFTY-THREE
FIFTY-FOUR
FIFTY-FIVE
FIFTY-SIX
FIFTY-SEVEN
FIFTY-EIGHT
FIFTY-NINE
SIXTY
SIXTY-ONE
SIXTY-TWO
SIXTY-THREE
SIXTY-FOUR
SIXTY-FIVE
SIXTY-SIX
SIXTY-SEVEN
SIXTY-EIGHT
SIXTY-NINE
SEVENTY
SEVENTY-ONE
SEVENTY-TWO
SEVENTY-THREE
SEVENTY-FOUR
SEVENTY-FIVE
SEVENTY-SIX
SEVENTY-SEVEN
SEVENTY-EIGHT
SEVENTY-NINE
EIGHTY
EIGHTY-ONE
EIGHTY-TWO
EIGHTY-THREE
EIGHTY-FOUR
EIGHTY-FIVE
EIGHTY-SIX
EIGHTY-SEVEN
EIGHTY-EIGHT
EIGHTY-NINE
UPCOMING RELEASE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Text Copyright © 2012 Bianca Sloane
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, places, dialogue and plot are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Cover Design by Torrie Cooney
http://torriecooney.blogspot.com
Visit the Author’s website at:
www.biancasloane.com
Acknowledgments
Big ups to my sister, Kathryn, for her comments and for giving me her seal of approval—I know you don’t hand it out often. Glad I made the cut.
To Dr. Elizabeth Loftus for her insights.
To Stephanie Lott for her sharp copyediting skills and catching what my eyes missed.
To Torrie Cooney for designing such a beautiful cover and “getting me.”
Big thank you to Joy Fielding for the great advice, awesome class and the reading material.
PROLOGUE
He drove through the night, stopping twice for gas and once to take a piss off the side of the expressway.
During one of the gas station stops, he’d made a phone call, then got back in the car to head towards his destination. He pulled up to the back entrance of the building, feeling good about what he had planned. He just needed to refine it.
He was mildly surprised to see Keegan’s gleaming black Mercedes waiting for him. He parked and got out, while Keegan did the same, leaving his motor running. Keegan looked older than he remembered, worn out. Of course, it could have been because he had rousted the man from bed in the middle of the night.
Or it could have been that he was just old.
He extended his hand toward Keegan, who kept his hands shoved into the pockets of his long, belted black wool coat. Wisps of salt and pepper hair escaped from beneath the brim of his gray fedora. He looked around, annoyed.
“Alright, you got me out here in the middle of the fucking night, so what do you want me to do?”
“Like I told you on the phone, I need you to admit a patient. She’s a special case and requires your personal supervision.”
“Who is she?”
He sniffed. “That’s not important. What is important is that you keep her in solitary away from everyone else.”
Keegan scoffed. “That’s impossible. I can’t be here twenty four hours a day.”
“Alright, alright, draft a nurse to help you. But I don’t want a parade of orderlies and other people in and out to see her. You’re the only one I want handling the case.”
Keegan started to shiver. “What is it you want me to do with her?”
“First, there’s a drug protocol I’m gonna want you to administer. Second, there’s some very specific therapy she’ll need, but I’ll fill you in on all that later. For now, just keep her sedated, keep her clean, keep her fed. And keep her away from people. That’s the most important thing. She’ll get hysterical.”
“How long am I supposed to keep this up?”
“Until I tell you not to. And you better follow my instructions to the letter. Otherwise—” He made a slicing motion across his neck.
Keegan clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Goddamn, I wish I’d never met you.”
He chuckled. “Yeah well, we can talk about that later. Right now, we need to get her inside.” He glanced back at the car. “She’s going to be waking up soon and I’ll need to explain to her what’s going on so she won’t be scared.”
Keegan turned off his car, while he slid into the backseat of his own car and shook her gently. She stirred a little and he smiled.
“Hey, there. How are you?”
She looked around, her eyes drowsy slits in her face. He cradled her and ran a finger across her cheek. “I’m going to take care of everything. I promise. I’ll always take care of you.”
She moaned softly and her head lolled back against the crook of his arm. He maneuvered her out of the car before he hoisted her up and started to walk towards Keegan, who had propped the back door open. He ducked into the building, grunting as he adjusted her weight. Happy to be out of the cold, he followed Keegan through the maze of hallways and doors, the warmth seeping back into his body. His sneakers squeaked against the shiny tiles, while Keegan’s black Crocs made silent thuds. Finally, they arrived at the padded rooms and Keegan instructed Phillip to place her on the bench outside of one.
“I’ll have to get a key, so wait here. I’ll also need to check her in.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Jesus Christ, I have to account, some way, somehow, for some woman springing up overnight in a padded room. She didn’t just wander in off the street.”
“Alright, alright. Just keep everything close to the vest.”
Keegan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I got it. Can I at least get a name to put on the paperwork?”
He looked down at her and brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. “Paula. Her name is Paula.”
ONE
Sondra stalked across the plush sage green carpet, her bare feet squishing deep into the soft fibers. She went to rake her fingers through her
long and tangled black waves, forgetting they had been swept back into a sleek ponytail for the occasion. She let out an irritated sigh and looked for the millionth time at the closed bathroom door.
“Tracy,” she called out. “Come on, I need to smoke before all this.”
“Just a sec,” came her sister’s muffled reply from the other side of the door.
Sondra rolled her eyes and began to gnaw on the raw and bloody cuticle of the ring finger of her right hand. Finally, she heard the click of the door and saw a sliver of light slash the carpet. Tracy Ellis stepped into the bedroom and stood with pride in front of her older sister.
“So… ?” she asked.
Sondra stopped her pacing and looked at her sister. Tracy’s olive skin, hazel eyes and lush chestnut brown hair had always meant she never wanted for attention—even female at times—but that old cliché about a woman never being more beautiful than on her wedding day was an apt description at that moment.
“Well, you sure clean up nice,” Sondra said with a lump in her throat.
Tracy smiled and looked down at her elegant white silk halter dress, smoothing it down the length of her size four waist.
“I can’t believe I’m getting married,” she murmured, her smile never disappearing. Tracy looked up at Sondra, her face beaming.
“Do you think Phillip will like it?”
“Oh, jeez Tracy, that’s a stupid question.”
“Humor me.”
“Alright, I’ll play along. He won’t be able to keep his eyes off you. Probably not his hands either.”
“Well, that should make for an interesting ceremony.”
Tracy turned to look at herself in the bedroom’s full-length mirror, examining herself from every angle. “You know why I wanted you to wait, right?”
Sondra chuckled. “I knew something had to be up. Alright, spill it.”
“My something new. Mommy gave me something blue and borrowed, Cicely gave me the old, so… that leaves you as something new.” Tracy started examining her eye makeup in the mirror. “God knows I don’t want anything old or borrowed from you. No telling what trashcan you might have pulled it out of.”
“Jeez, you drag one table home from a curb in the eighties and you’re branded for life.”
“Keep playing innocent. Now, come on, let’s go. Cough it up.”
Sondra tried for all of thirty seconds to look clueless, before she started laughing. “Alright, alright. Yes, I was responsible for the something new.” Sondra walked over to pick up her oversized bag from the bed and withdrew a small blue Tiffany box.
“Alright, Blackie O, get over here.”
“Shut up.”
Sondra laughed and held the box out to Tracy, who took it gently from her sister’s hand. She looked at Sondra for a moment before she sat on the edge of the bed and began to unravel the signature white bow. Slowly, Tracy lifted the lid off the box and pulled out a small blue cloth pouch. Because her fingers were trembling, it took her a few tries to unsnap it, but when she did, she found a delicate sterling silver necklace inside.
“Oh,” she said softly as she let it dangle from her fingers. She ran the tip of her French manicured nail across the lone charm to see what it was. “T,” she whispered, her eyes welling with tears at the realization the looped and swirling letter was her initial.
Sondra took the necklace from Tracy’s shaking fingers and began to undo the clasp. “We all know you’re the pretty little poodle to my mangy, slobbery St. Bernard,” she said as she fastened the necklace around Tracy’s slender neck. “So, I thought you should have something princess-y.” Sondra stood back to admire her sister and smiled.
“Like I said, you clean up nice.”
Tracy turned and grabbed her sister by the elbows, tears sliding down her face, streaking her foundation.
“I love you, Sonny,” Tracy said.
The two women hugged each other when suddenly Sondra pulled back and looked at her sister.
“Are you happy?”
Tracy nodded and dabbed at her eyes with the blue handkerchief from her mother. “Happier than I can say.”
Sondra gave a quick nod and released Tracy from her grasp. “Okay,” she said, fumbling for her cigarettes in her bag, trying to keep her own tears from spilling over. “Okay.” She found the box and pulled them out. “That’s all I wanted to know. Now. I’m gonna have my smoke and when I get back, we’re gonna get you married.”
•
It was, as days go, a perfect day for a wedding. Though it was early August, it was a balmy eighty-five degrees and there was a slight breeze that just kissed the bare arms and legs of the thirty some-odd guests gathered to witness the union of Tracy Ellis and Phillip Pearson. Tracy’s best friend, Cicely, had offered up her spacious Winnetka home for the ceremony, and the attendees were all gathered in her backyard surrounded by the fragrant scent of lush rose bushes and sweet honeysuckle.
Sondra stood at the edge of the white runner waiting for her cue to make her way down the aisle. Though Tracy knew a ton of people, she and Phillip had decided to keep the whole affair small and low-key, inviting only their families and closest friends. Sondra was the lone bridesmaid and a friend of Phillip served as best man.
Sondra cocked her head slightly as she looked at her brother-in-law-to-be standing uncomfortably at the altar. He stood stiff as a board in his navy suit, his hands clenched together in front of him. The glare of the sun turned his coke-bottle glasses white, making him look like a character from the old “Annie” comic strip. He licked his lips as he swayed from side-to-side.
Sondra thought Phillip was an odd choice for Tracy. The couple had a whirlwind courtship, becoming engaged four months after meeting and now six months later, getting hitched. While she got hit on just walking out her front door, time and again, she went for tall, dark and handsome.
Phillip was anything but. Phillip reminded Sondra of Urkel, with his small build, high-pitched voice and dated box-top haircut. It wouldn’t have surprised her if he had a pair of suspenders stashed in his closet. However, unlike the madcap and boisterous Urkel, Phillip was painfully shy, introverted and far from a breezy conversationalist. He was a mild-mannered pharmacist, which was in fact how they’d met; he’d filled a prescription for Tracy. Although Sondra had reservations, as far as she could tell, he treated Tracy like gold, which was all that mattered to her; she just wanted her sister to be happy.
The harpist began to play “Ave Maria,” giving Sondra her signal. She wobbled a bit in her rhinestone-laden high-heeled sandals, her feet unaccustomed to wearing anything that wasn’t a flip-flop or Doc Marten. Her knee-length, size six pink taffeta tank dress made a soft swish as she proceeded down the aisle. She caught her mother’s eyes on her and winked at her as Mimi Ellis gave her a broad smile. Sondra reached the altar and looked down the aisle, waiting for her sister to make her entrance.
As their father gripped his youngest daughter’s arm, the guests stood to watch Tracy make her way towards her groom. She couldn’t keep the smile or tears off her face as she looked into the eyes of the man who was to be her husband. Phillip let out a breath as Tracy got closer and shook his head a little and Sondra could see him mouth, “so beautiful,” to himself as he continued to watch her, wiping his own tears away.
Gordon Ellis kissed Tracy on the cheek, gave Phillip a firm handshake before he placed Tracy’s hand inside his future son-in-law’s, and joined his wife in the front row. Sondra took a deep breath and watched in silent awe as her sister got married.
•
The balmy breezes continued to waft through the air as Sondra stood at the end of the driveway enjoying the first cigarette she’d had since the ceremony ended. She had to admit, it had been beautiful. The couple had written their own vows and everyone cried, Sondra included. The first dance had been to “Let’s Stay Together,” the father-daughter dance to “My Girl.” Sondra gave a touching toast honoring her sister and Phillip that brought out everyone’s hankies. Tracy’s ow
n speech about what a difficult road it had been to get here, but how she would take the trip again if it would lead her to Phillip, made couples snuggle closer and singles hopeful that one day they too would find their true love.
Sondra stubbed out her cigarette and as she made her way to the backyard, she caught sight of her parents and Tracy and Phillip talking, each couple with linked hands. She watched them, taking mental pictures: their statuesque, blonde, blue-eyed German mother, a former Olympic medalist swimmer and now a sought-after swimming coach; their black father, a renowned professor of cultural studies at Stanford and best-selling author of several books examining the influence of blacks on popular culture; and Tracy, a slightly darker version of Mimi, was a TV news producer here in Chicago.
Sondra crossed her arms and let her finger trail up and down along the curve of her own rich, buttery caramel neck, her sable brown eyes misting over. She wanted to hold this moment in her heart and mind for as long as she could, knowing it would be a long time before they were all together again.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the cake table and realized she hadn’t had any yet. She wiped away the tears and began to walk in that direction when Phillip caught up to her.
“Hey,” he said as he touched Sondra’s elbow.
“Hi,” she replied as she picked up a plastic fork and white Styrofoam plate supporting a small piece of lemon chiffon cake with buttercream frosting and began to nibble.
Phillip shoved his hands into the pockets of his tuxedo pants and smiled. “I just wanted to tell you how much it meant to Tracy that you could be here today.”
Sondra swallowed and shrugged. “Where else would I be?”
“Well, I mean, I know you have a lot to do and all with your trip. When are you leaving?”
“Next Friday, so I’ve got almost a week to get everything together.”
“What’s your documentary going to be on?”
“Images of beauty around the world. Plastic surgery, rituals, that kind of thing.”
“Sounds cool. How long will you be gone?”
“About a year and some change. Then I’ll come back and do the editing. It’s going to be an intense time.”
“Tracy is really going to miss you.”
Sondra looked over Phillip’s shoulder and saw Tracy bouncing a friend’s little girl on her hip while she talked animatedly to another guest. “I’m gonna miss her too. But, my cell phone is one of those global things and I’ll have access to email, though it may not be the greatest.” Sondra put the plate down on the table, only half of the cake eaten. “We’ll still be in touch.”
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