by Joy Fielding
Jeff nodded.
“Because I can’t stop thinking about you. Because no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop seeing your face. Because I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since the first night I saw you in the Wild Zone, and I knew right away you were going to be trouble. Because we both know you were right when you said I picked the wrong brother. Because I want you so badly I can’t think about anything else. And I don’t care if I’m just a bet to you—”
“You aren’t.”
“I don’t care if you tell the others—”
“I won’t.”
“Can we get out of here?” she asked, tucking a twenty-dollar bill underneath her coffee cup and pushing herself to her feet.
“Where are we going?”
“There’s a motel around the corner,” she said.
TOM HAD BEEN watching the woman ever since the store opened. Up and down, back and forth, into every nook and cranny of the clothing-littered aisles she went, her hands brushing up against the floral-print summer blouses hanging neatly in ascending order of size, her fingers checking for softness in the stacks of multicolored velour hoodies on the various display tables, her eyes on the alert for anything she might have missed, any piece of sale merchandise she might have overlooked.
“Is there a problem, Whitman?” the store manager asked, coming up behind Tom.
Tom spun around, startled by the reedy sound of his supervisor’s voice. He hated when people snuck up behind him. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
“What’s to handle?” Carter Sorenson asked. Carter was barely five feet, five inches tall, nearsighted, and twenty-eight years old. Tom hated that he was short, that he wore round, wire-rimmed glasses, and that his voice was pitched like a girl’s. He especially hated that he was younger than Tom and in a position of authority over him. He also hated his name. What kind of name was Carter anyway? Carter was a last name, for shit’s sake, not a given one. Although Carter seemed to like it, which made Tom hate him all the more.
“Just keeping an eye on that woman over there.” Tom indicated the middle-aged woman in question with a nod of his head.
“Really?” Carter asked. “Because it kind of looks like you’re just standing around doing nothing.”
“Is that what it looks like?” Tom fought to keep his hands from wrapping themselves around Carter’s throat and squeezing as hard as he could.
“Has she done anything to arouse your suspicions?” Carter asked.
“Look,” Tom answered, his smile not altogether masking the condescension in his voice. “I’m a veteran of a foreign war, and you kind of develop an instinct for this sort of thing.”
“You’re saying your soldier’s instincts are telling you she’s a potential shoplifter?”
“Combined with my experience in retail, yes. I consider it a distinct possibility.”
At precisely that moment, Angela Kwan, a young Asian salesclerk with long black hair and an irritatingly sunny disposition, approached the woman and asked if she required any assistance.
“Yes, thank you,” the woman said gratefully. “I’ve been waiting for someone to help me, but you were all so busy.” She glanced in Tom’s direction, as if to say, Except for him. He was just standing there.
“Perhaps you could lay off the surveillance for a while and concentrate on helping the customers,” Carter suggested, his thin voice bending with the weight of his sarcasm. “I believe those gentlemen might benefit from your professional expertise.” He pointed to two teenage boys who had just entered the store.
“I’m on it,” Tom told him. “Jerk-off,” he added under his breath as he left Carter’s side. “You guys need any help?” he asked the pimply-faced teens. If there was one thing he hated more than middle-aged women, it was teenage boys. Both groups thought they knew everything.
“Just looking,” one of the boys said, laughing and cracking his gum. Tom thought he heard the word “loser” as they headed for the back of the store. It was all he could do to keep from running after them and pummeling them into the ground.
Instead he stood there for several minutes, feeling Carter’s eyes burning holes in the back of his red and black checkered shirt. What are you staring at? he was tempted to turn around and shout. I asked them if they needed help, didn’t I? If you think I’m going to bust my ass chasing after teenagers for less than eight bucks an hour, you’re out of your mind. If you think I’m going to suck up to every middle-aged broad who comes in here, like that dumb Asian twat you think is so terrific, then think again. When you pay minimum wage, you get minimum results. Did they forget to teach you that at the Wharton School of Business? Tom demanded silently, spinning around on his heels, preparing to stare Carter down.
Except that Carter was no longer looking at him. In fact, Carter was nowhere in sight. Tom released a deep, audible breath into the air, deciding that despite the fact the store had just opened, it was time for his break. He headed out the front door, grabbing a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it before he was even fully outside.
The wide pedestrian walkway that was Lincoln Road Mall was even busier than usual. Tourists, Tom thought disdainfully, taking a deep drag off his cigarette. Why couldn’t they just stay home? They were noisy and demanding and overly enthusiastic about damn near everything. He noted an elderly couple on the corner consulting a map and a couple of gay guys across the street arguing over directions. An attractive woman with ebony skin and silver stiletto heels sauntered by, carrying three bags from Victoria’s Secret. One of the bags brushed against Tom’s cigarette as she walked by, and she turned around and scowled, as if she thought he’d placed himself deliberately in her path. Bitch, Tom thought. You think I’d try to set fire to a bunch of thongs and push-up bras?
What was it with women anyway? Was he supposed to snap to attention just because he might be in her way? It was almost like they expected you to read their minds, he thought. Like that woman in the store—how was he supposed to figure out she wanted help? Would it have killed her to ask? And this bitch in the stilettos—if she’d wanted him to move, all she had to say was “Excuse me.” A little politeness never hurt. And Lainey, for shit’s sake. If she’d wanted him to spend more time at home, if she’d wanted him to be a more attentive father, if she’d wanted . . . hell, who knew what she wanted? He wasn’t a mind reader, for fuck’s sake.
Or that girl in Afghanistan, he thought, her image appearing in a puff of cigarette smoke, undulating seductively in the cloudless blue sky. Hadn’t she smiled when he and several other soldiers, including Jeff, had entered her tiny, barely furnished house, searching for signs of the enemy? Hadn’t she lowered her eyes—the only part of her he could see under that damn burka—and giggled coquettishly, a sure come-on? How was he to know she was only fourteen years old? How could he understand that she was saying no when she refused to speak English?
It hadn’t even been his idea, for shit’s sake. It had been that damn Gary Bekker. “What say we do us some cherry picking?” Gary had said as they were leaving.
“Count me out,” Jeff said immediately. “Come on, Tom. We’re out of here.”
“Is that right, Tommy boy? You need Jeff’s permission to have a little fun?” Gary said, taunting him. “What’s with you two anyway? You got something going on the rest of us should know about?”
“Come on, Tom,” Jeff said again, refusing to be provoked.
“You go if you want to,” came Tom’s response. “Seems I’m in the mood for a piece of cherry pie.”
“Shit,” he said now, trying to banish the girl’s pain-stricken face with a final exhalation of cigarette smoke from his lungs. He should have listened to Jeff. Then he wouldn’t have been shipped home in disgrace. The army would have paid for his schooling. He could have gotten certified, been a personal trainer like Jeff, making good money while being surrounded by a bunch of adoring, scantily dressed women, instead of toiling for minimum wage under jerk-offs like Carter Sorenson at the Gap. Indulging hims
elf with that stupid girl had cost him plenty.
And despite all her wailing, you couldn’t tell him she hadn’t secretly enjoyed every minute of it.
“Tom?” a familiar voice called out from halfway down the street.
Tom craned his neck around a group of young women walking eastward down the street. Nice ass on the little brunette, he thought as Will’s head suddenly bobbed into view. Shit. As if his day wasn’t bad enough already. What was he doing here?
“I’m glad to see you,” Will said. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here.”
“Where else would I be?” Tom ground his cigarette into the sidewalk, squinted through the sun at Jeff’s little brother. In his white shirt and khaki pants, he was a walking ad for the Gap, Tom thought, sneering.
“Jeff around?”
“What would Jeff be doing around here?”
“You haven’t seen him today?” Will asked, ignoring the question.
“Was I supposed to?”
“Somebody phoned the apartment first thing this morning. It wasn’t you?”
“Wasn’t me,” Tom acknowledged, volunteering nothing further.
Will shifted his weight from his right foot to his left. “Jeff said it was his boss, asking him to come in early.”
“Then why’d you ask if it was me?”
“Because he didn’t go to work. Apparently he called in sick.”
Tom shrugged his bony shoulders, although his curiosity was definitely aroused. Still, he wasn’t about to let Will know that.
“He left his wallet at home,” Will said.
Tom smiled, silently assessing the situation. Someone had phoned Jeff first thing this morning and Jeff had taken off in such a rush he’d forgotten his wallet. He’d also lied about where he was going. Interesting, Tom thought, deciding that one thing was obvious: If Jeff wasn’t where he said he’d be, he was where he wanted to be. Which could only mean one thing: a woman.
“Did he say anything to you about having to be somewhere this morning?” Will pressed.
“If he had,” Tom said coolly, “you think I’d tell you?”
“Look. I’m not trying to pry or butt into something that’s none of my business—”
“Really?” Tom interrupted, borrowing Carter’s earlier phrase. “Because it kind of looks like that’s what you’re doing.”
“I’m just a little worried. It’s not like Jeff—”
“It’s exactly like Jeff.”
“Okay,” Will said, conceding defeat. “I guess you know him better than I do.”
“Damn right I do.”
“So since you know him so damn well,” Will said pointedly, “where the hell is he?”
Tom felt his fists clench at his sides. He was thinking he’d like nothing better than to bloody little brother’s nose. Instead, he reached for another cigarette. “Think about it,” he sneered, lighting it and inhaling deeply. “Jeff lied to both you and his boss about his whereabouts. Why? What does that tell you?”
“It tells me he could be in some sort of trouble.”
Tom laughed. “They teach a course in ignoring the obvious at that fancy college you go to?”
“Suppose you enlighten me.”
“You’re sure you want to know?”
“I’m sure you want to tell me.”
“He’s with a girl,” Tom said.
“A girl,” Will repeated.
“And not just any girl either,” Tom continued, exhaling directly in Will’s face. “How much do you want to bet he’s with the Pomegranate?”
“What? You’re crazy.” Will thought about the afternoon he’d just spent with Suzy, the hours of soft kisses and gentle caresses.
“Think about it,” Tom said again. “Who else would have called him first thing in the morning, and why else would he lie?” He paused several seconds to let his questions sink in. “Face it, little brother. He’s with your girlfriend. Blood might be thicker than water, but pussy trumps blood every time.” He laughed. “Shit, man, you should see your face.”
Tom was still laughing as Will turned and ran down the street, swallowed by a horde of approaching tourists.
TWENTY-ONE
JEFF’S HEAD WAS SPINNING as he closed the motel room door behind them. He felt as if he’d been drinking straight whiskey all morning instead of coffee, as if someone had slipped him a mind-altering drug, making everything he was seeing and feeling all the more vibrant and intense, and he raised his hand to the nearest wall to steady himself. Suzy’s hand was instantly inside his, her body draped around his own, her breath warm on the side of his neck.
The room was dark, the heavy drapes blocking out all but a few stubborn slivers of morning sun. Jeff could make out the shapes of a round table and two chairs next to the window; a dresser with a TV along one wall; a standing lamp beside it; a king-size bed in the middle of the room, taking up most of it; a bathroom at the far end. He was thinking that it was pretty basic, almost seedy, and that if he hadn’t forgotten his wallet they could have checked into one of those charming little boutique hotels in South Beach and spent the day making love between crisp white sheets and lounging in a Jacuzzi full of scented bath oils, maybe even ordering in champagne. He was thinking she deserved better and that he wanted to give it to her. He wanted to kiss her and make everything all right, to prove to her not all men were brutes, that they could be gentle and kind and loving. He was thinking that he had to tread slowly, carefully, that he had to be on guard not to hurt her because she’d been hurt more than enough already, and he didn’t want to be the source of any more of her pain.
“Don’t worry,” he heard her say. “I won’t break.”
And then her lips were pressing against his with such urgency he felt as if he were fourteen years old again and his stepmother’s best friend was initiating him into the wonder of a woman’s body, showing him where to put his trembling hands, how best to use his eager mouth. All those afternoons when his stepmother was helping young Will with his school projects, she’d had no idea Jeff had been equally busy, learning some important life lessons of his own.
Or maybe she had. Maybe she just hadn’t cared.
When was the last time a woman had really cared about him?
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Jeff mumbled as Suzy guided his hands toward her breasts.
“You won’t.”
He felt her small, girlish breast pushing against the inside of his palm, and he groaned out loud, his other arm snaking around her narrow waist as his right leg pushed its way between hers, and they tumbled toward the bed. He proceeded with deliberate care, his lips never leaving hers as he undid the buttons of her blouse and pushed the delicate fabric aside. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his eyes now comfortable with the dark, seeing her clearly as his fingers flitted delicately across the expensive lace of her bra, effortlessly locating its front clasp and opening it, exposing her breasts to him. Her body arched, her nipples lifting toward his lips.
Soon they were lying naked beside each other, exploring each other’s bodies as if it were the first time either of them had ever made love. And later, when he buried his head between her legs, when he probed her gently with his tongue, she cried out and grabbed the back of his head, pushed his tongue harder against her, until her body shook with repeated spasms and she was laughing and crying at the same time.
In the next second, she was rolling him onto his back, tracing a line from the middle of his chest to his groin with a series of soft kisses, and then taking him in her mouth and slowly, expertly, bringing him to the brink of climax. He pulled out of her mouth and entered her quickly, their bodies meshing perfectly as they held tightly on to one another, their every caress pulsating with the heady mix of surprise and familiarity. Jeff felt as if he was making love to a stranger who’d somehow known him all his life.
When it was over, they lay quietly in each other’s arms. “Are you all right?” he asked after several minutes. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
&n
bsp; “You didn’t hurt me,” she replied, kissing his chest. “You’re a wonderful lover.”
“I wasn’t fishing for compliments,” Jeff said honestly.
“I know. But I am,” she said, raising herself on her elbow and giggling like a teenager. “Was I any good?”
Jeff laughed. “Are you kidding me? You were fantastic.”
Suzy smiled from ear to ear, her pleasure evident even in the dark. “You know, I’d almost forgotten what it’s supposed to be like. Usually I just kind of lie there, let Dave do his thing, wait till it’s over.”
Jeff said nothing. He didn’t want to think about Suzy with anyone else but him.
“Dave doesn’t like to, you know . . . with his mouth.”
“Then he’s an idiot as well as a bastard,” Jeff replied.
Suzy sighed, nestled in tighter against Jeff’s side. “Are you going to tell anyone what happened?”
“No.”
“Not even your brother?”
“No. Not yet.”
“What about Kristin?”
“What about her?”
“Will you tell her?”
“No,” Jeff said.
“Why not?” Suzy asked. “I thought you had one of those open arrangements.”
“This is different,” Jeff said, although he wasn’t sure how. Or why.
“Tell me about her.”
“Kristin? Why?”
“Just curious. What’s she like? Aside from being drop-dead gorgeous.”
“Aside from being drop-dead gorgeous,” Jeff repeated, “I really don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know? You live with her.”
“Kristin’s kind of guarded. She doesn’t let anyone get too close,” Jeff said, knowing he’d never really tried. Even in bed, she kept that air of detachment, he was thinking. Oh, she made all the right moves, said and did all the right things, but there was something missing. And for all her bravado, she rarely took the initiative. In some ways, she was a lot like Suzy’s description of being in bed with Dave, just lying there, letting Jeff do his thing, waiting for it to be over.
