Slate

by Stella Marie Alden

  I make myself a cup of coffee, take a stool by my granite island, and scratch at my beard. I didn’t sleep worth shit. Instead I dreamed all night of kissing those thick lips, her length of hair twisted around my fist.

  Jack answers on the first ring. “Hey Slate, hold on just a sec.” He goes off from speaker phone and fumbles with his headset.

  “You good?” I know he’s referring to my gunshot wound. Everyone was pretty worried for a while but it wasn’t so bad.

  “I’m healing up okay. How’s things with you?”

  “Same ‘ol, same ‘ol. I almost envy all your excitement in the Bahamas.” Jack watches over New York City’s most beloved quarterback along with his wife and kid. I think recently, it’s been downright boring. I get what he’s saying. I’ve only been out of work a few weeks and already I’m bored out of my fucking gourd.

  “Oh yeah, getting shot at is a real blast.” I smile, knowing that’ll get a rise out of him and he doesn’t disappoint.

  “Better a hole in your shoulder than your head. You’re damned lucky that guy, Xavier, was such a bad shot.”

  “I told you. It was the earthquake that saved me. Otherwise, I’d be dead. Hey, I’d love to talk about my aches and pains like a couple old geezers but I need a little help. I hired a dog walker and she had Melanie’s number in her purse.”

  “Is she tall, thin, big dark eyes, with legs that go on forever?”

  “That’s her.”

  “Don’t fuck with her. She’s got issues. You know what I mean?”

  “Oh shit. Don’t tell me. She’s in Mel’s group?” CJ’s wife collects sexually abused women like other women collect china.

  “Yeah, why?” Lilac falling into that category makes me see red but I don’t let on.

  “Nothing. But it all makes sense.”

  “What does?”

  “Her, Mel, her reactions. Ah fuck, let me start at the beginning. Two days ago, this damn dog shows up on my doorstep, crying. He’s just a puppy, I think he’s some kind of sheepdog. Anyhow, a bullet grazed him so I stitch him up. I didn’t get a vet because if someone mistreated him, I didn’t want to send him home.”

  “You always were one to pick up strays. Usually they’re blond, unattached, and fuckable as hell, not covered in fur.” He snickers at his own joke. “What’s this got to do with Lilac?”

  “Hold your horses, I’m getting there. Isabella lives nearby so I asked her if she knew someone who could help me walk the dog, feed him, and so on, when I’m in the city. She gave me this woman’s number, Mrs. Weinstein. Apparently, she’s the only woman in Bergen county who I should trust with the dog. Mrs. Weinstein sent me Lilac. I was just doing a little reconnaissance and saw Mel’s number in her purse so I called you. You don’t think Mel and Izzy are trying to play match maker?”

  Jack laughs out loud. “I wouldn’t put anything beneath those two… But in this case, Mel probably knew Lilac needed a job and told Isabella.”

  There’s dead silence on the line and I wonder what’s going on inside my friend’s head. Maybe he has a thing for her? “Hey, if you got dibs, just say the word.”

  I hold my breath.

  Eventually, he curses. “I got no dibs but you mess with her, me and you, we got issues, ‘k dude?”

  “Hey, hey. Chill. I got plenty of women willing to scratch my itch, if you get my drift. You want me to give her your number?” It would kill me to do so, but this is my best bud, Jack. Besides, it would be the perfect reason for me to back off.

  “Hell, no. I just don’t want her getting hurt.”

  I snort out a laugh. “Right I gots to go, bro. I’ll make sure she gets into Brooklyn for the next meeting safe and sound. We can talk then.”

  “Take care. Try not to get shot. Doesn’t look good on the resume.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “You too.”

  We hang up chuckling and after I stand and consider taking a few pain killers but change my mind. What I really need is a good woman to fuck thoroughly. I scroll through my list on my cell phone but my cock is a fucking jerk. After rising to the occasion for twenty-four hours, it’s like he’s decided to take a nap.

  I think on Sandy and the last time we screwed. She has a warm body, eager lips, and she never wants to stay the night. She’s perfect but my damned limp appendage just sits, waiting for Lila-with-a-c to return from her run.

  Oh, for Christ’s sake. I need to find that girl another place to live because I sure as hell am not going to sleep with her, no matter what my cock thinks.

  Footsteps pound on the front porch and she laughs lightly when the puppy barks. The bell rings, I open the door, and my cock comes alive. Fucking traitor. She’s all sweaty and smells incredible. What the hell is up with that? Now, all I can envision is her under me, squirming, calling out my name, begging me to enter.

  Hell no. Fuck no. Not going to happen. I scowl, grab the leash, and slam the door in her face.

  She curses, stomps off my porch, and shouts at me from the back yard. “Jerk!”

  Good. Be mad. Hate me. Stay clear. All those things.

  Dammit. Now, I’m going to have to apologize. Again.

  Chapter 6

  Lilac

  I can’t believe Mr. Sexy-Ass just slammed the door on me. What the hell is wrong with him? If I didn’t need this job so bad I’d pack my bags, jump in my car, and be out of here in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, I’m stuck with him until I find something else. The best thing to do is ignore his childish behavior.

  If only it was that easy. Every time I see him, my pulse quickens and some kind of electric jolt zings to my clit and it swells. Hell, last night my pajamas bottoms were soaked and needed to be rinsed out this morning.

  This kind of attraction has never happened to me before. I figured, after ‘The Incident’ I was broken. I even tried a couple of porn flicks with my battery-powered-money-back-guaranteed-orgasm-maker. Frustrated, I gave up, too embarrassed to get a refund.

  That was all true until last night.

  I took out the bob, visualized Slate’s huge cock, and came hard. If that’s what a little motor can do, imagine what it’d be like to have him inside me for real.

  Stupid, that’s what.

  I have three hours to study but first, I need a shower. I kick off my sneakers and duck into the shower stall. Two walls are sixties-pink tiles, the other two are glass, cloudy from years of hard water.

  I turn the spigot, the shower head hits my shoulder and slams down on my little toe.

  “Dammit!” I jump up and down while water gushes out of the open pipe.

  In it’s all I got to work with, I duck my head under and wash. After wringing my hair, I dry the rest of me with my one thin towel.

  I wonder if Mr. Rude-and-Obnoxious can spare another. If not, I’ll have to decide whether to spend a few precious dollars and spring for a second. I suppose I should be thankful for a place to stay, which I am, but a girl can dream.

  Thinking of money, I open the cupboard and pull out my breakfast, a container of Ramen. I wonder how long someone can survive on noodles and a bottle of vitamins? It doesn’t look good when I Google it. People need greens. Further online research reveals there’s plenty of edible weeds in New Jersey. The park was full of dandelions, red clover, onion grass, and thistles. I think I saw milkweed, as well.

  This ought to prove interesting.

  My father used to eat squirrel but that’s where I draw the line. Besides, other than mace, I don’t have a gun. I can use a few bucks to buy eggs and canned tuna. That will leave me just enough money to get in and out of the city.

  I’ll be fine.

  If I pass this last course, I’ll have a job as a resident. From there, it’s clear sailing.

  This is the same self-talk I’ve been using for months, ever since getting disowned by my family. That day, they drove to the city, came to my dorm, and did an intervention. Jeesh. I never used drugs. They were so off the mark.

  “Hello?” My eyes hurt fro
m the bright light.

  In my doorway stood Mom, Dad, their pastor, three of my friends from high school, two cousins, and a partridge in a pear tree.

  My mom pressed the door open and turned to my dad. “I got this, Wolf. Take everyone to the common area.”

  “What are you doing here?” I stepped aside, trying to shove the mountain of candy wrappers under the bed but it was already filled with dirty clothes.

  “We’re here to save you, dear.” She grabbed a tube of rolled-up plastic from her purse, then shook it open. Beer bottles, pizza boxes, and a mountain of used tissues disappeared into the plastic hole.

  When she found a bucket with my shampoo and soap, she placed it into my hands, along with my towel. “Go. You stink.”

  Too tired to argue, I made my legs move down the hall to the common bathroom where a few of my hall mates gave me a sad smile.

  After that, my memory gets fuzzy. I know I endured everyone reading a page from their journal, explaining why I should turn to God instead of using drugs. They offered me a ride to a Christian rehab center which I politely declined.

  So, I lost my funding and my family. All, of course, for my own good.

  Since then, I tried a hundred times to get in touch, to explain I wasn’t using. Somehow, in their minds, I’d crossed some invisible line and was on my way to hell. In a way, I guess I was.

  I sigh, returning to the present. Towel wrapped around my body, I note the lack of curtains. What’s up with that? Mr. Sexy can’t afford window treatments? That is the one thing I’m going to insist he upgrade, right after the shower head.

  Dressing in t-shirt and jeans, I rinse out my shorts and bra, then hang them to dry in the shower stall. I grab the broken piece of plumbing, take a deep breath, and go to speak with Mr. Alexander Slate.

  Suddenly, the puppy barks excitedly outside.

  “Hey boy, what’s up?” I open the front door, stare, and my jaw drops.

  Oh my God. A human hand sits in the middle of my welcome mat.

  I lean in to inspect the flesh, note the clean cut from a sharp blade, lack of blood and size. The appendage was cut off post mortem.

  Dog follows me as I squeeze into the kitchen and open all of the drawers, to find something to pick it up with and some kind of plastic container.

  I squat with a pair of tongs and Dog licks my face.

  “Ewww, that’s just gross.” I push him off.

  “Woof.” Faster than lightning, he puts his jaws around the dead flesh and races across the lawn.

  “Mr. Slate? I need you out here, now!” I shout in the general direction of his deck as I dash across the acreage to where Dog disappeared into some shrubs.

  “Dog? Dog?” I whistle shrilly. “Come back.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  As I turn my head, Mr. Sexy vaults over the railing of the deck which has to be eight feet high. He squats when he lands, then bolts, neck and neck with me by the time I get to the hedges.

  “Your dog. This way…” I find an opening in the short pines and exit onto a path with the familiar reflective markers on the tree trunks.

  “We’re in the state park?”

  He nods as I pick up my pace, heart thumping and visualize calling 911.

  “Hello? I found a dead hand but it’s gone now.”

  My last experience with the cops was ‘The Incident.’ I can’t possibly bear any more smirks and wisecracks. They’ll see my record, how I reported a rape, and how all of the boys at the party covered for each other. The fraternity smeared my name, said I was drunk, said I wanted it. After that nightmare, there’s no fucking way a cop is ever going to believe anything I say. Without the actual hand, they’ll pat me on the head and suggest I get some help.

  That day ruined me in so many ways, I can’t even begin to count. And Mr. Door-Slammer? Do I dare tell him? I don’t think so.

  “Jesus, Lilac, hold on. Why did you scream for me?” He grabs my shoulder and turns me so I have to stop but I don’t look him in the eye.

  Hands resting on my knees, I take in some oxygen, then shrug, my emotions now masked. “Your puppy got loose. You need to keep him tied up. Who knows what bad shit he could get into?”

  I note my death-grip on the shower head and loosen my fist.

  “By the way? The shower head broke.” I shove it at him as we continue under the canopy of maple and oak leaves.

  “Dog? Here puppy, puppy.” I call and whistle to distract Mr. Slate from my panic and I’m pretty sure it works. If he thinks anything is off, he keeps it to himself.

  Overhead, a woodpecker works on a hollow trunk and the jack-hammer echoes from a nearby mountain. A few crows squawk and a lone chick-a-dee laments.

  Sighing, I venture a glance at my employer. “He’d be easier to call if you’d given him a name.”

  “Why is that?” Mr. Slate wipes his brow and winces when he moves his injured shoulder.

  “Well, Dog isn’t exactly the best.”

  “Just as good as any. If we give him a new name, it’ll confuse him.”

  “I guess.” I feel bad now for screaming for help, especially because I can’t tell him why. Quickly, I look away before I’m again dragged into the depths of his brown eyes and held captive.

  “Woof.” Dog bounds out of the woods, ears flopping, hair flying, and mouth empty.

  Dammit.

  He jumps onto Slate’s stomach and I attach a leash to his collar. Mouth and front paws muddy, I figure the sheepdog must’ve buried the human flesh. Maybe tomorrow I’ll find a bone and follow. It has to be close by and I’ll find it. Only then, will I call the police.

  “You sounded pretty terrified when you shouted.” Slates eyes bore into me.

  Again, I glance away. “He dropped a dead squirrel at my doorstep. Sorry. Totally over-reacted when the dog ran off. I was afraid he’d get lost in the woods.”

  Slate glances at me askew but I don’t care. There’s no way I’m telling him or a bunch of cops I saw his dog bring home a sawed-off hand unless I can prove it.

  Tomorrow, I’ll see what I can do.

  Chapter 7

  Slate

  She’s lying and I’d ask her more but that would mean conversing, possibly being civil to her. In that direction lies total annihilation. My fucking heart won’t survive.

  I check my shoulder for blood and luckily, her stitches held when I jumped over the deck. Fuck. The way she shouted, I was sure it was a matter of life and death. Even now, her face is pale, her eyes darting unnaturally.

  Despite my resolve, I can’t help but want to comfort her so I put my arm around her shoulder and say softly, “Listen, I think Dog has had his fill of exercise for the day. I can take him for a walk this evening.”

  She nods, still staring at the ground. Whatever she saw, freaked her out and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a dead squirrel. No girl growing up in Maine would bat an eyelash at that. No, her scream held terror and even now, she wrings her hands, legs shaking.

  What isn’t she telling me?

  I wonder if it has something to do with Mel’s group. If there’s some kind of sexual predator after her, I’ll kick his fucking ass so hard he’ll need a bag to piss.

  We walk in silence across the lawn except for the chorus of birds. At her door, I pause, not wanting to leave her alone. “Would you like a drink? Beer? Water?”

  “No, thanks.” She shakes her brown locks, one catching on my beard.

  I pull it away, inhaling the enticing strawberry scent. “How about I leave Dog with you for company. He’s not much of a guard but he does bark if he sees anything suspicious.”

  Her grateful look makes me feel like a king and my stupid cock takes notice. Dammit. I nod, grunt, and open her door for her. I don’t need her thinking me any kind of hero because I’m not. My kid is dead because of my bad judgement.

  Making sure she locks the door, I head to my house, grab a water, then make my way down the hall to check the security footage. Right before she screamed, Dog barked out
side her door and dropped something at her feet. Unfortunately, the camera is meant for faces, not shoes, so doesn’t swivel low enough to see the alleged dead squirrel. I make a mental note to upgrade the camera.

  I suppose it could’ve been a dead animal but then, the wide-eyed, mouth-opened panic doesn’t make sense. I switch on the camera in her kitchen, not to spy, just to make sure she’s okay. Barefoot, she’s changed into tiny tank top and ride-up-the-ass shorts. She squats to stare into a cabinet, grabs a sauce pan, and places it under the facet. Once full, she puts it on the larger of the stove’s two top burners.

  Holy fuck. The shelves are filled with a lifetime supply of ramen noodles. Nothing else, just boxes of junk. Now that I think of it, when I opened her refrigerator this afternoon, it was empty except for what looked like a bunch of weeds.

  Dammit. Even if I’m not keeping her, I can’t let her eat crap. I pick up the phone and order dinner from my favorite Italian restaurant, enough for two.

  After it comes, I take the plastic bag by the handle and knock on her door.

  “Go away, please. I’m really tired.” Her voice floats out the open kitchen window.

  I jump off the step, nose to the kitchen screen, and hold up the bag. “I, uh, wondered if you want some dinner.”

  Smooth, Slate.

  The door opens a crack, “No thank you.”

  I slide my knee in until there’s enough space for me to enter. “The delivery guy gave me the wrong order. I don’t eat pasta but I’m guessing you do.”

  When her brows furrow, her lovely mouth about to kick me out, I add, “I’ll just have to throw it out. It’d be a shame for it to go to waste. There’s thousands of children starving in Africa…”

  Nailed it.

  She rolls her eyes and steps aside. “Oh fine, come on in.”

  I set the bag on her table and throw her cup of noodles down the sink.

  “That shit will kill you.” It’s more of a mutter but she hears.

  Before she can use her clenched fists on my chest, I grab them and bring them to my lips. “Listen, Lilac, I’m sorry. I’ve been a complete asshole.”