Dark Passions (9 page)

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Authors: Jeff Gelb

BOOK: Dark Passions
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Their one-year anniversary was six weeks away. Michael dreamed up a private dinner on the roof of Julian's company headquarters. The view took in the ocean, mountains, and glittering city lights. He found it boring staying in every night having sex. He wanted to romance Carmen, to share his world. Reluctant at first, in the last month she'd become open to new things, meeting his sister and brother-in-law, a weekend in Santa Barbara. This would be his first surprise for her. It felt exhilarating.
Since he couldn't get access to the roof for the setup without security clearance, he made an appointment with the head of security. Michael had only been on the top floor to see Julian. He liked the highly polished woods, marble floors, and atrium garden with real plants. The receptionist had the starchy reliability of security department personnel.
“You here for ... ?” She touched the tightly wound hair at the nape of her neck.
“Holden Alsop. It's Michael McCrary.”
Buttons were pushed, ear piece adjusted, hushed words spoken, then Michael was ushered into Alsop's office.
Alsop stood. He looked through Michael more than at him. Michael recognized the guy but couldn't place him. The man looked haggard, wan. They shook hands. Alsop motioned for Michael to sit down. Michael explained why and when he wanted to use the roof.
Alsop's voice came raspy, and he coughed. “Sorry. We don't do roof parties, Mr. McCrary. Private for two or forty-two. Too many security issues.” Alsop locked eyes with Michael then. Something sparked there in his deeply set, shadow-ringed eyes. “Have we met before?”
“I practically live on seven, but I work out in the gym on the third floor. You?”
“Used to. Have trouble sleeping lately. No energy. You eat in the cafeteria?”
“No, I go out with my partners to the Promenade. Maybe I met you at one of Julian's parties.” Michael remembered that was it, then suddenly realized where else he'd seen Holden Alsop, up close and personal. His blush started under his arms and turned his face bright red.
Alsop raised an eyebrow. “You okay?”
Michael nodded. “Yeah, it was that party a year ago. The one at Julian's new house?” Michael stared out the window. It was also the night Carmen had bewitched him. “So, no roof celebration.”
“No, sorry. But good luck with whatever you put together.”
Michael stood, started to walk out. One word to Julian and the roof was his, he could bypass Holden Alsop. Why hadn't he considered it before? He'd never have to see Alsop again. At least willingly. “Hey, I'm going to go through Julian on this, just to give you a heads-up.”
Alsop stood. “Knock yourself out.” Then he frowned, concentrating, staring at Michael. He looked away, sighed. “I remember now.”
Ben, in his Hawaiian shirt over what he called his Midwestern tan, a shade of white mushroom, sat at a table practically on the beach. His old friend from the police academy was late meeting him for lunch. Not that he minded. LA was pleasantly different from Minneapolis, with its ocean, fantastic weather, and beautiful women every two feet. He liked it a lot better.
He thought he saw his pal shuffling through the crowd but doubted it. This guy looked eighty years old. Then the man waved. Ben's warning bells clanged. He'd seen that worn-to-the-bone look before. It was Jim all over again.
“Hey, Benny, looking like a man on a vacation.”
“Hey, my oldest friend calls and says he needs me, I'm here. It doesn't hurt that you got a beach in your backyard.” Ben bear-hugged his friend, so thin now. “Still with the permanent tan, hey, Holden? I guess being out here in paradise, you can have one of them.”
Holden Alsop fell into his chair. “Yeah, Benny. You can have just about anything out here. Sometimes too much of it.”
Ben motioned for the waiter to come over. His mineral water with lime was warm, and his friend really needed something stronger. “What are you still drinking, man ... wait, scotch?” Holden waved him off, shaking his head. “Okay, another one of these for both of us.”
They sat in silence awhile, watching the waves roll in. Ben waited for the story to come. He guessed Holden was considering how anyone, even his oldest friend, could believe what he was about to tell him. Impossible.
But Ben would tell him how he could believe it, about Jim and all the others he found in his research. He'd tell him about his plan—that he found the sisters and now had photographs of them. How he hired guys to put up a website that linked to dating sites warning men online. About the informal blue line of friendships that ran through every police station in the nation, where there now were flyers with the sisters' faces on them, and thousands of officers and detectives talking to each other, warning men in bars, doing socials, and using dating services. He'd let Holden know that wherever these women went, the word was getting out, and while he couldn't warn every man, a wave of caution was building. And he'd ask his friend to help make sure no one else would fall prey to the sisters. He hoped Holden Alsop would be strong enough to do the right thing.
Alsop downed his drink and cleared his throat. Then the story flooded out, like long-simmering bile. Julian's party. Yolanda. Mind-blowing sex. Losing sleep, seeing things. The sisters. Michael.
 
 
Carmen paced behind her front door. Michael was due an hour ago. It was their first anniversary. A big surprise, he'd said. He was never late. Her phone rang. Michael!
She purred into the phone. “Hello, darling, what's keeping you?”
“It's me, Yoli. I know we're not connecting tonight, but I'm still getting strong feelings from you. Something's wrong.”
“Yoli, he's late. I don't think he's coming.”
“I know you're anxious, but when has a man of ours let us down once we have him? Something happened. A flat tire. Work. He'll call soon. Relax. Have some of that wine you're chilling for him.”
“Yes, you're right. I'll call you later.”
Carmen sat down and opened the wine. She was
scared.
For the first time, she thought she might trust a man enough to love him. For months she felt twinges of shame that her sisters and their men watched her and Michael making love. She hated that she was losing control. It was nearly a foreign sensation, except when she remembered those horrific days when she was nine years old. It took her father's witchcraft, his spells and years of teaching the sisters the ways of enchantment to protect themselves, to regain a semblance of control. Sitting, hugging herself on her couch, she felt herself hurtling back so many decades, stifling a whimper.
She forced herself to think of her sisters, her allies. The bargain they had made as children was mutual. All these years, men were nothing more than the vehicle for the union that brought them pleasure and protected them. Now they were learning not every man was a crazed UFC laborer, the beast, the enemy. Their father had done everything in his power, and that of the dark arts, to keep them from harm, but in doing so, he'd kept them from something precious and good. With their father gone, perhaps it was possible for them to find a man worthy of love. Did her sisters suspect that Carmen was considering it now?
She finished the first glass and gave in, called him. Voice mail. She couldn't leave a message. And say what? “I'm sitting here desperately waiting for you, my love, to come complete me?”
Three hours later, panic set in. Her sisters arrived, consoled her, and worried a little too. This could mean starting over again. They liked the climate. They wouldn't have to go far. And Carmen would get over Michael. He was, after all, just a man.
 
 
San Diego sparkled just as Santa Monica had. Yolanda took a position as a private nurse for a little girl with a genetic disorder. Esme took over as an office manager for a real-estate conglomerate, which helped find the sisters a house and two condos. Carmen decided she needed something that would take her out of herself and went into sales in Mayan and Aztec antiquities for a gallery in La Jolla. They began to rebuild.
Four months passed, and it was time to search for new men. Esme learned of two new kinds of dating services: The 3-minute Date Night and The Rotating Lunch, where an equal number of men and women were in a situation that allowed them to meet many prospects in a short amount of time. Esme set the sisters up in all she could find.
Carmen was the first to notice something “off,” as she put it. One evening, Carmen did The 3-minute Date Night at an Italian restaurant called Trastevere. The participants were kept in separate sections; women got nametags and instructions from an overweight psychologist named Tracy, and the men received theirs from a gangly Mensa geek named Max. The women sat at eighteen small tables, the men lined up ready, and a timer bell indicated they were to move from woman to woman through the circuit, with only three minutes to chat up each one.
It was clear to Carmen that she was the most beautiful and sensual woman in the room. The women were in their late thirties, some older, most with weight issues, bad hair, and fashion challenges. For tonight, she was certainly “the light on the porch.” The men, except for two, appeared more matched to the other women.
When Terry sat down, Carmen grinned widely. His tag said he was thirty-two, originally from New York, and an attorney. He was handsome and well-dressed. She wondered why he'd submit himself to The 3-minute Date Night.
His accent was deep Brooklyn. “So, gorgeous, it's obvious we're the only two lookers here, so let's just cut the chit-chat and exchange numbers.” He pushed one of his business cards across the table. “I can picture us horizontal already!”
She shook inside. Her Creep-Meter was off the charts. Later, Phillip sat down. He seemed exhausted by the experience. He looked at Carmen as if he were trying to remember where he'd seen her before.
“I feel like I've met you before. Maybe you've done the circuit dinners in Mission Bay?”
He was nice looking, reminded Carmen a bit of Michael. She shooed his memory away. “This is my first foray into the dating-service world.”
“You look familiar. Maybe because you've got a Jennifer Lopez thing going.”
Carmen smiled. She actually knew who she was. Saw her photograph in a magazine at her hairdressers' in Minneapolis. “Thank you, I think. So you're a claims adjuster for a car insurance company ...”
“Boring ... Tell me about the gallery. We only have two minutes!”
As Carmen spoke, Phillip's face went from exaggerated interest, to a frown, then his eyes slid away from her. When she tried to get him to tell her about his family, he mumbled and looked at his watch. The bell sounded, and everyone was instructed to get up and hand their list of “interested” participants in to Tracy and Max, then mingle over drinks.
At the bar, Carmen waited for the usual flurry of men, but the only interest she garnered was from a woman who wanted to know if her eyes were really that color or she wore contact lenses.
Later, sitting in Esme's living room, the sisters lamented their bad luck. They all experienced a sense that men looked at them as if they knew them, or that their initial interest seemed to wane rather quickly. The men hesitated, made excuses. Those that showed an avid interest weren't the kind of men the sisters wanted. Yolanda mentioned she thought that some of the same men seemed to show up everyplace they went, not just at mixers or parties or dating-service get-togethers. These men were watching, smiling sometimes, but never approaching. Once in a while, they spoke with the lonely men around them, their eyes jittering over the sisters and then away.
Then Esme found David at a seminar. He wasn't attractive, but he was fit and eager. His last girlfriend had been when he was in college, and he graduated ten years ago.
“I can't believe my luck. The prettiest woman in the room approached me! So, what made you seek me out?”
Esme considered his question. The desperation that had begun to plague them changed everything: eroded her confidence, expanded her range of choices into unfamiliar areas. David had attracted her because of his guilelessness. Had that been a factor before? What did it mean that a man was “ripe”? She couldn't be sure anymore.

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