“I don’t know. I thought it might affect you. It looked like a difficult breakup.”
Yeah. It was difficult. For her. She miscalculated. She thought she could bring me to heel if I thought other men wanted her. I told her they were welcome to her. The day I’d walked into my apartment and found her spread-eagled on the bed with another man on top of her flashed into my head. Her shocked face, when I said, “Carry on. Finish.” I had the place fumigated after that. The screaming and crying, the swearing of how she loved me and would never hurt me again. What a load of bullshit. As if I cared. She did me a fucking favor.
“You still there?” Mark asks.
“Yeah.”
“So anyway, she called me not five minutes ago to announce that she’s marrying this guy in Vegas this weekend. I didn’t even know she was seeing him until, like, two weeks ago.”
My driver opens my door and I get out, walking towards my jet. “I wasn’t aware that the two of you stayed in touch.”
“I wouldn’t call it staying in touch. She texts or phones every once in a while to tell me how amazing her life is. I always assumed she expected me to take the information back to you, so obviously, I never did. Why would I give her what she wants?”
I nod at the captain, and run lightly up the steps.
She was hot, fun to be with and great in bed. That deserved to be acknowledged, too. Her magic trick needed a pack of condoms and a male volunteer.
“You still there?” Mark asked, raising his voice over the noise around me.
“Yeah. Still here.”
“You know she wasn’t right for you. Let’s be honest, she’s not the forever type. You know that, right? Women like her, who needs them.”
“I know.”
“It’s your pride that cares more than anything else.”
I cut him off there. “Why do I get the impression you think this bit of news has devastated me?”
“Hasn’t it?” he mumbles.
“Fuck no.”
“Uh, there’s something else.”
“You’re fucking kidding me. What else is there?” I checked my watch, and pick up the glass of freshly squeezed tomato juice, the air stewardess places in front of me.
“You’re gonna laugh. I swear to God, you’re gonna laugh.”
“I wouldn’t bet the farm on that, bro.”
“She asked me to be the best man.”
I nearly choke on the juice. “You’re shitting me.”
“Nope.”
“And you said?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you said you didn’t even know she was dating this guy until recently.”
“I didn’t. I’ve never met him.”
“So why?”
“Ah, man. You know I’ve always had a thing for her friend. She’s going to be maid of honor and you know how closely the maid of honor has to work with the best man.”
I laugh. “Well, she sure knows where everybody’s buttons are.”
“I guess it’s the ultimate revenge, huh? Asking your best friend to stand up at her wedding.”
“Actually, it doesn’t bother me at all.”
“Still, what kind of guy allows the best friend of his ex to be his best man? She must have his balls in her purse, man. I wonder what she offered in return for this?”
I didn’t have to wonder. I know. A man doesn’t forget the kind of things Charlotte Leyton is willing to do to keep a man coming back for more. I guess that must have been one long night for her.
“Look, if you mind, or prefer I don’t do it, I’ll say no,” Mark offers.
“Mind? No, I don’t mind. Go ahead and have a great time. Bang the maid of honor. Fuck the bride for all I care.”
Mark chuckles. “Yeah, I’ll try. Bang the maid of honor, I mean. Uh…one more thing.”
“What?”
He gives a bark of forced laughter. “Umm…Charlotte wants to ask you to come, but doesn’t have the nerve.” Mark saved the best for last.
Doesn’t have the nerve? Clearly, Mark has no idea what Charlotte is made of. “I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous.”
“I know. I felt the same way, but I promised I’d pass on the invite, just the same.”
“Thanks, I’ll pass,” I say, marveling at Mark’s naivety. Charlotte is easily one of the most cunning and manipulative women I have ever had the misfortune to meet. She’s just dangled a carrot in front of Mark so he’d do all the donkey work for her.
“But it could be fun, huh? Las Vegas. We could burn some money together, maybe get smashed and get laid,” Mark suggests excitedly.
There, he just did her dirty work for her.
“No offence, but I’d rather sit in a dentist’s chair for two hours, than be within a mile of Charlotte again.”
“Anyway, we can talk more about it when you get back,” Mark says hopefully. “I’ll be waiting with a couple of beers by the time you get there.”
“Yeah, man. Will do. Talk soon.” I hang up without telling him I was coming back tonight.
Chapter 4
Brock
“Sir?” The driver’s voice stirs me out of my thoughts, and I realize we’ve stopped in front of my building. I look up at the tall grey structure. Home never looked so good. It’s a pleasure to unfold my long body and step out of the car.
I draw in a deep breath. New York. It smells of traffic, food carts, the crush of 27,000 people per square mile, the garbage they produce, and naked ambition. It’s not a good smell but it’s honest. Yes, I appreciate this city in a way I can never appreciate LA.
The lobby staff is gracious as always as I stride through. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirrored walls of the elevator, and notice the worry lines around my normally clear, blue eyes. They seem soulless and cynical. Is there really nothing more than just this? Have I hit the peak and not realized?
I put my key in my door. I need to be alone for a little while. Recharge my batteries. There hasn’t been a day created yet that couldn’t be amended by opening my front door and knowing that everything is just the way I left it, just the way I like it. I look around at the grand space. Maybe there is nothing more, but maybe this is enough.
“Home.” I take in a deep breath.
This is my sanctuary. My haven. My solitude and peace in a fast moving, uncaring world. My first stop is the bar along one side of the living room. The bottles are gleaming, which tells me the cleaner has been around and gone. Good thing, since I’d hate to walk in on her and take great pains to make sure I don’t. Privacy is sacred in my world. Maybe because I got so little of it for so much of my life.
I pour out a small measure of Scotch. I know better than to overindulge. I know what that can do and never want it to happen to me. One of the overarching themes of my life: refraining from overindulgence. I take a sip of the drink made from a half-a-century old barrel of whiskey, and savor the smooth, mellow burn. Carrying the glass, I move through my home.
The apartment looks good. Whoever cleaned it did a solid job. Everything looks better than normal, I realize. The floors shine brighter than usual. The windows seem cleaner. The scent of lemon oil fills the air.
Is it a new girl?
There’s one way to know. I jog upstairs to one of the two guest bedrooms. I pull up the corner of the mattress. What I find surprises me. Yup. It’s a new girl. None of the others have ever bothered to change the sheets.
My discovery is enough to make me take a good look around the room, then around the second floor. I’ll have to ask Sarah to call the service and offer my approval and order that they never assign another cleaner, ever. This one is perfect, whoever she is.
Now, I’m softly humming to myself as I loosen my tie and walk down the hall to my bedroom. A hot shower is what today calls for.
No, a hard workout, then a shower.
I step through the doorway and the sight on my bed makes me stop short, almost sloshing Scotch out of the glass and onto the freshly-polished floor. No, scratch that.
The floor hasn’t been polished yet. It doesn’t have the same gleam as the floor in the hall.
What the fuck? The cleaner is fast asleep on my bed!
She stopped and took a goddamned nap on my bed.
No commendation for this one.
Who the hell does she think she is? Curled up like a sleeping cat on my bedspread. I hope she doesn’t think I’m paying her to take a fucking nap. How long has she been staying here? Has she done this before? I’m already striding over to the bed and ready to give her the wakeup she deserves when she rolls onto her back, revealing her face for the first time.
I freeze with shock.
Is it her? Could it be? Jesus Christ, how long has it been since I last saw her? At least ten years. No, more like eleven or twelve. People change a lot over that long a stretch of time, especially when it’s the stretch between childhood and adulthood.
Even so, it’s her. I’m as sure of it as I am of my birthday. It has to be her. The color of her hair escaping from her shower cap. Her full mouth and brows. Her high cheekbones and slightly dimpled chin. The tiny mole beside her right eye, almost unnoticeable until a person looks close enough.
Yes. It’s Dani. Dani Saber.
If I believed in God or a Higher Power, I’d swear the girl was dropped into my bed by such power. It’s enough to make a person believe in fate, if nothing else. Because this is the girl I’ve never been able to forget, not after all these years, and all the willing women.
Wherever her life has taken her it has thrown her right back into my path. Forget path. In my goddamn bed! It’s the most incredible, unbelievable, impossible thing. I couldn’t have predicted this in my wildest dreams. I’m not the one who gets thrown off my game. Not me. But, I can feel my wild excitement racing through my blood.
I can’t lose my cool.
I need to think about this. How should I handle the situation? It’s strange for me, not knowing immediately what to do. I trust my instincts implicitly, always have. Nobody knows what’s better for me than me. But this? This is a whole other ballgame.
She doesn’t budge or even flutter her eyelids.
She’s obviously exhausted. Because of me? I hate the idea of her working herself to that level of exhaustion. She’s grown up well. Full in the hips, the ass, the tits. Slim waist and legs. I feel my cock stir for all her delectable curves. Hell, I want to exhaust her in other ways. So many other ways.
I step quickly and quietly out of the room and walk in a daze through my vast apartment.
I go into the kitchen and stand, staring down at the breathtaking view of the city below me, but I can’t stop picturing the woman in my bed. Imagining her on the counter, legs around my waist.
It was so many years ago. Yet, it is fresh in mind as if it were only yesterday. I try to superimpose the image of the woman upstairs over the image of that scared, brave little girl in the schoolyard.
The one selling kisses…
Chapter 5
Dani
(Twelve years ago)
I carry my Kisses = $1 sign into the schoolyard and lean it against a wooden bench. I made it very pretty, by painting one corner with two pink love hearts, and decorating the other with a yellow flower.
I stand an old cookie tin next to it. That’s for collecting all the money.
A sudden blast of icy cold wind makes me feel as if my teeth are about to start chattering. The zip of my jacket is busted so I pull the ends tighter around my neck, but it’s so thin it makes no difference.
I wish I could be like that beautiful lady I saw on TV. She was selling kisses from her booth at the Funfair. Laughing and flicking her long blonde hair back while calling out to the men to come to her. But I’m so nervous my stomach feels like there are butterflies flying around.
What if no one wants my kisses?
When I see some kids point at my sign and start walking towards me, I quickly smooth my hands over my chocolate brown hair. It’s not blonde, but it’s shiny and smells good because I washed it last night. Even I know nobody wants to buy kisses from a girl with horrid hair.
If only it wasn’t so chilly, I wouldn’t need my jacket. It makes me look poor. I know that. Mom says she’ll take me to the charity store to get another one soon, but she’s been sick a lot this fall and I don’t want to bother her. Anyway, I hate going to the charity shop. All the clothes there stink of armpits.
It would be really nice if we could buy things from a real store, but Mom says we can’t afford them. Dad doesn’t work anymore and there’s never any money because he drinks away what little we have. Before I started sticking cotton balls in my ears so I could get some sleep, I used to hear them fighting. Or he would shout and she would cry. Really hard.
Mom says it’s easier for him to drink and feel happy than it is to face up to what his life is really like. I think that’s stupid. His life stinks because he drinks like he does, and he can’t keep a job because he’s always drunk. Then he spends what little money we have on beer and whiskey.
It’s pretty obvious to me what he should do. He should stop drinking. But what do I know? I’m only eleven and grown-ups don’t listen to you until you’re at least twelve.
When I grow up, I’m never going to drink. Not ever.
Especially now, that I know it can make a grown man cry. Like Dad did last night.
Hugging my younger brother and me, he sobbed about how sorry he was for the water stains on the ceiling, our crummy little house, and the carpet that’s so worn down you can see the stuff underneath that holds it all together.
I told him it didn’t matter. No matter what happens, I’ll love him forever.
He hugged me and said I was the best daughter in the whole world.
When he said that I cried too. I told him I loved him to the moon and back. I even lied and said I didn’t care that we’re poor. I know it would hurt him to know that the kids always make fun of me for being poor.
But not the boys who are starting to gather in front of me. They’re not making fun of me right now, even though some of them are the ones who usually do. Today, right now, they’re looking at me with interest. It seems as if they like me enough that they all have a dollar to give me for kissing them. I do a quick count.
Fifteen boys. Wow! Fifteen dollars!
I know it isn’t enough to get me a brand-new jacket, or buy anything important, but I could maybe get a couple of boxes of macaroni and cheese for dinner tonight, and a little milk to make it with. It would help Mom, and it would mean she wouldn’t have to cry when she makes us eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches again.
Until a month ago, Mom used to take food out of the supermarket dumpster. I know it sounds disgusting, but the food wasn’t rotting or anything. The supermarket throws out loads of perfectly good stuff all the time. Meat, vegetables, bread, fruit. Even ice-cream. We have to freeze it back again, of course, but it doesn’t matter because it tastes just as good.
We used to have really good food then. Mom used to make all kinds of tasty meals with what she found in the bins.
But one night, the security guard caught her doing it, and now they lock all their bins. Dad says it’s the stupid regulations in this country, but I don’t understand why they would do that. Why would they want to throw it away when we are starving? Actually, I’m really worried about Mom’s health. I don’t want her to become even skinnier.
Still, if this works, I could do it tomorrow and the day after that…
“How much for a kiss?” Robbie snickers. He’s in my class and he’s stupid.
I try not to roll my eyes as I point to my sign where it clearly lists the price. “A dollar.”
“How much to show us your boobs?” he asks with his stupid laugh.
Some of the boys snicker and look sly, and the girls who are standing around in groups look like they have just smelled their own stinky farts.
I know they think I’m a slut or whatever for doing this. They don’t understand, but it doesn’t matter what they thin
k. They’re all mean, anyway. They’re even mean to each other which I don’t understand. They’re supposed to be friends. I wouldn’t want to be friends with somebody who was mean to me, even when they were smiling. They’re not smiling right now. They’re muttering things to each other and shaking their heads, and wrinkling their noses the way they do when they see the food I bring for lunch every day. They’re the reason why I eat in the stairwell now.
Suddenly, I don’t feel good anymore. I feel sick. Dad taught me a long time ago, when I was really little and he didn’t drink as much as he does now, that if there was ever something that gave me a sick little feeling in my stomach, that it was my inside voice telling me what I was going to do was a bad thing.
My inside voice would always know, he told me, even if the people around me were all daring me and telling me it would be okay. All I need to do is check in with my stomach and see what it thought. So, my stomach is telling me this isn’t right, but I want our family to sit down to a macaroni dinner tonight.
I glare at Robbie and jut my chin out angrily. “Don’t be so stupid. This is a kissing booth.”
“I’ll go first,” Zack announces, stepping forward. He’s in my class too, and he’s always so pushy, but he has a dollar and I need that dollar.
I nod and tell my stomach to shut up because you know what’s worse than butterflies flying around telling you you’re doing something wrong. When your stomach is empty because there is no food at all for dinner, and you have to go to bed and hope sleep comes fast, so you don’t have to feel hungry anymore.
I take his dollar and put it into my tin. When I look up, all the boys are pushing and shoving to get in line behind him.
I take a deep breath and nod at him.
Zack leans forward.
I close my eyes when he presses his lips to mine. It doesn’t take long and he smells of chocolate, so that’s good. When it’s over, he gives me the dollar and walks away smiling proudly.
I make a big deal of smiling too and acting like this doesn’t bother me at all, as I wave the next boy forward. Now that I know how to, I kiss him really fast to get it over with, and move my head back.
The Promise Page 16
