Unfinished Business (Kit Tolliver #12) (The Kit Tolliver Stories)

by Block, Lawrence

  No way it was going to work out. Like, what were the odds?

  Slim and slimmer, she thought. There was a fair chance they wouldn’t even go to bed, because Rita could turn out to be far more adventurous over the phone than she was prepared to be in person. And even if they did, and even if it was great, then what?

  In a day or a week or not much more than that, she’d be getting on another train. Or a bus, or an airplane, but whatever it was it’d have Kirkland, Washington, in the rear-view mirror, and that’s where it would stay for the rest of her life.

  And then, of course, there’d be no more phone calls. For so long now she’d lived for those calls, coming alive during those moments on the phone in a way she never did the rest of the time. Not when she was fucking, not when she was killing, and certainly not when she was marking time.

  Sitting on the edge of her bed in some ill-furnished room. Talking, listening.

  God, she thought, remembering. Riverdale, talking on the phone while she rode off to orgasm on the still-rigid penis of the late Peter Fuhrmann. It was incredibly hot, and it damn well had to be or it would have been disgusting. Yet what she’d focused throughout on was not so much the dick inside her as the woman on the other end of the phone.

  Along with the phone calls, she’d be giving up the fantasy. Because that had sustained her even before she and Rita had begun speculating about the possibility of sharing sexual moments face to face. The idea that the two of them could, well, be a couple, that they could actually love each other, that together they could create, well, a life.

  Hey, we tried, sweetie. And we’ll stay in touch, okay? You know, on the phone. And who knows, maybe we’ll get together again in person sometime. You never know, do you?

  Except sometimes you knew. It would either work or it wouldn’t, and if it didn’t then it didn’t matter what lies they told each other, because they would both know it was over.

  And then what? Where would she go, and what would she do, and why should she even bother?

  She glared at her suitcase. Say something, she told it. Are you just going to fucking sit there in silence?

  “Let me give you a hand with that.”

  It wasn’t the suitcase that broke the silence, but the tall young man across the aisle. She’d noticed him once or twice since he’d boarded in Portland, and had noticed him noticing her. Briefly, she’d allowed herself to speculate on what might have happened if she weren’t on her way to Rita, but the fantasy never got anyplace because her mind had quickly gone back to spinning its wheels, telling her everything that was sure to go wrong in Kirkland.

  Now they were slowing as they entered the Seattle station, and he’d taken hold of her suitcase before she could tell him thanks but no thanks.

  “I can manage it,” she said. “Really I can.”

  He smiled, showing good teeth. “Of course you can,” he said, “but why should you? This way you can allow me to feel manly and useful, and save your strength for the hug you’re going to give your husband.”

  Interesting. He knew she wasn’t married, could not have failed to note the absence of a ring on her finger.

  Well, she could hold up her end of the conversation. “No husband,” she said.

  “Your boyfriend, then.”

  She smiled, shook her head.

  Well, why not? Rita wouldn’t be there, she would have come to her senses, and there’d be nobody at all to meet her, and where was it written that she had to be alone with her disappointment? He was a good-looking fellow, clean cut and well turned out, and he’d take her out for a decent dinner, and that was a good idea all by itself, because all she’d had to eat all day was the croissant with her morning coffee.

  And then she could fuck him, and once she’d done that she could figure out a way to kill him, and then she’d have no choice but to get out of Seattle in a hurry. And she’d give it a few days and then call Rita from Omaha or Dayton or Lynchburg, and—

  “Kimmie!”

  And there was Rita.

  Jesus, how had she forgotten how beautiful the woman was? Just stunning, and positively glowing, and with the most wonderful light shining in her eyes.

  She took a step toward her, and before she knew it she was running. And then they were in each other’s arms.

  Had she ever kissed anyone like this? Putting every atom of her being into the kiss, drawing all she could of the other person back into herself? Had she? Ever?

  “Kimmie, I think that’s your suitcase.”

  “How did it—”

  “Unless it’s a bomb, but that guy didn’t look like your typical terrorist. He was actually kind of cute.”

  “Kind of.”

  “I guess at first he thought we were sisters, or best friends, you know? And then when we really got into it he got the message, and his expression changed. I guess he was disappointed.”

  “I guess. Where’d he go?”

  “He put the suitcase down,” Rita said, “and then I guess he went away, but by that time I was too busy kissing you to pay attention. I never kissed a woman like that.”

  “I never kissed anybody like that.”

  “No, neither did I. I always liked kissing guys, but it’s a completely different thing, isn’t it? God, you’re beautiful.”

  “This is nothing. Wait ’til you see me naked.”

  “Kimmie!”

  “How did you find a parking spot so close?”

  “The city reserved it for me,” Rita said, “by putting a fire hydrant there. I figured I’d get a ticket, and I figured I didn’t care, but I guess the meter maid was busy giving somebody a blowjob. Kimmie, I never talked like this before I met you.”

  “I’m a terrible influence.”

  “You are. I loved the way our tits pressed together when we kissed.”

  “You may be disappointed, Ree. Mine are on the small side.”

  “Ree.”

  “Is it okay to call you that? Or do you hate it?”

  “No, I like it. And speaking of tits—”

  “That’s right. We were speaking of tits.”

  “Mine are these big pillow tits. Maybe you won’t like them.”

  “Yeah, I’m disgusted just thinking about them.”

  “Really?”

  “They’re much too large. Maybe I can whittle away at them with my tongue.”

  “We’re gonna have fun, aren’t we, Kimmie?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “I’ll do anything you want. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Same for me.”

  “God, this traffic! But there’s something nice about having to wait, you know?”

  “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “You know what I did? I cooked dinner, isn’t that nuts? It’s a casserole, it’s in the oven keeping warm.”

  “I figured you would. I brought the wine.”

  “Really? Is it that kind I can’t pronounce?”

  “Nuits-Saint-Georges. No, but it’s like that. Another hearty red burgundy, according to the wine store guy in Salem, and I decided to take his word for it. This one’s a Pommard.”

  “Poh-mahr.”

  “Right.”

  “I don’t know, Kimmie. I’m not sure how comfortable I feel with a wine I can actually pronounce.”

  “There’s a D on the end, but it’s silent.”

  “Well, that’s something. I feel better already.”

  A cloth and candles on the table. Good food, good wine. As hungry as she was, all she wanted was to be in bed with Ree. But it was nice to postpone it for a little while. The anticipation was as savory as the meal, as tantalizing as the wine.

  Dare I say plangent?

  “Kimmie? You want to know a secret? I’m wearing the butt plug.”

  “Really?”

  “I’ve been wearing it all day. Sometimes I’ll do that. I like how it feels. The fullness, you know? And the idea that nobody knows. Of course there are times when I have to take it out.”

  “No
kidding.”

  “And you gave it to me. That adds to it.”

  “I brought you another present.”

  “You did?”

  “Well, sort of. I picked it up this morning, before I went to the wine store.”

  “A sex toy?”

  “No, I don’t even know if they sell sex toys in Salem. Well, they must, but I didn’t really go looking for them. And this isn’t a thing. It’s more of a surprise. But it’s for you. Ree, you look completely lost.”

  “Well, what do you expect? You’re talking in riddles. Am I supposed to guess? Give me a hint.”

  “I went to Brazil for it.”

  “You went to Brazil?”

  “In a manner of speaking. I got a Brazilian.” She got to her feet. “Come on,” she said. “I’ll show you.”

  Lying on her back, with Ree’s head on her shoulder. The bedroom in shadows, with a table lamp in the hallway the only source of light. Ree’s taste in her mouth, Ree’s scent and her own scent permeating the room.

  This was how it was supposed to be.

  “Yes, Kimmie. It’s exactly the way it’s supposed to be.”

  “Did I say it out loud? I thought I was just thinking it.”

  “Maybe that’s all you did and I picked the thought out of the air.”

  “Can you do that?”

  “I never could before, but everything’s different, so who knows what I can do?”

  “Isn’t that the truth? That bowling ball trick—”

  “A guy did that to me once. Just one finger, plus the thumb. I thought two fingers would be better.”

  “Definitely.”

  “Did it hurt?”

  “The two fingers? No, it felt nice.”

  “The Brazilian, silly. What did they use, hot wax?

  “Yeah, but it wasn’t so bad. And I thought it would be worth it. Do you like me without any pubic hair? It’s not unnatural, is it? Or just plain dopey?”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Or all little-girly? All pedophilia-creepy?”

  “Daddy’s little soldier.”

  “I swear I never even thought of that. Is it like that?”

  “Kimmie, I love it. There’s no hair, everything’s all sweet and smooth and silky, I can just kiss and lick everything. I’m a whole forest down there. You must have been disgusted.”

  “Yeah, right. I had to force myself to get anywhere near you.”

  “But wouldn’t you want me to get it done?”

  “For your sake, Ree. Everything’s more intense.”

  “Really? I don’t know if I can stand that. But I have to get it done. God, yours is so smooth, I can’t keep my hands off it. Give me a kiss. You know what’s remarkable? Your mouth tastes like a pussy.”

  “Here’s a coincidence—so does yours.”

  “Kimmie, this is all so easy! I had no idea.”

  “Me neither.”

  “I think there’s some more wine left. You want some?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Some Poh-mahr. It was nice, but I had enough. The only thing I haven’t had enough of is you.”

  “Ah, baby. Let’s see what we can do about that.”

  And, a little later:

  “Kimmie? I guess we’re lesbians, huh?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “But we’re still us, right?”

  “Well, we don’t have to learn the secret handshake. Or deepen our voices.”

  “Do we have to wear those plaid shirts from L. L. Bean?”

  “No way. We don’t have to get a cat, either.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “Or adopt a Chinese baby.”

  “Kimmie? You’ll move in, won’t you?”

  “If you can stand it.”

  “You can have your old room back. But we’ll sleep here. Unless we try your room occasionally as a change of pace.”

  “To ward off boredom.”

  “You think we’ll get bored?”

  “No.”

  “Me neither. I want us to do everything.”

  “We will. And Ree? There’s no reason you can’t have a guy anytime you want.”

  “Really? You wouldn’t be jealous?”

  “Why should I? I’m not jealous of the ones you’ve been with. You’re not jealous of my lovers, are you?”

  “Kimmie, they’re all dead.”

  “That’s a point.”

  “But if they weren’t? No, I wouldn’t be jealous.”

  “Because it doesn’t subtract from what we’ve got.”

  “No, it adds to it. Right now I don’t want anything but you and me in bed, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want us to tell each other stories. And sooner or later we might want to have new stories to tell each other.”

  “Right.”

  “And I’ve always liked fucking guys, Kimmie.”

  “Me too.”

  “And now I’m thinking about doing some new guy and then telling you about it, and I don’t know what’s getting me hotter, the idea of doing him or the idea of telling you.”

  “Over the phone?”

  “Silly. Lying in bed, and feeling your breasts against mine, and looking into your eyes—”

  “Like you’re doing right now.”

  ‘Like I’m doing right now. And telling you all about it.”

  “I suppose you realize that you’re sopping wet.”

  “Like I’m the only one? And I am definitely getting a Brazilian.”

  “But not right this minute.”

  “No. Right this minute I’m busy.”

  She spent the next several days settling in, and by Friday she had a working set of ID in the name of Kimberly Austin. She liked Austin for a last name, but she wasn’t crazy about the Kimberly part. Names had never mattered much to her, she rarely kept them any length of time, but maybe that was going to change, maybe she’d take a shot at being the same person with the same name for, well, as long as she could.

  No problem. Kimberly could turn into Kim, and she’d fill out her kit with a library card and some generic Student ID cards as Kim Austin, and by the time she picked up a Washington State driver’s license, she’d be able to shrink Kimberly to Kim once and for all. And then maybe get a lawyer to have her name changed by court order? If she did that, she’d be able to get a passport. Not that she had any urge to leave the country, but suppose Ree wanted to see Paris?

  Omigod, Kimmie, here we are in the country where they invented eating pussy.

  Had to keep your options open, didn’t you?

  It was all so easy.

  Because she was usually the first one up, and because Ree always prepared the evening meal, she took over the role of making the morning coffee and putting breakfast on the table. Her first omelet was a failure, but all that cost her was a couple of eggs, and it didn’t take her long to get the hang of it.

  “We’re getting so domestic,” Ree said. “I think we’re definitely lesbians. I think there’s no question about it.”

  “I can see how upset that makes you.”

  “Plaid flannel shirts and cats,” Ree said, “are just around the corner.”

  “We’re lipstick lesbians.”

  “No plaid shirts, huh?”

  “Not even to sleep in. And no cats, either.”

  “And no Chinese babies?”

  “They’re cuter than cats,” she said, “and way cuter than plaid shirts, but not just yet, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  So easy.

  Later that day she was sitting on the couch reading, and Ree was doing a crossword puzzle, and their eyes met. That was all it took, really, and half an hour later they were lying side by side in Ree’s bed in the shared afterglow.

  And Ree said, “I guess I’m safe, huh?”

  “Safe?”

  “Well, nobody’s ever safe. Like earthquakes and tornadoes and, I don’t know, tsunamis? Not that I spend a lot of time worrying about tsunamis, but you never know, do you?”

&n
bsp; Where was this going? “And there’s always sinkholes,” she said.

  “That’s right! No warning, nothing, and the ground just opens up underneath you. Gone, no forwarding. Just like that.”

  “But you guess you’re safe.”

  Ree was looking off to the side. “What I figure,” she said, “is if you were going to kill me, you’d have done it by now.”

  “Ree!”

  “Well, you killed everybody else you ever slept with. Kimmie, I knew you weren’t planning to do it, but suppose you couldn’t help it? Suppose it got under your skin, and you couldn’t rest as long as I was alive?”

  “That only happened with men.”

  “You’ve killed women.”

  “My mother, and I explained that to you. And I never had sex with her, anyway. It was just—”

  “And what about Angela?”

  “Angela.”

  “She picked you up in the dyke bar, and her husband was hiding in the closet—”

  “Oh, Angelica.”

  “I was close.”

  “And his name was Brady. He wasn’t in the closet, he was hiding behind a Japanese screen.”

  “Thanks for clearing that up, Kimmie. The point is you slept with her and you killed her.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Strangled her with a scarf or something.”

  “A silk scarf.”

  “Herpes, I think you said.”

  “Hermés.”

  “I know, silly. Ehr-mehz. Poh-mahr.”

  “Ree, they were going to murder me. He wanted to do me just for the thrill of it, and she loved the idea.”

  “I know, you told me.”

  “She was one vicious cunt. She brought me home so her husband could rape me, and when I turned out to be eager and willing, they decided the only way to keep it interesting was to kill me. She had it coming.”

  “I know.”

  “And how could I let her live once I’d killed him?” She frowned. “Okay, I have to admit I enjoyed it. Doing her with the scarf, feeling her squirming underneath me. But it’s the way I’m hard-wired, Ree. Killing gets me off. I can’t help it.”