by Bill Walker
Just as he’d told Nick with his own confession, he felt connected to her on multiple planes: physically, emotionally, intellectually and spiritually. The way he felt right now, he would marry her in a New York minute. Marry her and be happy. He smiled, imagining an entire lifetime with her, the wedding, anniversaries, birthdays, creating their art together, sharing each other’s triumphs and tribulations—growing old together. A life—complete with a little curly-haired boy or girl not too far down the road. It was such a powerful and poignant vision that it made his heart ache with a bittersweet fusion of joy and pain. He could see it all with the vivid clarity of a storyteller’s imagination, knowing that in some alternate universe it was playing out exactly that way.
Would she leave her fiancé—call off the wedding?
That was the real question, the one nagging the recesses of his mind no matter how hard he tried to block it out.
And even though she’d professed not to give a whit about the man’s money, would she really give it all up for relative uncertainty? After all, anything could happen with his business. Anything involving the entertainment industry was at the whims and mercies of the marketplace. They were doing well today, but what about tomorrow?
And as confident as he was in his writing, who really knew when or even if that would ever pay off.
He wanted to believe she would give it all up, needed to believe it, but her reaction the other night when he tried to broach the subject of their future had been anything but encouraging. Maybe she simply loved the idea of being in love, but didn’t want to take the risk of upsetting a comfortable life for the unknown. Maybe to her, Brian was simply a brief romantic interlude, a blip on her radar screen before—
Stop! If he kept thinking this way he would lose his freaking mind. He needed to talk to her, try to see how she really felt. Wasn’t honesty between them the real basis for a strong foundation? Of course it was. But maybe it was too soon for that. Maybe he should play it cool, something his Dad always advised him to do when he’d started dating in high school. Good advice, to be sure, but hard as hell to put into practice.
He should at least wait until after her show, that would be the smart and decent thing to do. Let her have her moment in the sun. Once it was out of the way they could talk about that future, whatever it might entail.
He listened to her message again, reveling in the sound of her voice, especially when she alluded to her “itch.” Brian had that itch, too, in spades. There were no doubts in that department. His desire for her was only exceeded by his love. And he sure wanted to be with her—every chance he got.
A glance at the clock told him a client would be arriving soon and it was time to prep the suite. He’d call her later. He needed to feel the warmth of her arms, the pleasures of her touch, and hear her murmurs of love. He knew all his doubts were built upon a quicksand of paranoia and the pain of a well-meaning friend. He knew all those doubts would disappear as soon as he gazed into the depths of those haunting emerald eyes.
20
PARKING AT JOANNA’S STUDIO was more difficult this evening, with cars overflowing from the Channel’s parking lot and jamming both sides of the surrounding streets. It looked as if the club was hopping for a change and presaged what Joanna could expect the night of her show; at least he hoped she would have a good turnout.
One could never tell when sending out invitations. You had to go on the assumption that everyone invited would show up, knowing in your gut that at least twenty-five percent of them would fall out. Brian had labored over the guest list with her for an entire evening, could almost recite blocks of names by rote, so he knew the potential numbers could be huge. Aside from friends, family, colleagues and miscellaneous personages, they’d invited every major critic in the area. He’d even suggested a few from the New York media. It was a long shot, he’d told her, but you never knew. If one of them showed up and gave her a good review...well, the impact on her career would be incalculable.
Brian entered the lobby and noticed that the cleanup work had already begun. The marble floor, so begrimed from years of neg-lect, positively gleamed. The walls had been freshly painted and the mailboxes emptied, repaired and polished. The bare bulb still hung from the ceiling, but at least the wattage had been increased and the gloom dispelled.
He called down the elevator and rode up to the sixth floor. Joanna had her stereo on. He could hear it echoing down the shaft. Nearer the top, he recognized the tune as “The Party’s Over” by Journey. He’d always loved that song and the album from which it came.
Exiting the elevator, he walked through her gallery and halted in his tracks. She was dancing in the middle of the floor dressed in her customary black bodysuit, her eyes closed, a beatific smile on her face. Brian watched her, spellbound. The way she moved her body with such grace and abandon never ceased to mesmerize him. He watched her until the music changed to another slower song a few moments later. The tune was “Who’s Crying Now.” Joanna stopped dancing, opened her eyes and raised her arms toward him, beckoning him.
He went to her, enfolding her into his arms, and they began moving to the soulful music. As always, time ceased to behave in the normal physical manner when he was with her. Instead, when he held her close, the warmth of her body suffusing his own, moments would elongate, stretching infinitely. And then, when least expected, the real world would intrude, snapping him back to reality, his enchanted mind registering that an entire block of time had elapsed.
They held onto each other, swaying to the music, long after the stereo had shut down, completely oblivious to anything but the rhythm of their hearts and the sound of their breath.
Joanna looked up at him, her eyes beseeching him. He kissed her long and lovingly, their lips melding to the point where he couldn’t tell where hers ended and his began.
“I’ve missed you so much,” she whispered. “I didn’t think I could bear it any longer.”
He put a finger to her lips, silencing her, then picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.
Once there they undressed each other slowly, lips kissing each new area of exposed flesh. Brian shivered with pleasure as her lips and tongue found that special place in the hollow of his neck, her hand caressing his inner thigh.
“Lie back,” she said. “I want to make love to you.”
And she did, paying notice to every part of him, her attentions teasing him inexorably towards his release. Just when it seemed as if he couldn’t hold back any longer, she backed off.
“Don’t stop, now!”
“Not so fast, big boy,” she murmured, nuzzling his ear. “I’m having too much fun. Now it’s your turn.”
Brian smiled. “What did you have in mind, my lady?”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll think of something.” She giggled softly.
She kissed him and rolled onto her back, beckoning him with her eyes.
Brian started at her toes, kissing each one in turn, marveling at their perfect shape and softness. He worked his way up the silken smoothness of her legs, pausing to nuzzle her pubic mound before moving on.
Joanna gasped, arching her back, as his tongue sought the recesses of her navel. She grabbed his hair with her hand and pushed his head lower.
“Now,” she said, breathless. “I want it now.”
He indulged her, reveling in the taste of her.
Her body thrashed against him, her cries growing more frenzied, ending in a long groan. She caressed the back of his neck, a sigh of contentment escaping her lips.
Brian raised himself above her and she moved beneath him allowing him entry. He began moving slowly, watching her pleasure build again, his own along with hers.
Their rhythms accelerated and when his release came, he collapsed onto her, feeling her arms wrap around him.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“And I love you, too.”
Ruby had just crossed Mass Avenue and taken the on-ramp leading to the westbound lanes of the Mass Pike when Mosley’s
call came in. The car phone purred and he snatched it up, careful to keep abreast of the merging traffic. It was crawling at an agonizing pace, but at least it was moving.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Ruby? Our friend walked into your fiancée’s studio about fifteen minutes ago.”
“Why didn’t you call me sooner?” Ruby said, his blood pressure rising.
“I apologize for that, sir. My car phone died, and it took me a while to find a public phone. There’s not too many around this area.”
That was true, but that little bit of information did nothing to alleviate Ruby’s anger. “I just got on the Pike and the traffic’s a bear. Go back to her studio and keep watch. If he leaves, assuming he hasn’t already, get back to that phone and call me, right away.”
“Yes, sir, will do.”
“And remind me to buy you a new phone.”
Ruby pushed the END button and slammed the handset back onto its cradle, swearing under his breath. Technology was a wonderful thing, until you really needed it. He wasn’t angry with Mosley, more with himself for being so eager to leave the office when he did. If he’d tarried just a little longer, made just one more phone call, checked on one more detail, he’d be well on his way to the studio right now, instead of being stuck on the Pike going in the wrong damned direction!
Squinting, he scouted the road ahead. The angry red tail lights stretching to the horizon told the sad and sorry truth. And the worst of it was that the Allston-Brighton exit was at least two long, slow miles ahead. At least the eastbound lanes were moving. If he could get to that exit and turn around—
“Nuts to this,” he said, swerving the car into the breakdown lane. “Time to see what this pile of British junk can really do.”
Ruby tromped down on the gas and the Jag shot forward, racing by the stalled traffic to his left. A few drivers honked their ire at him when he passed. “Yeah, love you, too,” he said, and mashed the accelerator to the floor.
He reached Melcher Street thirty minutes later, pulling into a parking space half a block from the building. He found Mosley’s Taurus directly across from the front entrance. When he approached, the black man rolled down the window, regarding him with a casual expression.
“They’re still inside,” Mosley said. “His car is over there.”
Ruby nodded, his eyes straying to Weller’s dusty Toyota Celica and then to the building’s top floor. The windows looked dark, but it was hard to tell in the glare of the neon tire sign flashing off and on. Still, not seeing her studio ablaze, as he was accustomed to finding it, made him uneasy.
“I still wouldn’t advise walking in on them,” Mosley warned.
Ruby lowered his gaze to the investigator, whose dark features glowed in the unforgiving glare of the crime lights. The black man’s brow was furrowed with concern.
“I’ll admit that a part of me doesn’t want to go in there,” Ruby said, “but it’s the only way.”
“You want me to stay?”
“Why?”
Mosley looked his employer in the eye. “To watch your back.”
Ruby’s edgy mood softened. “Sure, I appreciate that. Wish me luck.” And with that, the older man turned and crossed the street, his eyes focused on the front door and whatever fate might have in store.
Joanna sighed in her sleep, nuzzling her body closer to Brian’s, her head resting in the crook of his arm. He leaned forward and nestled his face in the pillowy softness of her hair, the odor of lilacs filling his nose. With gentle movements, so as not wake her, he brushed her hair back from her face and gazed at her in repose. How girlish she looked, so adorably innocent, with those sparkling crimson curls and those big green eyes. And yet, how womanly and worldly she was, how grounded. After his old girlfriend’s wild mood swings and maddening neuroses, Joanna’s effervescence and razor-sharp mind were as refreshing as a cool oasis to a parched man in the desert. And that’s just what he’d been until meeting her, a thirsty man staggering towards a mirage in an arid wasteland.
Joanna sighed again, throwing a curvy leg over him. Brian’s heart swelled with contentment, along with the stirrings of desire. He thought about kissing her awake, watching those wondrous eyes flutter open, confused at first, then filling with joy, love, and smoldering heat.
But, no...not now, he thought. I just want to watch her. I just want to love her...like this.
He turned and eyed the clock on the low nightstand, noting there was still plenty of time. He then let his eyes roam the rest of the room, a room whose boundaries and furnishings had become so lovingly familiar—so much like a home.
Light from the glow of a neon sign on the roof of the building next door sliced through the half-open blinds, dappling the wooden floor and the Persian rug on which the futon rested; his eyes found the jade Buddha across the room sitting atop his polished ebony plinth. The statue sat bathed in an aura of pulsating crimson light, its happy grin shining with sparkling pink highlights. And while it was no doubt one of hundreds or even thousands made, the nameless artist who’d carved the statue had somehow managed to infuse the tiny face of this particular little guy with an extra measure of wisdom and joy. Brian smiled. Though this man’s teachings were foreign to him, he nevertheless thought of him as a kindred spirit.
“Can I trust you to keep a secret, old friend?” he asked. “I could stay here forever....”
The little green Buddha remained mute, but from Brian’s point of view across the room it seemed the statue’s smile had widened. And was that a wink he saw or simply a flicker of neon in a carved jade eye?
He smiled again and turned back to Joanna, whose eyes were now open regarding him soberly.
“Hi there, sleepyhead,” he said, kissing her.
She returned the kiss, her soft lips a quiet fire. A long, slender finger caressed circles on his abdomen.
“Be careful what you ask of the Buddha,” she said, a sly grin exposing her perfect teeth. “You just might get it.”
“And would that be so bad?”
“Mmmm, maybe not. Then you’d be my slave,” she said, giggling.
“Or perhaps your model in residence?”
She raised herself on one elbow, her breasts grazing his chest. Her nipples were as hard as diamonds.
“Ooooh, you’re much more versatile than that.” She kissed his neck, eliciting a groan from deep within him.
From the bowels of the building came the sounds of the elevator gate sliding upward then crashing down.
Joanna started in his arms, as if jolted by a cattle prod. “Oh, my God, Erik’s here!”
“What, how?”
Joanna bolted from the bed and began throwing on her clothes. “He’s the only other person with a key. Get dressed! Hurry!”
Brian leaped from the bed and pulled on his shirt, then his pants, nearly toppling to the floor in his haste. Adrenaline made his entire body tremble. He wanted to believe that was all it was, but there was also an undercurrent of fear and the humiliation of being “caught.”
The elevator began its upward course, the ancient motor clacking and clanking, whizzing and whirring, ticking and tocking, like an infernal clockwork symphony played by Morlocks.
“Where’s the stairwell?” Brian asked, jamming his feet into his shoes.
If it was possible for Joanna to look more panicked, she did. “You can’t go that way, they’re alarmed. She grabbed him by the arm and led him out of the bedroom. Just outside the workshop doorway, she stopped and pointed. “Over there behind the artwork. He’ll never look there.”
“Why would he be looking at all?” Brian asked, his voice rising.
“Ssssh! Please go, now,” she whispered, her eyes pleading with him.
Brian was about to protest, then realized it was pointless. He gave her hand a fleeting squeeze and headed into the exhibit section of the studio. A quick glance told him the elevator was nearly to their floor. He put on a burst of speed, ducked around one of the monolithic white partitions, and wedged himself int
o the shadows between two of Joanna’s larger pieces.
Scant seconds later, the elevator stopped, and the door slid open, and then a single set of determined footsteps smacked across the wooden floor. The echoes made them sound like an army on the march. After a long, pregnant silence muffled voices reached his ears. He couldn’t make out the words, but the emotions were plain enough.
He had to get out of there; his evening edit session couldn’t be postponed, and he couldn’t afford to be sitting there, crouching in the shadows like some luckless boob. He looked down to check the time and his breath caught in his throat.
Where was his watch?
Ruby realized his mistake as soon as the gate to the elevator closed, sending a metallic clang echoing up the shaft. Damn it, there went the element of surprise. Of course, the crotchety old motor wouldn’t be any quieter, either, so he gritted his teeth, grabbed the lever and pulled it, sending the lift upward.
What would he do, if by chance they hadn’t heard, and were even now asleep in each other’s arms? That image, at once so repugnant and so vivid, made his heart slam against his ribs and his breath come in short, angry gasps. He pulled the lever farther toward him, increasing the elevator’s speed.
The third and fourth floors flew by in a blur, and he eased the lever forward, slowing it past the fifth floor, slow enough to see the mountains of discarded office furniture from decades past.
And then, as he’d done countless times before, he brought the elevator to a perfect stop on Joanna’s floor. The track lighting was dimmed and shadows dominated, the only other light coming from Joanna’s fiber-optic sphere. He stood stock-still and listened for a moment, hearing nothing, then lifted the gate and walked out onto the oak flooring, the heels of his hand-made Italian shoes clacking a cadence like tap shoes.
He found Joanna in her workshop, examining a piece of PVC piping, her back to the door. Beyond her, the bedroom lay swathed in darkness. Could Weller still be in there? Would he be that brazen? That stupid? Ruby stood in the doorway a moment longer, watching her. There was nothing about her manner or her dress to suggest anything, but still....
