Fugue State (10 page)

“You should be thanking me, Alexa,” Appleby proclaimed while examining the empty glasses that lined her hotel nightstand. He picked up an empty highball and put the rim to his nose. “Vodka? Not what I would have guessed from you.” He put the glass back on the counter as Alexa rolled her eyes. He curled his lip in a mocking manner. “Thank me because there won’t be a civil trial. As it turns out, there’s no one to benefit from Jamar’s death. I had a DNA test confirm that his ten-year-old son is
not his son
, after all. He has no living family that I can trace aside from the older son who is in prison, and he is not in a position to file suit.”

Alexa blinked twice in disbelief.
Good news, indeed, almost too good
. She wondered if Appleby had somehow arranged the outcome of the DNA test. His reputation of manipulation was partly why she’d hired him. “Thanks,” she mumbled, checking his demeanor for a flinch or tell that might insinuate he was lying to her. He remained as calm as ever.
If you’re lying, Jacob, I wish I were as smooth with it as you are.

“That’s not the only thing. I was approached by some of the media. They want to interview you, now that the trial is over.” His attention returned to the glass on the dresser. “They pay you, and they pay well, if you’re interested. It’s not the kind of thing they advertise.”

Alexa fell deep into thought. She’d given Appleby most of her savings, and she would need money to get to Paris. “Who pays? How much?”

“The major news networks. They pay anywhere up to twenty-five thousand for an interview, maybe more, depending on how much they want you.”

You mean how much they want to torture me.
What a difficult proposition to concede to, but she needed the money.

“Okay. You make the arrangements. I want to do all of the interviews next week. You prep me. You assign the questions. Everything will be staged and rehearsed. I’ll give you ten percent of whatever I get.”

“Make it twenty percent, and we have a deal.”

“Fine, Jacob,” she agreed with reluctance, and shook hands with the devil himself.

Appleby emailed Alexa her schedule. He crammed three interviews into one week. They traveled together. New York on Monday, Chicago on Wednesday, and San Francisco on Friday. They spent Sunday evening and Monday morning rehearsing. Appleby hashed out the details over breakfast.

“Show them your sweet and innocent side. Never speak of Jamar. Don’t say his name. You are the young, scared, female victim. Don’t forget it.” She gave long and exaggerated head bobs of affirmation.

“Then I quote statistics on rape, specifically those involving college students. I rattle off national counseling programs for rape victims and spout out classes where women can learn self-defense. I got it.”

“No audience questions. No talk of the trial.”

Now, she nodded in relief.

During the interviews, trained professionals in padded suits taught self-defense techniques to audience members. The interviews were kept as light-hearted as possible, and overall, were much less painful than the trial she had endured. No questions were taken from the audience, no specifics of the trial discussed.

At the end of the week, she and Appleby flew back to Austin together. After a few glasses of first-class wine, Jacob Appleby’s loose lips confessed his surprise that she ever went to trial for Jamar’s death.

“Yours was a clear case of justifiable homicide. Usually, in such cases, you are arrested, but the charges are dropped. I don’t know why they felt a need to pursue the charges. Maybe it was that detective who wanted the charges to stick. Marcum handled the Kennedy case, too — that nineteen-year-old found dead. Maybe he was running out of time to close that case and hoped to get you wrapped up in it in a way that would work to his benefit.” His words ran together in a mellow sort of harmony that only inebriation could compose.

Alexa hung on the words of his drunken melody.
Could my suffering really be due to Marcum’s need for a scapegoat?

Appleby continued, “Defending you should have been easy, but you made my job difficult. I had to make them believe you never intended to kill Jamar, that you were a victim of circumstance. The problem, Alexa, is that we all saw through you. I did. The jury did. Everyone saw through you.” He reached over and clenched her thigh with his hand. “Christ, Alexa. That mightier-than-thou look you wore on your face told them you could bludgeon a baby seal to death without thinking twice. You were so proud you killed that man, without an ounce of remorse for what you did.” His grip tightened. “Innocent and not guilty are not the same thing.”

“You’re drunk, Jacob.” She struggled for a defense.

“I’m
drunk
, says the alcoholic prude?” he mocked. “Don’t worry, I’ll be sober in the morning.” He tore his hand from her leg and shuffled his body to the side of the seat farthest from her.

And terribly hungover, I hope!
She fell silent.
No. He can’t be right. Is there some truth to his outburst? The tension that’s developed with my family — is it because they see the darkness their golden girl is capable of? I took the life of another human being and didn’t regret it for a moment.

“Your actions helped get you to this point, Alexa. Think about that as you decide where to go from here.” A limp handshake departing the plane sealed their goodbye.

Back in Austin, Alexa packed up her belongings, moved out of her apartment, and headed back to the Four Seasons. She sold her Mercedes at the local dealership and took a cab to say goodbye to Joe. She met him at the shooting range. Knowing Joe got a kick out of a woman all dressed up with a gun in her hand, she grabbed a pretty pale pink chiffon blouse with a silver leather pencil skirt and python T-strap stilettos.

“Hello, Joe.”

“Hey, there. It’s good to see you. I have something I want you to try. I think you’ll like it.”

“You do? I’m intrigued, Joe. Is it a handgun?”

“Yep. It’s lighter than what you’re used to. It fires faster than the one you have.”

Alexa beamed. They both knew this was goodbye.

“Okay, Joe. Let’s try it.” She watched him pull a little silver handgun out of a drawer. It sparkled like bright chrome. Her smirk grew bigger.

“You done with all that TV stuff now?” he asked.

“Yes, Joe. No more trial talk for me.” Alexa allowed a moment of reflection before revealing her plans. “I’m leaving for Paris tomorrow.”

He loaded the gun and handed it to Alexa. “Isn’t that the city of love?”

Alexa shuddered. She took the gun from Joe and aimed at the target. “I like to think of it as the city of lights.” She whispered into the air, “
Levende lys
,” and fired eight times with amazing accuracy. “I love the gun, Joe. Thank you for letting me try it out. I can’t thank you enough for everything.”

Joe shrugged. “It was just nice for an old man like me to have something in common with a pretty young lady like yourself.” He put out his hand to shake hers. Alexa grasped Joe’s hand tightly with both of hers and pulled him close for a heartfelt embrace. “I hope you find whatever it is that you are looking for,” Joe stated, his expression serious.

Her arms fell to her sides. “Me, too,” she said.

The next morning, Alexa boarded her plane for Paris.

CHAPTER 13

T
he fourteen-hour flight allowed plenty of time for meditation, and Alexa became lost in her own thoughts. She found excitement in her opportunity to escape her troubled past and looked forward to what a future in Paris might hold.
What is my plan for Paris?
Start over? Find friendship? Find love? Find a purpose?
The vague ideas left much to the imagination.

After the long flight, Alexa settled into a cheap, quaint boutique hotel a few blocks away from the Paris nightlife. It was a good fit for her, given her financial situation.

She spent her first day indulging in espresso and French delicacies while perusing miles and miles of Parisian streets. That evening, she carved out an eight-mile running path that paralleled the north bank of the Seine. Alexa donned a swanky black leather shift dress with red heels for her Paris nightlife debut.

Another Thursday night. Lights and music made a spectacle of the streets. Couples sipped wine at outdoor cafés. Men and women danced on patios that flanked the street. Alexa found a lively venue and ordered a glass of cabernet. She sat at a table by herself, watching the scene from afar.

Halfway through her glass of wine, the waitress unexpectedly brought another. The woman didn’t seem to speak English, and when Alexa tried to hand the glass back, the woman simply pointed to a handsome man sitting at the bar. Alexa’s glance fell on the young man with glossy dark hair and tanned skin. He waved at her as his provocative glance seemed to undress her slowly. He rose from his chair and headed in her direction. She blushed and fumbled with her napkin.

But his course changed, and he grabbed the hand of a red-headed girl a couple of tables away, and the two began dancing and laughing.

Alexa’s blush turned to crimson jealousy. She wasn’t used to vying for a man’s attention. Her sips of wine turned to careless gulps. She wanted drunkenness to creep in and wash away the envy. She directed her attention to people-watching elsewhere, but she kept gravitating back to that handsome man. He had a sense of charisma and energy about him that enticed her.

Another forty-five minutes passed before he approached her. He knelt down at Alexa’s side, grasped her hand, and pulled it close to his cheek.

“You’re American,” he stated with an alluring French accent.

“Yes. You speak English.” She had finished her second glass of wine, and her head spun.

“You’re exquisite,” the Frenchman said. “Come. Let’s dance.”

Alexa followed her handsome suitor to the dance floor, where he twirled her around. She kicked and dipped and shimmied on the floor. They danced for nearly an hour. He danced with such passion and seduction.
Oh, to flirt again is amazing!
Lust burned through her veins. As the night came to a close and the music faded, the Frenchman pulled her close for a long, wet kiss. He kissed with his lips, his tongue, and his teeth. His teeth caressed her lips, and the stimulation coursed through her body all the way to her toes. She wanted him. She wanted to feel his hands on her breasts. She wanted to feel their limbs wrapped up in a steamy, knotted embrace.

He led her out of the bar, and they walked the cobblestone streets, kissing and touching until they stumbled upon Alexa’s hotel, and she froze.

“This is you?” he asked, and placed his hands low on her hips.

“Yes,” she whispered.

The Frenchman placed his lips close to her right ear. “Do you want me to make love to you tonight,
mon amour
.” Then he kissed her ear and teased her by slowly nibbling on her lobe.

She wanted to give in. She wanted to say
yes
to the nameless French suitor, but she couldn’t. In spite of the desire in her bosom, she reserved making love for when she was
in love
. She wouldn’t let herself go around screwing men precariously. Her mind instantly went to Britt, the only man she had ever loved. The only man who had ever made love to her.

Alexa broke away from the man’s embrace, and he laughed out loud. “Not tonight,
mon amour
. Give me your phone. We’ll meet another night.” Alexa handed her cell phone to him and watched him type the name
Serge
across the screen.

“Serge, I’m Alexa.” She was embarrassed they hadn’t introduced themselves before.

A wide grin spread across his warm wet lips. “We’ll meet another night. We’ll go dancing. I’ll teach you to dance.”

Alexa’s dancing didn’t compare to Serge’s. He had moves she couldn’t match. But she hadn’t realized he was scrutinizing her abilities. She scolded herself, wholly embarrassed by so many of the night’s events.

“Another night, Serge. I’d like that. I like dancing with you.”

“Tomorrow night?”

He pulled her close for one last kiss. He almost made her give in to him.

“Tomorrow night.”
Thank goodness he didn’t pursue things further.
He let her go, winked, and walked away.

She crept up the stairs of her boutique hotel in a mild drunken daze. She slipped off her cocktail dress and wrapped her naked body in the bed sheets. Alexa couldn’t get the thought of Serge’s teeth nibbling on her lips out of her head. She yearned for a man’s body. Her hands moved up and down her body, slowly caressing the sensitive parts. She massaged herself in slow little circles until waves of pleasure rippled down to her toes. Almost in unison with Alexa’s rhythmic ecstasy came moans of pleasure from another couple in the adjacent room. Alexa couldn’t help but laugh out loud over the coincidence. She drifted off to five blissful hours of uninterrupted sleep.

She woke to a perfect Parisian morning. After a quick breakfast, she decided to spend the day at the Louvre. Alexa jumped in a cab outside her hotel, and they headed toward the museum. The skinny, pale, dark-haired cab driver appeared in his fifties and smoked cigars while he chauffeured his clients around Paris.
What a horrid stench
. Alexa put her window down as far as it would go, but she couldn’t get it to open all the way.

The man sped through the winding streets at a rate that wasn’t safe by anyone’s standards. Alexa searched the crevices of the bench seat for a seat belt. Her hands scavenged across the stained upholstery to no avail. The car raced past a teenage girl on a vintage red bicycle. The tires of the bicycle were only about a foot away from the tires of the car. Alexa scowled at the cigar smoker’s carelessness and screamed, “Hey!” out loud.

The cabbie answered with a nasal grunt and a wave of his hand. In that moment, another car pulled out ahead of the taxi, making the cab swerve hard to the left. The cab veered off the road and smashed through the short brick wall separating the road from the bank of the Seine.

The accident happened quickly, but Alexa’s hands were already clutching the car door for stabilization. The cab plunged into the water below. Alexa turned the handle hard and thrust her shoulder at the car door, but she couldn’t get it to budge. The car sank rapidly, and water flooded through the open window. She scrambled to maneuver her arms and torso through the window opening, forcing one arm at a time through the small opening. When the second arm passed through the window, the glass gave way. It didn’t break; the glass merely separated from the window frame of the door.