[Sign Behind the Crime 01.0] Gemini

by Ronnie Allen

  He cozied up next to her, and wrapped his left arm around her shoulders. He wanted to avoid that conversation. “What did I do today?”

  “John, don’t lie to me. You always bring me roses when you do something you know I’ll be mad at you for doing. Um?” She pursed her full lips and glared at him out of the corner of her eyes. She couldn’t face him.

  “I brought them today because I love you.” He looked away to avoid the tornado that was about to impale him.

  “John, you could’ve gotten killed again today.” There was no empathy in her voice.

  There was only one way to squelch the tornado. He bent over and started kissing her neck while he ran his index finger down her neck and décolleté. He whispered in her ear, “I love you babe.” She shuddered under his gentle touch. “Okay. Who called you?”

  His warm breath mellowed her. He knew his wife, well. She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and relaxed. She was in a semi-trance. “Do you want the list?”

  He smiled, continued kissing her, and lowered the zipper on her jacket. “Who called you?” He slipped his warm hand into her pink lacy bra and cupped her perfect breast in his palm as his ran his thumb over her already hard nipple.

  She sighed with contentment. “First Tony, then Dave from ESU, and finally Paul.”

  “Carlson called you?”

  She lunged up, disengaging his hand from her breast, and slammed the pillow with her fist. So much for squelching the tornado. “Darn, it John! I can’t take it anymore. I can’t anticipate the day or night I’m going to get a call saying you got shot or killed. And that’s so much more beyond your job. You don’t have to do what you do.”

  He closed his eyes but he couldn’t ignore her. “Yes, I do. It’s part of who I am. Don’t go. I love you so much. I don’t want you to go Vick.”

  “Darlin’, I love you too. More than life itself. But it’s too much. I just can’t take it in New York.”

  “Vicki, I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Please listen to me. We’ll move out of the city.”

  “Right. You wouldn’t leave this condo.”

  “For you, Vicki, I’ll do anything. Listen to me. We’ll get a house. We’ll look into Scarsdale. We’ll look into Westchester. We’ll get you a house with the white picket fence and a big backyard. And you can make your country barbeques. We’ll even get a dog, Vicki. I know how much you miss Duchess.”

  “A dog? You hate dogs, John!”

  “I don’t hate dogs. I just never had one growing up.”

  “You always said you’d never get a dog ‘not on your white carpet,’” she taunted, mimicking a childish tone.

  He laughed and tapped her turned-up nose. “We won’t get white carpet. We’ll get tile or wooden floors. Vicki, I will do anything for you. Please don’t go.”

  “And how are we going to be able to afford a house, John? This condo is completely paid off and you can’t sell it now in this market. The loss will be too great. It’s going to be impossible.”

  “Nothing is impossible, babe. I never stopped you from getting a job. I never stopped you from wanting to teach. If we move into a house and have a mortgage, well then--”

  “I tried teaching here. I couldn’t take it. I miss my kindergartners in Florida.”

  “You tried for a few days. You gave up before you gave yourself a chance.”

  Noticing her lowered eyes and her hands wrung together, he realized that was the wrong way to go. “We won’t take that much of a loss. The market in Manhattan is still pretty good. We’ll get a beautiful house, Vicki, in the country with enough bedrooms for your family to come visit. Mark and Jaimie, and Brian and Ann with the kids, your parents and my parents. We can have all the holidays here. You know how much you love to spend Thanksgiving and Christmas together. You’ll finally have that white Christmas. And we’ll need an extra bedroom when Ricky comes back to us.”

  “You live in a fantasy world. Ricky isn’t coming back. You think you can manifest whatever you want just by asking. It doesn’t work that way.”

  “Yes, he is. He most certainly is. Wait and see. It does work that way, Vicki. You have to believe.”

  “It’s been three years! Darlin’, I need to go. I need my space. I’m suffocating here. You’re suffocating me. Please. Three weeks, John. That’s all I need. Three weeks. Please give me three weeks.”

  “Babe, you can have three weeks. Take your three weeks, but don’t use that break up word. Just tell me you’re going to visit your parents.”

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do. Everything you’ve done for me to have me like New York City. I can’t. You don’t understand. If I asked you to come move to Florida, you’d miss your partying, your fancy stores, the dress-up affairs, the doctors’ meetings, the fancy Broadway shows. You love the bright lights, the noise, and even the traffic! Well, I miss the starlit skies, the animals in the woods behind the house, the sun, roads without any potholes, the calves nursing on their mothers on the farms, the clean air without pollution, the pitch black nights, the quiet, and I miss my guns, John!”

  “Excuse me? Did I just hear what I think I heard?”

  “Oh my God. That didn’t come out right.” Her cheeks flushed. She buried her head into his chest. “John, I’m sorry.”

  “Victoria Elizabeth, are you actually telling me that you’d rather be with your weapons than held in my arms every night and made love to?”

  “John, that didn’t come out right. I’m sorry.”

  He released her and propelled himself down on the other end couch. “You win. Go. Go be with your guns.”

  Anger built up. His heart beat faster. He swallowed to keep from blurting out words he’d regret. He needed his punching bags. Boy, he’d do a number on them. He’d never lashed out at Vicki before. Today had taken more of a toll on him than he’d thought. He didn’t like himself right now and, apparently, neither did Vicki.

  Sulking, she retreated to the bedroom to get her suitcase and carry-on, in the same hot pink as her sweat suit, returning with the zipper pulled up to her neck. She placed the cases by the door, turning her back on John.

  John eyeballed her feet. “You’re kidding me, right? You’re going out into the snow in flip-flops?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “You’re not leaving this apartment in flip-flops. Go put on socks and boots.”

  “I hate socks and boots!” With flaming eyes and tightened lips, she demonstrated, in no uncertain terms, that if he wanted to fight, she’d fight. She crossed her arms across her chest and stood there, egging him on.

  John read her defiance and took her up on her offer, flashing his signature look with the addition of a wickedly sexy grin. “Sit down, now!”

  She plunked down on the couch and folded her arms across her chest like a reprimanded little girl. Then she immediately cracked up, laughing.

  He stormed into the bedroom, returning with heavy pink socks and her chocolate brown knee-high Uggs. “Lay down, babe.”

  He picked up her right foot and kissed each toe, lingering, as he massaged her foot with both hands. He nibbled on her toes and she giggled as she always did. He put on a sock and then lifted her left foot. He tickled each toe with his tongue. He loved the taste of her. His mind didn’t want to think that this would be the last time he’d take care of her. He put on the second sock and then the boots. She deposited her flip-flops in her carry-on.

  “Now, was that so difficult?”

  “Okay, no.”

  The intercom rang from the lobby. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Babe, call me when you land. Come here. I love you.”

  “I’ll call you when I land.”

  Tears flowed and she tried to contain her sobbing. Her heart-broken eyes surely mirrored his. He bundled her up in her coat--slowly buttoning each button--picked up her hood, and wrapped her scarf around her neck. He caressed her face and wiped away tears with his thumbs.

  He stooped down to give her one last, gentle kiss.
>
  CHAPTER 9

  The limo pulled into the tight spot, but before the driver could warn him, Morgan, so upset by this meeting, slammed the car door open, ramming it into the rear passenger side of Barbara’s car.

  “What the--” Barbara jolted as she leaned against the car with her door open, changing her sneakers for high heels.

  “What did you do?” Steve asked.

  “Chill out, Steve.”

  As Morgan squeezed out the door, Barbara was prepared to go into her act. “Look what you did!”

  She smirked as Morgan gave her the once over, ending with a wink as his gaze settled on her legs.

  “It’s not so bad. It gives her some character, woman.”

  “Excuse me? Woman?”

  The one thing she didn’t tolerate was disrespect for her gender. She opened her eyes wide as she tilted her head, and both men had to get the message or they were dumber than dirt. Her defiance spelled confrontation.

  Steve got the message all right. “Come on, you two. We’ll be late for the meeting.”

  Barbara’s plan was in action. “Yeah. Okay, I’ll deal with this nonsense later.”

  As they walked to the elevator, side by side, Barbara saw their heads cocked toward her body. First step in her plan, working. The navy skirt that she chose accentuated her tight bottom and toned legs. Perfect.

  She knew what was on their minds. The same thing as every man. Every man that she had used, abused, thrown away, or killed. She projected the same sensual vibes as she did in the strip club.

  Think sexy, and you’ll be sexy, and never ever be afraid to show a man you could take him on.

  “Don’t worry, Dr. Montgomery, he’ll fix the car.”

  “I will?”

  The elevator door opened, and executive type men and women in their thirties through fifties exited for the garage, but a few remained inside. She stood as close as she could get in front of Morgan with her back toward him. He didn’t waste time and grabbed her hair between his fingers. He lowered his nose into the strands and inhaled audibly. “Um, nice.”

  He stretched up a bit, leaned in toward her neck, and whispered in her ear, “Done. I’ll fix the car.” He snuck a kiss on her neck and, to his surprise, she didn’t repel his advances. He gave her another, closer down toward her shoulder.

  She twitched her shoulders, pretending a chill passed through her. She smiled to herself. She hadn’t felt a thing.

  She pivoted around, analyzing her target, and assessed that at about five-feet-five, Morgan must use his attitude to make up for his lack of stature. The smug look on his face projected major attitude. He had lean, clean-shaven, chiseled features; high cheekbones; and deep-set, troubled brown eyes. She could tell he wanted to deceive her. Barbara considered him moderately handsome, but a well-groomed man in an expensive suit always looked desirable to her. With her long, red-painted fingernail on her index finger, she shoved him back against the wall.

  She’d caught him right where she wanted him, by his balls. “Nah, I’m thinking of something better.”

  “Oh, yeah?” he replied, matching her seductive tone.

  She noticed the bulge at his zipper. “Yeah, I think I’ll take a black magic marker, draw a ring around the dent, and have you autograph it, just to show the world what kind of a klutz you are.”

  What a downer! Morgan hadn’t expected that and neither had “Little Morgan.”

  Morgan and Steve stood frozen. The eavesdroppers in the elevator hid their laughter. When the door opened, she strutted out in front of them and the shadow on the floor told her exactly where their gazes focused. On the sexy, deliberate wiggle of her derriere.

  ***

  Walking down the hall, Barbara admired the antique white marble floors and expensive hand-painted gold-and-cream embossed burnt velvet wallpaper in a floral design lining the walls in the long corridor. This was her style, too. Extravagance when it was important to impress. As they reached Morgan’s office, she noticed that the sign on the door read Morgan Reynolds, President of Reynolds Publishing Co. From what Jacob had confided to her about his son, she guessed he’d changed the sign the day Jacob died. Probably before the funeral. There was no love lost between them and, to his father, Morgan was nothing but a money-squandering, deceitful, philandering, unaccomplished procrastinating worthless bum who lived on booze and his trust fund. She planned to use all of that against him.

  ***

  Carol, Morgan’s attractive well-dressed secretary, opened the door for them. They followed her into the conference room where five older men in designer suits waited for them. They welcomed Barbara, as she was acquainted with them from past years. From looking at their sour pusses, their furrowed brows, blank stares, their arms crossed on their chests, Barbara knew she had it made.

  One of the men had emailed her and expressed their annoyance that Morgan had called this meeting. Jacob Reynolds had given her donations for the past two years, right on schedule, mid-February of each year, and they had established no reason why this year should be any different. They didn’t tell her anything else, but her tarot reading in the car told her plenty. Now she just had to wait.

  Morgan signaled for them to sit. Everything in this conference room was upscale and redone the past few months to accommodate Morgan’s outlandish tastes. With the three multi-layered glass chandeliers equidistant on the ceiling that spread the length of the glass oval conference table with seating for twenty, this could be a tragedy waiting to happen if someone irate or disappointed slammed down on the table. Barbara knew from Jacob’s complaining about Morgan, it was his goal to intimidate. He got off on seeing other people wiggle in their seats with anxiety and discomfort. He demanded that the writers prove, beyond a shadow of doubt, that they were worthy of a contract with him. Jacob didn’t think he should be so tough, but Barbara didn’t fault him on this. In business, you had to be tough. She was.

  Steve motioned for Barbara to sit at the other end of the table, but she took the seat closest to Morgan. She made sure pheromones worked overtime, choosing the right perfume for the job, and Morgan inhaled deeply. This time he wiggled in his seat, as if to adjust his slacks. Barbara let out a barely audible, condescending laugh.

  With imperious hostility in his voice, Morgan began to address this distressed group. “Let’s get this over with. Dr. Montgomery, I have examined your records, the miniscule amount you provided, and, at this time I feel it is inappropriate to continue our support of your clinic, so I am, therefore, withdrawing the $200,000 donation.”

  The men shot glares at each other with their mouths gaping. Barbara gave it right back to him, knowing it was payback for her rejection of him.

  “Then I suggest you re-read my reports. Gentlemen, Morgan is just pissed that he smashed the rear of my car in the garage. You shouldn’t mix playtime with business, Morgan.”

  Morgan’s face reddened. “This and all future meetings are over.” He got up and sauntered out, unconcerned.

  CHAPTER 10

  It hit John already, even though Vicki had just left a couple of hours ago. The gardenia scent, her fragrance that had enveloped his apartment and his world, had vanished. That fresh just out of the shower smell, that he’d grown to love and worship, disappeared the moment she did. She was a natural beauty inside and out, right down to her natural blonde hair. He had everything he’d always wanted and had achieved whatever he wanted. Just one person made him feel empty, creating a void no other woman would ever be able to fill. The gardenia healing scent she wore--that encased her aura and spread to his, the moment he stepped into her energy field, and diminished his anxieties and frustrations of the day--would no longer be there for him.

  The condo’s modern décor in black, white, and gray, with geometric splashes of yellow on the upholstery, and in the faux-wall painting, reverted the apartment back to its once-bachelor-pad feel. A feeling that he didn’t want anymore, and he longed to forget. This once playboy gave up all of his philandering and partying the moment he
met her, very content to settle down. The bar scene at night, the heavy hitter mentality of the ones on the Upper East Side, and coming home in the early morning hours no longer captured his interest. He had lost his taste for the women who, with one phone call, would share his bed on a moment’s notice. So many women had come and gone in his place that he’d had to add extra soundproofing to the insulation in his bedroom to cease the unwanted comments of nosey neighbors. If only the walls could talk! They would be willing to share the sexual exploits of John Trenton with the world, and he could even make the most experienced and open-minded sex therapist blush.

  ***

  John entered his office, also in ultra-modern styling with white wall-units all around the room and a marble desk with white, blacks, and gray veining coming out from the center unit. He sat in his luxury black leather chair at his desk, just staring at the phone, knowing he had to make the call. Every call had been a battle in recent weeks and increased his stress level, which he didn’t need after today. His blood pressure must be through the roof. Perhaps it was because his parents didn’t have grandchildren like all their friends. Perhaps they were getting ill and not telling him. Perhaps it was because he didn’t see them as often and they missed him. Whatever it was, he wished there wasn’t the strain. He picked up the phone, holding the handset for a few moments, then dialed. It rang twice and that voice on the other end answered, the one who’d been his consistent stand-by-his-side, unconditional role model since he came into this world forty-five years ago.

  “It’s about time.”

  His father’s attitude was so obvious. It was the one that John had learned to tolerate, the last ten years since he chose his specialty. That subtle annoyance Dad gave off when he didn’t approve of what his son did and, today with Vicki leaving, it would be no exception.