Suds and Sam

by Stella Marie Alden

  “Thank you. I’ll see you on Sunday for dinner. Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Sitting at one of the white wrought iron tables, I set my coffee on the glass top and put my laptop bag between my feet.

  Then, I dial Uncle Vinny who answers, “Hey, how’s my favorite niece?”

  He uses the same line with all twelve of us. “Fine, fine.”

  “Did you get the job?” He asks like he already knows.

  “Well, that’s why I’m calling. Did you tell a Mr. Slate not to hire me?”

  “Not in so many words…”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake.”

  “Language young lady. You’re living under my roof now.”

  “I’m not even in the apartment. I’m sitting in Mrs. Murphy’s and I’ve heard her say a lot worse.”

  I glance across the counter and the old woman grins with a thumbs up. “Yer damn straight.”

  “Tell her I’m telling Father O’Connell.”

  “Holy shit? He’s still alive? Whatever. Listen Uncle Vinny, I need the work. You can’t go threatening people…”

  “I know, listen, I spoke to your Aunt Marion. She says you can get your old job back.”

  “Washing hair?” My voice squeaks, I lean back, and look up at the tin ceiling.

  “Just for now, until I find youz a good man to marry. Dat was our deal, right?”

  Shit. Desperate to leave DC, I’d agreed to his terms. “I didn’t say I’d marry anyone. I said I’d go out on a few blind dates.”

  “Say hi to Rose and Mia. Nice talkin’ to youz. See you Saturday night for dinner.”

  “Will do.”

  Feeling like I stepped back in time, and not in a good way, I open my laptop. It’s time to stop procrastinating. Full of determination, I fill out the form for a private investigator’s license and kiss the last of my savings goodbye.

  Private Detective Sam Russo. I like the sound of that. It certainly beats Samantha, hair washer extraordinaire from Bensonhurst.

  Having done all I can to secure my future, I walk back to my new apartment and open the bottom door hoping to get past my newest guard dog, Cousin Joey.

  “Yo, Sammy. How’d it go?” He calls out his open kitchen door.

  “Fine.” I’m sure it was a rhetorical question.

  The minute Uncle Vinny told Aunt Marion to hire me back, the whole neighborhood knew. Her salon gets news out faster than twitter.

  “Hey, my dad says he has a date lined up for you Friday. I sent you the info.”

  Fuck. I climb up the stairs, feeling somewhat a failure until my cousins Rose and Mia gather me in their arms for a group hug.

  “What are you guys doing here?” Wiping a tear away, I swallow hard.

  “We told my mom we needed to get off early.” Mia runs into the kitchen and opens the refrigerator while I glance at my phone.

  My brows raise. “It’s only four. She must be getting soft in her old age.”

  Mia hands me a beer. “The salon was slow. It always is on Mondays. And since the gossip is all about you, she figured she’d get the scoop from us first thing tomorrow.”

  I swallow and let the liquid cool my throat while Rose grins. “C’mon. Get dressed. We’re going out for pizza. You can tell us all about it there.”

  “I need a shower first.” The water does nothing to wash away thoughts of the sexy Sebastian Sutcliffe.

  Suds. What kind of nickname is that? I’m sure if it wasn’t for him, Slate wouldn’t have even hired me part time. I’m not sure I want to owe any favors to the hot bodyguard. I shake my head back and forth. What was I thinking to sleep with him?

  It happened in DC, right after I got fired and the same day I found Will’s cell phone filled with texts from many women.

  The door to the bathroom cracks open and my oldest cousin pops her head in. “Can I get my hairspray?”

  “Sure. Almost done.”

  In the bedroom, Mia starts singing, ‘Gonna wash that man right out of my hair’ from our high school musical.

  I join along with Rose until we’re all laughing hysterically. Towel wrapped around my body and held tight by my chin, I make my way into my bedroom. I have to sit on the mattress to open the bottom dresser drawer. The closet, however goes the whole length of the side wall. Unfortunately, it’s built into the eaves and better suited for a short Hobbit.

  I look for a black romper to go with my black high tops and black leather jacket. A cold front has moved in and the weatherman says the temperature’s going to plummet into the sixties so I add black knee socks.

  My cousins dress in stilettos, black jeans, and tank tops. Rose has an eyebrow piercing and an awesome tat on her upper back. Mia has a gold ring in her lower lip and tiny jewel in her nose.

  I miss my metal and as soon as I have a little money, I’ll replace the ones I removed when I joined the conservative FBI.

  In the pizza parlor, Pete Solari leers at me from behind the counter. “Holy fuck, Sam, you look great.”

  I wish I could say the same. Pete’s hairline is receding and he still has acne. He also put on about thirty pounds since high school graduation.

  I order a slice of pepperoni and a beer. As he grabs a wooden pizza paddle, he asks, “Is Friday good for you?”

  His random question throws me off guard.

  “Huh?”

  Rose nudges me in the ribs and rolls her eyes. “The date? The deal?”

  Holy shit. Uncle Vinny hooked me up with Fat Pete?

  I grab my pizza from the top of the counter and put it on my tray. “Oh, sorry, Pete. Right. Listen. This week is not good. Nope, not good at all. Aunt Marion has me washing hair in the morning, I’m working in Manhattan, and I got this private detective business starting up as well. I’ll call you. I promise.”

  He smiles sweetly, but in a Pillsbury dough boy kind of way or maybe a Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. I imagine making love to him and stifle a giggle.

  Oh, God. That’s just not right.

  “Want to let us in on the joke?” Rose looks up as I join her at a red vinyl booth in the back.

  “I was thinking about Pete.” Shaking my head, I dig into the greasy masterpiece.

  Throwing a spinning pie into the air, he calls out from behind the counter. “Are you really a private dick now, Sam?”

  “Ah, almost. I applied for my license.” I nod at the stunned looks on my cousins’ faces while Pete takes a ladle and applies sauce over the dough.

  He deals out pepperoni onto the pie. “I know a guy who lost the love of his life. He’s been looking for her for days. Interested?”

  My heart quickens at the thought of getting my first missing person’s case. “Is this guy willing to pay?”

  “Yeah. I’ll tell you all about him when I pick you up for your date. Friday.”

  “Fine. We can have coffee together when I get done my shift.” I widen my eyes at Rose and Mia, daring them to say anything.

  Rose mutters under her breath. “You should not have agreed.”

  “I need the money or you two have to pay my third of the rent.”

  She shakes her dark locks, then bites into her slice. “True, true. Okay. But if he gets handsy, you tell him there’s an emergency and we’ll back you up.”

  “Deal.”

  Mia grins and picks at a pathetic garden salad with no dressing, lettuce and colorless tomatoes. “So, now that’s settled, tell us about your interview.”

  I share all except Sebastian’s searing kiss in the Starbucks. Some things are better left unsaid. I don’t need my one night stand of revenge sex getting back to Uncle Vinny or my dad. Things are hard enough as it is.

  My phone pings, I roll my eyes, and Mia glances down to where I delete another message from my ex. “Don’t tell me Will is still trying to get back together?”

  “I left him the apartment. All he had to do is get a job.” I sigh and shake my head, wondering again how I had let things get so bad for so long.

  Rose clucks her
tongue. “A job? The great American Novelist? Get serious.”

  Mia chuckles. “Did Will ever finish it?”

  “I have no idea.” I take a bite into a thin slice of heavenly goodness. No pizza in the world can compare.

  Chewing in delight, I swallow. “Petey, you’re a fuckin’ genius.”

  He grins. “You know what they say about a man who can cook…”

  All three of us at the table groan and roll our eyes but when he brings our bill, he writes a number on a piece of paper. “Call this guy, Frankie. He’s been looking for Chloe for over a month now. I’m sure he’ll be willing to pay you off the books to find her.”

  “Thank you, Pete. I mean it.” I stand, grab my purse off my chair, and curse under my breath when my dad walks in the door.

  In black jeans and a black suit coat, he looks young for his age, except for his gray brush cut. I get my brown eyes from my Mom. His are piercing blue, the kind that make men piss their pants under interrogation.

  He focuses them on me after he releases me from a fierce bear hug. “Joey said I’d find you here.”

  “Yay, Joey.” I cheer weakly and wave my index finger as a substitute flag.

  “I thought you’d want to know, I heard the JTTF is looking for analysts. You might want to put your name in.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” The J in JTTF stands for joint, as in FBI, as in no chance in hell.

  There’s no way they will rehire me after getting totally trashed by my last boss which was so unfair. My first supervisor loved me and gave me raving performance reviews for fifteen years. The second was a real prick.

  I put the thoughts aside. It is what it is. Time to start a new chapter of my life.

  “Mom says to stop by.” Dad eyes me with concern so I put on the mask I perfected as a teen.

  “I will. I promise.” I cross my heart with a right index finger.

  “That’s a good girl.”

  Rose pulls over a chair. “You want to sit, Uncle Mike?”

  “No, no. You girls have a good time. I need to get home before her mother kills me.”

  “Hey Mikey, want a pie to go?” Pete calls out from behind the counter and my dad pats his stomach. “No. I’m good.”

  “Make sure you fill out the paperwork, hun. See you Sunday.” He walks to the door, opens it, and turns. “By the way, what’s this I hear about some bodyguard and you?”

  Shit. How the hell had he found out?

  My face heats, a sure tell. Dammit. “It’s nothing Dad, and even if it was something, I’m over thirty. It’s really none of your business.”

  Dad goes but Pete’s ears pick up. “Hey, Sammy, you seein’ someone?”

  “No, Pete.” It was just one incredible night of panty-melting revenge sex which cannot be repeated.

  Rose whispers and grabs my arm. “Why you blushin’ girl?”

  Mia giggles. “Holy shit. You didn’t say anything about doing a bodyguard.”

  My heart skips a beat and my clit twitches at the thought of Sebastian Sutcliff. “I told you about him. He’s the man I interviewed and because of him, got fired.

  “Then, you slept with him?” Rose’s dark eyes widen and I roll mine to the ceiling.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “’Fess up. The whole story this time.”

  “Give me a moment.”

  We say goodbye to Pete, exit, and making sure the sidewalk is clear, I take a deep breath. “I already told you how, after losing my job, I went out for a few drinks and this bodyguard hit on me and I said no. Even though me and Will were having problems, I don’t cheat.”

  “We know. Get to the good stuff.” Mia grins and nudges Rose who puts me in the middle of them so they both can hear.

  “Okay. So, when I came home, Will was asleep and for some weird reason, left his phone on the kitchen counter. I didn’t think anything of it when it started to ping messages. You know how they show up on the front screen? Imagine my surprise when I read, Hey Baby.”

  “Bastard.” Rose hisses out her breath.

  “Right? So, I figured out his password in like thirty seconds and found out he was screwing around on me big-time… for months.

  Rose shakes her head. “Damn, girl. That’s so many shades of fucked up.”

  “Oh my God. I know. If I ever say I am in love again, shoot me.” I put my head in my hands while Mia pats me on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, hun. We’re going to find you a good man.”

  I look at my two cousins, grinning like fools, and moan. Jesus, Lord have mercy.

  “It still doesn’t explain how you ended up having sex with a bodyguard.” Rose missed her calling. Perhaps when I get my PI business off the ground, I’ll hire her to question people.

  “It was revenge sex. Plain and simple.” It’s better, I leave it at that.

  No one can know how one night with Sebastian Sutcliffe had ruined me for all time. Even when I’m ninety, I’ll touch myself under the sheets in an old age home at the mention of his name. My moans will no doubt bring the nursing staff who’ll put me in a straight jacket.

  Chapter 3

  Suds

  For the first time in years, my dreams are all kinds of messed up. I remember I’m in my hotel room in DC with her, having the best damn sex of my life. Then, thunderous mortar fire explodes. I roll her off the bed and onto the floor. Glass sprays everywhere so I close my eyes and when I open them, she’s staring lifelessly up at the sky on the desert sand.

  Fuck. I know this place but why am I here? Something is not right. My brothers lie in the sand beside me while our hummer sits on its side with tires spinning. My ears ring which is a blessing because I can’t hear myself screaming out their names.

  Still asleep, I open my lids in a hospital bed, smiling on the outside but the real me is trapped inside.

  “Let me out!” The dude who took control of my body is smooth, real smooth.

  Finally, I wake with my heart drumming in my ears. Covered in sweat, I stand and pace, waiting for the images to fade. When they do, I slip into a pair of running shorts and take off down Wyckoff Avenue.

  At this hour, Bushwick is mostly asleep, except for those who work regular hours in Manhattan and need some exercise before their commute. I nod at a few early birds but don’t smile.

  It’s not done.

  At times like these, I consider moving back south but hell, what would I do? Patten Securities has been good to me. God knows where I’d be without them.

  My feet pound the sidewalk, I turn up the hill, and rush past the tightly packed brownstones. It must be garbage day because the trash bins are all out, some overflowing. A dark cat-sized critter crosses my path and I hiss.

  Fucking rats.

  I up my pace, control my breathing, and enter the zone. However, no matter how hard I try to dismiss them, thoughts of Sam linger.

  How had I let her get under my skin? It makes no sense. For sure, she’s pretty enough but I’ve worked for dozens of models and actresses who’ve thrown themselves at me. I like sex. I’ve never minded. There’s nothing wrong with two consenting adults blowing off some steam or each other.

  The road gets steeper, my legs burn, and after taking deep breaths through the nose, I exhale through my mouth.

  She’s pure fucking danger, that’s what she is. What if my well-built facade falls away and people see the damage hidden under the hood? Who will hire me then? I saw what happened to my pal, Lucky. He almost blew his brains out. I never figured I was a stronger man, just better at keeping shit locked down.

  Her brown eyes haunt me. They’re like none I’ve ever seen. One minute, they’re rich, dark chocolate. However, in the sunlight, they turn gold. Her hair holds the same mystery. I can’t even decide what color to call it. Blond, I guess. There’s an almost white stripe near her face. The rest is a whole lot of browns and yellows in this shoulder-length messy tangle of waves.

  I recall wrapping her locks around my fist as I lost myself inside her. At that moment, something felt so
damn good, it scared the shit out of me.

  Running full out, I round the corner and head back down the hill in the middle of the street so as to avoid the broken sidewalk.

  Before I met Samantha, a run like this would clear my head. True, the nightmare is put back in its lockbox but thoughts of Sam still invade my space. Like a lingering scent of homemade goodness, they follow me around as I shower and dress.

  I want her again. Maybe just once more. Maybe what we had the first night was all in my head. Hell, we all want what we can’t have. It’s probably like my problem with authority. Slate told me to stay clear of her so I want her. With sex in mind, I text her something filthy, to give her something to think about.

  She doesn’t respond but I’m not worried. I felt how her body responded in the coffee shop. Now in the shower, I put a soapy fist around my cock. Up and down it slides while I picture her. I cum hard, it relieves some of the tension but not enough.

  As I rinse off, my phone pings and I answer, hoping for something big to occupy my time.

  Slate: How soon can you get here?

  I check the time. It’s early enough to beat rush hour but late enough the trains should be running on time.

  Me: C U in 45

  Slate: Sending you a file. Read it on the way.

  Intrigued, I open his email and review the online news. Holy shit. Congressman Thomas Bannerman’s wife was found dead at their home in Westchester?

  Slate sent me some background information but there’s nothing here to suggest a motive. No doubt, the police will be investigating the congressman, our new client.

  When I get to the office, I run up twelve flights of stairs and arrive only slightly winded.

  Slate motions me into his office where I help myself to a pod of coffee before plopping on his couch.

  “What’s up?”

  “Bannerman’s defense attorney has asked us to help out in the case. I want you to call Sam, then go out and check out the crime scene. Let’s see if she’s as good as she says. Keep an eye on her.”

  “Will do.” Dark liquid gurgles into my mug and when it finishes, I swirl it in my hands before taking a gulp. “Anything else?”