Flora reached out, daring to touch her, daring to make another first move, and scratched her fingers through the buzz-cut right side of Gwen’s head. She tucked the longer blue fringe behind Gwen’s ear. “Well, I have to say I like your plans so far.”
14
Gwen still has Clementine snug against her in the park with the dim early morning brightening around them. Her long limbs are curled in, her silky honeysuckle hair against Gwen’s cheek. If she could do more, could tell Clementine that love is waiting for her, that it will appear when she least expects it, that it will feel so easy and right she’ll hardly believe she ever felt alone, she would. Clementine’s life just isn’t that simple, and hasn’t been for a very long time.
Clementine sniffles and pulls away, wiping at her eyes, and then, out of nowhere, a giant dark figure looms in front of them. Gwen reacts on instinct, yanking Clementine behind her. She’s ready to kick and bite and fight; she’s so glad she wore her heavy steel-toe spiked boots. The huge shadowy figure moves closer, reaches out; Gwen tenses, rears back and—
He holds out Clementine’s phone.
“Holy shit, Kevin.” Gwen’s heart slams against her chest; adrenaline and relief flood her veins. Clementine’s ever-present security guard slips away like an apparition. “You should really get him a bell.”
Clementine shoves the phone in Gwen’s face. “I got a message from Grady.”
Gwen pulls at Clementine’s wrist. “What is it? Is he okay? Where is he?”
Clementine shakes her head, then pulls up Grady’s message, which is a forwarded video of a monkey buying a drink from a vending machine.
“Okay,” Gwen says slowly. “Maybe. Maybe it’s a coded message. He’s been kidnapped by monkeys who are holding him hostage in...” She plays the video again, squinting at the symbols on the vending machine. “China?”
Clementine huffs, taps at her phone, and jams it against her ear. “He better hope it’s a coded message begging me to not kick his ass—Grady! Where the hell have you been?” Her voice carries through the park. “Yes, that was tonight,” Clementine says, and then in an imitation of Grady’s slow, deep drawl, “‘Oh shoot’ is right... Double would be a good start... Make sure you call Vince; you probably shaved ten years off that poor man’s life... Yeah, why don’t you go to bed; that way when I come over it’ll make it that much easier for me to smother you in your sleep, Grady.” She listens for a while, and her face eases by increments away from angry and worried: her eyes relax and cast downward, her mouth goes from a tight line to a frown, her jaw relaxes, and her shoulders drop. Her voice goes soft. “I know, sugar. I know.”
She hangs up the phone, clicks a button so it goes dark in her hands, and then looks down at it and sighs.
“Well?” It’s been a long, stressful night and Gwen is exhausted and relieved and just a little irritated. Flora will be up and starting her day in just a few hours now.
“He says he forgot. He was out with some friends. And now he’s home.” Clementine gives a little lift of her shoulders and a brief raise of her eyebrows. “I’m just gonna swing by his place and make sure he’s all right. Let’s get you home first.”
They toss their cups, in which the frozen custard has melted to a thick goo. Somewhere in the trees, Kevin follows as they walk back through the park to Clementine’s waiting limo.
“This was kind of fun,” Clementine says at the tall stone entryway to the park. “I mean minus the wild goose chase.”
Gwen hasn’t had a night like this a long time, not since she and Flora moved to Nashville to settle down, buy a house, and start a family. Her days of hitting a show, then a party, then a pool hall or head shop or greasy diner are over.
“It was fun, even with the goose chase.” Grady is safe and sound, and she got a night out, a rare bootleg record, some hot chicken and frozen custard, and maybe not just a client in Clementine, but a friend.
Back at home she feeds Cheese, then strips to her underwear, brushes her teeth, and falls asleep as soon as her head lands on her pillow. She sleeps through Flora getting up, sleeps through her own alarm, and bats Cheese away with a groan when she begs for more food. She sleeps through a phone call, through a few texts.
Waking is abrupt and unsettling, though she can’t figure out why. The backyard is bathed in afternoon light and speckled with the shadows of dancing leaves. The house is quiet but not silent; pipes groan, the freezer clatters a deposit of ice cubes, and Cheese meows next to her.
Cheese. Staring down unblinking from her perch on top of the headboard. “You’re worse than Kevin.” Gwen sits up and tosses the covers aside to pull a baggy T-shirt from her dresser. “At least he lurks around for protection and not just food.”
Cheese meows again, then runs ahead of her down the stairs and into the kitchen. Gwen feeds the cat, starts water in the teakettle, and settles down to a bowl of cereal. The doorbell rings as the kettle whistles.
“You’re awake now, good.” Clementine is on her porch looking rested and radiant and perfectly put-together in a red pencil skirt with a yellow silk tank tucked into it, black heels, and black scarf tied high on her neck. Her hair is twisted up and her makeup is flawless.
Gwen is wearing an oversized Grumpy Cat T-shirt that Flora’s mother bought her for reasons Gwen has not been able to figure out. Her hair is flattened to her head here and standing up in spikes there and she’s got on no makeup.
“I just woke up,” Gwen says. “Uh. Come in?”
Clementine enters, revealing Kevin’s black Navigator parked at the curb. Gwen leads her into the kitchen and offers her some tea, since the kettle is still hot.
“Do you have oolong?”
Gwen picks up the boxes of tea in the cabinet. “I have black Irish breakfast tea or pregnancy tea.” She looks over her shoulder, to where Clementine has settled at the table by the window. “I’ll just give you breakfast tea.”
“Good call,” Clem says, and adds, as Gwen is pouring the water into two mugs, “Oh, I didn’t know you had a cat!”
“That’s Cheese. She doesn’t like people usually, so consider it an honor that she’s isn’t hiding from you in terror.” The cat is sprawled in the sun smack-dab in the middle of the kitchen, too full from her third breakfast to move.
“Her name is Cheese?”
Gwen sets down the mugs and sits across from Clementine at the little table. “Mmhmm. She had a brother named Mac, but he died a few years ago. Now her name is just a sad reminder of what once was.” She sips her tea. “The Cheese stands alone.”
Clementine smiles and picks up her mug. “It’s hauntingly poetic.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Gwen finishes her cereal, and Clementine sips her tea, and this time it doesn’t seem odd having Clementine in her house, sitting in her kitchen. It feels comfortable. Friendly. More than friendly.
“So there’s been a development,” Clem says, breaking the companionable silence. “I thought you might want to know.”
Gwen swallows one last bite of Cheerios and drops her spoon. “All right, give it to me.”
Clementine gives her a slowly spreading grin. “You’re too much. Okay, it’s about Grady. And us.”
15
“Clementine wants me to go to Vegas.” Gwen is slicing carrots for the salad, while Flora sprinkles fresh oregano from the garden into the sauce bubbling on the stove.
“Okay.”
Gwen pauses with her thin-bladed knife raised in the air. “Really?”
“G, I’m beyond accustomed to you taking off at a moment’s notice. I’ll miss you, of course. But yes, really.” Flora taste tests the sauce, licks it from her lips, then adds another pinch of minced garlic. She’s changed into a long cotton dress. The material ghosts along the curves of her body; her hair is loose from her usual braid. Gwen has had trouble focusing on dinner prep since she got home from the office about thirty minutes ago.
“You should come,” Gwen offers casually, knowing the answer but feeling the need to ask for the sake of her own conscience.
“To Vegas? Pass. Hey, could you slice some bread while you’re at it, please.” Gwen finishes cutting carrots, adds them to the salad bowl, and then grabs the loaf of Italian bread while Flora continues to tinker with the sauce. She takes another taste, smacks her lips and asks, “Is it a show or party or?”
It’s none of those.
Me and Grady do these weekend getaways, just forget about the rest of the world. Indulge.
“Um. I’m still sorting out the details.” She doesn’t mean to lie or withhold information, but how to tell her some of it without telling her everything?
That Grady is spiraling out, maybe, possibly, probably, and needs to get away. How Clementine smiled and batted her eyelashes and asked Gwen to come, and Gwen agreed without stopping to think about Flora at all. How there’s a picture of Gwen and Clementine on the front page of a prominent tabloid, backstage at the charity event holding hands and leaning together, and inside the magazine one of Clementine bent close to whisper in Gwen’s ear—and another, of them leaving the event together with the caption:
Clementine Campbell’s date to the Hope for Children fundraiser fuels suspicion. More than a gal pal? Close source confirms: “There has always been something between them.”
How does she even begin to explain any of that? She deflects instead. “How are you feeling today?”
Flora checks the pasta, then turns off the back burner. “Better. I’ve kept everything down so far, and I didn’t almost fall asleep at my desk during a math test.” She drains the pasta; clouds of steam rise, making her cheeks flush and her hair coil into wisps at her temples. Gwen piles the bread into a basket, moves behind Flora, and kisses her neck.
“Are you feeling better better? Because it’s been a while.” Gwen kisses her way over the bend of Flora’s neck, then slips a hand around her side and drags it up to the swell of her breasts and down the bow of her waist and the arch of her hip.
“One day without puking and you’re all over me.” Flora trembles as she says it, which lessens the impact of her chiding.
“Can’t help it. You’re extra sexy lately.” Gwen slips her middle finger into the low bodice of the dress—the fabric gives easily—and lightly circles one erect nipple.
“I think you just want what you can’t have,” Flora teases.
Gwen smiles against Flora’s warm skin, drops a hand in a passing brush along Flora’s waist, and teases lower. “Can I have you?”
Flora inhales quickly, then grabs Gwen’s hand and kisses her palm before stepping away to serve the pasta. “After dinner.”
Gwen pouts.
“And I wanted to talk about a theme and color scheme for the baby’s nursery.”
Gwen sighs.
“Oh, and this bill from the insurance company. I was confused by it. I need you to call; I don’t have the energy to deal with them.”
Gwen groans, carrying the bread and salad bowls to the dining room like a woman heavily burdened by life’s unfair treatment. “Then can I touch your tits?”
Flora dips her head and presses a smile into her hand; her ears are red at the tips. “You’re too much, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told.” It makes her stomach squirm when she remembers Clementine giving her a similar look and saying the same thing. She’s walking a razor’s edge, here; she feels a recklessness in her coiled, poised, and ready to strike. Gwen pushes it down, ignoring the rattle of warning.
“The sauce is perfect, Flor. Better than your mom’s.”
Flora’s ears tinge red again. “When are you leaving?”
She’s not sure. Clementine had meetings and a casual appearance and radio interviews and—Gwen’s not sure what else, aside from safely depositing Grady at the studio first and foremost. She said she’d call with details, which she does when Gwen is in a lukewarm bath, settled snug inside the perfect cocoon of Flora’s body, with her back against Flora’s chest and her legs dropped wide inside of Flora’s.
Gwen’s phone trills from the bedroom as Flora rubs tight, smart circles against her clit while the water gently sloshes with the churn of Gwen’s hips.
Gwen gets distracted for just a moment, then Flora finds the right rhythm and pressure. When she comes, Gwen accidentally kicks a bottle of shampoo off the ledge of the tub. “Oops.” Gwen sinks, blissful and satisfied and sleepy-warm, back into Flora’s arms. “The hazards of bathtub sex.” She fucking loves this tub.
Flora laughs, kisses the damp crown of Gwen’s head, and then pulls the plug so they can get out.
Clementine: Got Grady. Ready to go tonight?
Gwen responds in the affirmative after checking with Flora and promising she’ll get her all tucked in and cozy before taking off. She gets another message immediately after that.
Nico: I’m at the airport. Heading back tonight. I need to see him.
Gwen towels off, pulls out clothes, and reaches to answer. Flora emerges still naked from the bathroom, looking for her nightgown. Gwen forgets all about Nico when she gets Flora spread and panting and pulling at her hair. She doesn’t give anyone a second thought while she’s got her face buried in the sweet part between Flora’s thighs. It’s not until Flora is wrung out and satisfied and tucked into bed that Gwen remembers to let Nico know what’s going on.
Gwen: You still there?
She packs quickly, and drives to Clementine’s house. From there they all take a Town Car to the airport, check in and board, and Gwen looks one last time before shutting down her phone for the flight. Nico never replies.
16
They’re only in the air for about fifteen minutes before Gwen can no longer stay quiet and still, and jumps out of her oversized leather reclining chair to wander around. The private jet is so upscale it makes her house look as if they slapped some old moldy cardboard together and picked up roadside litter to decorate it. And her house is nice.
She moseys to the front and creeps on the captain until the lone flight attendant closes the door and asks pointedly if Gwen needs something. Then she shuffles all the way to the back, past the thick curtain, leaving Grady and Clementine in the center cabin where four chairs face each other with pull-down wood tables and individual flat screen televisions on hinges are angled to the side.
A bar in the back offers a selection of gourmet snacks, juices, and seltzer water in snazzy little bottles. “Don’t mind if I do.” She twists open a water, leaning back against the counter to slug it down.
“Oh! Hi, Kevin.” She startles, but she’s accepted now that she always will jump when Kevin slithers in like fog.
There’s a couch in the back, too, along with one large TV screen and the bathroom. It’s just as swanky as the rest of the plane, but even so Gwen recognizes it as the area for the celebrity entourage and not the celebrity. It’s where she usually spends her time, the back of the jet. Metaphorically, anyway.
And now she’s a... guest? A friend? A friend that Clementine touches a lot.
She should be home with Flora, a voice nags in her head. She should not be on this luxurious private jet with a woman who touches her a lot and looks at her like that. Logical, grown-up, married, soon-to-be-a-mother Gwen shouts in her head about responsibilities and maturity and professionalism and god, she is such a fucking drag. This is why she likes doing and not thinking; thinking is too stressful.
“Let me ask you something, Kevin. Have you even woken up and realized you have everything you ever dreamed of? The career and the girl and the house and the baby on the way? And thought—” She shrugs. “Well, I guess that’s it then. This is my life. This is it. And now what? I look ahead and there’s nothing.”
Kevin inclines his head just so. Gwen takes it as encouragement to go on.
“Flora is the best thi
ng that ever happened to me, bar none. I don’t even know where I would be. Nowhere, probably, I…” Kevin’s eyes track her as she paces in the little carpeted walkway between the couch and bar, and she deflates after a few passes and leans over the couch’s armrest. “She is the reason I work so hard. She makes me want to be a better person because she is kind and generous and caring, and sure, she hogs the covers at night, and yes, she puts her dirty socks next to, but not in, the hamper even though it’s like two centimeters farther away, and she couldn’t parallel park at gunpoint, and her idea of a crazy night is using two bath bombs, but I’m glad. Because if she were actually as perfect as I think she is, I couldn’t do it. I’m already terrified of disappointing her. Even though I feel like I am.”
Kevin leans back, crosses his arms, and blinks twice.
Gwen sighs. She’s aware of her own patterns. She hates letting anyone down, and when she realizes she has, despite her best efforts, she turns to sabotage instead. If she’s gonna screw up, she may as well do it thoroughly. “You ever feel outside of yourself, Kevin? Like you’re watching yourself head for imminent disaster but it’s too late. You’re helpless to your own neuroses. Like the more irrational you are, the more it makes you irrational?” She can’t be the only person who sees a potential for disaster and decides to go ahead and throw a grenade at it just to get it over with.
Kevin’s eyes close.
Gwen walks backward to the main cabin. “Okay, good talk.”
She plops back into her seat. Grady is curled to the side in his, reclined with his eyes closed and breathing slowly. He could be asleep, though the chair rocks back and forth in a steady tick-click, tick-click, and his right leg jogs restlessly; for all Gwen knows, he’s coiled tight with constant, humming energy even while sleeping.
Hunched forward, glossy waves of hair falling over her face, Clementine is on her laptop, typing and clicking away. She’s dressed down, in slouchy gray cotton pants and a loose black tunic, deceptively simple for their steep designer price tag. Whatever she’s working on has her full attention; her eyebrows are drawn in and her mouth is pulled down.
Burning Tracks (Book Two: Spotlight Series) Page 9
