Kiss the Girl

by Susan Sey

  Nixie picked up the discarded script. “This one’s from Lars Von Heller,” she said.

  “I know who it’s from, Nixie.”

  “He directed you to an Oscar nomination, Mom. I doubt he’s sending you junk.” She picked up the slim binder and flipped it open. She scanned a page or two, then said, “Oh.”

  “Oh is right,” Sloan said, sinking deeper into her chair. She crossed her arms, making a shelf on which to prop her boobs. Nixie doubted she did it consciously. It was probably just a habit at this point, like not smiling, frowning or eating. Nixie cruised through another fifteen, twenty pages, enough to get a sense for the part’s depth and scope, enough to know Lars had offered her mother another Oscar contending role. Still...

  “He wants you to play a grandmother.” Nixie bit down on a smile.

  “Do I look like a grandmother to you?”

  “Well, no. Not like any grandmother I’ve ever met. To be fair, though, you’ve never looked much like a mother, either.”

  Sloan narrowed her eyes. “Is that a crack?”

  “Mom, you’re fifty. Grandkids are on the way.”

  Sloan spread one hand over her cleavage and stared at Nixie. “Tell me you’re not pregnant.”

  “What? Of course I’m not pregnant. You stole the last guy who could’ve made that happen, remember?”

  “Did I?” Sloan gave her that naughty kitty smirk she’d been playing off as a smile for the last decade. “What was his name again? Jonathon? Jeffrey?”

  “James, Mom. His name was James. And I’m not here to talk to you about that.”

  “No? Then why are you here, Nixie? You haven’t exactly been in the habit of dropping by lately.”

  “I need Karl. Is he around?”

  “I’m afraid not. It’s just your old mom here today. Want to leave a message? I’m sure Karl can parent you when he gets back.”

  Nixie’s anger, already at a simmer over Karl’s high-handed attempts to manipulate her love life, shot straight to a rolling boil. “I’m sorry, did you want a crack at parenting? You should’ve said something. Karl and I have established kind of a thing these past twenty years, but you can step up to the plate any time. It might damage your image as an international slut, though. Just so you know.”

  Nixie’s heart tumbled as she heard the ugly words fall out of her mouth, but Sloan didn’t flinch. She actually smiled. Better a slut than a mother, apparently. Nixie wished her conscience would embrace the idea and quit ordering up the tidal waves of guilt that were currently crashing over her head.

  “I think I can afford a little motherly beneficence in the privacy of my own hotel room.” She sent the script in Nixie’s hand a poisonous look. “I’ll ask you to keep it quiet, however, out of deference to my career.” She put her feet on the floor, folded her hands and channeled the Mona Lisa. “Come now. Tell Mummy all about it. What’s got our level-headed Nixie pissy enough to use an ugly word like slut?”

  “You really want to know?”

  Sloan just looked at her, amber brows cocked expectantly, all attentive patience.

  “Fine.” Nixie flopped onto the couch across from her mother, twisted the script in her hands into a tube and said, “There’s a guy.”

  Sloan waved a hand. “There’s always a guy, Nixie.”

  “Well, I like this one. I really like him.” She frowned. “I think I might even love him. He’s being kind of stupid right now so it’s hard to tell.”

  “Stupid in what way?”

  “He’s got a problem with fame, money, politics and the press. Childhood incident, I guess. I didn’t ask.”

  “I see.” Sloan nibbled one glossy lip. “Are we talking in code or can we say Erik?”

  Nixie slid sideways until she was lying down on the couch, the script over her face.

  “Code it is,” Sloan said. “Go on.”

  The script smelled like toner and her own breath and Nixie liked the feel of it over her face. It provided a sort of anonymity that made it easier to talk. To her mother, of all people. “He thinks he wants somebody ordinary. Somebody normal. Somebody who doesn’t end up in the tabloids every other day. But I don’t think he’s absolutely sure about that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because every time we’re alone together, he kisses me into next week.”

  “Ah.”

  Nixie pulled the script off her face and sat up. “So what do I do? I can’t just hang around hoping he’ll eventually take a chance on me. But what if I leave? He’ll probably propose to the first pretty introvert he meets and then it’ll all be over.”

  “Darling, listen to yourself,” Sloan said. “It’s all he wants, he’ll do, he says. What about what you want?”

  “What I want?”

  “Yes, you.”

  She twisted the script in her hands. “I...I don’t know.”

  “Of course you do. Don’t think, just answer. What do you want, Nixie?”

  “Him.” Nixie’s heart bloomed as she finally said the words out loud. Finally admitted what was in her heart. “I want him.”

  “Go get him, then.”

  Nixie laughed, and it sounded startlingly sharp and bitter, even to her own ear. “I’m not sure it works like that.”

  “Of course it does.”

  “He doesn’t want me, Mom.”

  “Of course he does. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be kissing you all the time.”

  Nixie thought about that for a second. “Okay, so maybe he wants my body but he’s not happy about it. In fact, I’d say he’s pretty pissed about it. And now I’m supposed to convince him to not only want the rest of me but to be happy about it?”

  “My darling, naïve little Nixie.” Sloan gave a chuckle that was pure sexual knowledge. “Men are very primitive creatures when it comes down to it. Keep them fucked, keep them fed, and they’ll do about any ridiculous thing you ask. Even marry you.”

  Nixie sighed, stung by Sloan’s retreat into sex pot mode. “God, when am I going to stop being such an idiot? Every time I think you’re going to actually parent me, you come through with a quote from Cosmo.” Nixie shook her head slowly and tossed the script onto the pile. “It’s a wonder Lars sent you this role at all. He must really believe in your talent if he thinks you can be the heart of a family. Even a make-believe family.”

  Sloan rolled her eyes at the script on the table, and Nixie rose to go. But halfway to the door, she stopped.

  “It’s a good part, Mom. It’ll win you that Oscar if you’re not too scared to do the work.”

  “Scared?” Sloan arranged herself on the white leather. “Please. I’m insulted, not afraid.”

  “Okay.” Nixie shrugged. “Tell Karl I’m still not going to Bumani,” she said. “He’ll know what that means.” She turned and walked out the door.

  Sloan watched Nixie walk away with equal parts relief and regret. She was so brave and strong, her girl. So much braver and stronger than her mother. She’d go home and tackle her doctor with the straightforward openness that took Sloan’s breath away every time she witnessed it. Nobody worked without a net like Nixie. Sloan had fallen in love with Archer’s courage, and adored it beyond measure in their only child.

  But when she’d opened her mouth to say so, it all fell apart in a rush of cowardice. She’d wanted to tell Nixie about Archer, about how loving him had been all breathless passion, unreasoning joy and utter terror. It was crazy to love like that. Sheer madness. And it didn’t get better when the relationship got older and children fell into the mix. God, then it just got worse. She loved Nixie with parts of her soul even Archer had never touched.

  But she’d been too afraid to say the words. It made her feel too...naked. Too exposed and awkward and uncertain. She’d made her living being every person’s fantasy. The perfect fuck, the embodiment of beauty, of sex, of mystery. They all wanted her face and her body, and those she could give them without turning a hair.

  Only Nixie didn’t want her face or her body. She wanted what wa
s inside Sloan. She wanted a mother, and Sloan was a long way from Betty fucking Crocker. Pleasing the world had been infinitely easier than searching her heart for the courage to love somebody who didn’t care what she looked like.

  But hell, it wasn’t the first time she’d failed as a parent. She’d failed much more spectacularly in the past and Nixie seemed to be okay. Better than okay, really. Archer’s genes were that strong. Sloan took some comfort in that.

  She put it aside just like she always did and focused on the path she’d chosen. She reached for the script Nixie had tossed down and cursed Lars for having the balls to even send it to her.

  It was good. Really good. Nixie had always been able to spot them. But she’d be damned to hell and back before she let anybody strap her into a padded girdle and grey wig. She was Sloan Leighton, for God’s sake. People didn’t pay for ugly. Not from her. She knew what people paid her for, and she gave them their money’s worth. She wasn’t playing anybody’s goddamn granny.

  But she didn’t put the script down.

  Mary Jane looked up to find Nixie standing in the doorway of her tiny office, a mug in her hand, worry on her face. She held out the mug to Mary Jane and said, “Jass missed her prenatal appointment again today.”

  Mary Jane took a slug from the steaming mug then said, “Gah. What is this?”

  “Coffee. I made it myself.”

  “I can tell.”

  She set the mug aside and pulled Jass’ patient file from the pile on her desk. “That makes three missed appointments.”

  “I know.” Nixie twisted her fingers together. “I keep leaving messages on her home phone, but she’s either not getting them or ignoring me. I know it’s none of my business, but what with DeShawn’s dying...” She didn’t say right here on the sidewalk but the words hung out there nonetheless. She trailed off, spread her hands. “I just really want that baby born fat and happy.”

  “I’ll see what I can do, Nixie.” An incandescent smile spread over Nixie’s face and Mary Jane shook her head. “No promises, though.”

  “I know.” Her smile didn’t dim one degree as she backed out the door. “Thanks, Mary Jane. I really appreciate this.”

  Mary Jane sat down at her desk with a sigh and flipped open Jass’ file to check her home address. Ah, crap. The Wash. Nobody in their right mind wandered into the Wash uninvited, let alone a woman. But what was she going to do? Call up Ty to ask for the pleasure of his company while she made a house call?

  A hot shock ripped through her at the memory of those clever hands, that gorgeous mouth. Yep, his company was definitely a pleasure. While it lasted anyway. She could do without the aftermath.

  Screw it, she thought. She was a doctor. If those kids were soldiers, she was a medic. And she was going after her patient.

  Mary Jane flipped up the collar of her lab coat against the chill of early evening. She didn’t normally wear her lab coat outside the clinic, but she was walking into hostile territory unarmed and figured it could double as a white flag.

  She climbed the stone steps of the Wash and entered a filthy, poorly-lit lobby that stank of piss and mold. Tumbleweeds of discarded newspapers and candy wrappers squatted in the corners mingling with the occasional cigarette butt and beer can, but otherwise the place was deserted. Thank God.

  She checked the address she’d scrawled on her palm. 6th floor. She glanced at the elevator, found an empty shaft. Okay. Stairs, then. She could use the exercise anyway. She pushed through a warped steel door and headed up.

  If she hadn’t been in such miserable shape, she’d have heard them before she stumbled onto them. She could have stopped, crept back down to the lobby and regrouped. But three flights had her wheezing like a steam engine and she never heard a thing. She just staggered around the corner, red-cheeked and miserable at the prospect of climbing three more flights, and found herself smack in the middle of a hostile knot of dead-eyed boys and their junkie customers.

  The junkies scattered like cockroaches, but the boys didn’t budge. They cut disbelieving glances at one another until the kid in the center said, “Who the fuck are you?”

  Shit. “I’m Dr. Riley,” she said, amazed at the level calm of her tone. Her knees were like water, but damn, she sounded all right. “I’m looking for Jessica Pendergass. Jass. Sixth floor, I believe, so if you’ll excuse me--”

  She made as if to step through them, but the kid--the talker--got right in her face.

  “What you think this is? Disney?” He shoved her back a step. “You think we let white folk just toddle on through for a look-see? This ain’t no tourist attraction. This is Dog crew territory. You want to walk through my landing, you need permission, you got that, bitch?” He pushed his face right into hers. “Or is that Dr. Bitch?”

  Mary Jane’s heart threatened to pound out of her chest but she held her ground. “Permission from whom?”

  The leader smiled, and his left front tooth glittered gold in the dying light. “From me, Dr. Bitch.” He ran a lingering glance down her body and said, “But you look tasty enough. Maybe we can work something out.”

  “I’m a doctor,” Mary Jane said again. She hoped she sounded exasperated rather than terrified. “I’m here to visit a patient, not sight see. You can take me right to Jass’ door if you like--”

  “I’ll tell you what I’d like. I’d like a physical.” He stepped closer, until his breath wafted hot and alcoholic against her cheek. “You want to examine me, doc?”

  He rubbed himself against her thigh. Disgust and fear clutched at her gut. The rest of the boys stood between her and the stairs heading up, their eyes like black holes. A thin, stained mattress lay to the side, conveniently placed for women willing to work off their tabs, Mary Jane knew. Panic skittered along her skin, but she pushed it back. Think, she commanded herself. Stay calm and think.

  “Yeah, I’m feeling real sick,” the kid breathed against her neck. “But I bet you can fix me up right quick.” He closed a hand over her breast and Mary Jane stopped thinking. On a bright spurt of terror, she drove an elbow into his gut, stomped on his instep, and spun back toward the stairs she’d just come up.

  Pain sent shockwaves through her head as he twisted a fist in her hair and yanked her off her feet. She landed on her butt with a cry and he jerked her to her knees. She came up clawing but went utterly still at the kiss of gun metal against her temple.

  “That was very, very stupid, Dr. Bitch. Now are you going to play nice, or do I get rough?”

  Humiliation rose in her throat but she shoved it back to speak the bitter truth.

  “I belong to Tyrese Jones,” she said. “Touch me and he’ll kill you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Ten minutes later, Mary Jane folded herself still trembling into a chair in Ty’s immaculate kitchen. He leaned back against the stove and glowered at her, hands fisted into his own elbows, a taut rage simmering in his eyes.

  “Do you have some kind of death wish, Mary Jane? Or are you just stupid?” He bit the words off, threw them at her like hand grenades, and the fear and shame still knotted in her stomach went up like dry tinder. Five years worth of rejection and heartbreak roared instantly into a cold, consuming fury, and God forgive her she welcomed it. Anything was better than the chronic ache of missing what she couldn’t have.

  “You’re blaming me?” she said. “The people you work for give teenagers drugs and guns. They make them mini-gods and let them run their little kingdoms like Machiavelli as long as the money rolls in. You take that money and multiply it, which means more kids, more drugs, more guns. A cycle of endless, exponential cruelty. And there you are with that righteous outrage you’ve been nursing all these years, throwing fuel on the fire until a woman can get raped for walking up the stairs.” She met his gaze without flinching. “How is that my fault?”

  Something shifted in his dark eyes, something elusive and achingly familiar. Something of the Ty she used to know before anger twisted him into somebody she didn’t recognize. Hop
e leapt inside her, twisted with the raging cold and had her leaning forward for a better look.

  But then it was gone. His face was all smooth perfection again, every trace of genuine emotion carefully erased. No anger, no remorse, no...anything. She didn’t know if she was relieved or dismayed.

  “What were you trying to do, MJ?” he asked, a weariness in his voice that blunted the leading edge of her anger.

  “I was looking for a girl,” she said. “A patient of mine. Jass. Jessica Pendergass. You know her?”

  “Yeah, I know Jass. Everybody knows Jass. Plenty of nice boys right here at home but she had to fall in love with a Yard crew and touch off World War Fucking Three in my backyard.”

  “She’s pregnant.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “Yeah, so?”

  “She’s missed three appointments for prenatal care.” She made sure her voice was crisp, without inflection. “The girl’s lost enough. I don’t want her to lose that baby, too.”

  He opened his eyes to stare at her. “You waltzed into the Wash to pay a house call?”

  “Something like that.”

  “You could have called me, MJ.”

  “No,” she said flatly. “I couldn’t.”

  He went still. “You’d rather risk your life than ask for my help? You hate me that much?”

  “I don’t hate you, Ty.” She sucked in a breath and prayed for courage. “I just don’t love you anymore.”

  He went still, his gaze searching. “This is about that doctor from the clinic, isn’t it?” he said finally. “The one who dragged Nixie Leighton-Brace all over the neighborhood?”

  “It’s none of your business,” Mary Jane said.

  “Like hell it’s not.” He pushed away from the stove and advanced on her until nothing but the tiny kitchen table separated them. He spread his hand on it and leaned in. The heat of his want pulled at her dangerously. “You don’t turn your heart off and on like a faucet, MJ. You’re not that kind of girl. You loved me last month, you loved me last week, and you love me today. That makes it very much my business who you’re dating.”