Indecent Cravings: Part Three Page 5

  “Shut the fuck up, Smudge.”

  Chapter 10

  On the way to Lorena’s, I call Karissa. I hadn’t been ready to talk to her, but now I am. Strange she hasn’t even texted me since that crazy afternoon.

  As I walk down West Avenue, I take a deep breath as her phone rings.

  “We're sorry,” says an electronic voice. “You have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again.”

  Huh, that’s weird.

  I tap her name again and listen to the electronic voice again.

  Hmph.

  I pause in the shadow of a very old tree on a corner and go to Facebook. There are new friend requests from Troy and Sherry, but nothing from Karissa.

  In fact, she’s gone from Facebook. No Karissa. Doesn’t exist.

  What the fuck?

  Did she de-friend me?

  Seriously?

  Why would Karissa de-friend me? I wasn’t the one sucking her dad’s cock!

  I resume walking, a little sad. She’s probably embarrassed. Really embarrassed.

  But embarrassed enough to throw our entire friendship away?

  I think I’m hurt, I think I really am.

  Shit.

  I stop outside of Lorena’s building and look up. Do I really want to live here?

  I head up to 2201.

  Vargas, the bald man with the goatee, opens the door and lets me in. “Follow me, please.”

  The giant space looks completely different in the daylight with all the Sunset Chill Party implements gone. No play pens. No blacklight wall. Just a huge living area with a spectacular view, now with glass back in place. Where did the glass go before? Does it slide into the ceiling or is it removable?

  Vargas leads me to an elevator next to a long staircase. He presses a button and the door opens.

  “Wait,” I say, “there is an elevator inside this apartment?”

  “Yes, it travels the five floors owned by MissMacCall.” He presses 24. The doors close and we go up two floors. The doors open and he motions me out.

  I step out into another spectacular apartment with a view. This one is maybe a tenth the size of Lorena’s, but that’s still pretty fucking huge.

  Lorena sits on a large white couch in front of a glass coffee table, the port of Miami on full display in the bright morning sunshine in front of her. She’s typing away on a laptop. So cool to see someone her age fluent with modern technology.

  “Hello, Jayd!” she says. “Just one moment, dear. I’m posting a status update.”

  She finishes and then stands, moving over to hug me.

  “Sit,” she says. “I’m sorry about the restaurant, dear. It had to be done. Besides, I don’t know if you noticed but the food there lately was drifting downhill somewhat.”

  “Yeah, I got that complaint a lot.”

  I feel nervous for some reason, suddenly. I don’t know why.

  “So do you like it?” she says.

  “Like what?”

  She makes a motion with her arms. “Your new place.”

  I snicker. “This? My place?”

  “Yes, dear. This is yours for as long as you need it.”

  I look around. It’s truly spectacular. Ultra-modern and well-decorated. I see a huge kitchen off to my left. Looks brand new.

  “But how—”

  “I told you, dear. I own the building, as well as several other properties in Miami Beach. I’ve done well for myself and now that I’m the age I am, I want to share them with people I care about.”

  “Wow, I don’t know what to say except thank you.”

  “You’re more than welcome, dear. But, of course, you are intrigued about my offer. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here.”

  “Um, yeah.”

  “I see it in your eyes, dear. Lukas Thorn lights you up like nobody you’ve ever known. That’s true, isn’t it?”

  Wow, didn’t expect that question right out of the bag.

  “Yes.” The word falls out of my mouth.

  “Good. Then, we both have his best interests at heart.”

  “How do you expect me to free him?”

  “You are the perfect antidote to the only other woman he has ever loved.”

  Fine by me. If she wants to pay me big money to do the very thing I’ve been trying to do since stepping onto that plane, then fine.

  “May I ask why you personally want me to do this?”

  She gazes out the window and takes a fake puff. “Because I owe him only the best. I saved him from something truly rotten a long time ago.” A warning buzzer goes off in my head. The expression on my face must show what I’m thinking. “Oh no, dear. There was never anything between Lukas and me. It wasn’t like that.”

  “How am I supposed to seduce Lukas Thorn?”

  “By offering him his favorite fantasy.”

  “Which is?”

  “Control. You’re going to present yourself to him in a way no girl has ever presented herself before.”

  “How am I supposed to do this?”

  “That’s my job.”

  “What’s your job?”

  “To train you. We have two weeks. I know where he’ll be on August 14th.”

  “Where?”

  “At a house in the Bahamas. There is a street festival that weekend and every year he visits his brother in Nassau to enjoy the festival. You and I will be there. Well, specifically, you.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  The sun catches her eye and sends an all-knowing glint at me. “Something dirty and obscene.” I uncross and re-cross my legs. “What do you think of that, dear?”

  “I . . . like the sound of that.”

  “I thought you might.”

  Chapter 11

  The Redmond Apts may not be a luxurious paradise, but it’s a hell of an upgrade from the Clarion Towers.

  That’s my thought as I approach Karissa’s left hand steps in the blistering steamy heat.

  I took a taxi this time, asking the driver to wait outside. You never know. I may need to run quickly.

  I hate to say that, but after everything, I’ve learned about Karissa lately I’m a little leery about her. Not to mention the way she de-friended me completely.

  Such a shame. We got to be such close friends, but she couldn’t tell me her main source of income.

  Abigail, wake up! The signs were all there for you to see! You made yourself deliberately blind, choosing not to see it!

  Yeah, probably true.

  I want to make amends, though.

  I mean, I’m not going to move back in with a hooker, naturally. Especially not with the new pad I have.

  But I need to make things right with Karissa. I have no idea how, but I’m going to do my best.

  The man with the towel over his waist is there as always. He just smiles at me. A fly lands in his white beard.

  I stifle an urge to vomit.

  There it is, ahead of me. The door I called home for a brief while. I would like to get back the paltry few pieces of clothing I left here, too. There was one print top I especially liked.

  I take a deep breath and knock on the door.

  Nothing but silence. The courtyard doesn’t make a sound. The man in the towel doesn’t make a sound, just smiles.

  Everything tilts oddly, like I’m seeing it through a bent lens. What’s up with that?

  Then it all rights itself again. WTF?

  A ball of anger rises inside of me. I knock again, harder this time.

  Nothing.

  I take out my key and try putting it in the lock, but it doesn’t fit. Shit, the lock has been changed. She changed the fucking lock! The bitch!

  Now I’m mad.

  I bang on the door.

  “Karissa!” I shout. “Open up! I want to talk to you!”

  Shit, the sun is desperate today and the dew point is so high I might vaporize.

 
I pound on the cheap door.

  “Yo, Karissa! Hey! Yo! Open up!”

  Nothing.

  Another pounding.

  “Karissa, I’ve got stuff in there! If you don’t want to talk to me, at least let me have my things!”

  The door finally begins to open.

  Oh, thank God.

  I’m about to launch into a big spiel about how we fell out of touch, but the person who greets me at the door makes me take three steps back.

  He’s a big black man about the size of Delaware. His hair has a carved part in it, but that’s the only sense of style about him. He’s dressed in a T-shirt and shorts. I take another step back.

  “What the fuck is your problem?” he says.

  “Oh,” I say, “um . . . I thought . . . I was just looking for Karissa. Is she in?”

  “I don’t know no fucking Karissa.” He looks me up and down. His mean demeanor softens as he leans on the door. Then he smiles.

  “This is her place. She lives here.”

  “Not anymore she don’t. This is my place. I just moved in. But seeing as you’re a friend of the previous tenant, I’m more than happy to have you in.”

  Shit.

  I’ve got to get the fuck out of here.

  I don’t even wait for my slow brain to think of anything to say. I just run to the taxi and tell the driver to take me back to the beach.

  As we pull away, I catch a glimpse of the man in the towel.

  He’s just smiling at me.

  Shit.

  Where the fuck is Karissa?

  Chapter 12

  I’m in a suite at the British Colonial Hilton in downtown Nassau, laying prone on the bed, which is covered by a tarp. Wet strokes dance this way and that all over my body as the artist paints me.

  Lorena flew in Karl Werz, a sixty-ish pony-tailed man in a white pirate shirt open to his waist, who is supposedly the world’s foremost body paint artist. He doesn’t seem to be fazed in the least by my nakedness, fully absorbed in his meticulous brush strokes.

  Gotta admit, I love the sensations. I mean, you know me by now, right? Pretty much anything sparks my girl down below to life. I’m doing my best to channel the ever-growing sexual energy into mental rehearsal of what I need to do tonight.

  Seduce Lukas Thorn.

  That’s my mission.

  Holy shit.

  I take a deep breath and count to ten, trying to control my breathing. Two weeks ago, I was a struggling waitress, worried about getting ketchup to table six and making sure the soup is hot enough for table four. Now I’m a professional seductress for hire, about to walk into a parade wearing nothing but body paint.

  Karl Werz steps back from me, squints, grunts, and then mixes a new color, adding a finishing touch.

  One more step backwards, and then he raises his eyebrows.

  “Gut,” he says, “I zink zat’s it.”

  I lean up on my elbows. “Can I get up?”

  “Ja. Ve are done.” He motions to the mirror.

  I close my eyes, swing myself off the tarp, and take the three steps to the ornate three-way mirror. Lorena nearly glows as she gazes at me with a huge smile. She takes a fake puff from her cigarette-less holder.

  “Unbelievable,” she says. “Karl, I think you’ve outdone yourself this time.”

  I gasp and put my hands up to my mouth at the sight greeting me.

  The person I see in the mirror . . . isn’t even a person. It’s some sort of water-nymph creature. I’m completely indigo. Painted on the middle of my body from my breasts downward is an elaborate design that looks somewhat like a short dress that’s part body wrap, part bikini that’s made out of leaves. Or are those waves? Or are those shells?

  Whatever it is, it looks amazingly real. I swear I have clothes on, and yet I know I don’t. When I move left and right, it even appears to cast shadows, making it appear truly three-dimensional. How did he do that?

  My lips are a fluorescent blue with sparkles that contrast sharply with the indigo of my skin. It matches my eye shadow and mascara. The contacts in my eyes glow a bright aquamarine. A sparkling gold flower adorns the temple by my right ear, blending seamlessly into my bluish-purple hair.

  “Holy shit,” I say. “What am I?”

  “Stunning,” says Lorena. “That’s what you are.”

  “No, but what is this?” I turn to Karl Werz.

  He just shrugs his shoulders. “Vater nymph?” he says. “Spirit mermaid? I know not. Mein verk ist complete.”

  He begins packing up his kit of paint.

  I turn to see my backside.

  Oh my God, that looks real!

  I swear I can almost feel the bristles of the . . . whatever they are . . . rubbing against my skin. I look like something out of a science-fiction or fantasy movie.

  I turn to the other side. My butt looks amazing. The pounds I need to lose are delightfully hidden.

  As is my pussy, of course. God, the very sight of my own self is, for once in my life, spectacular. I think I want to fuck me.

  “This is incredible,” I say. “I can’t even tell I’m naked.”

  “Zat is ze point,” says Karl Werz.

  “Thank you!” I say. “Thank you so much.”

  I go to give him a hug, but he reels from me with a shocked expression. “No, no, no! Give ze front a half an hour before you let anyzing touch it.”

  “Oh, okay. I just wanted to thank you.”

  “Frau MacCall has already zanked me for you. Quite handsomely, too.”

  In five minutes, the odd man has everything into a large leather bag. He tosses on a three-corner hat straight from the eighteenth century, bows, and heads to the door without a word.

  Once he’s gone, I turn to Lorena and make a happy squealing noise.

  “You are going to be spectacular,” says Lorena. “There is no way Lukas Thorn can resist you.”

  She gets up, moves over to her briefcase, and opens it up.

  She takes out the earpiece headset with which we’ve practiced for the past two weeks and brings it over to me. She expertly fits it in my ear. It blends in seamlessly as the center of the golden flower.

  Then she walks back to the briefcase, takes out the transmitter, and turns it on. I hear a tiny beep in my ear.

  She turns away from me and speaks into it. “Can you hear me, Jayd?”

  “Loud and clear.”

  “Good.” She turns it off, walks over to me, and hands it to me.

  I bite my lip, glancing in the mirror at the odd but very sexy creature glaring back at me from the netherworld.

  “You know what to do. It’s showtime.”

  Chapter 13

  Lorena and I are in the back seat of a Mercedes-Benz driven by her bodyguard, Vargas. He’s the same tall bald man with the goatee that I used to see when he would pick her up at the restaurant.

  We’re moving very slowly down the street because the street is packed with so many people. Music fills the air with heavy rhythmic beats, hitting us from all sides.

  The Junkanoo used to be held only on December 26th, but to capitalize on the tourism business, Nassau now has several festivals a year, all involving costumes and street parades.

  The air is thick, the music is driving, and there are what feels like millions of people. Vendors sell everything from glo-sticks to diamond jewelry. Performers are everywhere, in costumes of every variety. Dancing girls throw odd lights into the air, do somersaults, then catch the lights as they fall down again. The lights vanish completely as if they were never there.

  A laser light show brings several corpses out of coffins where they seemingly float in the air to an upright position. When their eyes open, they glow as if lit by flashlights from behind.

  The locals are all in costumes, scurrying past and around the tourists. I bet they’re paid performers, though. Real Bahamians must be sick of this.

  “Lukas is in a house around the next corner,” says Lorena. “He is on the second floor, outdoor deck with a gatherin
g of ladies.”

  “How do you know this?” I say. She just smiles at me and takes a fake puff while patting my knee.

  Note to self: Practice not answering questions by just smiling. Powerful shit. I’ll skip the fake cigarette, though. That’s just cheesy. I need to tell her sometime. But then again, who cares? She’s old. If you make it to eighty, do whatever the fuck you want.

  The car rounds the corner, the amazing asses of three girls in masks and tinsel fringe bikinis parting to let the car through.

  The house appears on my right. My heart beats out of my chest.

  It’s one of those old, traditional Bahamian houses. The recipe is simple. Start with a basic two-story New England wooden house then add balconies all around. Make sure you put fancy designs all around the moldings and railings. Oh, and paint it in bright colors, naturally.

  The second floor balcony of this one, which is a bright peach with white trim, is teeming with girls. Some are wearing nothing but bikinis. Others are in costume wear. All seem to have drinks.

  Then I see him.

  My heart leaps out of my chest.

  There he is. Right in the middle. Laughing and holding a drink with that carefree expression that he pulls off so well, just like at Lorena’s party which feels like a century ago now.

  Damn. He’s got two girls with their arms around him.

  Well, of course he does, Abigail! He’s Lukas Thorn. He was probably born with two girls with their arms around him.

  Everything but him vanishes again. The world rights itself around its center of existence there on that balcony. All that has been confusing me lately — my dad, Trevor, Karissa’s disappearance . . . fades away.

  Lukas Thorn is again in his usual white flowing oversized shirt, open almost to his waist, those spectacular pecs on display for the entire world to reach out and grab. The shirt would look goofy on most men, but it so works on him.

  Black jeans again. Good. I hate men in shorts, even if it is five thousand degrees and the humidity is as thick as melting rubber.

  On a side note, I think I’m getting used to the humidity now. I don’t sweat as much. My body’s thermometer must be adjusting to it or something.