Sucker Punch

by Laurell K. Hamilton

  “I’m good. Thank you,” Nicky said.

  She flashed us a dazzling smile that I’d have liked better if the makeup had been a little lighter. The smile seemed happy-girl-next-door; the makeup was more burlesque-stage. “Have a seat and let me know if you change your minds.” She went to the door and the toys piled against it weren’t an issue, because the door pushed inward.

  We sat down where we were standing by the couch so that I ended up between the two men. Normally I liked being in the middle. I thought about making Nicky change with me so I wouldn’t be sitting next to Olaf, but it seemed too second grade. I was a big, grown-up vampire hunter, not a child, damn it. Nicky picked up on my unease and moved a fraction closer so that his thigh touched mine, and just that helped me find my center. I was debating if I could touch Nicky’s hand without Olaf getting weird about it when a small sound made me remember the babies.

  They looked after their mother and then back at us. The one in yellow smiled at us, and I smiled back, because that’s what you do. Nicky smiled at them, too. The lavender twin smiled with us, and then the one in yellow looked at Olaf. It made me look at him, too. He wasn’t smiling.

  If I’d thought he would think it was funny, I would have asked him what kind of sociopath doesn’t smile when a baby smiles at him? But I was pretty sure he wouldn’t get the joke. Luckily for all of us, the mother came back into the room. She sprinkled Cheerios across the trays in front of the babies and then curled up on the only other clean seat in the room, the corner of the couch beside Olaf.

  It meant he could just turn his head and look at her, but I had to turn my entire body to see around him to get glimpses of her. If I hadn’t been wearing so many weapons, I’d have curled up on my end of the couch like she was in her exercise outfit. Olaf noticed the issue and sat straighter against the back of the couch so I could see past him.

  “Now, Ms. Gibson—”

  “Call me Brianna, please.”

  “Okay, Brianna, how long have you and Jocelyn been friends?”

  “Oh, since high school. We even went to the same college.”

  “So, the two of you are close?” I said.

  She sipped her can of Diet Coke and seemed to think about the question more than I thought it warranted. “We are. I mean, not as close as we used to be. I got married, and she didn’t, and then we had the twins. Marcy—Marcy Myers—and I got closer because we have husbands and babies. I know Jocelyn felt left out, but she didn’t want what we had. She’s not ready to settle down, and I’m not sure she ever wants kids.”

  “It’s hard when some of your friends get married and start families and some don’t,” I said.

  She nodded, sipped her diet soda, and said, “None of you is wearing a ring, but one of our friends is a cop, and he said that a lot of you don’t wear wedding rings to work. Are you the married friends or the single friends in your group?”

  “Engaged and living with,” I said.

  “Living with,” Nicky said.

  “Single but dating,” Olaf said.

  Nicky pressed his leg tighter against mine, which meant I’d tensed. I did my best to relax and be grateful that Olaf had at least added the single part.

  Brianna flashed that smile again, but this time there was a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Living in sin, my mother called it.”

  “My dad’s not too fond of it either,” I said.

  Olaf looked at me. He actually opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it.

  Brianna had seen the interaction. “You didn’t know her daddy disapproved?”

  “We’re not each other’s usual partners. About the night of the murder,” I said, hoping to forestall any more personal questions aimed our way.

  It was like all the light just drained out of her face. The makeup looked flat but not harsh, which let me know that she was wearing more base makeup than I’d thought at first. Why was she wearing this much in the middle of the day at home? It did hide whether she paled to match the grim look in her eyes. Maybe she’d worn the makeup like camouflage to hide her expressions while we questioned her?

  “Jocelyn talked Marcy and me into a night on the town like we used to do when we were all single.”

  “Talked you into? So this wasn’t common for the three of you?” I asked.

  “Not anymore. I don’t think the three of us have gone out without spouses or kids since the twins were born.” She smiled at her babies, who were dropping more Cheerios than they were eating and gabbling to each other in their baby language.

  “So, over a year,” I said.

  Brianna nodded and looked back at us with the glow of her smile still on her face. “Jocelyn said she missed the old days, and so did I. I’m not sure about Marcy. She always had to get a little drunk to get wild, but Joshie and I were wild in our day.” She looked at the babies again with a serious look on her face. “God, I hope neither of them takes after me—not in that way at least.” She looked almost scared. If we hadn’t been investigating a murder, I might have asked what put that look on her face, but I had to let it go and concentrate on the night in question.

  “Jocelyn says you went to a club.”

  Brianna flashed that smile again. This time the look in her eyes was more than mischief—something untamed, naughty, not evil but a look I’d seen before on people who really were wild. Not the get-drunk-or-high-and-do-things-you’ll-regret wild, but the kind that doesn’t need an excuse, just an opportunity. Nathaniel had that look, and so did Nicky. I had to fight not to glance at him. If that was really part of Brianna’s personality, she was going to have a tough time being a traditional wife and mother.

  “Dare I ask what kind of club the three of you went to?”

  “Strip club,” Brianna said. The two words had a relish and happiness to them that seemed to fill her up until a little wiggle ran down her body so she moved on the couch without using hands or feet, just her wiggly core.

  I dated women as well as men, and I suddenly couldn’t help thinking that Brianna might be interesting in a nonbusiness kind of way. I pushed the thought aside, but it was in there now, and I couldn’t unthink it. Even though I wouldn’t act on it, it was still there, and it would make the rest of the interview weird for me. Would I have been less weirded out if she’d been a man who made me think about sex? Yes. I’d only added women to my dating pool in the last few years. It was still new enough to throw me off balance sometimes.

  “Watching men take off their clothes,” Olaf said, and there was just the faintest hint of disapproval.

  I doubt that Brianna heard it, because she aimed that smile at him.

  “No, my husband didn’t like the idea of us watching other men, so we compromised and went to see women take off their clothes.”

  Her brown eyes were luminous with the happiness of saying it or of doing it. Was she just one of those people who enjoyed doing things that most people thought were risqué? I’d met people who liked to shock others. If she only knew that I was engaged to three men, and two out of the three were exotic dancers . . . Brianna couldn’t shock me or out-thrill-seek me, but she wanted to, so I’d keep my mouth closed and let her.

  Olaf and I started asking the routine questions about when Brianna and her friends had arrived at the club, how long they’d stayed, et cetera . . .

  “Can anyone verify how long you were at the club?” I asked.

  “I’d think most people in the club would remember us.”

  “Strip clubs get pretty crowded,” I said, “especially on a weekend.”

  “Oh, they’ll remember us,” Brianna said with such relish that I knew she wanted to tell us the details, or maybe she wanted to tell someone the details, not necessarily us.

  I smiled at her, because this made her more alive than even looking lovingly at her twins. Some people are wired that way.

  Olaf
asked, “How can you be so certain?”

  Brianna looked at him with her brown eyes shining with her excitement about the memory. “They don’t get that many women as hot as or hotter than the strippers getting lap dances.”

  One of the twins made a small sound that made Brianna look at them, which made me follow her gaze. The twins were bouncing in their seats. The twin in yellow was waving her arms excitedly, and the other twin was listening very seriously. Were personalities set that quickly? Did we come into the world already so formed, so us?

  Brianna unwound her legs and turned at the waist to take a coaster out of the small container of them on the side table. She set her soda down carefully on it and then got off the couch. How could someone careful enough to use coasters let the floor get this messy? She picked up some small toys off the floor and put them on the babies’ trays. The Cheerios had long since vanished. The twins seemed happy with the toys, staring at them as if they were brand-new and awesome. I guess when you’re that young, every day is Christmas, because there are so many new things to see, touch, do.

  Coming back to the couch, Brianna stepped on a toy and cursed, then looked guiltily at the babies, who were ignoring us, focused instead on the new toys. “The living room doesn’t usually look like this. Promise. But Daryl, my husband, and I thought maybe if our families see how much they’ve bought the girls, they’ll stop. The twins are the first grandchildren on either side of the family, and both sets of grandparents have gone crazy buying things for them. We’re just out of space.”

  She was suddenly worried and anxious and not at all the sparkling, excited woman of a few moments before. Did having kids always do that to people, make them less of who they were and turn them into parents? Did you have to give up what made your eyes light up to have kids? Surely it didn’t have to be that way, or I hoped not.

  “It is good to know that this is not typical for you,” Olaf said, his deep voice as serious as his tone.

  Brianna smiled in his direction, but her attention was still on the babies and the mess. She picked up her can of soda and curled back up on the end of the couch, but before, her posture had been effortless and sexy. Now it was more like she was huddling around herself. She sipped the soda and looked at us, but the look on her face said she wasn’t really seeing us. Whatever was in her head at that moment wasn’t happy.

  I finally prompted her with “So you, Jocelyn, and Marcy Myers all paid for lap dances.”

  Brianna focused on me, but it was like her internal dialogue was having trouble catching up with the conversation. What had just happened to make her go so serious? I had missed something. I’d ask Olaf and Nicky later, but if I didn’t understand a woman’s reaction, I doubted they would be much help.

  “Yes, yes”—she gave a tentative smile—“it was so fun to watch Jocelyn with the dancers.”

  The light started to return to her eyes. She sipped the soda like it tasted better than I knew it did, or maybe that was just my opinion. Maybe she actually liked it. I felt the same way about most alcoholic drinks, too, so maybe I wasn’t a good judge. One friend who liked both diet soda and alcohol suggested that I’d drunk so much coffee that it had ruined my taste buds for anything else. Maybe, or maybe coffee was just yummy.

  “Why was it so much fun to watch Jocelyn?” I asked, because the only other thing I could think to ask was if she liked to watch, but that sounded like flirting or like I’d learn things about Brianna that I didn’t really need to know.

  “She likes attention. It brings out something in her that is . . . I don’t know how to explain it, but she puts on a show. She knew one of the dancers well enough that they had planned to have her up onstage. It was so hot.”

  The last sentence brought back her earlier happy energy. Her face and eyes were alight with the memory of watching her friend onstage. It made me wonder if she and Jocelyn were friends with benefits or at least something more than just friends.

  “It must have been a real moneymaker for the dancer,” I said.

  Brianna nodded happily and gave that little wiggle again like a happy, sexy puppy. I didn’t think I had a wiggle in me like that, but one of my sweeties did. He was both a serious voyeur and an exhibitionist. I’m not saying the wiggle meant all that, but some of her mannerisms made me think of Nathaniel, and I knew what he liked. If Brianna was anywhere close to him in her preferences, I wasn’t sure how well being a straight, suburban, married mom was going to fit her. Of course, maybe she and her husband were practicing some form of consensual nonmonogamy. It was more common than I used to think before I joined the nontraditional crowd. But I didn’t ask Brianna if she was nonmonogamous, because some people found it insulting, and others took it as flirting. I didn’t mean either.

  “The men just ate it up, seeing two hot women together onstage, and one of them being a customer . . .” She sighed and did that little wiggle movement again.

  “It was probably the closest that most men will ever get to the fantasy of having two women at once,” I said.

  “Most men don’t know what to do with one woman in bed, let alone two,” Brianna said, and then she caught herself. She looked startled, even embarrassed, at the men. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t aimed at either of you, just my dating history.”

  She rolled her eyes and looked at me. I feared she was going to try for a moment of girl bonding that might not work with me. I was trying to think what to say to stop her from attempting to get me to admit to something that wasn’t true for me, but Nicky stepped in and took the heat off of me.

  “You dated the wrong men,” he said, and he gave her that flirting smile that could make strange women blush. He was still wearing the sunglasses to hide his eye, so it was a very movie star moment.

  Olaf surprised me by adding, “Do not judge us all by the failures of a few.”

  Brianna laughed, and I couldn’t tell if she was embarrassed or pleased. “Maybe. Where were you before I married and settled down?”

  “Dating all the wrong people,” Nicky said.

  “Perhaps I, like you, was chasing the wrong people,” Olaf said.

  Brianna swallowed and seemed to catch her breath for a moment. “I didn’t chase my husband. He chased me.” Her words were good; she’d reminded them she was married and desirable enough to pursue.

  “But you allowed him to catch you,” Olaf said, his voice lower, almost husky. Was he doing the voice thing on purpose?

  “Yes, but don’t tell my husband that. It makes him feel good to think he seduced me.” She gave a nervous little laugh at the end, though I wasn’t exactly sure why.

  “You lured him in with your beauty,” Olaf said in that deep growling voice.

  “You think I’m beautiful?” Brianna asked, but the tone implied that she knew she was beautiful and was saying it more for form. Once, I couldn’t have told the difference, but dating other women had taught me more about the different ways there were to be female than actually being a woman ever had.

  “You know you are beautiful, beautiful bait,” Olaf said, and the voice was almost achingly low, but there was no heat of his beast making him growl—it was testosterone or an act. I’d ask later, maybe.

  “Bait,” she whispered, and leaned her upper body toward him as if she didn’t realize she’d done it, like it was gravity and he was a heavenly body pulling her inward.

  I looked at Nicky for a clue. The last thing I’d expected was for Olaf to flirt with this woman. Nicky raised eyebrows above his glasses, which was a version of a shrug for him.

  One of the babies started to cry, and just like that the spell, or whatever, was broken. Brianna got up and went to check on her baby. She picked up the crying infant, the one dressed in yellow, but then the one in lavender started to cry for attention. Brianna tried to just pick up the second baby, but the child had gotten her leg hooked on something and was stuck.

  Brianna turned to
me. “Can you hold her for just a second? I need two hands.” She didn’t wait for me to answer, but just shoved the baby at me. It was like having something thrown at you. You just automatically put your hands up. Suddenly I was holding a baby while Brianna knelt and tried to free the other one’s leg.

  I grasped the baby awkwardly, like I was afraid she’d break. That seemed silly, so I tried to hold her closer, a little less like I thought she’d explode and more like she was a small person who probably needed to feel like the adult holding her wasn’t about to drop her. The baby still had tears drying on her face, but she stopped crying and stared at me with wide dark eyes like she knew I wasn’t her mom. I stared back. I wasn’t sure when I’d held a baby this young. Maybe when my younger brother was a baby, which had been when I was a child myself.

  The baby was round and strong and very firm, but still strangely delicate. I couldn’t explain it even to myself, but I could feel the potential of all she would ever be in my arms, as if her grown-up self was inside just waiting for time to let her out, but at the same time she seemed fragile and in need of protection so that she could grow into all that promise. Would she always be as solemn as she was right now, studying my face like she’d memorize it? It was like she was judging me. Would this adult take care of her? Would she drop her? Would she feed her? Would she leave her for the wild animals on some hillside, or would she love and protect her? And just like that I knew I would protect her, because she was small and couldn’t protect herself and that was what you’re supposed to do with babies. It was like some switch inside of me got turned on, and I suddenly wondered if I felt this about a stranger’s baby, what would it be like to hold my own? For the first time, having that thought didn’t scare me. Did babies give off pheromones or something that made having your own baby seem like a better idea? Fuckers, and yet I held the solemn baby in my arms, and it felt . . . right somehow. Stupid biological clock.

  I tried to be angry about it, but I couldn’t, not while I was holding her. I heard myself asking, “What’s her name?”