Beautiful Addictions (20 page)

Josie laughed.

“Well, he was beautiful. I was crushed when he died.”

“Anyway, I gave in and went to see your movie. You went on and on about how hot he
was. I was so jealous,” Tristan said, laughing at the memory. “It worked out in my
favor, though.”

Josie lifted her head and rested her chin on his chest.

“How’s that?”

“After the movie, you were so worked up that you dragged me into the bookstore and
attacked me in the self-help section.”

“I attacked you?”

“Yes, attacked. It may be the only time in my life that I was oblivious to books.
The best parts of that night were the smell of paperback books and your perfume combined,
the shelves cutting across my body and my hands in the back pockets of your jeans.
We made out until one of the employees busted us. You gave me my first hickey and
let me feel your boob. By thirteen-year-old-boy standards, it was epic.”

Josie laughed and lay her head back down, wishing she could remember the moment. She
wanted to see his adolescent face surprised by her aggressive behavior. More than
anything, she longed for that connection to a boy who had shared so many of her firsts.

“It also happens to be the same night my mom caught me masturbating,” Tristan added.

“Ha! No way!”

“Yes, it was traumatic. I don’t think I looked her in the eye for a month.”

She let her fingers trace his ribs, tapping out a soft rhythm like pressing piano
keys.

“Stay with me for another week,” Josie whispered.

“I can’t. The sooner I find out what’s going on, the sooner you’ll be safe.”

“Five days?” Josie begged, placing a kiss over the red-and-blue anatomically correct
heart tattooed on his chest. “Imagine how many times we can do this in five days,”
she teased, shifting her naked body against his.

“One day,” he bartered, trying to remain unaffected by her charms.

“Three,” Josie countered, nibbling gently on the edge of his jaw.

Her fingers drifted down his body, beneath the sheet, tracing invisible patterns below
his navel. She lowered her hand and continued with a feather-light touch to where
he wanted her most.

“Deal,” Tristan barely got out.

Josie grinned triumphantly and kissed his lips. He smiled and pressed his lips back
to hers, wanting nothing more than to devour her again. Now that he’d tasted the sweetest
flesh, he would never settle for anything less.

Josie shifted her hips. She usually felt empowered by the way she could coax physical
reactions from the men she subjugated. Josie would become drunk on the power of seduction.
With Tristan, it was different. His body moving beneath hers and his salty inked skin
alone made her euphoric. She’d gladly relinquish all authority just to be with him.

Tristan sat up in bed holding Josie. Her legs straddled his lap and she wrapped her
arms around his shoulders. Skin to skin, they cradled each other in a warm embrace,
each breathing in the other and wishing to never leave the moment.

“Can we stay like this for the next three days?” Tristan asked, reaching behind her
to pull back the curtain.

Bright morning light flooded the room, highlighting their combined form like a spotlight.
Josie’s messy hair glowed a fiery red in the white-hot light, the wavy tendrils like
flames. She stared into his eyes, which were usually dark emerald but in the sunlight
had become the color of springtime grass. The hair on his face gave a beautiful shadow
that look stippled in by pencil.

“Yes,” she answered. “Forever.”

*   *   *

Mort slid stealthily through the apartment. The sound of the shower running let him
know that he had approximately ten minutes to complete this search. His shoes made
no sound against the tiled floor as he glided from room to room. Ghosting his fingers
along the kitchen counter, he paused briefly to flip through a few pieces of mail,
finding junk and several bills. Next, he entered the small office nestled next to
the den and opened her idle laptop. It was password protected, so he closed it and
moved on.

Slipping into her bedroom, he could now smell the floral scent of her soap and shampoo,
mixed with the steam escaping from the cracked bathroom door. He didn’t bother checking
her dresser or nightstand; he knew that those searches never revealed much more than
perverted sexual secrets. Instead, he was drawn to her logo-emblazoned designer bag,
sitting on the corner of her bed. Still comforted by the running water, he dug through
the cavernous purse and fished out her smartphone. All he needed was a contact, some
kind of physical connection to Josie, and he would be set.

He knew for sure that she was still here in the city, and that Monica still had contact
with the girl. He couldn’t believe his good fortune when he’d discovered that little
gem, courtesy of a Monica Templeton breakdown. The poor woman hadn’t even known she
was confessing the much needed information and it took Mort only a few seconds to
connect the dots. Scrolling through her contacts, he came across Josie’s name. He
entered the number into his own phone before returning Monica’s to her purse. With
today’s technology and a small fee, this number could be used to track down Josie’s
exact location.

The water cut off, and through the door he could hear Monica’s soft voice singing
Lady Gaga’s “Poker Face.” He smirked, imagining her petite, curvy body covered in
water droplets and steam coming off her skin. He adjusted himself, took one last look
around, and slipped out of her room.

Monica emerged from the warm confines of her bathroom to find absolutely nothing out
of the ordinary.

13. Phases

Different illuminations that the moon undergoes during its orbit.

Josie left Trader Joe’s loaded down with bags. Tristan was working his last shift
at the Darkroom, so she didn’t have the convenience of a car to carry them in.

She liked Gavin and she liked making sure the kids down at the plaza had enough to
eat. When she was comfortable in her apartment with running water and a roof over
her head, she felt guilty for having things they didn’t. Her time on the streets had
been short compared to most of them. Many had been homeless for years.

It had been during those nights of wandering empty streets that she’d noticed graffiti.
At first she saw the big pieces, entire walls or top to bottom on a train. They were
always such a stark contrast to the whitewashed bricks or gray metal. The way each
one had a identifiable style amazed her. Later, Josie started to notice the smaller
pieces. Someone’s name thrown up on a bus shelter or one-word mantras on freeway signs.
She realized that it was everywhere.

Soon she stole her first set of permanent markers and was tagging JayBee on every
pristine surface she could reach. Then she moved on to paint markers. She adored the
bigger selection of colors and the way the glossy paint looked when it was dry.

While sneaking through the streets of San Diego, she’d run into a couple of other
taggers. There was never any animosity, only an understanding that this was their
art. A mutual appreciation for self-expression and attack against society was their
binding force. There were rules to this art, though, and through trial and error,
she learned them. Gangs claimed parts of the city and Josie avoided them at all costs.
She was just a girl putting herself out there; she didn’t want to fight their fight.

As she turned onto Sixth Street, Josie noticed a small piece thrown up on the side
of a dumpster. It was a three-color job. The outline was messy and ran down in tiny
dripping rivers. She smiled and shook her head. This was someone just starting, just
learning how to control the flow. Eventually, he or she would learn to cut the caps
or tighten the wrist movement.

Josie had bought a few extra things, and the weight of the bag handles were cutting
into her palms. She flexed her fingers and shifted the bags a bit to relieve the ache.
Taking the familiar path through the park, she was surprised to find no one there.
Usually Gavin would be sitting on the left side, her large frame and dirty clothes
covering the green slats. Every drawing and inked word was visible on the empty bench.
It chilled Josie to the core.

She set the bags on the bench and looked around.

“Gavin?” she called out.

She didn’t want to be too loud. In these late hours, hidden away from the main path,
sometimes people you didn’t want to find, found you.

Josie sat on the bench and waited for her friend. After an hour, she was annoyed.
She felt like maybe Gavin didn’t appreciate what she brought. Maybe Gavin was upset
that Josie came around less these days. Nigel came by offering his usual products,
but Josie declined.

“Have you seen Gavin around?” Josie asked.

“Nah. Not last week neither.”

“Shit.”

“No worries. I’m sure she just found a sugar momma to take care of her. It’s a shame
too. You two were my regulars. Now I don’t got shit.”

He left disappointed and unconcerned with Gavin’s whereabouts.

After two hours, Josie was scared. It was a feeling that sank deep into her gut. It
made her nauseous and shaky. Those kids down at the plaza were important to Gavin,
she wouldn’t just abandon them. Something had to be wrong.

Josie didn’t want to bother Tristan at work, but she had a really bad feeling. She
stared at one of the streetlamps off in the distance. Even from here she could see
the moths fluttering around it and throwing themselves toward the light. It reminded
her of Gavin’s approach to life. She was never afraid of the streets. She’d try anything.
She’d throw herself into a fire if it meant she’d feel something.

After three hours of waiting, Josie decided to head home. She left the food bags tucked
under the bench, not having the heart to take them with her. Maybe Gavin would come
later, or one of the kids. When she got to the sidewalk, she turned and checked one
last time, but the bench remained empty.

*   *   *

“Hello,” Rob said, smiling at his phone.

Monica huffed, her end of the line unusually silent.

“Monica?”

“I miss you,” she answered.

“I miss you too, Button.”

Monica squished her face up at the nickname, unable to decide if she liked it or not.
In all her years, Monica Marie Templeton had never had a nickname, or anyone to give
her one. Her parents had been stiff, formal people who never called her anything but
her given name. It never occurred to her to mind.

“I hate when you work late,” she said, walking to the fridge and grabbing a beer.
“Can’t you just be at my disposal? I mean, any Southern gentleman would pride himself
on doing that.”

“Well, ma’am, I do have to make a living. I’m finishing up now.”

“I had the worst day. First there was no Internet for like four hours. They shut us
down because of a security breach or something. Then I got locked out of my building
because I lost my work ID tag.”

“I’m sorry, darlin’. Tomorrow will be better,” he promised.

“Well, I guess I could say any day I make it home without a pending lawsuit or a threat
on my life is a good day.”

“I’ll make it all better when I see you,” Rob answered, his voice trailing off.

“You sound distracted. I’ll let you go. Please get here with a quickness. I need you.”

“Yes, dear.”

Monica hung up and took a long sip of her beer. Time flew by quickly as she prepared
dinner. An hour later, a tap at the door interrupted her stirring. She threw open
the door and pulled Rob down for a searing kiss.

“Damn, that was quite a greeting,” Rob said, panting against her lips.

Monica dragged him inside and pressed him against the wall, her tiny body acting as
a wedge to keep him in place.

“I told you I missed you.”

“Well, I’d say that was obvious,” Rob answered, chuckling.

“I’m home alone and you’re not around. I have to sit here and entertain myself with
reality television and tabloid magazines. It’s torture.”

She fetched a cold beer and handed it to him. Rob took the bottle and downed half
of it in one swallow. She watched as a drop of the amber liquid seeped from the corner
of his mouth, carving a path down his chin and neck and soaking into the collar of
his T-shirt.

“Subjected to bad TV and trashy gossip. What’s a girl to do?” he asked.

“Well, I suppose I could always
entertain
myself, but I like it better when you do it.”

He smirked and picked her up by the waist, placing her on the counter. Rob loved the
feel of her tiny body enfolding him. He loved how her large personality was wrapped
into this tight little package of dynamite. He loved her curly dark hair and cheerful
eyes. She was devious and spunky and always kept him on his toes.

“Now that’s something I’d like to see.”

They kissed deep and hard until Monica had to come up for air. She recovered quickly,
hopped down from the counter, and returned her attention to dinner while Rob parked
himself in front of the television.

While her rice dish simmered, she went to check on Rob, finding him asleep on the
sofa. Monica hated that his job was so demanding. Some days she could sense the stress
on his body, feel it in his tense embraces. But not now. He was fully relaxed and
it made her heart happy to see him so untroubled. His forearm was thrown over his
eyes as he slept. She sighed at the sight of his handsome pout.

A shrill noise cut through the air and she recognized the ringing of her cell phone.
Running to her purse, she answered out of breath.

Monica fell into the closest kitchen chair, stunned by Josie’s voice on the other
end. There was no chitchat, only Josie requesting a double date tomorrow evening.
She felt as though the room swirled around her feet. This was Tristan’s doing, she
knew that, but she would take redemption any way she could get it. After ending the
strange yet thrilling call, she sat in a daze of hope and absolution.