by Lois Greiman
“I am not certain.”
I contemplated that for a moment, then, “Get undressed,” I said.
She stared at me. “I do not think it proper—” she began, but I interrupted.
“Your husband has many friends,” I said. “You have me.”
She stared at me a moment, then nodded curtly and disappeared into the nearest stall.
Yanking the plastic bag from the garbage can, I emptied the few contents, then tore a hole in the bottom.
In a moment Aalia opened the door, wearing nothing but her underwear. The bra, white and lacy, did good things to her modest boobs. The panties were a floral pattern and the size of a midget’s handkerchief.
“Victoria’s Secret?” I guessed.
“Orchid V-string.”
“Nice,” I said, but just then a noise sounded from outside. I crowded her back into the stall and closed the door behind us.
She took the garbage bag from me and popped it over her head without a question asked. It just reached the middle of her perfect thighs. Whipping off my belt, I handed it over.
The restroom door opened. We both froze but in a moment a stall door creaked open and shut.
We exhaled in tandem, then she cinched the belt around her waist.
I glanced at her. She looked like a high-fashion model with poor taste. Perfect.
We traded shoes in a matter of moments. She teetered a little in mine, but managed the altitude. It was the attitude that was problematic.
“You’ve seen Gisele Bündchen?” I whispered.
“The model super?”
I nodded. “Be her.”
It took her a moment to assimilate my meaning, but then she transformed, pulling her shoulders back, letting her eyes go mean. By the time we stepped back into the bustle of LAX, she looked angry enough to be anorexic and we’d been inside the restroom less than five minutes. I glanced in both directions but the turbaned men were nowhere to be seen. Aalia was walking straight and true on my three-inch heels as we made our way toward the parking lot. All seemed well. But as we stepped past the nearest carousel, three men caught my attention. Their nationality was uncertain, but they wore Italian suits like they had been born to them. Their black hair was peppered with salt, and their dark eyes were narrow and cautious as they glanced at us.
We kept walking, and though I didn’t turn toward Aalia, I could feel her falter.
“Aalia.”
“Yes?” Her shoulders were still pulled back and somehow she had learned to lead with her hips, but her pace had slowed the slightest degree, and her voice sounded vague.
“Do you know what a lesbian is?”
“In my country they are put to the death.”
“In mine, they get their own talk shows.”
She shook her head, but her attention was on the suits. “It is a mortal sin.”
“We kind of frown on wife-beating here,” I said.
A degree of color seeped from her face. Then, reaching out, she took my fingers in hers. They felt as cold as Popsicles. Our gazes met and stuck. I swung our hands between us and forced a smile. It took her a moment to reciprocate, but when she did the world lit up like a carnival. Just when we were even with the suits, she leaned over and kissed me.
I stared, agog, and she laughed. Slipping her arm through mine, she toted me outside.
“Give me the keys.”
I jerked toward the speaker. Rivera was right beside me, face hard, body language unspeakable. I hadn’t even heard him approach, but he was matching my stride.
“The keys,” he said again.
“I can drive,” I said.
“She needs you.”
“She’s fine … and amazing,” I said, but he was already slipping my purse from my shoulder.
“Hurry up,” he ordered, and it wasn’t until that moment that I realized Aalia was crying.
11
It is better to be a coward for a moment than to be dead for the rest of your life.
—Irish proverb
Even though the traffic was atypically light, it was still a long ride home from LAX to Sunland. I sat in the backseat with Aalia. For the first few miles I just stared out the back window, but if anyone was following us, I couldn’t see them.
I was able to coax almost nothing out of Aaila. In the end, she fell asleep, head resting against the cushion behind her. I tried to call her sister, but my message went instantly to voice mail.
By the time we reached the 101 I had given up, but Ramla was out her door before Rivera had pulled the Saturn to a complete halt. Instead of rushing toward us, however, she stood absolutely still, waiting on her stoop, hands clasped in front of her mouth, brows drawn painfully together in the sweep of her porch light.
Rivera turned off the car and glanced back at me. Aalia came awake slowly and blinked, then started slightly as she saw us staring at her.
“It’s okay,” Rivera said.
“We’re here,” I intoned, and nodded toward the Al-Sadrs’. “Your sister’s waiting.”
Aalia lifted her beautiful face toward my neighbor’s house. “Ramla?” She said the word strangely, almost like a prayer, and then she was fumbling for the door handle. Ramla was running toward us. I sat perfectly still, watching as the two women met and clasped, cried and hugged and cried some more. Sitting in the backseat, I felt my eyes well up as Ramla and Aalia turned, still hugging, toward the house. One hot, fat tear slipped down my cheek.
The night went silent. Even Rivera seemed beyond complaints.
“I’d join you back there,” he said, “but I’m probably in enough trouble for harassing strangers without being found in the backseat with a weeping woman.”
“I’m not weeping,” I said, and inconspicuously wiped away the tear.
It was very dark, but I could still make out his cut-granite features in the dimness. “Is that an invitation?”
“No,” I said, but truth to tell, I did kind of need a hug … or something.
“You okay?”
“Sure,” I said. “It was easy peasy.”
He raised one brow. “You dressed a Muslim woman in a garbage bag.”
I sniffed a little. “There were Muslim men nearby.”
He nodded.
“I’m getting a kink in my neck,” he said, twisted around in the seat. “We should get you inside.”
I didn’t say anything. The memory of Ramla wrapping her sister in her arms still made my throat feel tight.
“Or I could join you back there.”
“Geez,” I said, and shedding the melancholy mood, clambered out of the car. He followed me to the door, where I put my key in the lock.
“I’ll call you in the morning,” he said.
I turned toward him. “You’re not coming in?”
“I’ve got some things to take care of,” he said.
I winced despite myself, remembering the part about Aalia’s missing passport, my lies regarding Aalia’s nonexistent passport, and the fact that Rivera probably knew all along I was lying. “Any of those things going to get me incarcerated?”
He glanced at me. “Would it matter?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You might enjoy the company in Sing Sing.”
I gave him a look that may have suggested I thought he’d lost his last vestige of good sense.
“But maybe they don’t kiss as well as Aalia.”
I felt myself blush. “That wasn’t my idea,” I said, and he laughed as he stepped up on the stoop and slipped an arm around my waist.
“So you think you’d prefer the companionship in Lompoc?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His mouth was still slanted up at a cocky angle. “Looks like nobody can resist you,” he said.
I considered pushing him away, but didn’t really want to. “You’re doing okay.”
He snorted and slipped a loose lock of hair behind my right ear. “She even got in your backseat before I did.”
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“There was no tongue,” I said.
“Jesus, McMullen,” he said, and pulled me closer. “I’m having a hard enough time remembering you two kissing without thinking about …” The length of him felt hard against my thigh. He shifted uncomfortably. “Jesus.”
“So you’re one of those guys,” I said.
His eyes were like dynamite. “One of those guys who wants to screw you?”
I swallowed. “One of those guys who gets turned on by the thought of two women together.”
“Oh, you mean a guy with balls. Yeah,” he said, “I am. But I’m not sure mine are as big as yours.”
“What are you talking about?”
He shook his head. “Sometimes I don’t really know if you’re gutsy or just stupid.”
“Gutsy,” I said.
He chuckled a little and touched my cheek. “What the hell were you thinking?”
The events of the evening were beginning to take their toll. The palms of my hands suddenly felt sweaty. “Do you think they’ll figure out where she’s at?”
His eyes were dark and seemed to be whispering sexy secrets about abandoned beaches and breakfast à la him. “There’s no way to be sure if they were even after her.”
“They checked all the bathroom stalls.”
His fingers paused on my cheek. “What’s that?”
I swallowed. I felt a little shaky suddenly. “They came into the restroom and checked all the stalls.”
“Muslim men went into the women’s bathroom?”
“Um … no.”
He swore, but it was quiet, so I wasn’t too concerned.
“I didn’t make her go in the men’s,” I told him.
He shook his head. “You are something else, woman.”
“In a good way?” I asked. “Or in a way that’ll get me five to ten.”
“That’s yet to be determined,” he said, and slipped his hand lower.
“What determines it?”
He shrugged. “Care to bribe an officer of the law? I think the backseat’s still empty.”
I laughed a little. “I think the Middle Eastern guys were shocked enough.”
“After that kiss, they’re probably home beating off right now.”
“Is that what you plan to do?”
His lips hitched up a notch. “I’ve still got hope here.”
“No, you don’t,” I said, but my voice was kind of squishy.
He chuckled, low and hot. Then he leaned closer. All my juices rushed to the forefront. All my inhibitions swooshed away like rain down a storm drain, but he reached around me and opened the door.
I scowled. He nodded me inside, so I stepped in, and he followed.
“Elaine.” He called her name and she was there immediately, eyeing me, eyeing him.
“What happened?” She was wiping her hands on a towel. A frown had dared venture onto her perfect brow.
“I want you to make sure McMullen doesn’t leave the house tonight,” he said.
“Okay.”
“If someone comes to the door, call me immediately.”
She nodded.
“If you hear a strange noise, call me immediately.”
“All right.”
“If you’re nervous—”
“Call you? Immediately?”
“Right.”
Reaching out, she pulled me farther into the vestibule. Rivera turned, closing the door behind us, leaving us alone.
Laney tugged me into the living room. “Sit down,” she said, and urged me toward the La-Z-Boy.
I sat.
“I’m going to make you some tea, then I’m going to ask you, again, what happened.”
“You said we could have ice cream,” I said. I wasn’t whining, but … Well, maybe I was whining a little.
“You need something to calm your nerves first. Ice cream will just make you sick.”
“Slander,” I said, but she had already left. “Ice cream has never made me sick.”
I leaned my head back against the cushiness of the chair and contemplated the cosmos. Laney was back in a moment. Sitting on the couch close to the ’Boy, she took my hand.
“You found Aalia,” she said.
I managed a nod.
“Rivera went with you.”
Another nod.
“Someone tried to stop you.”
I considered that for a moment, but I wasn’t sure of the answer so I changed the subject. Or maybe I changed it because I have the attention span of a gnat. “Rivera thinks I’m a lesbian.”
She sat looking at me. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“Not sure.”
“Did he say ‘ick’ or did he try to get you into the backseat of your Saturn?”
I frowned. Or maybe I had already been frowning. “I really don’t understand how you know these things.”
“You don’t understand how I know that men try to get women into the backseats of Saturns?”
I stared at her. She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful person in the world. Probably the universe. Yup, even counting possible extraterrestrials, she was the best. And I’d been kissed by Aalia.
“I guess I understand that one,” I said, and dropped my head back against the cushion.
She patted my hand and rose to fetch the tea. In a minute she was back. I don’t really like tea, but it was a prelude to ice cream, which I love more than French-kissing.
I took a sip of my tea and made a face. “What is this?”
“Ashwagandha.”
“It tastes like cat pee.”
“The fact that you know that begs so many questions,” she said, then moved on. “Aalia’s with her sister?”
I nodded.
“Did you have to put her in some kind of disguise?”
“How did you know that one?”
She shrugged. “You love disguises. Hey, I brought home one of my old wigs.”
“I never have understood why they would have you wear a wig when your own hair is like … well, like that.” I motioned toward her mustang’s mane. Maybe mine would have looked similar if I drank her Green Goo, but some things aren’t worth the trouble.
“They still have me wear hairpieces sometimes,” she said. “But Nadine likes to work with her own creations.”
“Nadine? The set’s hairdresser?”
“Yeah. She creates her own wigs, so they throw the old ones out. I thought of you.”
“You make me sound like a two-year-old,” I said, although, actually, I couldn’t wait to play dress-up.
“A two-year-old superhero,” she said.
I smiled a little and took another sip of cat pee. “I was kind of amazing,” I said, and she laughed.
“You always have been,” she said, and sighed as she rose. “That’s why I don’t want to take advantage of you. You ready for ice cream?”
“Is there caramel?”
“More than you can eat,” she said.
“I’ll place wagers,” I said, and stood, but something wasn’t quite right. I suspected it as I followed her into the kitchen. Knew it as I watched her reach for bowls, retrieve spoons, get out the blessed ice cream.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“We’re celebrating your continued survival,” she said. I nodded. “A serendipitous occasion.”
“And unexpected.”
“What did you mean by ‘you don’t want to take advantage of me’?”
She smiled. “Neither do I want to offend you with the truth,” she said.
“Since when?”
She laughed. “You’re a good person, Mac. Have been since the moment you were born.”
“That’s not true at all.”
“Well, you did a good thing tonight. So let’s eat a toast.” She’d dished up the ice cream. Two big scoops for me. A molecule for herself. She pushed my bowl across the kitchen table, lifted her own. “To Christina McMullen.”
“Ph.D.,” I added.
“Ph.D.,” she agreed. “M
ay all her acquaintances appreciate her marvelousness.”
“Here, here,” I said, and tasted my dessert. Laney had added cashews and caramel. The woman’s practically a genius.
“How is it?” she asked.
“Almost as marvelous as me.”
“They could use that in their marketing.”
“Call it Christina’s Caramel.”
“Or Mac’s Madness.”
I gave her a nod and set my bowl down. Sometimes I’m not only marvelous, I’m disciplined. But usually I’m just marvelous. “What’s going on?” I asked again.
She stared at me for a long second. “I don’t want to get you involved.”
“With what?”
For a moment I almost thought she was going to lie to me. But Brainy Laney is practically physically incapable of fabrications. I don’t have that problem … except where Laney’s involved.
“I’ve been getting some unusual mail,” she said.
“Define unusual.”
She drew a careful breath and cocked an almost-hip against the counter. “An adjective. Meaning uncommon. Rare.”
“I wasn’t asking for Webster’s opinion.”
“And I’m not asking for your help.”
“Why?”
“Because I like eating ice cream with you.”
“You haven’t eaten any.”
She smiled. “You tend to get too involved.”
“I’m funny that way. I prefer for my friends to have pulses,” I said, and picked up my bowl again. Laney had gone through the trouble of dishing it up after all.
“You had never even met Aalia before you went charging off to her rescue.”
I took a bite of ambrosia and gave her a look.
She glanced away, frustrated. Worried. “I didn’t think it was anything to be concerned about.”
“The unusual mail.”
“It was just an odd letter here or there.”
“But now?”
“They’re getting odder. I’m thinking of moving in with Jeen before the wedding.”
“So that if it’s a murderous fan, Solberg’ll be the first to go?”
She gave me a disgusted scowl. “So you don’t get hurt.”
I nodded. “We’re sacrificing you, then, I take it?”
Her scowl took on a little more attitude. One would think as pretty as Laney is, she wouldn’t be very good at angry, but that’s not true. She could drive a Navy SEAL to his knees if she put her mind to it. Of course it might have less to do with anger and more to do with the size of her boobs. “We’re not sacrificing anyone,” she said.
