Silk

by Heidi McLaughlin

  Everything was a blur as my car hurtled forward. A high-pitched squeal rang out as metal bent. Bits of bark and fiberglass exploded around me.

  Tucked into Adam’s side all night, I should have slept like a baby. But that was a real rarity these days. So I wasn’t at all surprised when I woke up gasping for air.

  “It’s okay, Allie,” he said softly, pulling me in even closer. He put a hand under my chin and tipped my head up. If I could wake up to this face every day, it would be more than just okay.

  His eyebrows furrowed. His mouth was drawn into a straight line. “What is it that you dream about anyway?”

  “Nothing special,” I said. “Snakes, alligators, serial killers ... the usual stuff.” My breathing was still labored, and the words came out choppy. What I really meant was that it was nothing that I wanted to talk about. I thought about the jagged scar that ran across my lower abdomen. If I really wanted this to work, I knew that I would have to answer his questions some day, but today was not that day.

  He looked at me skeptically. “I went out and got some stuff to make breakfast, and I already made coffee. Do you have to work today?”

  I ran my hand through the rat’s nest on top of my head. “Yeah, I need to go in for a few hours this afternoon.” I glanced over at the clock. It was already 10:30.

  “I figured as much. Your computer has been blowing up in the other room. It keeps dinging.” He brushed some stray hair off of my forehead and then ran his finger down the length of my nose. His finger lightly traced my lips before continuing its path down my chin until it reached the hollow at the bottom of my neck.

  “Email,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  His lips brushed the sensitive skin just behind my ear. “They will wait,” he said. “Take a shower while I make breakfast, and then I’ll drive you to work.”

  I nodded, but made no move to get up. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind staying right here for a little while longer. I just need to get a little more comfortable.” I threw my leg up over his hip. He rolled onto his back as I positioned myself on top of him. “That’s better.”

  “Ah, but now I’m a little uncomfortable,” he said. The corner of his mouth turned up slightly.

  His eyes were hooded and dark, and I could feel just how uncomfortable he was getting. “Let me see what I can do about that,” I said shifting against him.

  He placed his hands firmly on my hips and held them still. “Breakfast,” he said.

  “It’s Saturday,” I said. “I have time for both.”

  Again, conflict tore across his face. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that sex wasn’t on his agenda this morning. I felt the sting of rejection, and then decided that I wasn’t having any of it.

  I leaned down and ran my tongue across his bare chest. “Come on,” I said. “Help me forget that nightmare.”

  The conflict was replaced with resignation, and I knew I’d won.

  Thirty-seven minutes later, I finally made it to the shower. Even though it was closer to lunchtime now than breakfast, Adam’s fried egg and bacon sandwiches totally hit the spot. They also made me a bit homesick.

  As we walked out the front door of my building, I said, “You know, it’s only a few blocks to the office. I can walk.”

  “Let me drive you,” he said in a non-negotiating voice. “My car is right down there.” He pointed down the street where his car was parallel parked a half-block away.

  “Wow,” I said. “I can’t believe that you left your car on the street.”

  We started walking in that direction. “Yeah. Normally, that would be out of the question, but I drove Burke to a gig in Brooklyn last night. If you recall, I was in a bit of a rush to get over here afterwards. I wasn’t about to go all the way back to my place to park it and then have to try to catch a cab at 3:00 in the morning. So I took my chances.”

  He opened my door for me, and I slid across the smooth, slick seat. While he walked around the front of the car to the driver’s side, I inspected the interior of the car. It was definitely vintage, but the silver dash and door panels had been very modern in their day. The car was meticulously maintained. There wasn’t any trash on the floor. No pens or change littered the console.

  Adam got in next to me.

  “What is this thing?” I asked.

  “This thing is my baby. Be careful. If you talk shit on her, it’s likely she won’t start.”

  So he was one of those guys that talked about his car like it was a person. Normally, I would have found that off-putting, but she really was kind of fantastic. I could see why he was a little obsessed with it.

  “Okay, what is she?” I asked.

  His face lit up. There was an unfamiliar gleam in his eyes. “She is a 1967 Mustang Shelby GT 500 Super Snake. Only 2,048 Shelby GTs were produced in 1967, but only one was a super snake. This one was designed to replicate it, but with more modern parts. She has an aluminum 427FE engine that was bored and stroked to 482ci. with a T Trim Vortech supercharger.”

  I had no idea what he’d just said. I wasn’t even sure if he was still speaking English. “Well, she’s really pretty.”

  He looked at me like I had grown horns and snorted. “Eleanor is not pretty. She is a badass.” He cranked the engine as if to prove his point. Despite my trash talking, she roared to life.

  I laughed. “Clearly, she didn’t mind being called pretty. Eleanor doesn’t seem like a very fitting name. You would think a badass like Eleanor would have a more badass name.” I had to practically shout over the deafening engine.

  Adam rolled his eyes at me and groaned. “Woman, you are killing me. I did not name her Eleanor. The 1967 Shelby GT has been called ‘Eleanor’ since Hollywood made her famous in 2000.”

  “Oh, okay,” I said. “Whatever you say.” This got me another eye roll just as we pulled up outside my building.

  “Well, thanks for the ride,” I said as I reached for the handle on the door.

  Adam reached across the space separating us and stretched his arm out along the back of my seat. “Hey,” he said, picking up a piece of my hair and turning it between his fingers. “I know that two nights in a row is not our usual M.O., but I want to see you again tonight? If you’re not doing anything .... “

  “Of course,” I said. I then mentally backhanded myself for not playing it a little more coy. Oh, well. I really wasn’t good at playing games.

  “I’ll pick you up at your place at 7:30 if that’s okay.”

  “Perfect,” I answered and grinned. And he really was perfect. I grabbed my laptop bag from the floor and ducked out of the car.

  “I have something special planned,” he said just as I slammed the door.

  I couldn’t wait.

  CHAPTER 12

  Adam

  If prostitution is the oldest profession, pornography must be the second. Naturally, there was no shortage of websites specializing in the dissemination of compromising photos of New York women who should have known better. Most of the photos on the sites were grainy and unflattering. But, unfortunately for their subjects, most of the women would be easily identified by anyone who knew them.

  All one had to do was press the upload button and watch that bar tick up from 0 percent to 100 percent. It took all of one minute to wreck someone’s life. It was as easy as one, two, three, and people did it every day.

  Why was I hesitating? This was what I’d been waiting for, and she’d practically served her demise to me on a silver platter.

  The problem was that pushing that button would change everything. Once she got wind of it, there would be no question that I was the one who did it. The whole thing would come crashing down around me, and it would be time to answer for my sins. Of course, it would also be time for her to answer for hers.

  And still I hesitated. I’d been staring at the photo on my computer screen for almost an hour. The fact that it was 20 times larger than the original and quite a bit more blurry didn’t diminish its quality. She looked fantastic.

&n
bsp; At least she had that going for her.

  Alexis

  For a day that started on such a high note, it really went to shit.

  When I turned on my computer at work, it had all but blown up. After about 30 seconds of normal booting-up, the screen had turned into a blurry kaleidoscope of color before going black. After spending a half hour trying to get it to turn back on and getting no more than an occasional blip of activity, I’d called the IT department for an emergency intervention. The on-call computer guru diagnosed my machine with some sort of Trojan virus that I couldn’t spell. He spent all afternoon removing the disastrous infection, and I’d spent the last five hours sitting on my thumb and getting nothing done.

  My computer was finally clean and operational again just before 6:00. Unfortunately, my hard drive was wiped. I’d lost all of the cheat sheets that I’d developed over the past two years and a few documents that I’d been working on this week for actual, paying clients.

  I would have to come in tomorrow to make up for it. And, since Lizzie had basically written in blood that she wouldn’t stand me up tomorrow, it meant that I’d be pulling an all-nighter tomorrow night. I wasn’t happy.

  But I did have the evening to look forward to. Wondering what Adam had planned was the only thing productive I’d done all afternoon. Since there was no point in starting a new project at 6:00 when Adam was picking me up at 7:30, I packed up my stuff and headed home to get ready.

  I took a nice long shower, but it went only so far to remove the tension from my shoulders. He’d given me no hints as to what was in store for me this evening so I had no idea how to dress. I stood in my closet staring at what felt like really limited options before finally deciding on going casual. After all, Adam was a casual guy.

  I had to lie on the bed to get my jeans to button. I made a mental note to walk past Michelangelo’s a couple of nights this coming week. Some salads were definitely in order. I should probably make sure I got in a good long run, too, but that would have to wait until after tomorrow.

  Adam knocked on my door at 7:28. Rubber Cat and I met him at the door. He was wearing his usual uniform of jeans and a t-shirt. Tonight’s shirt was tan and depicted a honey badger with a cobra in its mouth. The banner across his chest said ‘Honey Badger don’t care.’ My black t-shirt and jeans had been a good call.

  He held a plastic sack out toward me. “Just a little something I picked up for you,” he said sheepishly.

  I took the sack and left my bad day behind me. Flinging my arms around his neck, I gave him a proper greeting. When I pulled away, there was something in his eyes, which were focused on the floor instead of my face, I didn’t recognize. He seemed uncomfortable and a bit shy, and I couldn’t imagine why.

  While I was digging through the plastic sack, Adam made a full recovery. I pulled out the folded cotton bundle and shook it open. The t-shirt was almost the same color as his, but was cut for a woman. The two men depicted on the shirt were old-fashionedly dressed and outfitted with shotguns. Beneath the picture, it said ‘Bounty Hunters.’

  He’d bought me a present. He’d actually bought me a present. “I love it!” I gushed.

  “It’s no big deal,” he said with a smile. “I just saw it and thought of you.”

  That $20 shirt was the best gift I’d ever received. Adam’s eyes blazed as I tore off the shirt that I had chosen for the night and replaced it with the new one. “All set to go then,” I said, smoothing it down. “And I’m gonna wear it until you peel it off of me later.”

  A few minutes later we’d said our farewells to Rubber Cat and were back in Adam’s car. He maneuvered through the streets as if it wasn’t a Saturday night ... as if there weren’t a thousand cabs all trying to get from point A to point B in record time. He revved the engine at every light and looked at me with a wicked gleam in his eye. It was if he wanted to show me exactly what that car of his was capable of.

  When we pulled into a parking garage on the NYU campus, I was a little surprised. This was definitely not what I’d anticipated for a Saturday night out.

  Adam got out of the car and walked around to open my door. “Milady,” he said, with a slight bow.

  I got out and looked around while he rustled around in the trunk. The building in front of me was an impressive modern structure. For a weekend, it seemed like there were a lot of lights glowing in the windows.

  He led me to a door on the side of the building and held his student ID up to the little box to scan us in. We walked down the long hall. Our footsteps seemed to be the only sounds in the building.

  “You ready for a tour of my life?” he asked, his voice echoing down the hall. The thought made me giddy ... even if all he was really offering was a tour of his school.

  We walked through the building. He pointed out classrooms, and I imagined him slumped in an auditorium chair listening to his professor talk about lighting and camera angles. He told me about an especially eccentric professor who once taught class in house shoes and a bathrobe.

  Finally, he stopped by a closed door in an interior hall. With one hand, he held the door open for me. The other arm cradled the paper grocery sack that he’d pulled from the trunk of his car. I brushed past him, a little closer than absolutely necessary. He smelled amazing. He flipped on a light and looked around me. It wasn’t much more than a closet. A large desk sat in front of the back wall, which was covered in television screens.

  “This is an editing room,” he said. “I’m getting ready to start my senior project, and I’m going to log a lot of hours in this little room.”

  His face was as alive as I’d ever seen it. Clearly, this was his passion. I could easily see him hunkered down at that desk, working well into the night until he had a masterpiece.

  “Okay, just one more stop,” he said, ushering me back out into the hall.

  We walked about 20 more feet and then stopped at another closed door. Though it was dark, I knew immediately that this room was much larger than the previous one. Adam flipped another light switch to turn on a strip of dim lighting that ran along the length of the two longer walls. The lights cast a red glow on the ceiling above. I could see then that the floor sloped down to the front of the room. Rows of cushy, upholstered seating stood between me and the movie screen on the wall in front of us.

  We were in a movie theater. Our own private movie theater.

  “Pick your seat,” he said, gesturing towards the front. “Are you a front, back, middle, or aisle kind of girl?”

  “I’m a dead center kind of girl,” I said as I moved down the aisle. “Though I bet you are a back row kind of guy.”

  He chuckled. “Not since high school. Once I started actually watching the movies, I moved up a few rows. Just give me a second to get it started.”

  He disappeared through a door at the back of the room as I slid into my dead-center seat. A few seconds later, the screen lit up in front of me. Adam slid into the seat next to me just as the opening credits flashed on the screen.

  The light flickered across his face as he dug through the paper sack that was now on his lap. “I didn’t know whether you like sweet or salty. So I brought a little of both.”

  In succession, he pulled out boxes of Mike and Ike’s, Skittles, and M&M’s, and laid them on my lap. Then he pulled out bottles of Coke, Diet Coke, Dr. Pepper, and Sprite. Finally, he retrieved a tub of popcorn. A plastic grocery sack had been secured over the top of the tub so that it didn’t spill on the trip over. He untied it and pulled it off revealing the buttery goodness within.

  I smiled at the smorgasbord of movie theater concessions before me. “Is that real movie theater popcorn?” I asked. Like Pavlov’s dog, I’d started salivating.

  “It is. Turns out, you can walk in and just buy popcorn. You don’t have to even buy a ticket. The rest of it came from Duane Reed. Those little boxes of candy were $5 each at the theater.” He shook his head. “It’s a total racket. I might be going into the wrong end of the business.”

  “I
love movie theater popcorn,” I whispered, reaching for the tub.

  “You don’t have to whisper,” he whispered back. “It’s just you and me, babe.”

  I looked around at the rows and rows of empty seats. “Well, don’t think that I’m going to let you cop a feel just because we are alone.” I was still whispering. It just felt right.

  “We’ll see about that,” he said with an evil gleam in his eye. “This isn’t the highest quality film. Don’t get me wrong; I’ve enjoyed it each and every one of the 22 times I’ve seen it, but if I didn’t already own it, I might not have been able to find a copy of it in all of New York City. I’m willing to bet that you’ll be ready for a distraction before it’s half over.”

  “Put your money where your mouth is,” I said wickedly just as a Moby song boomed out of the speakers and the opening credits began to roll.

  “It would be my pleasure, Ms. Alexis Harper,” he said.

  I exaggeratedly settled into the seat to let him know that I was in it for the long haul. I snagged the bucket of popcorn and propped it between my legs while he ripped open a box of candy.

  He was right. It probably hadn’t made the Oscars list in 2000, but I wasn’t a tough critic when it came to movies. I’d always been a Robert Duvall fan, and I was immediately pulled in. As Angelina and Nic plotted to steal 50 luxury cars in four days, I became increasingly interested.

  Like a teenager, I was hyperaware of Adam’s presence next to me. Aware that his hand was resting on his thigh, mere inches from mine. Aware that if my leg moved just a fraction to the right, it would brush against his. And I so badly wanted that to happen. I wanted our knees to touch. I wanted to reach over and weave my fingers through his. Hell, I wanted to completely abandon my seat to straddle him.

  But I was resolved. I kept my eyes trained on the screen. It was only during a particularly sexy stakeout scene when Angelina did the exact same move that I’d been plotting that I stole a glance at Adam. His eyes were also on the movie, but his lips were curved up in a smile. He knew that I was watching him. Based on the smirk on his face, it was safe to presume that he knew that I was running out of self control.