by I. T. Lucas
Even though she sounded relieved, he detected a shade of sadness.
For a moment, he tried to think of what to say to make her feel better and switched the phone to his other ear. “I just wanted to tell you that you’re an amazing woman, Bridget, and any guy would be extremely lucky to gain your affection. I had a great time with you. But we both felt that it wasn’t meant to be, true?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“I hope things will not be weird between us when you come back.”
“Yeah, me too. You’re a great guy, Andrew. Good luck.”
“Thanks, you too.”
Andrew clicked off the call and raised his eyes to the ceiling.
“Thank you, God.”
Chapter 17: Sebastian
“How about this one?” Tom pointed to a skinny girl with long legs. A decent looking specimen, despite the red patent leather micro mini and the pair of monster platforms.
“No. She is with friends.”
“So are most of them.”
“Exactly. You need to search for the few that are here alone. Like this one.” He pointed to a girl sitting sideways next to the bar, smiling at a guy who was using every opportunity to touch her. A hand on the knee, a pat on the hand, he was getting more brazen by the minute.
Tom raised an eyebrow. “She is with her boyfriend.”
“That’s not her boyfriend. A moment ago, a different guy was drooling all over her. This one just came in.”
“She might be a pro.”
“No, look at what she is wearing.”
Tom focused on the woman. “Her skirt is short enough, and I can see part of her boob through the floppy sleeve of her blouse. That’s provocative, right?”
Sebastian sighed. The kid had a lot to learn about women. “Look at her shoes.”
“What about them?”
“Flats, Tom, she is wearing flats and not because she is too tall to wear heels.”
Tom nodded as if he understood. “I see. And whores don’t wear flat shoes?”
“No, they usually don’t. Heels make a woman’s ass and legs look good, they can’t afford not to use every trick available to them. But that’s not all, if you look closer, you’ll see that her shoes are dark blue, not black.”
“So?”
“Come on, Tom, I know you can’t tell the finer details, yet, like the cheap quality of her clothes, or that her flats have a sticker from a discount store on the bottom. But the fact that she is wearing a black skirt and a black blouse with blue shoes that can barely pass for black is a dead giveaway. These are probably the only ones she owns, and for a girl living in the United States of America to have only one pair means that she’s dirt poor.”
“What is she doing in a bar, then? If she can’t afford shoes, she certainly can’t afford the price of drinks at this place.”
“Aha, but she doesn’t buy her own drinks, the men do.”
“So, what do I do?”
“The guy hitting on her is getting too frisky and she is starting to look uncomfortable.”
“I can see that.”
“Go up to her and pretend like you’re her boyfriend who is showing up late for their date. If she wants to get rid of the guy, she will cooperate. Once he leaves, you take it from there. Be nice, unassuming, and charming.”
“Got it.” Tom tossed back his beer, emptying the bottle.
“And, Tom…”
“Yes?”
“Keep your hands to yourself, for now.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m the nice boy next door who is rescuing her from the scumbag.”
“Precisely.”
The good thing about Tom was that he was a quick study. And the guy could think for himself, which was a rarity among Navuh’s troops.
Sebastian observed as Tom followed his instructions to the letter, getting rid of the tentacle man and dazzling the girl with his winning smile. Half an hour later, after he’d bought her two more drinks and a platter of nachos, she started laughing at his jokes. And shortly thereafter, she began touching him—a light pat on the arm, another one on his shoulder.
Tom pretended not to notice and didn’t touch her in return, just as Sebastian had instructed. The best way to hook a girl was to let her think you’re only marginally interested and letting her do most of the work.
A waitress approached, momentarily blocking his view. “Would you like a refill, sir?”
Nice. He liked the ‘sir’ she’d tacked on at the end, much better than the ‘honey’, or ‘darling’ the others often used, which made him wish he was back home so he could throttle them with impunity.
He allowed himself a moment of fantasy as he looked down her impressive cleavage. Trouble was, with the amount of silicone she had in these super-sized breasts, he doubted she could feel any of the things he imagined doing to them.
“Sure, the same.”
She picked up his empty glass and Tom’s empty beer bottle and put them on her tray. “And for your friend?”
He waved his hand, “Nothing for now.”
“Very well.” She straightened, taking her huge breasts with her as she walked away.
Tom and the girl were no longer at the bar. With a quick scan, he found them on the dance floor, swaying with the rest of the cattle to the beat of the impossibly loud music.
The girl was taller than he’d first assumed, and given Tom’s modest height, it was good that she was wearing flats. Long black hair cascaded in thick waves down her back, stopping short of her ample behind. Somewhat on the plump side, she was nevertheless very attractive—in an earthy kind of way. Her bright smile revealed a set of straight white teeth that contrasted pleasantly with her dark skin tone. And her large mouth, framed by a pair of lush, fleshy lips, looked like it was custom made to accommodate his shaft.
He wouldn’t mind commandeering her for himself. In fact, he was getting hard just from imagining her on her knees, naked, with her hands tied behind her back, and him pumping in and out of that lush mouth of hers.
Sebastian sincerely hoped she fit the profile.
He couldn’t wait to find out, but the couple kept dancing and he was getting impatient. A few minutes later he signaled Tom to bring her over.
“Sebastian, this is Letty,” Tom introduced her.
“Hola, señor.” She offered her hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Letty.” He cast her a smoldering look as he took her hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss.
Even with her dark complexion and the club’s dim interior her blush was visible, and she lifted the corners of her fleshy lips in a tight, embarrassed smile.
“Please, sit down. What would you like to drink?”
She turned to Tom. “Qué?”
“Letty speaks very little English, and when she gets nervous she speaks even less,” Tom explained before repeating Sebastian’s question slowly, while using hand gestures.
She nodded and whispered in Tom’s ear, “Cola.”
As they sat down, Sebastian waved the waitress over and ordered a coke for Letty and another beer for Tom.
The guy leaned in, supposedly so Sebastian could hear him, not that there was any need for it with an exceptional hearing like his, but Tom seemed excited about the information he wished to share. “Letty is new here, only a couple of months. She came from Guatemala to find work so she could help out her family back home. She cleans houses for money, and also this bar.”
Sebastian’s smile must’ve been as broad as the wolf’s in the fairytale about the girl with a red coat. “This is perfect because I was just looking for a pretty, young maid like you, Letty.”
Chapter 18: Nathalie
Funny, getting used to good things, like having a new powerful appliance in her kitchen, was easy—not so to the things that sucked, like waking up at four o’clock in the morning.
Six days a week. Month after month. Year after year.
Nathalie hated it with a passion.
It was still night outside, and even
though the window of her second-floor bedroom was tightly closed, it was cold, and she knew it would stay this way for at least four more hours. Usually, by eight, the California sun would get strong enough to bake away the last vestiges of the fog shrouding her sleepy neighborhood. From then on, it would get progressively warmer until at about two in the afternoon it would become uncomfortably hot.
After all, this used to be a desert, and without the planting and constant artificial irrigation it would still be one. The nearby Pacific Ocean did little to moderate the weather extremes.
Okay, no more stalling, one, two, three… She threw off the duvet and jumped out before her soft, warm bed succeeded in luring her back to sleep.
The pastries, breads, and bagels were not going to bake themselves.
Her regulars were expecting her to open shop at eight sharp. Like Mr. Chen, the owner of the dry cleaners down the street, who had a habit of getting there even before opening time—standing outside the door with his hands in his pockets and waiting impatiently for his morning coffee and a butter croissant.
She’d better rush.
Nathalie had hacked her morning routine so it now took her under fifteen minutes to get ready, including getting dressed and making the bed. The trick was to shower quickly, weave her wet hair into a tight braid and not bother with makeup or clothing selection. Imitating Steve Jobs’s style, everything in her closet looked basically the same; jeans for bottoms and black for tops, so any combination matched.
But today she wanted to look pretty because a certain handsome guy with a sexy scar on his chin had said he would be there for breakfast.
Before leaving the bathroom, she hastily rummaged inside the vanity’s top drawer until she found the black eyeliner pencil and mascara she was looking for and stuffed them in her jeans pocket. Once the first batch went into the oven, she could spare a minute or two to apply makeup in the coffee shop’s bathroom.
Heading down, she stopped by her father’s room to check up on him. He was still sleeping.
Good.
The old building housing her shop and upstairs living quarters was perfect for their needs. After her father’s condition had become such that he needed constant supervision, she’d sold their family home and closed the Studio City café so she could buy this forties era small house. It was a step down even from their modest home, but it served them well.
What used to be the living and dining room had been converted into the sitting area of the café, and the old kitchen had been renovated with modern equipment. The upstairs had three little bedrooms, which all shared a single bathroom. She turned one of them into a living room for her and her father. There was just enough room for a couch, a bookcase, and a TV. It didn’t matter, after all, they were spending most of their time downstairs.
But the best part was the single interior staircase leading directly from their upstairs living quarters to the downstairs shop. This configuration made life so much easier on her. Her father had no way of wandering off without her noticing it, and the fact that she didn’t need to go out at such ungodly hours of the morning, or rather night, was definitely a bonus for a single woman who for all intents and purposes was alone.
After all, the ghost living in her head and her elderly, mentally impaired father wouldn’t be much help if someone attacked her.
Hey, not true, I can give advice, Tut said.
“So you decided to come back. I was hoping that this time you were gone for good.”
It’s true that I have to wander around in search of some action because your life is so boring, but I always come back. You missed me, admit it.
“No, I didn’t, go away.” Nathalie put on her apron.
Why? There are no customers—no one to see you talking to yourself.
“Fine, stay if you want to, but promise that you’ll leave as soon as I flip the sign on the door to open.”
I will, promise, now tell me everything that happened while I was away.
Right, as if she was going to.
“You said my life was boring, and you were right. So, how about you entertain me with tales of your many adventures?”
You know I can’t.
“You see, that is how I know you’re not real. If you were really a separate entity, you could tell me stuff I don’t know about. But because you are nothing but a figment of my imagination, you know no more than I do.”
Nathalie pulled out several batches of the dough she’d prepared yesterday from the fridge and placed them on the shelf above her work table. Next out were the slabs of butter she’d pounded into nice big squares inside ziplock bags and refrigerated overnight. Croissants were the most time-consuming pastry, and she always started with them.
I’m not a figment.
“Then prove it.”
She unwrapped one of the square-shaped dough packages and dropped it on her work table, then reached for her rolling pin.
I can tell you a fascinating story.
“Humph, as if my brain isn’t capable of making up tales. We’ve been over this before. Unless you can tell me something that can be verified by an external source, and that I have no way of knowing about, I’ll keep maintaining that you are imaginary.”
To shape the dough into a rectangle, she rolled her pin over it, back and forth, just several times to make it ready for the butter.
Damn! Her braid fell forward, but she couldn’t use her hands to push it back because they were covered with flour. Instead, she tried to flip it into place by shaking and wiggling. Sporting a dusting of white powder was one thing, having a braid covered in clumps of gooey yellow substance was another.
You look ridiculous. And anyway, that braid of yours should be wrapped around your head and covered with a kerchief or a hat. What you’re doing isn’t sanitary. If a health inspector catches you working like this, you’ll get a citation.
“Hats are not mandatory.”
Maybe, but I’m sure hair is not an acceptable ingredient in croissants either.
“And who is going to tell on me? You?”
That shut him up. Nathalie placed a slab of butter in the middle of her rectangle, then folded the flaps over the butter. One more roll and it was ready for the dough sheeter.
You’re getting meaner as you get older. Maybe I should look for a more amiable host.
Nathalie sprinkled more flour on her work table and unwrapped the second package of dough. “Go ahead, what are you waiting for?”
Tsk-tsk, so ungrateful. Did you already forget what life was like for you before me?
No, she didn’t forget. But she hoped that after all these years of living with only one voice in her head the others were gone for good. She shuddered thinking what would happen if they came back, flooding her brain with their whining voices, their demands…
Tut had been a godsend when he’d come and closed the gate.
However, if Tut and the voices that had come before him were indeed a product of her malfunctioning brain, which was the most likely explanation, then having only him for so many years must’ve meant that she was at least partially cured. If she managed to somehow get rid of him as well, she might be free of the voices for good.
Dream on, Nattie, without me you’re guaranteed to go nutty.
Tut laughed, his nasty cackling slowly fading away.
Chapter 19: Andrew
“Good morning, partner,” Bhathian greeted Andrew with a handshake as he exited his car. With the perpetual frown practically gone, the guy’s face looked almost friendly this morning.
Andrew clicked the little red button on his key and locked the car, the thing doing the double chirp in confirmation. “Is there a reason why you are waiting for me on the street?”
Even this early in the morning, the only available parking spot was a few hundred feet away from Nathalie’s shop, and that was where the guy had been standing.
Bhathian rubbed his palm over the back of his neck. “I’m not good with small talk. What would have I said to her?”
>
“How about, a coffee and a croissant, please?”
He shrugged his big shoulders and pushed his hands into his pockets. “Maybe next time. For now, I prefer for you to do the talking.”
Andrew chuckled. “I’m not sure you’re gonna like it much. My small talk skills are of the flirting variety.” He clapped Bhathian’s back, amazed anew by the amount of hard muscle on the guy’s body. “What are you training with? Railroad cars? One on each side?”
That pulled a rare smile out of the guy. “Come to the gym with me, and I’ll show you my routine.” He apprised Andrew’s slender physique with a critical eye. “You look like you’re in good shape, but you need to bulk up.”
As they reached Nathalie’s café, the sign on the door was already flipped to open, and Bhathian opened the way. “After you.” He motioned for Andrew to precede him.
Fighting the urge to check out his reflection in the window, Andrew stepped in and looked around. The place was packed, and Nathalie wasn’t up front. With a quick glance, he found her serving coffee to one of the booths.
Damn, the woman had a fine ass.
Bhathian got in his face, blocking the view. “You said flirting, not ogling,” he hissed menacingly, all traces of good humor gone.
“Give me a break, will you? I mean no disrespect. She is a fine woman, that’s all.”
Bhathian frowned for a moment longer before showing a set of scary teeth in what was supposed to be a smile. “Just messing with you.” The clap he delivered to Andrew’s back sent him toppling forward, making him wonder whether he should head out to the hospital to have the thing X-rayed.
Andrew regained his balance and leveled a hard stare at his companion. “You know, my sister will be very angry if you maim me. And what makes Syssi angry, makes her husband furious, you feel me, my man?”
Bhathian’s face lost some of its color. “Sorry, I keep forgetting you’re just a human.”
“Shh, keep your voice down.”
“Sorry,” he whispered.
“Andrew, Bhathian,” Nathalie called from behind the guy’s wide back, then walked around him. “I’m so glad you made it.”
