by Deva Long
“What?” I snapped, pulling my sore wrists back. He should tend to my wounds, I’m the one who was tied in a box for the past few hours.
“Am I right to call you Miss Dawson?”
“I’m not married, if that’s what you’re getting at.” The deck swayed beneath me and I became lightheaded. The wine, the cramps from the cage, the burning from my wrists and the after effects of whatever the kidnappers had drugged me with all took their toll. I fell back against him and he wrapped me in his arms. His very warm arms. “Look. You have my number. You can call me if you want to. Maybe I’ll even answer. But, if I don’t crawl under a blanket soon, I’m going to die right here and that’ll be that.”
“Hah. You’ve got spirit. Don’t worry, you’re not going to expire tonight.”
“I do have a blanket and if my brother can keep his cheap plastic boat floating long enough to make port, I’ll have you home soon.”
“I heard that.” Jack's voice. “Hey, I called the Coasties for our friends. If you two are done screwing around over there, we should go.” He slapped Wind Walker’s side. “The pumps are working, but things fall apart when pushed. We need to get back home and patch this baby up.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Take me home.”
Home, was there ever a more beloved word? Not now, other than maybe bed. My bed, with the natural latex mattress that was like laying on a cloud, and my Egyptian cotton sheets, my one luxury I couldn’t afford. Where The Winds of Winter sat half read, holding more secrets for me to discover more about the dragon queen and the sexy dwarf.
They were waiting for me in my apartment, and my coffee machine would be there perking away in the morning. I’d see Leslie and she’d give me heck about coming back so late.
“Home sounds good to me.” Karl said.
“May I lie down now?”
I do remember asking this before I fell.
ten
I was being lifted into an ambulance. The world looked fuzzy, unfocused. I saw sailboats’ masts make black lines in front of the moon.
We must be at the City Marina.
Then, I heard a rumble like thunder from a nearby lightning strike. The roar shook me where I lay and I stared past the green clad rescue worker fussing about my arm to see Karl ride up on a huge black motorcycle.
I blinked and my vision cleared as tears began to flow.
Our gaze met for a moment, and he nodded. Then, he whirled his bike around, spinning the tire on the wet pavement and leaving a wet-rubber stench behind. As he sped away, I saw the design on the back of his jacket, a hammer above the words, Sons of Thunder.
The handsome guy who rescued me is a rider in a motorcycle gang.
Shit. Here I thought he was some billionaire.
“You should rest now, miss.”
The ambulance guy smiled at me with bright teeth and a black bearded face.
“Don’t take me to the hospital.” The last thing I needed was another bill.
“Are you sure? You’ve had a rough night.”
“It’ll get rougher if you don’t take me home. Now.” I started to get up and push the tubes away. “I can get a cab.”
He shrugged.
“We can’t take you home in the ambulance. Not that we been called, you’ve got to go to Memorial and get checked.”
“Shit. How long will that take?”
“Not long. Don’t worry. Be happy.”
He was putting something into the tube going into my arm.
“This’ll help you relax. Is there someone I can call for you? To come pick you up?”
I gave him Leslie’s number as I lost consciousness one more time.
eleven
The phone rings. From 305. A Miami area code. I remembered the back of Karl's brothers’ boat, below the name Wind Walker, “Miami, FL.”
“Hello?” God, why does my voice sound so shaky?
“Miss Dawson. Thank you for picking up.”
I couldn’t catch my breath. His voice sounded different. Like he spoke from a very comfortable place. A quiet beach. Or a tub.
“Nuh…no problem. I’m glad you called.” Damn, could I sound any more like a schoolgirl?
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine.” I didn’t remember anything after boarding the ambulance until I awoke in my bed. Leslie must’ve got me home. I must have gotten up and peed because the bed was dry, but I don’t remember.
Must be the sleeping pills they gave me at the hospital. Ambien amnesia.
“Good. I have to ask a favor. When we saved you, some of your captors didn’t fare so well. A detective’s coming to my hotel tonight to ask some questions.”
So, he isn’t calling to see me, just to get my statement. The breath I’d been holding rushed from me.
“Questions about what?”
“Well, you remember my brother lost his knife. They found it stuck in some guy’s face.”
Alfredo clutching at his head and falling into the water flashed before my eyes.
“Alfredo.”
“Yeah, that was his name. He didn’t seem like a nice guy.”
My fingertips turned red as I tightened my grasp on the phone. “He wasn’t.”
I heard him taking a deep breath.
“Could you come by to tell our side of the story? Tonight?”
Our side. I liked the sound of that.
“Sure. Those bastards deserve to be caged. Are you in trouble?”
“Jack's closer to trouble than I am. But, we were standing our ground. Or our deck, to be correct. The press is saying we’re heroes. There were seven other unfortunates on that boat.”
The Sunday morning headlines had screamed about it. Good news, for a change. “Human Trafficking in Paradise.” “Eight Florida Girls Rescued by Fishermen.” I was the eighth. Alfredo and his crew had been on their way south with their human cargo when they’d stopped to grab me off my float. Several of the other girls had been runaways, but three were college girls taken directly from the Sleepy Key streets during the Saturday beach-town party. It was a huge scandal. The press had named Alfredo’s crew the Sleepy Key Pirates. According to the few stories I read, Alfredo’s boys took the college girls by commandeering one of the free jalopy taxis that cruise the island.
They would’ve been far away by now if they hadn’t stopped for me.
Karl's voice broke into my reverie.
“Everything will end up fine, I’m sure. But Jack’s case will close faster if you could add your word to ours.”
“At your hotel? Don’t these things usually happen at a Police Station?”
“Maybe.” He paused. I pictured his Norse God smile again, all white teeth and sea water dripping from his lips. “I’d rather we meet at my hotel, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, I would.” I winced. “Rather meet the detective…at your hotel. That’s what I mean.”
“I’m sure.” I heard his laughter booming down the line. “Could you come at seven? We’ll make a dinner of it.” The devil that sometimes rides on my shoulder, giving me advice and getting me into trouble, popped into my head dancing the samba.
I’m weird that way. A gang of voices lives upstairs, in my head. An Angel. A Devil. A few others who pop by from time to time. I think they come from all the reading I do. I read every chance I get when I’m not working. Some people have character, I have characters, dozens. Only a few are busy-bodies like my devil and give me frequent advice. Her and my angel.
I call my devil, Santana. My Angel, I call Monica. For Saint Monica’s. That was the name of my high school in Little Falls.
“Where’re you staying?”
“The Ritz. It’s on Ringling…”
“I know where the Ritz is. They have awesome food.”
I pursed my lips.
“But I can’t afford dinner there.”
“Please let me treat you.”
“I should be treating you. You rescued me. Why would you feed me after all the trouble I caused?”
&nb
sp; “Because I want to.”
Something about the way he said the word ‘want’ gave me pause. Sweat rolled along my spine.
“Do you think you get to do everything you want?”
Not meaning to whisper yet I said this too soft for normal conversation. Of course he heard me anyways.
“I’d like to do everything I want. Come on Grace, we met during interesting circumstances. Isn’t that worth sharing some bread?”
“I don’t want to feel like I owe you.”
“OK look, come eat here where I’m staying, and then later you can take me somewhere. Anywhere.”
Dinner was starting to feel like an obligation. But, I wanted to help Jack…and Karl. They saved me from a horrible situation. Who knows where I’d be if they hadn’t sailed up.
Also, I wanted to see Karl again. Even though he pissed me off asking for my number while I was still bound on Alfredo’s boat, there’d been a spark between us. I wanted to see whether it would catch and generate some heat.
“I’ll be there. But I may eat before. Maybe I’ll just tell the detective what happened and go home.” I waited to see what he would say to that.
Is he really asking me to come see him because he needs my statement? The detective could just call me himself.
My angel spoke up, “He’s a hero, Grace. He wants to see that you are safe.”
“He’s a man. He wants to see if he can get your clothes off,” my devil breathed. “You should try to get him naked too, I saw some gorgeous abs when his shirt blew up.”
“Eat before you come, or eat after, either is fine with me. Just come. Please,” Karl said.
“Oh, I like it when he says we should come.” That was Satana.
My angel looked offended.
“I will. Yes.”
twelve
I looked into my mirror. I wanted to change my hair, my face and my clothes. But, I knew I’d be late if I didn’t leave soon.
I tugged the hem of my short green dress. The one that clung to my body like a glove. So tight in fact, that I didn’t have any panties on underneath. I could’ve tried a thong, but the ones I owned were too small. I’d sworn off dating after breaking the last boy’s heart. Since then, I’d not been true to my diet and underwear would’ve given me a muffin top.
So I went commando instead. All-in commando with a smooth Brazilian wax from the spa down the street, which was why I was running late.
I topped off the dress with a white lacy shawl that hung from my thirty-six c cup boobs. The throw helped hide my stomach while arching in a cute way over my generous behind.
Fluttery sleeves shook like wings as I fluffed my hair and practiced my, ‘come get me baby,’ look. I wore strappy black heels to complete the outfit.
“Chubby girl ready for action,” I said to the mirror. I sucked in my stomach, but that looked weird. I let my belly back out. Either Karl would like me for who I was, or he wouldn’t. I shrugged like I didn’t care.
There was something building between us, I felt it. A possibility. Something that could be happening, right now, tonight. Like driving along a mountain road with no side rail. Like a Colorado back route that terrified me last year when Leslie and I took a road trip to see her cousin in Durango. If I drove too fast, and wasn’t careful, I’d be off that cliff and spinning into an intimacy with Karl.
I’d avoided relationships since freshman year. I fall too early, desperate to please someone who paid attention to me. Yet, no one turned out to be good enough for my devotion. I couldn’t risk my dreams, myself, and the person who I’d planned to become. I’d seen many friends tumble into entanglements they called love and stop talking about their dreams and the things they were going to do and make happen.
They’d start going on about their boyfriend’s dreams and plans, and how fantastic life would be when he got his MD, his JD, his Ph. D.
Not me. I wanted to let that alphabet soup happen to me. Not unless the letters came after my name.
So here I was instead, sharing a condo and trying to drag a failing newspaper into the Internet age.
Anyway, those loud bikes are expensive. Karl was some rich biker dude. The hottest of the hot. Jack and the Beanstalk. He would never settle for me.
That made him safe. Safe for my fantasies, and even safe for sex. A casual fling that wouldn’t derail my train.
I kept re-running Karl’s pros and cons in my head as I sped toward my fate at the Ritz. As usual in early summer, the traffic was sparse and I hit most of the green lights as I drove over the Stickney Point Bridge and rolled down to Forty-One. The sun setting behind me painted the buildings and trees with a red-gold shade and then glared into my eyes as I turned north. The soft-rock station I was tuned to played a song from the eighties, The Future’s So Bright I Gotta Wear Shades.
I drove toward my own bright future, squinting as I pulled my ten-dollar sunglasses from my Honda’s console and slapped them on as I sang along.
thirteen
I walked into the restaurant of the Ritz. Two hostesses stood on duty, one a short blond and the other a tall brunette. Both too skinny, wearing contrasting dresses with three inch heels. One in white, the other in black. The blond took charge and smiled up at me through glossy red lips.
“Karl’s table? Karl Norman?” I blurted.
The brunette giggled and the blond widened her eyes. She must go through mascara by the case. I smelled lilies. Her perfume. I liked it. Cheap, but not too trashy.
“I’m Jenna.” Of course. “Please follow me. They’re waiting for you.” A slight whine at the end, like she wasn’t sure I was worth waiting for.
We walked on an on past tables crowded with other diners, all seeming to be much better dressed than me, in particular, the women. This city’s nickname is Cougartown for good reason, so at least most of them were a lot more weather-beaten than me. The smell of the food was going from my nose straight to the hunger pains in my stomach and I had to swallow to keep from drooling.
Jenna’s skirt sported a pair of light batik dragons cavorting on the front, while the back was white. In the dim restaurant, that worked. However, as we entered the corridor, I could see her black thong through the thin cloth.
It looked lacy and fancy and I was wondering if she would be upset if I asked her where she got it when she turned and smiled over her shoulder, “Mister Norman’s room’s just a bit further.”
Wait. What?
“His room? I thought we’re having dinner.”
“You are, honey, the others are there already.” Women in south Florida often call you honey. If they don’t hate you. “He’s got a dining room in his suite.”
I was going to have dinner with a man with God-good looks who could afford a suite with a dining room. At the Ritz.
“The others are there?”
“The detective, and his friend.” She winked back at me. “Three of the cutest men in Sarasota, that I wouldn’t mind being atween.” Her voice had a twang that reminded me of a college friend from the west. Utah or Colorado. One of the square states.
“Are we there yet?” I gave a laugh at the end to let her know I was kidding. I wasn’t kidding; we’d already trekked farther than I’d ever planned to walk in my strappy heels.
“Here it is number 101.”
We walked into a living room that was more spacious than my apartment. Jenna crooked her finger and led me past mahogany leather couches along walls with artwork that looked like it belonged in a museum. Above the couch on the right was a huge window that looked over the bay. The sun had just set and the sky flamed like a bonfire leaping up from dark, log-like clouds on the horizon. On the left glowed a yellow panel decorated with the faint silhouettes of tree branches.
She opened two doors with a flourish to reveal a private dining room with a wine cellar motif, the walls lined with shelves holding bottle after bottle from floor to ceiling. At the dark wood grained table in the center of the room sat Karl, Jack, and a third man who must be the detective.
“Don’t get up…,” I started to say as they all stood.
“Miss Grace Dawson, this is Detective Cale.”
“Call me Dylan, ma’am,” he said with a huge mouth full of oversized teeth. Very white teeth.
I grabbed his proffered hand, afraid he would kiss mine. His accent made me think he’d be a Rhett Butler, but he just shook my wrist up and down like a normal person.
At Karl’s urging we all sat and then chatted while perusing the menu.
This is going to cost me a week’s salary.
“Your money’s no good here, Grace, order whatever you like,” Karl said, as if he had read my mind.
“I’m not going to let you pay for my meal, Mister Norman.” I snapped. Detective Dylan raised his bushy black eyebrows.
“This’s going to be good.” Jack laughed.
I ended up ordering the cheapest chicken dish on the menu and a house white wine. The least expensive plate on the menu, and the damage pushed fifty dollars.
Detective Cale asked a series of questions over the course of an hour, which I must have answered to his satisfaction because he left just before our meals arrived and didn’t take Jack with him in cuffs.
So often it’s dry, but this chicken was fantastic, and melted in my mouth. Karl was charming, and Jack was funny, they rambled on about the weather, fishing, stocks, and sports events. Usually the sort of conversation that would bore me to tears, but these two gorgeous men talking changed that. I had several more servings of wine, which only encouraged my playful mood.
The nice older waitress came by several times, filling water glasses and checking on our satisfaction. A sound system somewhere served up a steady beat of classic rock and roll songs, a few of which I even recognized. After many lighthearted minutes, the plates were cleared and then the mood took a turn toward the serious side. At some point we’d get a bill for all this fun and I’d have to insist on paying my share.
