Widow's Row

by Lala Corriere

  “Your turn. Why suddenly glum?” I asked.

  “You aren’t taking this whole thing serious enough, Breecie.”

  “Don’t worry, not about me or Benny. And, I am taking it seriously. I’m changing out the locks on my apartment.”

  “Breeze,” Kate began. It was a nickname that followed me around at the strangest times.

  “What?”

  “First of all, it’s still early in the year. They shouldn’t be out yet.”

  I looked at her ashen face, usually a more alcohol induced ruddy color.

  “What shouldn’t be out?” I asked.

  “I tried to discount it, but now that you’ve told me these crazy stories ...” Her voice drifted into numbness. The only sound was from the stones she kicked as we walked toward the main house, as if she was a schoolgirl trying to forget a bad report card in her pocket.

  “What is it?” I asked Kate.

  “I’m no expert, but I know that snake and it isn’t indigenous to this region. Serpiente Coralina Del Este. The Eastern Coral Snake. I’ve seen it in parts of Mexico. Common in the southeast. But closest it would live around here would maybe be Texas.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying rattlers could be out here, maybe this time of year. But the thing we saw today. No way. It’s been brought in here. Somehow. And its venom can be lethal.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Know Thine Enemy

  The next morning I found Ari in the kitchen, already sucking on his Sobranie Black Russian cigarette.

  I never looked upon Ari Christenson quite the same way after that night at The Lost Cat, when the arrogant and grungy and oh-so-icky man saved a human being, right in front of my eyes. Afterward he never wanted to talk about it, and certainly he never tried to take any credit for it.

  I broke into a nervous laugh, not having thought through what I was about to do. “Ari, I’m wondering if you’re free tonight?”

  “That’s a loaded question, baby. I’m never free but I do come cheap. Whatcha got in mind? The Raging Bovine?”

  He’d answered my question. “I’m cooking dinner tonight, and I want you to be here. I’m also inviting Jonathan, and in spite of what you think, when he comes in from his errands and smells the aroma, he won’t turn me down.”

  “Just why you wanna go and do a thing like that?” You got better things to do.”

  “First of all, you did a very decent thing, helping me over at The Lost Cat. I want to thank you for going over there with me in the middle of the night.” His eyebrows knitted as a firm reminder he didn’t want to discuss that evening.

  “And we all live in the same house. At the very least we can be civil to one another other over one decent meal.”

  “You don’t get it, girlie,” Ari said. “You’re not living in Lala Land. This isn’t any television episode of ‘Friends’.”

  “Dinner tonight. Eight o’clock.”

  Ari reached in his pocket. My eyes widened when the supposedly down-on-his-luck ranch owner yanked out a bulky wad of rolled bills.

  “Here,” he said, stuffing two one-hundred dollar bills in my hand. “I’ll buy the wine, just as long as we forget about that tranny stuff.”

  For one that trusted, my life was in turmoil. Trust was replaced by fear and paranoia. But I’m a fighter. I was still a determined little shit, as my dad often said.

  Know Thine Enemy. Or at least determine who they are! That’s the only reason I was cooking dinner for my housemates. I’d put on the minestrone early and the Bolognese sauce, laden with garlic sprinkled pork and Italian sausage, had been simmering for over an hour. The lasagna noodles were going into boiling water when Jonathan entered.

  There’s no man alive named Marasco that will resist the intense Italian bouquets now permeating every level of this rambling villa.

  “Ari and I are having dinner tonight, and we’re hoping you’ll join us,” I said.

  “Thank you, no. I just ate in town.” Flat and laconic.

  “We’re eating late. Eight o’clock. By then you’ll be hungry.”

  “I’ll see,” he said, clenching his mail tight into his chest. Jonathan had his mail delivered to a post office box in town. As far as I knew, he still picked it up just once a week, every Tuesday.

  Biting my lip, I looked away, sweeping my gaze back to the cooktop. Using a slotted wooden spoon to wrestle the ribbed pasta down into the pot, I was really wrestling with the old familiar feelings of hurt his curt words spawned. My father’s lexis often came spilling out of his mouth as terse commentary and opinion. So did Adam’s.

  I missed Adam. Christ, I missed my dad. And I didn’t need Jonathan Marasco’s shit-filled sarcasm. “You know, that’s just rude. Either you do or you don’t, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to beg for your company.”

  I turned around to a void. He’d already disappeared down the stairs toward his apartment.

  I’d found a set of antique Dresden china nestled in a corner buffet, guessed it had belonged to Ari’s wife, dusted a few pieces off and set them out. Ari’s gift of wine was decanted and ready to pour. The candle wax started to drip on the table, serving as a constant reminder I would have been better off spending the evening waxing my legs and re-reading ‘The Fear of Flying’. Or ‘Of Mice and Men’. Or even ‘The Little Prince’. At 8:30 P.M. the phone rang.

  “Your dinner not going as planned?” Kate had insisted I was making a mistake, doing everything but demand I abort my dinner.

  “It’ll freeze,” I said. I began pouring myself a glass of the exceptional cabernet sauvignon I had selected with Ari’s money, inhaling the oak bouquet. Thank you, Ari. I toasted to the open air, choking back tears.

  “I’m heading over to The Raging Bovine. Want to join me?”

  “I have all the rage, but no thanks. I’m just going to clean up and go to bed.”

  I had yet to clean up anything when Ari arrived ten minutes later, inebriated and slurring his words. “Ah, little honey, I just don’t think I have the stomach for it right now. I should of known I was late, but my Rolex is in the shop,” he crowed. “You ought to know better. ‘Member what I said. This ain’t no lost episode of that TV show, you know the one I mean. The one where all those damn kids live together.”

  Friends. And I know better. Know thine enemies.

  He continued with a solid stream of drunken consciousness. “Just let me fix a drink and I’ll get the hell outta your hair.”

  Ari grabbed the bottle of scotch, stopped, and sniffed. “Damn, this kitchen sure does smell fine. Damn fine.” He filled a glass with straight scotch. “Maybe I could have just a little. Don’t want to hurt your feelings.” He plopped down on a chair and began fingering the china. He regarded the plate with an odd curiosity edged with eerie ruefulness. I wondered if he might be struggling to remember a lifetime ago with his ex-wife.

  Ari slurped the minestrone, the juices still dribbling down his puffy chin as he attacked my lasagna. He was putting away far more than ‘just a little’. I’d lost my appetite, but managed to pick at a small portion of the pasta.

  A drunken Ari was not a pretty sight. It occurred to me perhaps I could take advantage of him, my way. Loose lips sink ships, and depositions were my specialty.

  “What do you know about our housemate?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Jonathan,” I said. “What do you know about him?”

  “Alls I need to know is he pays his rent on time. In advance.”

  I debated whether to say anything about my fears, deciding Ari was so shit-faced he wouldn’t remember anything in the morning anyway. “Someone is trying to scare me out of town.”

  “Say what? You can’t be serious,” Ari said. He shoveled another fork load of lasagna into his mouth.

  “I don’t have any enemies I know of,” I said.

  “Wait up just a whole hog minute. Marasco’s a weirdo, I’ll grant you that. But he ain’t no threat except maybe to himself.”
>
  “What’s that suppose to mean?”

  Ari threw his fork on the plate, appearing sated and ready for the scuttlebutt. “Story is the guy was a mucky-muck Wall Streeter, a real big shot. Then his wife and kid got themselves killed, and the guy went into a real tailspin. Rumors had it he killed them, but they’re just rumors. Anyway, he checked himself out of the human race. Suicidal and all that.”

  Ari actually presented some manners, refilling my wine glass as I sat recalling my first impression of Jonathan. He seemed shrouded in sadness. I was a lawyer and a big believer in first impressions.

  Second thoughts made me think maybe he did kill his wife and child.

  Did he know my father? My mother? Did he plant the dead rose by my door then try to look like a hero killing the snake he put out for me?”

  “What does he do all day?” I asked.

  “He keeps to himself down there,” Ari nodded toward the steps leading to the lower level, “Day-trading. And he must do all right. Like I say he always has my rent money. And he pays for our high speed Internet. Needs it for his trades.”

  “I can’t imagine him hiding down there all week long. And why doesn’t he receive his mail here? Why all the secrecy?” And why am I asking Ari Christenson for his opinion? Sheesh.

  “The dude probably gets a lot of checks in the mail. Maybe he doesn’t trust you,” Ari slurred in sync with slamming his empty glass down on the table. “Food for thought.” With that, he tottered up the staircase toward his apartment, hollering down one final time. “Hey, that was a damn good feed, Breecie Lemay. You got someone wants you outta here, they’re gonna have to deal with me.”

  I guess that meant ‘thank you’. And I still didn’t think Ari would be my knight in shining armor.

  The doorbell rang just as I heard Ari’s apartment door slam shut. I’d never heard the harmonic chimes before. We never had strangers out at the ranch.

  The red roses disguised the face behind them, but the low velvety voice was unmistakable.

  “I’ve missed you, Breeze. And if I’m not mistaken, you are still my fiancé,” Adam said.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The Sacral Chakra

  Adam’s calls had become less frequent. Maybe something to do with the fact I hadn’t returned one of them. But my battle tactics backfired on me. Part of me ached for his company and the old life I once knew.

  I wasn’t just hungry for love. I was hungry for human touch. More and more I kept thinking about how shallow my life was, void of any close relationships. Didn’t seem I was much different from Ari Christenson or Jonathan Marasco in that category.

  “I’ve come a long way, and this ranch place of yours wasn’t exactly easy to find. Are you going to invite me in?”

  “Of course,” I stammered, unsure what to do next.

  I accepted the roses from Adam’s still outstretched arm as he removed his Burberry coat and draped it over a nearby armchair. I flashed back to the red cashmere coat draped over the sofa in his apartment. And the matching scarf. The high heels. The fucking handbag. And the fucking.

  “I should put these in water,” I said.

  Adam followed as I turned and made my way back to the kitchen. “Did I interrupt something?” His voice became unsettled as he took inventory of the soiled dishes spread across the table.

  I wanted to laugh at his absurd jealousy. “Oh, god no.” I began clearing the plates and soup bowls when I noticed the third unused place setting. “Are you hungry?”

  He grabbed my waist and pulled me into his chest, then slid his hands lower behind me, pulling me against his groin, then his thighs, and deep into the whole of his intimate magnetism. “I’m famished,” he whispered against the nape of my neck.

  My neck wasn’t listening, but something deep within my second Sacral Chakra was. I slipped out from under Adam’s embrace, already weakened under his familiar spell. “I have quite a bit of food left over. One of my guests couldn’t make it.” My insides quivered under his touch, but I wasn’t about to show it.

  “Some idiot. Or maybe he’s smart and knows you’re spoken for.” Adam poured himself a drink from Ari’s coveted and very much off-limits bottle of Glenlivet scotch sitting on the counter, then slid into position at the head of the table.

  I ignored the comment, placing servings of still hot minestrone and lasagna in front of him while wishing I had the stomach for another round. If I were eating, I wouldn’t have to talk. Adam seemed to relish my discomfort, sipping on the soup while keeping both eyes fixated on mine.

  “Why are you here, Adam?” I swallowed a gulp of dry air.

  “Because apparently your phone isn’t working,” he said.

  This time my reaction was glib. I don’t think he liked it.

  “Look. I’m sorry, Breecie. If I could take it back, I would.”

  “What would you take back, Adam? The sex with the redhead, or getting caught having sex with the redhead? Or maybe just the goddamn press?” I got up to clear a few more dishes, pleased with my round of questioning.

  “That’s a low blow but I don’t blame you. I deserve it. Remember one thing. When you first left town I thought you were only going to be gone a week, maybe two. I did everything I could to talk you into leaving this hellhole and coming back to Washington.”

  I looked around at the hellhole. A gourmet appointed kitchen with all the gadgets, copper cookware cascading from a large rack suspended from a center beam below the stain-glassed skylight. Not to mention the square footage of the kitchen alone was almost as large as the sum of my Georgetown condo.

  “And so now it’s my fault?” My anger was impotent. Truthfully, I didn’t feel much of anything. I looked out the window. March’s full Sugar Moon lit the valley toward the now inky-colored mountains. A silhouette of massive pines rustled against the skyline.

  Adam pushed himself up from the table and crossed to the counter, pinning me against it. “What do you want me to say?” He slammed his hand down on the counter behind me. “I’m begging your forgiveness. That’s all I can do. And I can swear it won’t happen again. Now, are you going to find it in your heart to forgive me, just this one time, and let’s move forward with our future?” His voice was a strange combination, both muffled and severe.

  The bellowing voice came from the dining room in front of me. The kitchen light cast in such a way, I first caught glimpse of the gold cross, then the gleaming black hair.

  “Everything okay in here?” Jonathan appeared ready to pounce as Adam wheeled around. I managed a nod, not trusting the right words to come out of my mouth.

  Jonathan fixed his stare on the scene. I’d never realized how commanding his muscular presence was. Adam softened his stance and backed away from me. A defiant wave to Jonathan signaled him to leave. Jonathan zeroed his eyes in on mine, and I nodded again, with a shrug of my shoulders. He turned and left.

  “Who the hell was that?” Adam said, with a jealous indignity.

  “That was the smart idiot who didn’t come to dinner.”

  Adam flashed an applauding smile and poured two more Glenlivets, one for me and another for him. I made a mental note to buy Ari a new bottle in the morning. Adam growled, “He needs a shave.”

  “Recluses don’t shave,” I said.

  Adam ignored my comment. “Breeze, you need me.”

  I didn’t want to need him. He’s a bastard.

  “Give me a second chance. Our entire futures depend on us getting through this. I messed up. I’ll never hurt you again.”

  The night grew late and there was no denying the inevitable. Following a quick tour of my small apartment, and a not-so pleasant introduction to Benny who hissed an unwelcome greeting, I once again engaged in mind-boggling sex with Adam Chancellor. After all, he was still my fiancé. That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.

  My room was dark; I could barely see the silhouette of Adam’s shoulder as he lay sleeping next to me. The room felt stuffy. Almost stifling. I moved to the window to ope
n it and receive the cool March air. Jonathan’s guitar music shadowed my feeling of aloneness.

  Dad was waiting for Adam and me at his kitchen table, now set up as command headquarters for whatever he did to occupy his time. One phone anchored the recent copy of The Washington Post. Two additional cell phones graced each side of his plasma monitor, which I found incredibly amusing given his unwillingness to say very much.

  His speech therapist had me doing drills with him, asking fill-in-the blank questions. Dad would have to think of the right word, then say it. ‘You take your coffee?’ ‘Black.’ ‘You drive a?’ ‘Cadillac.’ ‘You live in?’ ‘Trinidad.’ The process was laborious, but he was improving. He just didn’t like doing it.