by Gwyn Cready
She gasped, looking both ways to see if anyone else had seen this, and pushed the chair slowly away from the desk.
Now, that was weird.
She supposed it wouldn’t hurt just to check to see where they’d netted out. She’d have to know the answer in order to write the article, after all, right?
She grabbed the book and stretched out on the bed. Where had she been? The third chapter? She found the page, reread the scene with the struggle and the pill, feeling the same lurch in her belly, then scanned ahead. Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six—bingo!
“Kiss,” “caress,” and the all-important “iron length.” This was the spot!
He laid her out on the velvet-covered bench, heedless of the floor-to-ceiling windows whose diaphanous silk drapes billowed in the cool summer breeze. She would be his at last.
In an instant Ellery was right there with Ynez, laid out on the bench like some Egyptian queen on a palanquin, gazing out the museum windows, feeling the heavy press of Axel between her—
Axel?
Harold, she thought firmly, though the scene certainly called to mind that summer night she and Axel had first succumbed.
Her breasts quivered with the beating of her heart.
“You will be my first,” she said in a small voice.
“My first”?There’s no way this is Ynez’s first time, Ellery thought. Not a she-devil who can fight her way to victory! Please. Ellery scanned the next paragraph and leapt to her feet, horrified.
“This is Britta?” she cried. “You’re bedding Britta after saving Ynez’s life? How did that little upstart worm her way into your bed?”
She paged furiously back to the start of Chapter Four and started to read.
The blare of her cell phone lifted her out of a place so deep in the story, she thought for a moment Romgar had returned with the he-devils.
“Hello?” she said, heart pounding from the shock.
“I thought you were coming over after you checked in?” Axel said.
She looked at the clock. An hour had passed! “I was… working.”
“On the story?”
“Yes!” She hopped to her feet.
“Good to hear. I’m going to have my cell turned off. Long story, but call the bar if you need me.”
“Fine. Whatever. See you soon.” She lifted the suitcase onto the bed and unzipped it. Harold had thankfully been diverted before he succumbed to Britta’s questionable charms, though it was clear he was going to be making some very bad decisions about her soon.
Ellery tossed the phone on the bed and pulled out the first thing she could grab. The red-spangled thong. Perfect. Just what one needs for a long night sitting at the bar. She could almost feel the rash starting. She threw the thong aside and dug deeper. A V-neck sweater cut halfway to the navel, a halter dress, a see-through blouse meant to be worn over a camisole without a camisole, a leather miniskirt, a purple bustier, three lacy satin bras, a handful of barely-there underwear, a pair of jeans so skinny she wondered if they needed to be torn in to pieces and shellacked onto her buttocks, a foot of condoms and the aforementioned slip dress. This for Scotland, London and Pittsburgh? In November? Had they left none of the clothes she’d started with? She considered wearing the neatly creased slacks she’d arrived in, but with her sister’s “You can give a zebra a TiVo, but what’s the point?” still ringing in her ears, she didn’t dare.
Ellery kicked off the slacks and all three pairs of underpants and went for the most conservative panty: a lipstick-red retro bikini that managed to evoke both a sixties Maidenform ad and Playboy magazine. She unfolded the jeans and considered. She and Jill were theoretically the same size, though Jill had hung on to those coltish teenager legs and sported an ass that looked like it rode on helium. Ellery’s own posterior had settled into a more earthy upside-down heart shape—“earthy” being code for “Hello, gravity”—but she was determined to be an appropriately attired bar patron this evening. With an exhalation calculated to reduce both her weight and volume, she herself eased into the jeans, though “eased” didn’t quite cover the combination of hopscotch and yoga necessary to get them over her hips, and zipped them closed.
She looked at herself in the mirror. She had to admit, the jeans made her look fantastic. It reminded her of a pair she’d had in college, though those hadn’t ridden quite so low on her hips. It was probably good she’d be wearing a slip dress with them and not a camisole.
She took off her top and no-nonsense T-shirt bra and fastened the “Hands of God” around her chest. She felt a little like Chuck Yeager strapping himself into a cockpit, but once all the buckles had been snapped and the safety checklist reviewed, she felt ready for even the bumpiest flight.
Then she pulled the light-as-air slip over her head and let it flutter over her body. Jill was right: She was going to rock in this outfit. She pulled the elastic from around her ponytail and let her hair fall. She was just strapping on her heels when her cell rang.
“On my way,” she said, breathless.
“You certainly are, missy,” an ebullient Carlton Purdy said. “And I have some very good news.”
Ellery’s heart made a joyful lurch. The job! “You do?”
“I do. I’ve convinced the board to wait on their decision until the John Irving article comes out. We have two Irving fanatics in the group, and I know they’re going to be thrilled.”
Ellery felt her test flight careening toward the ground. “Oh.”
“I’ll be waiting in line at the corner newsstand the day the magazine drops.”
Ka-boom. She collapsed on her back on the bed. “That’s great. Are you sure you can afford to wait?”
“Missy, we can’t afford not to wait. You can thank me later.”
“You know I will.”
Ellery hung up and stared at the ceiling. Then she turned off her cell phone, rolled to her feet and broke the seal on the honor bar.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Monkey Bar, Pittsburgh
Axel put down his club soda. There she was at last. His calls had been going straight to voice mail for the last half hour.
He watched her make her way across the crowded floor. Irritated as he was, he had to admit she looked great. Nor was he the only man in the room with his eyes on her.
She was wearing something bare and silky on top that fluttered over her curves like the delicate wings of a butterfly. The lights of the room lit her hair like a fiery halo, and her cheeks were aglow. He was reminded with sudden sadness of what he’d lost five years ago, and the pain in his back, which had been gone since the day before, returned.
She spotted him, took a step and went over like a sequoia, arms flailing as she fell.
He ran to her side and pulled her up. “Are you okay?”
“I am very fine,” she said, catching his shoulder with an air of companionability that surprised him. “Very fine.”
“You sure?” He looked her over, curious. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“There was a slight, er, development after you called. It took me a while to work my way through it.” She hiccoughed and covered her mouth. “Pardon me.”
Oh boy. Dress slightly askew, lipstick drawn beyond the lip on one side, telltale scent of Tanqueray in the air. “Please tell me you took a cab here.”
“I did. Came right to the front of the hotel for me.” She tried without success to snap her fingers. “So, are we gonna get this party started or what?”
“I wonder if we should get you a spot of dinner first, eh?” He led her back to the bar.
“That’s a fine idea.” She waved the bartender down. “Martini, please.”
“I was thinking food.”
“Loads of olives,” she amended.
“And a burger,” he said firmly. “Tell me about this development.”
“I am writing a piece about romance novels.” She picked up his beer and frowned when she discovered it was empty. “Not John Irving.” She waved a finger at him.
“No, no, no. Even though Mr. Irving has had more than a few things to say about romance.”
“Yes, I know those happily-ever-after endings are one of his trademarks.” Axel pried her fingers from the bottle, which she was now holding over her head and staring into like a spyglass.
“You know, just because it ends unhappily doesn’t mean it’s not romantic. Look at us.”
He felt another back twinge and pulled out his Baggie of pills. “I guess I should be honored you remember it as romantic.”
“Even you,” she said, swaying a bit, “wouldn’t have slept with Britta.”
“Britta?”
“I’m not saying Harold did, either, by the way. But I think he’s going to.”
“Oh, that Britta.” Axel dropped a muscle relaxant on his tongue and swallowed it dry. “A little too wet-spaghetti for me.”
“That’s what I’m saying!”
The bartender put down the martini, and Ellery reached for the glass, but Axel put his hand on the base.
“Olives first.”
“You know,” she said, lifting the toothpick and giving him a pouty look, “you never asked me if I wanted any. Never, ever, ever. Not as long as we were together.”
“Wanted any what?” He narrowed his eyes.
She leaned toward him, whispering, “Harold unwrapped it and put it directly into her mouth.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“Those,” she said, waving in the direction of his Baggie. “Your… stash.”
Axel wanted to laugh. It was like hearing his aunt Gloria say it. “My ‘stash’?”
She looked around as if she were checking for a cop. “I can take them too.”
“You’re telling me you want one.”
“I’m a big girl, Axel.”
He looked in the bag. It held pink Sweet’N Low packets, yellow caffeine tabs, white muscle relaxants and round brown ibuprofens.
“The brown ones are spectacular,” he said, pulling one out.
She gazed at it as if it might sprout wings and fly. “Really?”
“Oh, yeah. Major buzz.”
“Like Ecstasy?”
“Better. Pop one of these and fifteen minutes later you’ll feel like a million bucks.”
She reached for it, hand trembling. “Are you going to take one?”
“I told you, I don’t take recreational drugs anymore.”
With a snort, she placed the pill on her tongue. Axel offered his club soda. She took a gulp from the martini.
She wiped her mouth on the back of her fist. “Did you ever do coke?”
It was the first time she’d ever asked. They’d argued about his “behavior,” as she’d called it, and his late nights, but she’d never actually asked him directly. It was almost as if she hadn’t really wanted to know.
“Yes.”
She gazed at him, fascinated, as if he were an animal in a zoo… a friendly one, mind you—maybe a chimp or a llama—but still an animal.
“Did you…” Her voice trailed off and she stirred her drink. “I mean, when I first met you, there was this story about you and that TV reporter…”
He waited. He didn’t know what she meant, and he certainly wasn’t going to offer to try to fill in the blank.
“Forget it.” She shook her head, then lifted a hand to her temple. “Ooh, I think I just felt something.”
He hoped it was the olives hitting her stomach.
“Axel, can I ask you a question?”
“I doubt I could stop you.”
“Do you think of me as a fun person?”
It was his turn to snort, but the look of comic sorrow that came over her face made him regret it instantly.
“You’re fun,” he assured her. “Look, you’re drinking a martini and, um, wearing party shoes.”
“That’s not fun,” she said glumly, draining the rest of her glass. “Anyone with feet could do that.”
“Your fun’s more internalized.” Where the bloody hell was that hamburger?
“Great. Like salmonella… or an ulcer.” She dropped her head on the bar. “You know, I have a TiVo. And I am perfectly aware of how to run it.”
“See?” He reached for his club soda. “And what says ‘fun’ more than time-shifted TV watching?”
“Speaking of that, where the hell are you staying tonight?”
He laughed. “Is that an offer? I was going to be staying with a friend, but now I’m… doing something else.”
The ooga-ooga siren went off again, and another young lady began her precipitous journey of renewal.
Axel preferred the view of Ellery’s eyes, which glowed a fantastic blue as she watched. The blue turned cloudy, though, when the bartender put the woman’s beer on the platform.
“She didn’t get a T-shirt,” Ellery said, distraught.
“No, for that you have to give up more than your soul,” Axel said. “The shirt goes, too, I’m afraid. Not for the faint of heart.”
He caught the bartender’s eye, surreptitiously pointed to Ellery and made the motion of a pot pouring coffee. “Now, can I ask you something?”
Ellery lifted a brow. “Mm?”
“Why do you have a red thong sticking to your back?”
She straightened so fast she nearly fell off the stool. “I do not,” she said, trying to feel over her shoulder.
He plucked it off her dress and handed it to her. He’d never seen her wear a thong before, and between that, the cut-down-to-there dress and the drinking, he was starting to wonder exactly what she’d been up to at the hotel.
Instead of coffee, the bartender arrived with a pitcher of frozen margaritas and a glass the size of a soup tureen filled to the brim. Axel tried to wave the confused woman away, but the smile that burst across Ellery’s face made the attempt futile.
“Yum,” Ellery said after taking a long slurp.
“You’re going to want to slow down a little,” he said. “That pill’s pretty powerful.”
“I know,” she said, rolling her head around her shoulders liquidly. “I can feel it already.”
“Hello.” A guy in a suit, maybe twenty-five, wearing a gold TAG Heuer and about a liter of Obsession for Men, sidled up to Ellery. “I like your moves.”
She giggled. Axel bit hard on his straw.
“Wanna dance?”
“Thank you,” Ellery said, giving him a much bigger smile than he deserved. “But I can’t. We’re working.”
The kid looked at Axel, who said nothing.
“He’s a photographer,” Ellery said.
“I guess that makes you a model.”
She giggled again. “You’re cute. Blind, but cute.”
He shrugged. “Okay. If you change your mind, just let me know.” He gave her a little wave and Ellery returned it.
“Speaking of work,” Axel said, watching the guy walk away, “should we consider taking a crack at the assignment?”
“It’s pictures, right?” she said, dismissing the suggestion.
“Yes, but I think Black feels pretty strongly there should be words to go along with them.”
She giggled again, though in this case he felt it to be entirely appropriate.
“You’re funny,” she said. “You might be a lot of things, but no one could ever say you’re not funny.”
“How you flatter.”
She laid her head on the bar and closed her eyes, grinning happily. “I don’t know, Axel. I’m feeling it now, and it’s feeling waaaaay too good for me to work.”
Great.
Then her eyes flew open and she grabbed his arm. “I’m not going to think I can jump off the building and fly, am I?”
“Nope. The flying pills are green.”
She snuggled back into the bar, sighing happily.
“I’d let you relax,” he said, “but I know you’d never forgive yourself for missing your Jack Kerouac opportunity.”
“Jack Kerouac?”
“You know he wrote On the Road in three weeks using the same p
ills you are.”
She sat up and blinked. “Really?”
“It’s true.”
“Oh my God, I’ll be like… like… the Billie Holiday of journalists.”
“There you go. So, why don’t you do your thing”—which was to talk to enough people to develop the narrative for this part of the assignment—“while I set up for some portraits?”
A singular determination seemed to come over her face—admittedly a little hard to make out behind the smear of margarita salt curling up from each side of her mouth—and she threw her shoulders back. “My thing! You’re right, Axel. That’s exactly what I should do.”
He didn’t quite know how to respond. “Well, um, great. I’m glad we agree. So I’ll get the camera set up and then just find you?”
She nodded like she hadn’t been listening and hopped off the stool.
Axel dug into his bag, looking for his Tamron AF 28–75. It was the best lens for portraits, though he knew he’d have to bump up the ISO to accommodate the room’s darkness.
The ooga-ooga siren went off again. He rolled his eyes and hoped Ellery was in position to catch a couple of good quotes.
Ellery stepped into position on the platform, feeling her heart pound.
No fun am I?
At this moment, with Axel’s wonder drug tripping through her brain, Ellery knew she was in the midst of a profound change. She was a butterfly emerging from her cocoon. She was a peacock about to spread her feathers. She was Sarah Connor kicking the Terminator’s ass. She was a—Wait, butterflies came from a cocoon, right? Or was it a chrysalis? It didn’t matter. Buhl Martin Black might hate her. Carlton Purdy might disavow her. Axel might look at her like he couldn’t remember they ever dated. But Ynez would understand. Ynez never faltered. She’d faced the impossible and survived. More than survived: She’d conquered.
No fun? Kate and Jill would eat their words. Oh, they would eat their words. Ellery was a zebra with a TiVo, and she would watch whatever show she wanted!
She grabbed the closest rung and swung off the platform, feeling her third-grade muscle memory returning. These weren’t even as hard as the ones at Howe Elementary School. The ones at Howe were free-swinging. These were fixed.
