by Kyra Davis
“It’s how I choose to spend my money,” Anatoly said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“You can’t keep following me around town, Anatoly.”
“Sophie, I don’t think you understood what I was trying to tell you before. There is a killer out there and he may think that you’re on to him. I know you want your space but you’re not going to get it in a coffin.”
I blanched. “That was harsh.”
“So is murder.”
For a full minute Anatoly and I stared at each other in silence. Mr. Katz seemed to sense the tension and abandoned the meager remains of his late-night snack in order to get out of the line of fire.
“I can’t reschedule with Tiff,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Fine, then you go with Tiff and I’ll talk to Sam on my own.”
“But I really want to meet with Sam!”
Anatoly shrugged. “We can’t always have what we want.” His gaze slipped from my face and took inventory of my more erogenous zones. “At least that’s what I’ve been told.”
“You had what you wanted. But that’s what happens when you don’t appreciate what you have, you lose it.” And with that I jumped down and left the room.
It had been twelve hours since my last cup of coffee and yet I still found it impossible to sleep. All I could do was lie in bed and stare up at my bedroom ceiling while Mr. Katz used my stomach as a mattress. In the next room Anatoly was using my futon as a mattress and I suspected that was one of the reasons I couldn’t sleep.
There was part of me (a part that was nowhere near my brain) that was thrilled by his new sleeping arrangement. He was lying in my guest room, undoubtedly wearing nothing but a pair of fitted Calvin Klein boxers and a wife-beater, and the only thing that separated us was a wall and a few square feet of floor space.
Of course, the part of me that wanted Anatoly there was seriously pissing off the part of me that didn’t.
I sighed and turned on my side, thus irritating the previously comfortable Mr. Katz. I needed to stop thinking about Anatoly; then again if I did that I would start thinking about Melanie and that was infinitely worse.
Maybe I was in danger. God, if something happened to me, it would destroy my mother. She might actually get that ulcer that she was always complaining about. And Leah would be a mess. Still, Anatoly was being overprotective and I hated that. I had a major aversion to men with white-knight complexes. Of course, Anatoly wasn’t really a white knight. He was a bad boy who occasionally experimented with heroism. That’s what had made our sex life so exciting. I had never been able to predict if he was going to slowly caress me, sweetly exploring every curve of my body with strong, gentle hands, or if he was going to throw me on the dining table, tear off my clothes and plunge inside of me with the force of a hurricane.
I squeezed my eyes shut. I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about that. Come on, Sophie, sleep, sleep, sleep.
No luck. I scooted into a sitting position, for which Mr. Katz rewarded me by digging his nails into my skin. I was losing it. I needed someone to calm me down. Dena was good at that. I reached for the phone, but the sight of the red digital numbers on my alarm clock stopped me. It was after two in the morning. Dena would either be asleep or orgasmic right now. Either way, calling her was out of the question. I glanced at the wall that separated me from my nemesis. I couldn’t.
Yeah, I could.
I slipped out of bed, the hem of my cotton nightshirt brushing against my thighs as I tiptoed into the guest room. “Anatoly,” I whispered, “are you asleep?”
“I was until you snuck into my room.”
“I was very quiet.”
“I’m a light sleeper.”
“You are, aren’t you? I had forgotten.”
“I highly doubt that you did. What do you want? If it’s not sex, then I’m sure it can wait until the morning.”
“It’s not sex, and it can’t wait.” I f lipped the light on and sat down on the edge of his bed. He was lying on his side with the covers pulled up to the point just bellow his chest. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. I closed my eyes for a moment and silently convinced myself not to rip the sheets off the bed to find out what else he wasn’t wearing.
“Are you going to tell me what it is you want or are you going to just sit there thinking about it?” he asked.
“You can’t stay here forever,” I stated simply.
Anatoly groaned and turned away from me. “Good night, Sophie.”
“I’m serious.”
“I’m not staying here forever. If we can peg Sam as our killer and get him arrested quickly, I won’t even be staying for the week.”
“Good, I’m glad we’re clear on that.”
“Can we have sex now?”
“No.”
“Then why don’t we both go back to sleep.”
“That’s the problem,” I said with a sigh. “I can’t sleep and misery loves company.”
“If I promise to have a nightmare, will you leave?”
“Maybe Anne was sleeping with Peter and Eugene found out so Peter threw himself out a fifteen-story window to avoid the humiliation of exposure,” I suggested.
“The humiliation of exposure?” Anatoly turned back in my direction. “Peter’s a single guy and Anne’s not a bad-looking woman. No one would have shunned Peter for his role in that kind of affair. If I were in his shoes I would have slept with her—ow!”
I shook my hand to relieve the pain that hitting Anatoly on the chest had caused me. “Maybe Peter and Anne were having kinky sex.”
“Again, how would that be humiliating for Peter?”
“Really kinky sex, not just S and M. Like maybe she had him dress up like Little Bo Peep or something.”
“Little Bo Peep,” Anatoly said flatly.
“Don’t dismiss it so quickly,” I snapped. “Dena dressed up as Little Bo Peep one Halloween and it was really sexy. She had a staff, a fitted bodice and this ultra-short little ruff led skirt with matching undies. Oh, and she was carrying an inflatable sheep with a love-hole in his tuchas.”
“Sophie, I’m very tired.”
“You know what’s really funny? At some point in our night of drunken debauchery Dena realized that she was one air-filled animal short of being a shepherdess. Little Bo Peep lost her sheep.”
“Sophie…”
“I’m afraid I’ll dream of Melanie.”
There was silence for a moment and then Anatoly propped himself up on one arm. The sheets fell, exposing more of his torso and making him look like one of those guys in the Versace ads, except straight.
“Listen, Sophie, I know that Melanie meant more to you than you let on in the beginning.”
I looked away. I couldn’t be flippant about this and I didn’t want to expose my pain to Anatoly. Not again.
“I didn’t know her very well,” he said quietly, “but I got the impression that she didn’t have a lot of friends.”
“She was active in her church,” I said, almost defensively.
“I’m sure she was, but outside of the luncheons and bake sales, did she ever actually hang out with any of those people?”
I shrugged.
“If she did, don’t you think that she would have called on one of them to help her with her problems with Eugene, before and after he was killed? I know you two have a history, but you hardly share the connection with her that you do with Dena, Marcus or even Mary Ann.”
“S’pose not,” I agreed reluctantly.
“Are her parents still alive?”
I shook my head.
“And she doesn’t have children, right?”
“She didn’t believe in premarital sex and she married late. I think that by the time she got around to losing her virginity, it was too late.” I had actually given this matter a lot of thought. Melanie had married Eugene at fifty. How could anyone remain a virgin for fifty years without exploding in a fit of sexual frustration?
“Sophie? Are you still with me?”
/>
“Huh? Oh yeah, sorry. I was just thinking about Melanie and the…challenges that she was faced with in her life.”
“Yes, well that’s what I’m driving at. All Melanie had was her husband. Clearly it wasn’t a perfect union, but I don’t think we have any reason to believe it was a loveless one. Now she has him again. She’s not alone anymore.”
“You think that’s true?” I asked hopefully. “You think when we die we get to spend eternity kicking it with the other dead people whom we loved in this life?”
Anatoly sighed. “Sophie, I’m fanatically agnostic. I don’t know what comes next and I’m never going to, not until I’m dead and maybe not even then. But I do think that whatever comes, it’s going to be easier than this.” He made a sweeping gesture to illustrate that he was talking about life in general. “Melanie wasn’t a happy woman. Maybe now she is.”
“Is that supposed to be comforting?”
“That depends, was it?”
“Sort of.”
“Then, yes, it was supposed to be comforting.”
I smiled, despite myself.
Anatoly pushed himself into a full sitting position and I could see the elastic waistband of his boxers. “Anne Brooke and her husband aren’t the only people I investigated today.”
“No?”
“No, I also checked into Tim Robbins and Susan Sarandon.”
“Excuse me?” I scooted back a little on the bed and tried to figure out if Anatoly was delirious from exhaustion.
“I believe you said you wanted somebody to play Tim Robbins to your Susan Sarandon.”
“Yeah, I said something like that.” I actually had said I had wanted him to be my Tim Robbins, but I didn’t want to remind him of that.
“I didn’t know what that meant at the time, but I did some checking and it seems that Robbins and Sarandon are a couple.”
“You didn’t know that? Don’t you read People?”
“Perhaps I should start,” Anatoly said with one of his little half smiles. I swallowed hard and tried to keep my breathing even.
“I also found out that, while committed to each other, they have never shown any interest in getting married.”
“And they travel a lot individually,” I added. “And they have a big place. I think that romantic relationships have a better chance of surviving when they take place in spacious homes.”
“If I’m understanding you,” Anatoly said slowly, “you’re looking for a man who will be committed to you without the legalities of marriage and will give you lots of space. Is that right?”
“And who’s willing to take it slow,” I said quickly. “I’m not looking to move anyone in here right now.” Considering the situation, this seemed like an important point to make.
Anatoly laughed softly. It was a low and sensual sound. “I see.”
“You see? As in you didn’t see before?”
“I can’t read your mind, Sophie.”
“No one asked you to read my mind. You made a decision about our relationship based on what you thought I wanted rather than what I actually asked for. That’s messed up.”
“I understand that now.”
“Well, it took you long enough,” I grumbled.
“Is it too late? Or are you still willing to be my Susan Sarandon?”
I smiled and looked away. “So you’re finally willing to be my boyfriend?”
“Sophie, I already was your boyfriend. I just wasn’t willing to admit to it.”
I shot him a look. “I still don’t think you’re serious about this.”
“What can I do to convince you?”
“Well, you could start by taking off your boxers and showing me some enthusiasm.”
And before you could say Bull Durham, Anatoly had his boxers off and had me pinned to the bed beneath him, his “enthusiasm” pressing into my thigh.
I writhed beneath him as he devoured my neck. His hand quickly moved under my nightshirt and I groaned as his fingers gently pinched my nipple. “God, I’ve missed you,” he whispered.
I tried to respond, but I had now completely lost my ability to control my breathing. Instead, I answered by digging my nails into his back, my excitement heightening as his muscles rippled beneath my grip. He lifted himself up and placed one knee between my legs, spreading them ever so slightly as he yanked my nightshirt over my head. For a few seconds he just stared at me. “I haven’t seen you like this for a very long time,” he noted. His hand moved slowly down from my neck, to my breast, to my stomach, and then it froze.
“What are you doing?” I gasped. “Don’t stop now!”
“Sophie, I don’t have anything.”
“Yes, you do!” I snapped. “You have a very big something right there!”
“I meant I don’t have a condom on me.”
“Oh, that.” I pushed him off of me and rushed into the bathroom, quickly emerging with an unopened box. I jumped back on the bed and started ripping at the plastic with my teeth.
“You never have condoms,” Anatoly said, a note of accusation in his voice. “You always insisted that I be the one to buy them.”
“Well, obviously I haven’t used them,” I mumbled as I spit out some wrapping and struggled to open the box. “I just got them after we broke up so I’d be prepared for every eventuality.”
Anatoly took the package from me and easily opened it. He raised one eyebrow teasingly. “Magnum extra large?”
I lifted one shoulder in a partial shrug. “It’s my glass-slipper test. If it doesn’t fit, you’re not my prince.”
Anatoly laughed and handed me an unwrapped condom. I placed it on his tip and gently rolled it down to the base. Anatoly was a prince among men.
He was touching me again, my hair, my hips, the insides of my thighs…it seemed impossible that he could so thoroughly explore so much territory with only two hands. I fell back against the bed and he immediately pushed inside of me and I almost exploded right then and there. He moved slowly at first, as if he wanted to savor every sensation, and then his speed picked up and my hips rose to greet him. The futon squeaked and rocked beneath us until I finally screamed out his name, the strength of my orgasm making me oblivious to everything else. A moment later it was my name on his lips and then I felt the full weight of his body as he collapsed on top of me. For a few minutes we lay just like that; his breath tickled my cheek and his sweat mingled with my own. He wrapped me back up in his arms, and it wasn’t long before I fell into the sleep that had previously eluded me.
And my dreams were very, very good.
18
Bizarre sexual fetishes are a by-product of our overly comfortable middle-class lifestyle. Men don’t ask you to spank them in Zimbabwe.
—C’est La Mort
At nine-thirty in the morning I woke up alone, satisfied and pleasantly sore. I inhaled deeply as the scent of freshly brewed espresso wafted into the room. God, how I had missed that espresso machine. Sometime in the near future I was going to have to buy a box full of dark-chocolate-covered espresso beans and recreate our first lovemaking session, but not today. Today I had to accompany Tiff to her brother’s old place in hopes of finding something that could make sense of that bizarre letter. If only I could figure out a way to do that and accompany Anatoly when he visited Sam Griffin.
I found my nightshirt crumpled into a ball under the futon and had just pulled it over my head when I had a brain-storm. If I was able to find another person with a car to drive Tiff and me to her brother’s apartment, that person could drop me off with Anatoly when we were done and take Tiff back to her place in the city. Surely Dena, Mary Ann or Marcus would do that for me. Of course, the trick was going to be convincing Tiff to allow a stranger to tag along during this deeply personal task, particularly since she was still reluctant to allow me to accompany her. I tried to think up some kind of situation that would require the presence of a third person, but then quickly nixed the idea of a cover story. I had promised myself I was going to be truthful wi
th Tiff going forward.
I looked down and spotted Anatoly’s cell phone by my feet. Neat he was not, but the phone’s proximity did allow me to make the necessary call without getting out of bed quite yet. I punched in Tiff’s number (the last four digits happened to be my birthday so I had easily remembered it) and waited for her to pick up.
“Hello, Sophie.” From her tone it was clear that I was not yet on her list of favorite people. Asking her for a favor wasn’t going to be easy.
“Hey, Tiff. Listen, I just wanted you to know that I’ve come up with a new lead that I’m going to follow up on.”
“A new lead? Jeez, you even sound like a detective.”
“I try. Anyway, this lead, well, it’s Anne Brooke’s husband. He seems to think Anne was having an affair.”
“With my brother?” Tiff asked with a gasp.
“I don’t actually know—maybe. That’s what I have to find out, but if I want to talk to him I’m going to have to do it today.”
“Wait a minute, are you seriously about to ask me to reschedule our plans? After you practically begged me to include you in this?”
“No, of course not. I know how long it took you to work up the courage to go to your brother’s place and I’m not going to ask you to put it off any longer. Would it be okay if I brought another friend along with us?”
“To my brother’s place? You want to turn this into some kind of social gathering?”
“Not at all, I just need a third person to drive. Then when we’re done my friend can take you back to the city while I talk to Anne Brooke’s husband in Lafayette.”
Tiff hesitated for a minute, and it suddenly occurred to me that she might ask to meet with Anne’s husband as well, and that would not be good. Sam had already been told that his case was being handed over to two people, not three. I also doubted that Tiff would be able to convince anyone that she was a private detective. She didn’t strike me as a very good liar.
Finally Tiff spoke. “Would it be okay if this third person just stayed in the car while we went inside Peter’s apartment?”
“No problem. They can go out to coffee or something until we call and tell them we’re ready to leave.”
