by Mary Monroe
“Not yet. Let’s see what happens in the next few weeks. For my future dates, I think I’ll fall back on my bogus book club alibi more often.”
“That’s even weaker than the Liza Mae story. Reed might start pestering you for book club members’ names and the location of the meetings.”
“Oh well.” Joan groaned and cleared her throat. “My life is becoming so complicated. Can we have lunch tomorrow? If I have to sit around the house tomorrow with Reed, I’ll go crazy.”
“I’d love to, but I’m going to be tied up.”
An annoyed look appeared on Joan’s face. “What’s going to tie you up, or should I ask who?”
“I have a date tomorrow afternoon.”
“With Elbert?”
“Pffft! Puh-leeze! I’m in no hurry to see him again any time soon. Especially since I had to turn down a date with Calvin today because I was in the middle of lunch with Elbert when he called.”
Joan’s jaw dropped, and she leaned back so far on the bed I thought she was going to fall. “He didn’t!”
“He wanted me to meet him somewhere, like within the hour.”
She started fanning her face with her hand. “That’s the hottest thing I’ve heard all week. You talked to Calvin about going on a date with him right in front of Elbert’s face? Girl, you’ve got more nerve than Kanye West. I’m impressed. Even I wouldn’t do something that bold.”
“Calm down. It was not like what you think. When Calvin called, Elbert was talking to one of his friends on the other side of the restaurant. I hung up before he got back.” I sighed and gave Joan a pensive look. “Poor Calvin. He sounded so desperate.”
“What’s wrong with you, girl? He’s one of the best-looking men in the club. And according to numerous reviews other women have posted, he’s as good in bed as he looks. Why would he be desperate? He probably called you because you’re so close by.”
“There are several women in the club who live in the Bay Area. He could have called one of them, but he called me.”
“So? How do you know he didn’t try to hook up with another member before he called you? That would explain him calling you at the spur of the moment.”
“If he did, I don’t want to know. All I care about is that he wanted to be with me. I hope I’m available the next time he calls for a date. But . . .” I stopped talking and held my breath.
“But what?”
“This is the second time he’s called at the spur of the moment for a date. I hope he’s not going to make it a habit, because there will be other times when I can’t drop whatever I’m doing to meet up with him. I don’t want him to think I’m a pushover.”
“I thought you loved Calvin.” I detected a hint of sarcasm in Joan’s tone. I ignored it because I didn’t want our conversation to get more tense than it already was.
“I do, but I want to be taken seriously.”
I also ignored Joan’s dismissive wave and the incredulous look on her face. “You want to be taken seriously? By a man you’ve already set the tone for? Pffft! I’d say you’re a month late and ten dollars short.”
“It’s not too late! Calvin and I are still getting to know each other!” I hollered. “You’re supposed to be my best friend, so I wish you would cut me some slack.”
I sulked for a few seconds and then Joan quickly backpedaled. “I’m sorry. Please don’t pay me any mind. You know I’m just talking out the side of my mouth.”
“Out your ass would be more like it. That’s why I’m not going to let what you just said bother me,” I quipped. We laughed.
“Oh well. Moving on, who is your date with tomorrow?”
“That painter I told you about last month. His screen name is “HotLips.” I hope his whole body is hot. Oooh!” I said with a tremor in my voice.
“Oh yeah! The blond dude from Canada. The one who said he’s going to paint a portrait of you. According to the reviews, he’s as hot as they come. And unless he slid a cucumber into his shorts when he took his profile picture, he’s got a nice package between his thighs.”
“Tell me about it. I read the reviews and Googled him too. His work is on display in museums all over the world. He’s in California for some fancy event in San Francisco.”
“Yum yum. He sounds delicious. It’ll be a long date if he’s going to paint your portrait too.”
“Uh-uh. I don’t even have to pose in person. He’s going to use my profile picture. If the painting looks good enough, I’m going to hang it on Bertha’s living room wall. With all those grim mugshots of Libby and Marshall, it would definitely brighten up the room.”
“You’re wearing a string bikini in your club profile picture. You know damn well Bertha is not going to stand for a cheesecake shot on her wall. Not to mention Libby and Marshall. It rattles them to see you parading around in tight shorts and low-cut blouses, or anything else that shows off your curves. Libby, because she’s jealous. Marshall, because it turns him on.”
“I know that. I told Evan—that’s his real name—that I want him to paint my face the way it looks in my profile picture but to put me in a cute dress or a nice blouse and skirt. He promised to make me look ten pounds thinner and at least five years younger.”
“I can’t wait to see it. If I like it, maybe I’ll make a date with him and let him paint my picture. . . .”
“Go home to your husband, Joan.” I laughed and stood up. After a long hug, she left. I got back into bed and picked up my Brides magazine again. My eyes almost popped out of their sockets when I flipped to a page with a black model wearing a gown that looked like the one Princess Diana wore when she married Prince Charles. A black model wearing the same type of gown I’d always fantasized about getting married in had to be a sign that I was moving in the right direction! I made a mental note to visit the bridal salons in the next few weeks. I was not going to wait for Calvin to propose. I’d buy my gown and hide it until he did.
* * *
South Bay City, where Joan and I resided, was one of the most interesting locations in California. It was a small city, but with Silicon Valley and San Jose in the same vicinity, there were always high-tech electronic and medical conventions or conferences going on around us. Most of the attendees from out of town who belonged to Discreet Encounters were always looking for a good time. Joan and I were having a lot of fun spending intimate time with some very interesting men. And it was all legal. Our dates didn’t give us money to sleep with them, so this was not a thinly disguised version of prostitution like I had thought it was when Joan first turned me on to the club almost two years ago. Except for Calvin Ramsey, a long-haul truck driver, we dated only the club’s doctors, lawyers, executives, and members in other high-income brackets. Dates with men at their level meant that venues for the sexual encounters would be posh hotel suites and include a lavish meal, champagne, and sometimes very expensive gifts. Conversations with the elite were a lot more interesting than chitchatting with a janitor or a cab driver and shacking up in a Motel 6 or a trailer. Joan and I received requests for dates with men in those dreary professions on a regular basis.
We didn’t even consider dating any of the club’s low-income members. However, I’d been tempted a few times because some of them were pretty hot. I wanted to have a good time, and good times were not cheap.
A potential date’s looks were more important to some club members than the source of income. It didn’t bother our high-end dates that I was only a cashier in my neighborhood grocery store living from paycheck to paycheck and that Joan was only a housewife. At thirty-two, we were not as young as a lot of the club’s female members, but we were among the best looking. One of the first things we heard from a member was how beautiful we were. We were confident that as long as we kept up our looks and kept our bodies in shape, we’d have no trouble attracting attention.
But all that still wasn’t enough for me. I wanted Calvin Ramsey to be the only man in my life.
Chapter 15
Calvin
SYLVIA HAD LAIN IN MY ARMS GRINDING HER TEETH, DROOLING ON my shoulder, and snoring like a drunken sailor. We’d made love half an hour before. She had put her negligee back on, but I had still been naked.
I’d lain on my back staring at the ceiling and reliving the sexing and killing of Hyeon three hours earlier. Just thinking about the terrified look on her face as I strangled her had given me a rush. I’d smiled when I recalled how her eyes had crossed and then rolled back in her head before she stopped moving. I finally dozed off and didn’t open my eyes again until nine a.m.
* * *
“You must have really been tired,” Sylvia commented when she came out of the bathroom. I sat up and she joined me on the bed, sitting so close I could feel her breath on my face.
My throat felt like butterflies were flying around in it. My mouth tasted like pig shit and probably smelled even worse, but Sylvia didn’t even flinch when I kissed her. “Good morning, precious.”
“Good morning, Calvin. Are we going out for breakfast, or is room service okay with you?”
“Yesterday was very hectic, so I’m in no hurry to get up and go out,” I replied, caressing her cheek. She had already put on her makeup and a bright green sundress. “Have room service bring up some coffee.” I cleared my throat and sat up straighter.
“Is that all you want? I wouldn’t mind having some bacon and eggs or some pancakes and sausage.”
“Just coffee and wheat toast for me.” I gave Sylvia a quick, sloppy kiss. This time my foul breath did make her flinch, but I pretended not to notice.
While she was ordering room service, I piled out of bed, stumbled to the bathroom, and closed the door. I stood in front of the mirror and smiled at my reflection. “You are one blessed motherfucker,” I told myself in a low voice. I was thoroughly convinced that because of my upcoming wedding and Lola’s pending murder, I’d be on cloud nine for the rest of my life. I winked at myself and rinsed out my mouth.
After a quick shave and a hot shower, I whistled as I put on my bathrobe. I was still whistling when I returned to bed a few minutes later and stretched out on my back. The only thing I wanted to do now was relax and think about my future and all the wonderful things I had to look forward to. Marriage and fatherhood should have been at the top of my list, but they were not. They would be once Lola was out of the picture, because my killing spree would be over (I hoped . . . ). I wouldn’t be mentally and emotionally free to enjoy my life until then.
Sylvia opened the shades, and the bright sunlight streamed into the room and warmed my face. The heat felt so good. To me, this was an indication that the day was going to be pleasant.
Our suite included a great view of the Strip. It looked almost as chaotic this morning as it had last night. My brother, and the rest of the folks who’d attended our party, had already left Vegas, but Sylvia and I were going to stay three more days. She moved away from the window and sat at the foot of the bed with the TV remote in her hand. “I don’t know what this world is coming to,” she said, shaking her head. There was a look of distress on her face.
“What are you talking about, sweetheart?” I asked as I nudged her butt with my foot. I was surprised that I didn’t have a hangover or a bellyache. I had drunk a lot of champagne and gobbled up a lot of cheese, crackers, salami, and fruit the evening before. The only things aching on my body were my wrists. Hyeon had gripped them during the struggle, but not hard enough to leave handprints or bruises, so I was not concerned.
“The local news just reported that some homeless people collecting cans and bottles this morning behind an old warehouse found an unconscious young Asian woman.”
My heart picked up speed, and I took a very deep breath. “Oh? What happened to her?” Was it Hyeon? I wondered.
“There’s just no telling. She was a hooker with a long arrest record. Lord knows those women put themselves in danger every time they get into a stranger’s car. The cops didn’t find any money on her, so whoever attacked her must have robbed her too.”
It had to be Hyeon! My brain suddenly felt as if somebody had set it on fire, but I remained cool and calm. “Maybe she pissed off one of her tricks, or tried to rob him. Some of those hookers are pretty ruthless.”
“It doesn’t matter how ruthless she is. She’s only eighteen. That monster had no right to try to kill her.”
“Oh?” I said again, this time listening with more interest. “Somebody tried to kill her?” I couldn’t believe my ears. That deceitful little bitch had pretended to be dead!
Sylvia dropped the remote onto the bed and scooted closer to me. She draped her arm around my shoulder and exhaled. “Baby, I’m so glad we lead such normal lives. Reading about crime or watching it on TV is as close as I ever hope to get to any of it.”
“Was she able to tell what happened?” My body was gradually falling apart, one piece at a time. My stomach felt like a mule had stomped on it with all four hooves, my eyes were burning, and my ears were ringing.
“She just regained consciousness a couple of hours ago, but she is so traumatized she can’t remember what happened. All she was able to tell the cops was that she’d been picked up around midnight last night by a black man in his thirties. The police have two witnesses though.”
“Two witnesses?” I bleated. By now, my heart was thumping so hard it was difficult to breathe.
Sylvia nodded and gave me a curious look. “What’s the matter, honey? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
“Wh—what do you mean?” I stammered.
“You sound and look as if you’re in pain. Did you just have another flashback?”
“Uh . . . yeah. But it was a mild one and it lasted only a couple of seconds.”
“Well, the way the blood suddenly drained from your face, I thought you were having one as bad as the one you had last night.”
“It’s nothing to worry about, baby.”
“I do worry about it, Calvin. When we get home, I’m going to make an appointment for you to see someone.”
“Okay. Let’s forget about it for now.” I rubbed my nose, which was also causing me some discomfort now because the insides of my nostrils were burning. Then I gave Sylvia a concerned look. “I feel sorry for that young hooker. I hope she’s going to be all right.”
“I hope so too.”
“What did the witnesses tell the cops?”
“Not much. Hookers don’t like to talk to cops, but they both admitted they’d been doing drugs for hours when they saw that young girl get into a car with a black man. That’s all they told the cops.”
My heart rate slowly returned to normal, and I breathed a huge sigh of relief. But I was still not out of the woods. “Hmmm. Did they write down a license plate number or tell the cops what kind of car the dude was driving?”
“Honey, the only thing whores care about is making money. Unless they’re trying to set somebody up, why would any of them write down license plate numbers or care about what kind of a car a trick is driving? Sometimes you say the craziest things.” Sylvia gave me an exasperated look and shook her head. “Oh—I know you didn’t ask for anything to eat except toast, but I ordered you a Denver omelet anyway.” She exhaled and stood up with her arms folded. “What do you want to do today? Are you going to gamble some more?” I was so glad she’d suddenly changed the subject I wanted to kiss her again.
“I might try my luck at a few slot machines, but not in Vegas.”
Sylvia gulped and gave me an incredulous look. “You’re not making much sense. I think you drank too much champagne last night. You want to gamble but not in the gambling capital of the world?”
“It’s too damn crowded. Maybe we ought to drive over to Laughlin and spend the day kicking back on the beach and riding around on those water cabs.”
“I know that’d be a lot of fun, but Laughlin is at least a ninety-minute drive from here, one way. And it’s probably just as crowded as Vegas. Are you getting bored?”
“Kind of. I’ll be glad when we get back to S
an Jose.”
Sylvia giggled and gave me a thoughtful look. “I didn’t want to admit it, but so will I. Vegas has become too hectic for me.”
“I hear you. I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
“We should have stayed home and celebrated there. I’m sorry I badgered you to come here. If you don’t mind, I’d like to leave today if we can change our flight.”
“I don’t mind.”
Ominous thoughts suddenly crossed my mind: What if the Korean hooker regains her memory and gives a detailed description of me? If she remembers the make and model of the car and tells the cops, they might nose around until they figure out it was a rental. And if they fiddle around long and hard enough, they might come up with a list of names of all the people who rented the same make and model, and my name would be one of them. Shit! Words could not describe how anxious I was to get out of Vegas now.
I immediately called the airline. They charged me a pretty penny to change our reservation so we could be on the next available flight to San Jose, but I didn’t care what it cost.
* * *
As soon as I dropped Sylvia off at her house, declining her offer to spend the night with me, I rushed to get home. I turned into my driveway on two wheels. I was in such a hurry to get inside, I didn’t even bother to take my luggage out of the trunk.
I clicked on my living room light and looked around, trying to recall where I had left my laptop. I spotted it on the coffee table, then sprinted across the floor and turned it on. Google brought up four links about Hyeon. I clicked on the first one and found everything I needed to know. Not only had the bitch recovered, she’d already been released from the hospital! I became as frightened as I had been earlier. Why had I not checked to make sure she was dead? I would never be that lax again. There was no way I was going to let my next victim play possum on me. I would make sure she was dead, even if I had to dismember her.
