Asking for Trouble (The Kincaids)

by James, Rosalind

  Us. Alyssa hugged the word to her. “I wanted to tell you, too,” she said, “I have a couple of meetings lined up with smaller potential donors. Suzanne told me that the Assistant Director handled those calls in the past,” she added hastily as the other woman’s gaze sharpened, and tried to project confidence.

  “Really.” Helene raised a sculpted eyebrow. She was one of the best-groomed women Alyssa had ever met. “Well, then, if you’ve got meetings set up, you’d better go ahead and handle them, don’t you think?” She smiled at Alyssa. “I’ll come along too, if you don’t mind. It’ll give me my own chance to get my feet wet.”

  “I don’t mind,” Alyssa said, though she’d been looking forward to the opportunity to go out on her own. She’d sat in on several calls with Suzanne, and she did know how to present, and to sell. But what else could she say? “Of course not.”

  “Wonderful,” Helene said. “I have a feeling we’re going to get along just fine.”

  Alyssa hoped so, too. She’d been right, this was a job that mattered, and she thought it was a job she could do. It was a job where she could make a difference. It was what she’d wanted.

  Everything was looking up, she thought, jumping off the N-Judah streetcar at her stop, And tonight, she even had a date.

  “Doing the check-in,” she said a good five hours later, leaning against the wall next to the hand dryer in the ladies’ room of 111 Minna, the heavy thump of the bass through the thin walls rocking her body like a beating pulse.

  “How’s it going?” Sherry asked at the other end of the phone. Her roommate had taken Alyssa to the party last week where she’d met Greg, who’d turned out to be a friend of Sherry’s cousin.

  Alyssa shrugged as if her roommate could see her. “All right. About to leave, though, so wanted to let you know. Home in a half hour or so.” Dating Safety 101.

  “Sparks?” Sherry asked. “Should I go to bed, give you some space?”

  “Not enough to light a teeny little campfire,” Alyssa admitted. And she wanted to burn down the house. She couldn’t help it. She wanted it, and nothing less was going to do. “I know he’s a friend of yours, but . . .”

  “Nah, I don’t know him that well. What?”

  “Well, you know those first-date conversations? The job interview kind?”

  “Oh, yeah. One of those, huh?”

  “And I flunked. Not a Worthy Girlfriend, not now that I’m, you know, poor.”

  “You are not poor. You’re normal.”

  “He spent half of dinner telling me how materialistic most women are, how they see him as a meal ticket because he’s got money. Practically had the message blinking in bright red letters across his forehead. And the other half talking about all the stuff he has.”

  “Ooh. Fail.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So why didn’t you ditch him?”

  “Well, you know. Dancing.” Alyssa laughed. “I figured, after putting up with that, I deserved some dancing time. And he deserved to have to pay for it.”

  She heard Sherry’s answering laugh. “Serves him right. Sounds like Greg isn’t getting lucky.”

  “Greg isn’t even getting mildly fortunate. Greg is getting a hearty handshake and a cordial thank-you. Oh, well. Another one bites the dust. Where are the great guys? I know they must be out there somewhere. My dad’s a great guy. My brothers are great guys.”

  “Mmm,” Sherry said. “I’ve only met one in person, but you’re right, Alec is a great guy and then some. And Gabe . . .” The gusty sigh came right through the line. “Haven’t seen him, but on TV, yeah, he’s a winner too. No fair that I meet you when they’re both married. But they can’t be the only ones. Why can’t we meet nice guys?”

  “Well,” Alyssa had to admit, “that wouldn’t help me, because I don’t like nice guys. They’re always boring, or I can push them around too much.”

  “Mmm,” Sherry said again. “Bad boys.”

  “Yeah. I want a bad boy who’s a good man. Is that so much to ask?”

  “Probably. I’m still surprised you never hit it with Joe. I mean, come on. Helped you move, took you car shopping . . . And I know he’s one of those old-friend types, so maybe you don’t see it, but he’s hot. So big and tough, and that quiet deal he does, how you can’t tell what’s going on underneath. Love that. Did you ever give him my number? I know that was awkward, that one time, but hey, we can’t just sit around and pine away for Prince Charming, can we? But it probably put him off. Maybe if he got a little nudge from my loving roommate, he’d get the hint.”

  “I didn’t have a chance yet.” Alyssa pushed herself away from the wall. “I’d better go. Greg’s probably thinking I’m snorting coke in here.”

  “OK. See you soon.”

  It was a long, cold hike from the club to the car, which Greg had parked after much circling of blocks a good way north of Market, but they made it at last. It sure would have been nice if Greg had suggested that he get the car by himself and come back to the club for her. But, she had to concede, that would probably have been too thoughtful to expect of your average thirty-something guy. At least he opened the car door for her, preserving his good-bye handshake, if nothing else.

  He started the engine, punched her address into the GPS unit, pulled out of his spot and made an illegal U-turn. That didn’t bother her much—she wasn’t all that crazy about perfect behavior anyway—but it was cold.

  “Would you mind turning on the heat?” she asked, trying to keep her teeth from chattering. She still wasn’t used to Northern California temperatures.

  He looked at her in surprise. “You cold? You should have worn a warmer coat.”

  I didn’t realize I’d be walking to the Arctic Circle. She decided her best bet was not to answer. He turned up the fan and dialed the temperature up, to her relief, though she shivered away for a few blocks until it kicked in.

  “Better?” he asked, and she forgave him a little.

  “Yes, thanks.”

  “I’m glad you wanted to go dancing,” he said, shooting a smile across at her that told her he was looking for more than a handshake tonight. “You’re a great dancer.”

  “Thanks for taking me,” she said, because she was her parents’ daughter, after all. “I enjoyed it.”

  “You look pretty good doing it, too,” he said. “I almost didn’t go to that party last week. What I would’ve missed, huh?”

  She didn’t answer that one. What did you say? “Thank you?” “Dream on?”

  He headed east and south, taking the side streets, avoiding the bus and pedestrian traffic of Market, hung a left and laid on the horn at a pedestrian crossing in mid-block, his dark clothing making him barely visible, the shamble to his walk proclaiming him as one of the perennial down-and-out.

  “You’d think the city could get a clue and clean the bums out of here.” Greg stepped on the gas again as the man staggered out of the way. “It’s like human litter, you know?”

  And just like that, she was hating him again. “Litter? Really? Aren’t they people?”

  “You know what I mean,” he said. “Even if you want to talk about compassion . . . you can put a dog out of his misery, but a wino who’s probably going to die of cirrhosis in a few months anyway, in and out of the emergency room over and over, right back on the streets again the next day with his Thunderbird? And we’re pumping our tax dollars into keeping him alive? For what? Who benefits? Not him. His life’s got to be miserable.”

  “And yet he’s choosing to live,” she said. “Even so.”

  “And meanwhile,” he went on, ignoring her, caught up now, “you see the same guys on the same street corners every single day. I’d tell them to get a job, but they’ve got one. Begging. And the same suckers putting coins in their cups, too. Financing that next pack of cigarettes. Nice work if you can get it.”

  “Sounds like you’ve given this a lot of thought,” she said. “It couldn’t be that, say, they’ve got substance abuse problems. Mental illness. It
couldn’t be that they can’t get out. You think they choose this?”

  “Sure they do. Everybody makes choices. You make the wrong choices, fall down the ladder, why should I support you? Why should I support your habit?”

  “Nice to be you,” she managed to say. “Nice to be so strong and lucky.”

  “Luck had nothing to do with it,” he said, and he was angry now too, it was clear. So much for how good she’d looked dancing. Not that good, apparently, because he was burning his bridges down. “Nobody’s ever given me a thing. I’ve earned every penny I’ve got, and I don’t see why I should feel sorry for people who refuse to do the same.”

  Her temper had kicked in for real, and she needed to be out of this car, or bad things were going to happen. Greg braked to a sharp stop at yet another light, and she checked that her little purse was still slung low across her chest, then yanked at the door handle. Locked. She fumbled for the switch, found it, unfastened her seatbelt and had the door open.

  “I’m out of here,” she told him, sliding out just as the light turned green.

  “What the hell?” he spluttered, but she wasn’t listening. She didn’t bother to close the car door behind her, deciding to let him deal with the honking she could hear starting up behind her as she made it to the sidewalk. She turned and saw him leaning over as far as he could, fruitlessly reaching, until he gave it up and jumped out of the car, ran around it to shut the door, while the driver of the car behind him laid on the horn, and laughed. Served him right.

  “Are you crazy?” Greg shouted across at her.

  “No. I’m a woman with standards,” she yelled back. She could see him mouthing something, probably “crazy bitch,” and then he’d run back around the car. And been promptly stopped by the light turning red once more, which made her laugh again. Sherry’s cousin might not invite her to any more parties, but it had been worth it.

  She decided to walk in the opposite direction, away from him. Probably best. Where was she, anyway? Someplace in the Tenderloin, which meant that there weren’t going to be cabs, not until she got to a BART station. If she kept walking, she’d hit Market and the Powell Street station eventually. It couldn’t be more than six or seven blocks. She considered getting her phone out and checking, abandoned that idea fast as she looked around her at the knot of loiterers in front of the shadowy expanse of an auto body shop, a closed Chinese restaurant with the metal grilles pulled over the windows, the not-much-more-reassuring entrance of a low-rent residential hotel, and felt the first shiver of unease.

  And not the first shiver of cold. As she’d already figured out, the right clothes for dancing in a club weren’t the right ones for walking in San Francisco on a January midnight. Her little coat, her skimpy sweater and short skirt weren’t keeping her warm, and they were definitely attracting the wrong kind of attention.

  She put as much confidence into her stride as she could, as much as was possible in high heels, kept her gaze straight ahead, and increased her pace. Saw a group of guys ahead of her, hanging out in front of an abandoned storefront next to a vacant lot, and decided to cross the street. Traffic was moving faster than she’d realized, and she had to hustle to make it before it caught up with her, was still hurrying when she got to the other side.

  She fingered the phone inside her little bag, wanting to call Alec. She knew her brother would come pick her up, maybe faster than she could get that cab. But Alec wasn’t home, she remembered with a sinking heart. He and Rae were at a trade show in Las Vegas. And three of the guys who’d been hanging out had split off from their buddies and crossed the street themselves, headed towards her, and her unease was growing by the moment.

  Better to turn around right now, walk back the other way before they caught up. She’d seen a lit storefront down a side street, a block or so back. Probably a liquor store again, but there’d be somebody in it. And it would be warm. She’d call from there. Walking had been a very bad idea. She hurried, heard the catcalls from behind her.

  “Hey, pretty lady. Where you going? Don’t you want to party?”

  She didn’t look back, kept going. The lit doorway—it was a liquor store—was ahead of her now, and she was ducking inside, the opening door giving out a mechanical chime that was music to her ears.

  She scooted around into the back of an aisle, pulled her phone out of her purse, searched with shaking fingers for a cab company and dialed the number.

  “I need a cab at the corner of Larkin and . . .” she told the dispatcher who answered. “Hold on a sec.” She went to the doorway again, peered around for the street sign. “Eddy.”

  “To where?”

  “Inner Sunset.”

  “Sorry,” the man said. “We don’t have anyone.”

  “What do you mean?” She knew what he meant. That the ride was too short, and her location too sketchy.

  Dead air was her only answer. She could try another company. But the guys who’d been following her were outside the store now, and she felt way too vulnerable, way too trapped, so she retreated again. She could call Sherry, but her roommate couldn’t exactly defend her from three scary guys. And they were scary, she admitted. She was scared. So she did the only other thing she could think of. She called Joe.

  “Alyssa?” It came out sharp. She’d been worried he’d be asleep, would have the phone turned off. But he answered after the second ring.

  “Joe? Could you come get me? I’m here. I mean, I’m here in the City. Could you pick me up?” Her voice was shaking a little, cold or fear or relief that he was there, she wasn’t sure which. Maybe all three. “Are you here too? Around? Could you come?”

  “Right now. Where are you?”

  “Larkin and . . . and Eddy. It’s a liquor store. I’m inside.”

  “Ten minutes,” he promised. “Stay in the store.”

  She shoved the phone back in her purse, some of the tension leaving her and relief taking its place like oxygen, filling her lungs. Ten minutes. She spent a few of them scanning the bottles lined up behind the counter. The Tenderloin’s taste seemed to lean heavily toward fortified wine and tequila. She’d pass.

  “Lady,” the guy behind the counter finally said. “You going to buy something, or what?” He pointed to a sign behind him. No Loitering.

  “I’m just waiting for a friend. I’ll be gone in a minute.”

  “Buy or leave.” He pointed at his sign again.

  “So call the cops,” she snapped. “I don’t see a line of people trying to push past me to get to the Colt Malt Liquor. If you get a sudden rush, I’ll get out of the way, how’s that?”

  He didn’t look happy, but he subsided, contenting himself with shooting her an evil glare. This wasn’t exactly her night.

  She went over and stood by the door to wait. And attracted the attention of the guys outside again, drew them into the store with her like they were moths and she was the flame. The closer they came to the door, the more she backed up, and by the time the chime rang out again as the glass door closed behind them, she was all the way against the front counter where the clerk sat.

  “Hey there, pretty lady,” the one in front said, and she recognized the voice, the one who had called out to her before. Tall, dark skin, bad teeth, coming closer, crowding her, and she had nowhere to go. Another one wasn’t talking, but she didn’t like the way he was looking at her. He was shorter, squatter. The third guy hung back, not threatening her, but he wasn’t exactly stepping up to tell the others to back off, either.

  “You all. Buy or leave,” the clerk said again, and everyone ignored him, and part of Alyssa wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it, but she was fully frightened now. She slipped to one side, ducked around a beer island, the guys coming around behind her, smiling, enjoying themselves. The tall one put a hand on her arm, the breaching of her personal space like ice water in her veins.

  “We could get us some tequila, have us a little party,” he said. His smile, the smile on his stubby friend’s face had her breathing in gasps, f
ear and anger warring inside her.

  She twisted her arm out of his grasp. “Leave me alone.”

  His smile only broadened, and he took another step, forcing her to back up, closer to the doorway. Come on, Joe. Where are you?

  She looked outside, hoping to see him, somehow thinking she could tell which headlights were his, but of course she couldn’t. Instead, she saw a single light weaving amongst the traffic. A light that turned into a motorcycle that jerked to a stop in the red zone out front, and the rider was off, knocking the kickstand into place, and then he was up onto the curb, across the sidewalk, long steps, moving fast.

  He shoved up the visor of his helmet, and it was Joe, but she’d known that as soon as he’d got off the bike, even though she hadn’t known that he had a motorcycle. Dark jeans, black leather jacket, black helmet, looking like an ad for the Big & Tall & Tough Store. Joe.

  She hit the door, heard the chime behind her, and knew her new boyfriends were following right along. Until they realized that she was meeting the bike rider, because she could sense them slowing to a stop.

  Joe barely looked at her, just reached for her arm and swung her behind him. She peered around from the shelter of his broad back, saw the three guys stopped halfway between the bulk of Joe and the liquor store entrance, looking like they weren’t quite sure what to do next.

  “You should take better care of your lady,” Tall Guy said at last. “Not leave her all alone and lonely like that. She might get into trouble.”

  “I’m here now,” Joe said.

  The guy laughed, showing his bad teeth. “What? You looking for a fight? Three of us, man.”

  “I’m not looking for anything,” Joe said, and she could see his hands flexing, could sense the readiness in him, like he was poised on his toes, even though he was standing solid. “But I’m happy to take anything that comes my way.”

  “Hey, man,” the guy said with a shrug, taking a half-step back. “Just hanging out.” He turned, would-be casual, and the three of them sauntered off, back to their pals, Alyssa presumed.