Moments In Time: A Collection of Short Fiction

by Alexander, Dominic K.

  But he wasn’t like everyone else. Wasn’t that why I picked up the paintbrush?

  True to my word, I washed up quickly until the only traces of paint were lines of lavender caught in my cuticles. Then I touched up my makeup and slipped on a plain yellow shift dress. I debated on bringing a cardigan, but today was a few degrees warmer than normal, and I knew the evening would be just as balmy. I had no idea if we were going to a fancy restaurant, but this was Kauai and I had to assume that my flip-flops would be tolerated.

  I walked out into the kitchen where Esteban was drinking a glass of white wine. I’d told him to help himself; I just didn’t think he’d be so literal about it.

  “You look beautiful,” he said, his gaze raking over me.

  I plucked the wineglass from his hands and took a sip. “Thank you.” His eyes never left my lips. It should have made me feel uncomfortable, but it didn’t. Though I knew if this kept up, the way he was looking at me, it eventually would. “Shall we get going?”

  “With those shoes?” he asked, pointing at my Reefs. “You might lose them on the bike.”

  I smiled wryly and put down the glass, then picked up my purse from the counter. “I’m pretty good at keeping articles of clothing on.” He opened his mouth to say something but I went on. “We’ll take my Jeep. You just give me directions.”

  He appraised me for a moment, running his fingers along his dimpled chin. “All right. Nothing wrong with the woman calling the shots.”

  I rolled my eyes and we headed out to the car.

  Though the restaurant ended up being close by, in the Princeville Resort where he was staying, being in a car with Esteban was more challenging than the motorcycle ride. I felt the need to keep the conversation going, but I wasn’t sure how. The things I really wanted to talk about seemed inappropriate, and the way he stared at me didn’t help either.

  “You seem nervous,” he said with an elbow propped up, leaning casually against the door.

  I raised my brows. “I’m not nervous.”

  “You keep biting your lip.”

  “Maybe I’m just hungry.”

  “You’ve gotten funnier, you know that?”

  I eyed him quickly. “Since when?”

  “Since this morning.”

  “You don’t know me very well. I’m often funny.”

  “Maybe in a past life. In this life, you’ve been nothing but sad.”

  When I shot him a look, he smiled. “It’s all right, hey? You started painting. That made you happy. That’s a start.”

  I tightened my grip on the wheel. The generic rock from the radio station hummed in the background. I was about to bite my lip but stopped, suddenly conscious.

  Then I looked back to the road and cleared my throat. “You make it sound like you had something to do with it.”

  I could tell he was smiling when he said, “I just wanted you to be inspired. It worked.”

  “And tonight, is this the same thing?”

  “You’re awfully suspicious,” he said. “I’ve saved your life, twice, brought back your inspiration for your art, and now I’m about to buy you an extraordinary meal.”

  “And that’s it?”

  He laughed. “Sure. That’s it. I’ll tell you this, though, the meal doesn’t have to be the only . . . ,” he paused, “extraordinary thing to happen tonight.”

  The silken quality to his words conjured up an image in my mind of me facedown in some swanky hotel room, with him removing my thong, dragging it down my legs with the tip of a 9mm handgun. I don’t know why I conjured up that scene, but I found myself blanking on it, heat flushing on my chest and cheeks. I squirmed slightly in my seat.

  “Does that interest you?” he said, his voice lower now.

  I had to pretend that it didn’t, even though my body was currently screaming the opposite.

  “Dinner sounds wonderful,” I said.

  He smiled. “Good, good.”

  Soon we pulled up to the restaurant, and the valet took the jeep. Esteban held out his arm for me, and I hesitated for a moment before I took it.

  The restaurant was beautiful, swanky in this beachy way with low lighting, sand-colored tablecloths, and dark teak furniture. A centerpiece of frangipani floated in a small dish lit by candles.

  We were given an amazing seat, right by the edge, where the restaurant was open to the ocean. You could hear the steady roar of waves as they crashed against the cliffs in the darkness below. It was a dramatic and appropriately primal setting for someone like Esteban.

  “Are you impressed?” he asked, a wicked curve to his mouth.

  I nodded, knowing he must have requested the table especially for me, for us. I couldn’t fathom why, though. He did know I was married, though he probably figured if it was that important to me, I wouldn’t have come. There was nothing innocent or accidental about us being together anymore, not with the way my thoughts were turning toward him anyway, and he knew it.

  He knew it and he was using it to his advantage. I wondered if I was there with him because I still felt I owed him. That was what the moral part of me wanted to think. But I was beginning to think that the moral part of me drowned in the ocean all those days ago. My morality was floating with the sharks.

  Esteban quickly ordered us two mai tais, telling me that the bar at the restaurant had the best ones (as did every other place on the islands, apparently), and then folded his hands in front of him, a gold ring with a jade stone in it gleaming in the candlelight.

  I was thankful for the conversation starter. “That’s a lovely ring,” I told him, gesturing to it.

  He smiled. “Thank you.”

  Not as forthcoming as I had hoped. “Is that from a significant other?”

  He raised a brow to that and then smiled politely at the waiter as our mai tais were delivered. He nodded at the drink. “Try it. Tell me I’m wrong.”

  He was skirting the question, but okay. I had a sip. Not too sweet, with just enough fruit and rum. It was pretty perfect as far as mai tais went. I started playing with the purple orchid it was served with.

  “You are not wrong,” I admitted.

  “I rarely am.”

  “Who gave you the ring?”

  He admired it on his hand. “Perhaps I bought it.”

  I shook my head. “No. It’s not really your style. You’re wearing it out of respect or obligation.”

  His mouth ticked up as he eyed me steadily. “You’re good. You’re very good. You should come work with me, hey?”

  I kept watching him, waiting for an answer, something about him to hold on to.

  He sighed. “It’s from my brother.”

  “Your brother?”

  “Yes,” he said carefully. “He . . . has funny ways of showing his affection. I almost died once, you know.” His eyes flicked up to me, their green depths glittering. “But I wasn’t trying to die.”

  I ignored that remark. “What happened?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing out of the ordinary. A car bomb.”

  I choked on my drink and started coughing. He leaned over in his seat, concerned, but I waved him away, my hand flapping rapidly.

  “I’m fine, I’m fine,” I squeaked out when I could. When I finally got myself under control, I was still blinking at him in disbelief. The words couldn’t quite settle into my brain. “A car bomb?” I whispered.

  He stroked the scars on his face. “Where do you think I got these pretty little souvenirs?”

  “Not from a car bomb,” I said honestly as I glanced around to make sure no one was listening. The man had said he was part of a drug cartel, but I suppose I never really understood the reality of it. This wasn’t some movie, some story. This was real life, a drug lord’s life, and somehow I had gotten licked by it, like a hand darting in and out of a candle flame.

  “Well, I did. Wrong place, right time. Or maybe not, maybe it’s the other way around. It was, in some ways, the best thing that could have happened to me. Becoming so—tainted, physically—
hurt my way around some of the women I was used to having, but on the other hand, I was able to stay low and play dead. I let my brother think I was gone. I let Javier think I was gone.”

  “Who is Javier?”

  A darkness came over his eyes. “He is not important right at this minute, not here, with you.” He took a sip of his drink. “By pretending I was dead, that I died in that bomb, I was able to get a second chance at life. I had a chance to go . . . straight, as you would call it. Unfortunately, there are certain types of people cut out for certain types of jobs. I am one of those people. Leaving is impossible. It wasn’t long until I came back from the dead.” He sighed and twisted the ring around his finger. “When my brother, Alex, found out, he gave me this ring. He said the jade would bless me and protect me, and in some ways, remind me that I was valuable.”

  He cleared his throat and splayed his long fingers out on the table. “The ring was the nicest thing he’d ever done for me. Soon after that, he went back to pretending I didn’t exist. I guess giving me this eased his conscience. Perhaps he was too afraid I would disappear again. In this business, you push your loved ones away. You don’t dare invite in the pain. Love is weakness.”

  “That’s sad,” I said.

  He pursed his lips. “I would have assumed you, of all people, would have agreed.”

  I stiffened. There he was hitting me deep with things he shouldn’t glean from me. He didn’t know me. He didn’t. He couldn’t.

  Esteban went on, stirring his drink. “Loving people is weak. We’ve all been taught that. It’s the only way to survive in my business. But I am guessing it’s the same for everyone. You may lose love to death. You may lose love to another man. Or you may lose love because you lost it somewhere along the way, and you were just too proud to stop and pick it up.” He smiled coyly. “So, which way did you lose it?”

  I lost it when my husband cheated on me with my best friend. When he continued his affair. And I continue to lose it, every single day. I’ll lose it until I’m just an empty sieve.

  I didn’t say that to Esteban, of course. He already thought he knew me—it would be dangerous if he really did.

  He wasn’t waiting for a response, either. The green in his eyes shone knowingly. He let me keep my cards hidden.

  The rest of dinner went well enough. The dinner was phenomenal, and the food—soft, flakey ono over red curry and rice—was a sharp reminder that my taste buds had been sleepwalking until then. The mai tais kept coming, and I felt warmth fill me up from the inside, especially when the conversation lulled and Esteban had taken to staring at me in this absolutely carnal way that just screamed sex.

  I was tempted to slip off my flip-flops and slide my bare foot up his pants leg. It would be completely unlike me, completely objectionable and completely wrong. And yet, the sexual tension between us had been mounting, becoming unbearable. The high I got from painting was starting to wear off, and even though I could see the lilac around my fingernails, I wanted something more. Another chance to prove that I was alive, and that I had some spark left in me.

  Just before I was about to suggest we take a walk on the beach, his phone rang, playing Darth Vader’s theme from Star Wars. Okay, that had to be his boss.

  He glanced at the screen in annoyance, and his finger hovered above it as he debated whether to answer it. Finally, he shot me an apologetic look. “Sorry, I have to take this,” he said, and held it up to his ear.

  “Yes?” he said into the phone, polite but brimming with thinly veiled annoyance. He listened, closing his eyes. “I am busy right now. Yes. Having dinner. Why? Fish. Of course I am not alone.” A long pause and Esteban’s gaze moved to me. “I’m sitting with a very stunning woman. You would like her. No, I will not tell you her name.” Another pause. He looked at his watch. “I have fifteen minutes, there is plenty of time.”

  Time for what?

  He sighed. “Must you? Fine.” He cleared his throat and reached across the table to give me his phone. “He would like to speak with you.”

  I raised my brows. “Who? Your boss?”

  He nodded, his lips twisting into a grimace.

  “Why does he want to talk to me?” I asked, feeling utterly confused and frightened. I stared at the phone, not wanting to take it.

  “Please,” Esteban said. I could have sworn there was a hint of desperation on his face.

  Jesus. Fine, I’d talk to him, the fucking boss of a drug cartel.

  I gingerly took the phone from him and stared at the screen. It just said Darth Vader on it. Helpful.

  “Hello?”

  There was silence.

  “Hello?” I said again.

  Someone on the other end of the line took a breath. “You have a very pretty voice,” a man said. His voice was smooth, glacial, and calm with only the slightest hint of a Mexican accent.

  “Thank you?”

  “What is your name?” the man asked.

  I didn’t want to say, now that Esteban wouldn’t tell him. “What is your name?” I asked. “The phone says you’re Darth Vader.”

  The man on the other end—Darth Vader—laughed. Esteban was staring at me, wide-eyed. Well, if didn’t want me to tell his boss that, then he shouldn’t have handed me the phone.

  “Well,” he said when he eventually recovered. “I can be Darth Vader for you, if you want.” His voice was as seductive as satin sheets, but I wasn’t fooled.

  “So, why did you want to speak to me?” I asked, wanting nothing more than to hang up the phone and go back to the tiny slice of paradise that Esteban and I had created.

  “I was just curious as to who had captured Este’s eye, that is all. I also wanted to verify that he was indeed occupied. Though, from the sounds of it, you don’t sound occupied enough.”

  “We were finishing up dinner when you called. We haven’t had a chance,” I told him. I didn’t elaborate on what. I could tell that was going unsaid.

  “What a pity,” the man said. “Just so you know, if he gets his job done properly, he’ll be leaving the day after tomorrow. So, perhaps you might want to plan around that.”

  “What is the job?” I couldn’t help but ask.

  The man chuckled, the sound creamy and rich. “He’d tell you, but he’d probably have to kill you. And I would definitely need to know your name.” His voice became serious over that last word, serious enough to send a chill up my spine. This guy was not joking. I heard him inhale, a slow, wicked sound. “May I please speak to Este?”

  Yeah, no problem. I didn’t say anything, I just quickly handed the phone back to Esteban and told him I was going to the restroom. I felt extremely uneasy after that phone call, and needed to try to get my wits about me.

  Inside the swanky bathroom with its polished chrome and gleaming glass sinks, I eyed myself in the mirror. I looked different somehow, like I was a foreigner in my own world. I looked scared but I also looked . . . pretty. My eyes were clear and bright, my skin flushed and glowing. My hair was glossed back into a smooth ponytail. I didn’t think I had done anything different to myself, but maybe it was all in my head. Maybe the art had started to seep into my body.

  Maybe I needed another way to get my fill.

  I stared at myself for a few moments, running through all the scenarios in my head. There were only two. I would say good-bye to Esteban here. He would do whatever job he had to do—a job I had no business knowing. I would remain in Hawaii, trying to recapture the fire I’d felt earlier in the day. I’d try to find that finicky will to go on, alone. And if I couldn’t . . . well, the ocean was always right there.

  Or I could go back to the table. Take Esteban down to the beach. Try to find myself in his touch. And if I went out, I went out with a bang. A fleeting glimpse of the stars and possibility before the shadows came for me.

  I’d lost love with my husband. I’d lost love with myself. I wanted to find something, anything, before I lost everything.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I went back to the table a
nd saw Esteban standing, waiting for me with his chair pushed in. His phone was nowhere in sight. I quickly grabbed my purse and said, “Where shall we go next?”

  His brows quirked up, as if unsure what to do with the question. “The beach?” he suggested. “There’s a path by the cliff here.”

  I smiled. “You know everything, don’t you?”

  “That’s why they call me the smart one.”

  “I thought they called you the nice one.”

  “Oh. That, too.”

  “Who was that on the phone?”

  His eyes sought the ceiling. “My boss is Javier. He controls the operation. In fact, he controls pretty much all of Mexico. Well, almost. We’re working on a few things.”

  “Are any of those things the reason you are here?”

  He smiled, white teeth against tanned skin. His scars rippled with the movement, so darkly beautiful. He held his arm out for me. “Shall we go to the beach?”

  I nodded, my nerves buzzing with possibilities.

  We left the restaurant and he led me down the tiki-torch-lit paths past fancy condominiums. The night was beautiful; the stars were out along with a fingernail moon. It was impossibly romantic, impossibly dangerous. The path down the cliff was unlit, and thanks to the dark and the instability of my flip-flops, I was relying on Esteban to keep me safe. I put my trust in someone who probably couldn’t be trusted.

  And yet, eventually I felt sand beneath my feet. The wild ocean crashed against the beach in waves of ink dotted with silver sparkles, reflections from the moon. A balmy breeze caressed my face like a gentle lover. My whole body rippled with excitement I hadn’t felt in years and years and years.

  I felt like I was waking up.

  We walked along the sand in silence, heading toward the surf. The foam churned steps away from our feet. Esteban was now holding his shoes in his hand and behind his back. He stared out at the dark horizon, breathing in deeply through his nose. The wind pushed his wavy hair off his face.

  “What are you thinking?” I asked him softly, though I supposed I had no business to.

  He didn’t seem to mind. “I am thinking that I am lucky.”