Hex on the Ex (25 page)

When we went inside, Erzulie hopped on the kitchen counter, pacing between the empty beer bottles with her tail straight up, and meowing until I went to her.

“Where have you been?” I said. She arched her back, letting me scratch the top of her head. I scooped her up under the belly, hugging her close until she tired of the love and squirmed for freedom.

While Nick tossed the empty bottles and turned off the lights, I went into the bathroom and ran hot water in the tub. While the tub filled, I unpacked my weekender and put my clothes in the dresser drawer Nick left empty for me, keeping out the purple chiffon baby-doll gown I packed as a surprise. Since he was patient enough to wait for me while I dined with my ex-husband, I figured Nick deserved a little transparent eye candy as a reward. I hung the baby-doll on the back of the bathroom door, put two small drops from my vial of rose oil under the running water, and took off my clothes.

I eased into the tub, sliding down to immerse my head in the hot, scented water.
Hello bath, I missed you so.
The water dissolved days of yucky gym showers, worries, and tight muscles. I came up for air, lathered shampoo through my hair, and went under again. Came back up to lather my body and wash my face, and then I soaked in water to my chin until thoughts of Nick, waiting for me in the bedroom, became too inviting to ignore. I climbed out, toweled off my hair and body, and slipped into the cool purple chiffon.

Soft flutes hummed a slow and sexy African chant
throughout the house. In the dark bedroom, a lone pillar candle flickered beside the fertility goddess on the nightstand. Nick waited in bed, propped on an elbow against a stack of pillows with a sheet stopped at his bare waist. I walked barefoot across his Turkish rug and stood in front of him in the candlelight. His eyes drifted from my face to my chest to the edge of the baby-doll brushing the top of my thighs. He held out his hand.

I put my knee on the bed and let him pull me in. I fell into his arms and into a deep, lingering kiss. The baby-doll stayed on for a good thirty seconds, a new record for us.

E
rzulie nudged her nose to my cheek in the dark, waking me from a contented dream at Nick’s side. I peered over her head to the clock on the nightstand. Five-thirty. I scratched her behind the ears. “Go back to sleep. It’s Saturday.”

She jumped over my body and pawed Nick’s shoulder. He stirred, draping an arm and bare leg over me.

“What time is it?” he mumbled, half asleep.

“Too early.” I burrowed my head into my soft, warm pillow.

Erzulie, resolute about her wake-up-I-want-breakfast mission, climbed onto Nick’s hip and meowed. He leaned into me. I heard her jump off the bed, then in an instant she hopped to my side again. She sat, staring at me. Guilt settled in. My girl was hungry.

If I got up really fast and fed her, I might be able to come
back to bed and catch the end of my dream. I sat at the edge of the bed and slipped into the only clothing nearby—the purple chiffon baby-doll. Leaving Nick to sleep, I tiptoed out of the bedroom with Erzulie trotting beside me to the kitchen. The dream faded by the time I pulled a can of seafood splendor out of the cabinet and pulled off the lid.

I set her dish on the floor and freshened her water. Extending my arms above my head, I stretched a blissful ache out of my muscles. I didn’t get much sleep, but we sure had a good time last night. Memorable.

An engine outside broke the silence. I heard a
plop
then another
plop
. The uncurtained living room window provided me with a full view of the pre-dawn street and the headlights of the car outside. The window also gave the driver delivering the morning paper a full view of me in sheer, thigh-skimming chiffon under the bright kitchen light. I ducked down fast, crouched next to Erzulie, and waited until the engine sounds disappeared in the distance. My impromptu neighborhood peep show jolted an adrenaline rush of embarrassment. No shot of getting another hour of sleep now. Might as well make some coffee and start the day. Better get dressed first.

Nick slept with his arms and legs sprawled across the king-sized mattress. His head rested on a scrunched-up pillow. His mouth relaxed open, inhaling soft, rumbling breaths. I watched him for a minute, battling the urge to pull off the sheet and slide between his arms. He looked too content to wake, even for a morning kiss.

Easing the dresser drawer open, I pulled out my gym shorts and a T-shirt, then tiptoed down the hall to the bathroom to brush my teeth and change. I left the baby-doll—a
new candidate for the Lingerie Hall of Fame—on the bathroom door hook for an encore performance.

Back in the kitchen, I filled the well of the coffeemaker with water, scooped fresh grounds into the filter, and hit the “On” button. While I waited for the coffee to brew, I flicked on the small TV tucked in the corner next to the refrigerator.

“We’re taking you on scene to John Joseph Hey-wood…”

“Do I smell coffee?” Nick wandered in, barefoot and in sweats. He came up behind me, nuzzling my neck with his scratchy chin while his soft hair tickled my cheek.

“…two alarm townhouse fire last night at the thirty-nine hundred block of Carpenter Avenue near the Carpenter School in Studio City.”

I jolted to attention. The reporter onscreen stood across the street from a charred building I knew very well. “Nick—that’s my old townhouse.”

We stood together, watching, as the reporter continued, “Firefighters were called out to the townhouse just before one
A.M.
last night and found flames engulfing the south end of the building. Residents escaped safely after firemen went unit to unit, pounding on doors. Fed by high overnight winds from an approaching weather system, the fire swept through the dry trees and brush bordering the property, endangering the school and homes in the canyon. Though firefighters managed to contain the blaze, two of the townhouse units were heavily damaged.”

“Thank God no one was injured.” I said. “I wonder how a fire like that started in the middle of the night?”

“With this heat drying up all the vegetation, a small spark
in high winds can set off an inferno. They’re lucky they caught the blaze before the fire spread into the canyon.” He shut off the TV and took two mugs out of the cabinet, setting them on the counter while I brought out the milk and spoons. “Why are you up so early?” he said.

“My fault. My early trips to the gym this week reset Erzulie’s feeding schedule. I tried to be quiet.”

“As opposed to last night?” he said with a playful grin.

“You should take that as a compliment.”

“I do. What’s the plan for this morning?”

“Stan will be at my house at nine. I think I’ll head over to Game On and see if Gretchen shows up. I want to ask her about Margaret Smith.”

If I was going to even pretend to exercise, I needed nourishment first. I opened the cabinet and scanned the boxes on the second shelf.
What was the deal with guys and cold cereal?
Frosted Flakes, Cinnamon Toast Crunch—Froot Loops? Ah, Raisin Bran. Fiber and fruit worked for me. I reached for the purple box and filled two bowls halfway.

“I’ll be back here by eight to shower and get dressed,” I said, adding milk to my bowl. “What about you?”

“While you’re working out, I’ll go for a run and then clean up. I’ll line up the Bull Valley calls. I’d like to locate Margaret today if I can.”

Love him.

I
cruised along Ventura Boulevard with the sunrise reflecting in my rearview mirror. The heavy winds during the night left a clear, crisp sky above and a shamble of leaves and broken branches on the ground. The only signs of life
were the lights inside coffee shops prepping to open, and pigeons pecking through debris for breakfast. No delivery trucks blocking lanes, no people waiting at bus stops for rides to work. Even the early joggers and dog walkers slept in.

Turning into the Coldwater Curve lot at six-thirty, I spotted just two cars parked nose in at the Game On entrance. Lights gleamed inside and the TV in the deserted cardio room flickered news headlines through the window. I opened the door and heard a loud grunt echo from the corner of the weight room.

Earl stood beside a woman on the thigh machine. “You’re up at the crack of dawn,” he said to me across the empty gym.

“Nervous energy,” I said, looking around. “Is anyone else here?”

“Nah. Mitzi and I open the gym every Saturday. Kyle should come rolling in pretty soon though. Need something?”

Mitzi and Earl. Two cars.

“I, uh, realized I forgot to switch my membership to my new address.”

“You can do that easy. There are blank forms on the desk.”

“Perfect, thanks.” I went to the desk and picked up a form off the stack of blanks. As soon as Earl and his client turned their backs, I gathered up the pens scattered on the desktop and quietly dropped them into the wastebasket. “Earl? There aren’t any pens up here.”

“There’s not?” He swung around, frowning. “Kyle has a box in his office.”

“Don’t leave your client,” I said as he started coming toward me. “I can get them. Where’s the key?”

He pointed at the desk. “In the top drawer.”

I waved thanks, found the keys, and headed to the office along the wall and out of Earl’s line of vision. With my pulse racing, I unlocked the door and sat behind Kyle’s desk, leaving the door open to see and hear movement outside. The bottom drawer was locked. I slid open the top drawer and found the small round key I saw Kyle drop inside the day I interrupted his meeting.

Fingers trembling as I slid in the key, I opened the deep, file-sized bottom drawer. Brown grocery bags lined the bottom. I opened one and saw six brown pill bottles with a green label marked
Anadrol
. The white boxes in the second bag were labeled
Sustanon
. In the next bag, blue-and-white boxes labeled
Testostorona
.

“Anadrol” as in anabolic, and “Testostorona” as in testosterone. Steroids.

A rumbling outside drew my attention past the open door to the window facing the parking lot. The tail end of a car rolled past the gym. I returned the bags and locked the drawer in a rush, then tossed the key back where I found it.

Don’t forget the pens. Where were the pens?
I scanned the desktop in panic. No pens. No pens in the top drawer. Searching the floor behind me, I spotted a box of BIC pens on a stack of supplies in the corner. I grabbed two pens and dashed out.

As I secured the door behind me, Kyle pulled into the lot and parked his Jeep directly in front of the window. I raced down the aisle past the weight machines toward the desk, and dropped the office keys in the drawer.

Gretchen walked through the door and stopped, gaping at me. “What are you—?”

“I know. I woke up early and couldn’t fall back asleep.” I held up the Change of Address form, breathless. “Then I realized I hadn’t changed my address here since I moved. No time like now.”

Kyle stormed in behind her, dropped his satchel, and came at me. “What the hell were you doing in my office?” A six-foot-plus muscular mass of strength flushed with anger, he grabbed my arm with enough power to throw me across the room.

“Let me go.” I pulled away, resisting him. “You’re hurting me. I was in there less than a minute, looking for a pen.”

He relaxed his grip but not his attitude. “Who let you in?” His demand echoed over the equipment.

“It was no big deal,” I said, my heart pounding in my ears. “I needed a pen.”

Earl jammed out of the free weight room, calling to Kyle as he crossed the room. “Hey man, take it easy.”

“Did you let her in the office?” Kyle said, rounding on Earl.

“Yeah. So? It was Liz. I was busy.”

Kyle thrust his finger at Earl’s face. “What? Are you deaf?” He emphasized each phrase with a poke. “First Laycee, now Liz? Are you stupid?”

“You don’t trust your partner’s wife?” Earl kept his hands at his side, clenching and unclenching his fists. “I don’t have to take this crap.”

“This is my fault,” I said, stepping between them. “My old townhouse burned last night and the news upset me. I came in here obsessed with changing the address you have on file. I wasn’t thinking about anything except getting a pen to fill out the form. I’m really sorry.” Kyle’s hostile
attitude softened to my lie. I turned to Earl. “Jarret is my ex-husband. I’m just a regular member here. Kyle has every right to question why I was in there.”

“Whatever.” Earl walked away, shaking his head and muttering.

Gretchen hovered in front of the cubbyholes, watching. When Kyle didn’t bark back at me, she took a wide girth around us toward the cardio room.

“Members aren’t allowed in the office. Understood?” Kyle said to me.

“Yes. It won’t happen again.” I forced a smile and picked up the pen.

He pocketed the keys from the drawer and left me at the desk, scribbling my name and address on the sheet even though I had a feeling I wouldn’t be back. Once the DEA busted Kyle’s side business, Game On could be history.

I finished and headed for the cardio room where Gretchen pedaled on a stationary bicycle. Taking the bike next to her, I slid my feet into the stirrups and began pedaling.