Destiny's Daughters

by Gwynne Forster

  “You got it.”

  Leticia stared up at the ceiling. She’d simply ease out of his life. Before long, he’d never know she’d been there.

  After trying unsuccessfully to get Leticia to spend the day with him, Nathan opted to catch up on some work in his home office. Settled in the small but well-equipped space, he turned on his computer and was just about to begin some research on a less-than-upstanding contractor when his cell phone rang. He checked the number and saw that it was Miles. Must be good news.

  “Hey, Miles. How are you?”

  “Good. And thank you for bringing Ms. Armstrong.”

  Nathan leaned back in his seat and smiled. “Did everything go through okay?”

  “Smooth as silk. Almost too smooth.”

  “Too smooth? Is there such a thing?”

  “Well, in her case, yes. Not a spot, not a stain on her credit. Her references are impeccable. She’s never been late with a bill and she has a nice chunk of cash in the bank.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  “No,” he drew the word out. “Just surprising. Everyone has a ding or two.”

  “What’s your point, Miles?”

  “How well do you know her?”

  After last night, pretty damned well. “We’re getting to know each other. Why?”

  “Personal or business?”

  “I don’t think that’s any of yours.” He pushed up in the chair, his patience running thin.

  “Hey, relax. That’s one hot lady and . . . well, all roads lead to Rome, as they say.”

  “Do they?” His jaw clenched. He and Miles had shared more than business deals on occasion. Miles had no conscience when it came to women, a standing joke between the fellas; if it has two legs and wears a skirt, Miles was in there. Not this time.

  “Look, she acted like she was on the market and ready for whatever I wanted to give her. I just wanted the inside scoop on whether or not you’ve tapped it or not. Maybe give me some tips.”

  Nathan shot up from the chair, turning it over on its side. He began pacing the room, trying to clear his head and make sense out of the nonsense Miles was spinning.

  “She actually came on to you in your office?” His nostrils flared as he tugged in air.

  “Man, she all but came out of her clothes. If she wasn’t a friend of yours, I’da been scared it was some kind of sting.” He chuckled. “She’s hot, man.”

  “Yeah,” he said absently. “Well, you go for it if that’s what you want to do. Free country.” He stared at the wall.

  “Now you know, I know, and they know that ain’t shit free in this country.” He laughed. “For a piece like that, humph, I’d be willing to pay top dollar.”

  Nathan sat down on the edge of the desk, feeling the gut punch that knocked the air out of him. “Yeah, I hear you,” he mumbled. “Listen, Miles, I have to run. Meeting in a few minutes.”

  “Sure. Once again, partner, thanks for sending the lady my way.”

  “Yeah.” Nathan hung up the phone, feeling suddenly ill. The combination of disbelief mixed with possibility had his head throbbing.

  Pam and Miles? He stood. Coming on to him in his office? He shook his head. No. But then he thought back to the night he’d met her. She oozed fire and sex. She knew it. At times she acted as if she’d give it to him right there on the table, and he would have been more than willing to take it. But something happened in the ensuing weeks, something that he couldn’t remember happening since college; he actually wanted to get to know her, not just get her in the bed. And he’d been foolish enough to believe that she wanted the same thing, even though she never admitted as much.

  He paced the floor. So what was last night about? He couldn’t believe it was all show on her part. Those were real tears in her eyes, that was real joy on her face. He knew it.

  Or did he?

  Leticia sat on the side of the hotel pool, dipping her toes in and out of the mild, waveless water. A young woman swam effortlessly along the length of the Olympic-sized pool. A few hotel guests walked along the sides or lounged in chairs.

  Today was one of the few times that she wished she’d had a girlfriend, just someone she could talk to about the turmoil that was going on in her head, the new emotions that she was experiencing. But what more could she expect from the hand that life dealt her?

  From birth she’d been alone, abandoned by her mother in death and her siblings through circumstances. Fending for herself was a way of life from the moment she’d been given away and into the hands of strangers. Strangers one after another, their names and faces becoming a blur, her hopes for her life fading until there was nothing left inside, no feeling of worth or value. How could you feel worthy or validated if people only wanted you for “a little while” or until they no longer needed or wanted the government checks they received in payment for putting a roof over her head? Payment for services—she learned that early. She learned it from the age of eight when “Uncle Lou,” her foster mother’s brother, told her she needed to do something for her keep, and if she wanted to stay there, she needed to make it worth his while.

  So at eight years old, she learned, in silent agony, what it was like to be opened and pillaged and given a dollar for her pain, humiliation, and her silence. As she grew older, there were more “Uncle Lou’s”, but she’d learned to get what she wanted for her time and her body. Five dollars instead of one, twenty instead of ten, fifty instead of thirty. By the time she was sixteen years old, she understood her body was a viable business and she dealt with it as such, disconnecting her emotions and adding up her dollars. Dollars leveled the playing field. She could buy her way into places where before she was unwelcome. She could pay for the clothes she saw in magazines, travel to the places she’d only read about.

  By the time she was twenty-two, she owned her own town house in Atlanta. She had more clothes than she could ever wear. Men lined up to be with her, leaving handfuls of money, jewelry, and confidences behind.

  She made a life for herself, she made acquaintances and allies, but she’d never made a friend. That’s what she needed most, right now, right this minute.

  “Where is your smile today?”

  Leticia looked up into the dark, smoldering eyes of Felix. She forced a smile and some cheer into her voice.

  “Felix, I missed you the other night.”

  “I’m here now.” He looked around. “We could go to your room . . .”

  And they’d romp around in her bed, sweat, climax in biblical proportions, and it would mean absolutely nothing. Felix wouldn’t care if she was all right afterward, he wouldn’t touch her body as if it was a treasure, he wouldn’t bathe her afterwards, or tenderly kiss her to make her heart swell. No, it would just be another fuck, and poor Felix certainly didn’t have the money to even rate this brief conversation.

  “Sounds like a great idea, Felix. But maybe later.” She smiled.

  Felix stared at her for a moment. “Women like you—”

  She jumped up. “I’m not going to continue this conversation.” She started to walk away. He grabbed her arm.

  “Take your hand off of me,” she said from between her teeth.

  “Bitch.” He tossed her arm aside and stormed off.

  She drew in a long breath. Her eyes darted around to see if anyone else had witnessed what transpired. One woman was frowning in her direction, then shook her head and walked away. Leticia snatched up her towel from the deck and returned to her room.

  Felix was going to be a problem. She could feel it. She’d had other situations like this, where they became possessive. But before she’d had the luxury of simply not letting them in, or calling upon one of her law enforcement friends to put a little scare in them. Here, she was on her own.

  She went to the bar and fixed herself a glass of wine, finishing it off in two swallows. She poured another. If she could steer clear of Felix until she moved into her apartment, everything would be fine. She was a fool to get entangled with someone who wo
rked at the hotel. She’d let desire overshadow reason.

  She walked out onto the terrace—that’s when she heard her front door open. She spun around and Felix was standing in her living room.

  “Get out!”

  He came closer. “You think you can use people. Oh, no, señorita, not this time.” He unzipped his pants and snatched the belt from around his waist.

  She was paralyzed. Paralyzed with fear and the memories that froze her mind and body—images of all the “uncle Lou’s” who’d come before him. Paralyzed when he pushed her down on the floor, wrapped his belt around her throat, and buried his anger and frustration inside her.

  Leticia didn’t utter a word, not a sound. She remembered what she’d been told: “Scream and I’ll have to hurt you. Don’t say a word, this is our secret. Tell and I’ll come back and finish you off.” The mantras ran over and over through her mind as Felix had her every which way but loose.

  When he finally got up, staggering to his feet, he looked down on her with such repulsion her own stomach roiled.

  Without a word, he fixed his clothing, smoothed his hair, and walked out as quietly as he’d entered.

  She didn’t know how long she lay there on the floor. When a semblance of time and place found its way to her, it had grown dark outside. Inch by painful inch, she pulled herself up from the floor and stumbled into the bathroom.

  The reflection that stared back at her was a face she did not recognize. Her eyes were swollen, her lip busted, the skin around her neck was raw from the belt that kept cutting off her air, taking her in and out of consciousness. Her dressing gown was torn and dotted with semen and blood.

  Trance-like, she turned on the tub and in a ritual that she’d performed countless times, she got in with the vain hope that the waters would somehow wash away her memories and her pain.

  Chapter 10

  Nathan hung up the phone. He’d tried Leticia at her hotel room all afternoon with no answer. He’d left several messages on her cell phone with no return call.

  Was she with another man right now? Was she with Miles?

  He flipped on the television as the sun settled down beyond the horizon. What did he really know about her? Only what she told him, which had been minimal at best. He’d been so enamored of her and her apparent attraction to him that he’d cast all caution to the wind.

  “Get it together, man,” he said aloud. You barely know the woman, and there are plenty more where she came from.

  Unable to sit still, not wanting to rest, he went and found his PDA and looked up the number of Simone, a hot model that he’d dated off and on. She was home, not busy, and would be happy to see him. Was he planning to stay the night, she wanted to know? Of course.

  As he dressed in preparation for his night out, he was sure that Simone would be more than happy to take his mind off anyone else but her.

  Leticia sat in one of the local bars, nursing her second apple martini. She’d been periodically listening to a conversation between a young woman and man who were discussing their jobs on a cruise ship that was ready to set sail in two days. To be young and carefree, Leticia thought as she paid her tab and gingerly rose from the barstool.

  It was near eleven, and the streets of South Beach were bustling with activity. Neon lights from shops, restaurants, and mammoth billboards competed for the eye’s attention. Couples strolled and laughed, car horns blared, music of every genre blended into its own unique sound.

  Leticia strolled the avenues, her still-red-rimmed, puffy eyes shielded behind wide, dark shades—nothing odd about that in chic Miami. A brilliant, multicolored scarf covered the welts on her neck. Her legs still weak and her inner thighs still trembling, she forced herself to stay on her feet, breathe the air, and become simply one of the pulsing throng of nighthawks.

  Never before had she felt so desperately alone, even in the midst of all this humanity. For all that she had, she had nothing at all. Thinking that she could begin a new life was a foolish, childish dream. Who she was, what she had become, would follow her to her grave.

  “Leticia!”

  Her heart leapt in her chest and she nearly stumbled but kept looking ahead. She knew the voice.

  “Leticia.”

  The voice was closer, coming from behind her. She dared not respond. She approached the corner just as a cab pulled up. She jumped in and took a chance on glancing back. And there he was—Norman Conyers.

  Leticia gave the driver the name of her hotel. She sat back and closed her eyes, letting speed and distance do their job, but her past was never far behind her.

  Norman stood in the middle of the bustling street, momentarily confused. He was certain that it was Leticia he’d seen. He’d know that walk and that body anywhere in the world. But could he have been wrong? Did he want to see her so much that he actually imagined that he did? Miami was filled with beautiful women. But one who looked exactly like Leticia? He shook his head and absently paid the driver, who was waiting patiently by the side of the cab that Norman had gotten out of.

  “I can drive you right up to the front door, sir.”

  He’d commanded the driver to stop in the middle of the street when he saw a woman he thought was Leticia. “Uh, I’m fine. Thanks,” he muttered, still looking off toward where he’d seen the apparition. He picked up his bags from the curb and proceeded toward the entrance of his hotel.

  Once he was settled in his room, he called Nathan and left him a message that he was in town a couple of days early and maybe he would take him up on his offer for dinner with his friends on Friday night after all. He left his room number and hung up.

  Norman walked over to the terrace that looked down on the city and wondered what Leticia was doing in Miami. More important, why had she left without a word?

  That morning when he’d awakened and found her gone he’d been devastated. At first he didn’t want to believe it. He kept telling himself that any moment she was going to call, walk in the door, put her arms around him and tell him that “she’d just needed some space.” Then everything would be right with his world again.

  But as the days turned to weeks and the weeks into months, his worst nightmare became reality—Leticia was gone. Simply gone.

  He knew who Leticia was, what she was, and it didn’t matter to him. He’d sat in his car outside her brownstone in Manhattan on numerous occasions and watched as the men came and went. He’d seen her prepare for elaborate dates, then be picked up by chauffeur-driven limos. But none of it mattered. When he was with her, none of the other men, and what she may have done with them, mattered.

  He laughed derisively at himself. He lived a good, upstanding life, was married to a good woman until the day she died. He had a business, friends, a close-knit family, and traveled at will. He could have just about any woman he wanted, but he was in love with a whore. How sad was that?

  Maybe he should have told her long ago how he felt about her. Told her that he didn’t care about her past, that they could make a new future together anywhere in the world. But he hadn’t said a word. He’d been afraid, afraid that she would laugh at his naivete. No one fell in love with a whore, not really, she would say. Some men simply had grand illusions of somehow turning them into honest women. Yes, Leticia would have said that.

  He’d never told anyone about his relationship with Leticia. It was his dirty little secret. And the only person he would trust to understand was Nathan.

  Chapter 11

  Nathan returned to his beach house the following afternoon. Simone had been a tigress from the moment he’d walked in the door. The night was filled with wine, cocaine, and hot, steamy, sticky sex until both of them were past the point of exhaustion.

  He tossed his small overnight bag onto the bed and saw the flashing light on his answering machine. Bone weary, he sat down on the side of the bed and listened to his messages. Two were from his office, one from Cal reminding him about the dinner party, and the last one was from Norman.

  Nathan listened to the
message again, jotted down the phone number of the hotel and Norman’s room number, then dialed.

  Norman picked up just as the answering service kicked in.

  “Nate, glad you called, man.”

  “Thought you weren’t getting in until the weekend.”

  “Yeah, I know. Changed my mind at the last minute and hopped a plane. What are you up to today? Can we get together?”

  Nathan ran a hand across his face. The stubble on his cheeks and chin bristled against his palm.

  “To be honest, man, I had a pretty rough night.”

  Norman chuckled, reading in between the lines. “Some things never change. You’re still an old hound.”

  “Hmm. Yeah. But, uh, maybe later on. Why don’t you come out here?”

  “Thought you’d never ask.”

  “You remember where I am, right?”

  “Sure. How’s eight, nine o’clock?”

  “Works for me. See you then.”

  Nathan hung up and stared at the phone. Still no word from Pam. He pushed up from the bed and headed for the shower, determined to get the scent of sex out of his skin.

  The steamy water sloshed over him. He lathered and scrubbed. He turned his face up to the water. Why was she avoiding him? What had gone wrong?

  Finished with his shower, Nathan decided to kill a few hours at the office. But once there, he couldn’t concentrate. Every few minutes he was checking the dial tone on the phone and on his cell to assure himself that they were working. Still no word from Pam, and he was determined not to call her again.

  His intercom buzzed.

  “Yes?”

  “You have a call. A Ms. Fleming.”

  Simone. “Could you tell her I’m busy and that I’ll call her later?”

  “Yes, Mr. Spencer.”

  The last thing he needed right now was to have an inane conversation with Simone Fleming. He pushed away from his desk and stood.