Naughty (30 page)

“Nearly complete,” he said, munching on an auburn-colored chip. “There were two pieces held by a private collector. He sold the museum the first piece, but was reluctant to let go of the last piece, but after negotiating for months I finally convinced him to sell.” Taking a final bite out of his burger, Rio continued. “Once we finish with lunch, I’ll need for you to complete the paperwork, so we can have the artwork transported from his apartment to the museum once he gets back in the country.”

“No problem.”

They devoured their meals like pigs pulling up to the trough, and headed back up to the office. Naomi could hear the phones ringing off the hook as they walked down the hallway. Once inside, she proceeded to check the voice mail, while Rio retreated into his office.

“Hey, babe, just called to say that I love you.” That was Jacob sounding like a sappy greeting card.
He’s probably feeling guilty from whatever he’s done,
she thought.

“Hello, my name is Eleanor Sharpio, and I’m calling to inquire about docent positions at the museum. I can be reached at 212-555-6330. Thank you.”

Naomi couldn’t count the number of calls she received from lonely trophy wives tired of spending their days in and out of the designer boutiques along Madison Avenue, longing for a more meaningful pastime. She wrote the woman’s name and number on a pad, erased the message, and went on to the next.

“Naomi, it’s Kennedy. Call me as soon as you get this message.” Click.

Before Naomi could call her back, Rio came out of his office with a manila folder tucked under his arm.

“Here’s the file on the Lawrence acquisition. When you get a chance, can you go over the paperwork and make sure I’ve
crossed all the I’s and dotted all the T’s?” He laughed. “ ’Cause you know what a scatterbrain I can be sometimes.”

Laughing along with him, she took the folder out of his hand and said, “Sure.” He was absolutely right; most weeks Rio was a brilliant curator, orchestrating exhibits with his eyes closed. But then there were weeks when he could barely orchestrate his way out of his office. Naomi attributed those days to the breakup with his beau of the week. Rio changed boyfriends like some people changed dry cleaners—often.

She put the folder on her desk unopened and returned Kennedy’s call.

“Hello?” Kennedy answered, frantically picking up on the first ring.

“Hey, Ken, what’s up? Did you hear from Nigel?”

“No, that’s why I’ve decided to go over to FACEZ and have a little chat with Mira,” she blurted into the receiver.

“Why are going to do that? I thought we discussed the implications of falsely accusing Nigel.”

“I’m not going to accuse him of anything. I’m just going to feel her out and see if she knows anything.”

“Anything, like what?”

“Like his whereabouts. Not knowing where Nigel is, is driving me crazy. Maybe Mira found out about the check, and he skipped town with the money before being thrown in jail.”

“Don’t be silly, Kennedy. I never met the man, but I’m sure he isn’t a criminal. You do realize that what you’re accusing him of—espionage—is criminal?” Naomi asked, trying to bring her friend back to reality.

Kennedy hesitated a moment, letting Naomi’s words sink in.

Naomi took Kennedy’s silence to continue to try to talk some sense into her friend. “Look, you’re really being irrational. You don’t even know Mira that well, so why do you have a vested interest in her company?” Naomi said, asking the million-dollar question.

“It’s not that I care what goes on over at FACEZ, it’s just that if Nigel is selling company secrets, I need to know. Because if that is the case, then he’s not someone I want to be involved with. If he can lie and cheat to his boss, then there’s no telling what kind of lies he’ll try to feed me.”

“Kennedy, do you honestly think that Nigel would do something like that? I mean, think about it. You’ve been dating him for a few months, and if he was involved in a slimy deal like spying and selling what he knows, then I think your instincts would have detected a glitch in his personality. Don’t you?”

Kennedy thought for a second, and said, “Maybe you’re right.”

“Okay, then it’s settled. You’re going to steer clear of FACEZ. Right?” Naomi asked, still trying to convince Kennedy not to make a fool of herself.

“I hear what you’re saying, but I have to find out for myself. I’ll call you back once I talk to Mira,” she said, and hung up before Naomi could plead more of Nigel’s case.

“Oh, well,” Naomi sighed, and prayed that Kennedy’s visit wouldn’t backfire in her face.

Naomi hung up the phone and went back to work. The rest of the afternoon was a blur as she cataloged slides for a modular installation scheduled for the mini gallery adjacent to the main gallery. “Oops, I forgot to schedule a pickup for the Lawrence piece,” Naomi said, glancing at the file that had gotten buried underneath the slides. She opened the folder, thumbed through the invoices and attached notes; everything seemed to be in order. Just as she was about to close the folder and call down to shipping and receiving, a copy of a brief handwritten note caught her eye. She read it, and gasped.

“Oh, shit!” Naomi said, and quickly dialed Kennedy’s number as she reread the note. But there was no answer. “I gotta get to Kennedy before she confronts Mira!”

MIRA AND
Tyler had been inseparable since the night of the book club meeting. They had fucked every day since the meeting. True to form, Mira had insisted that Tyler abandon work and spend all her time in bed. Tyler readily agreed, but said that she had to complete one last assignment, and then she would be free. Tyler went back to the house to finish the sketches, and then pack so that she could head back over to Mira’s.

Though it was a workday, Mira didn’t feel much like working. She had lust on her mind, and wanted to munch and be munched. She rarely took an entire day off, but she felt entitled. After all, she was the boss. Mira called her assistant and instructed her to cancel all meetings, but to forward any important calls to her home phone.

While Mira waited for Tyler to return, she showered and shaved her fuzzy triangle. She normally got Brazilian waxes in the comfort of her home, but her regular technician was on vacation, and she didn’t want a stranger in the crack of her ass—unless they were down there eating her out.

Instead of wearing clothes, she wore a layer of lavender-scented body butter. She perched herself on the bed and called Tyler. “Hey there, what’s taking you so long? I’m horny, and can hardly wait for you to get back.”

“I can’t wait to get back either. I’m almost finished with my work, and should be there in a few hours.”

“Well, draw faster. I’m lying here in the buff, waiting for you to eat my muff.”

Tyler chuckled at her rhyme. “I didn’t know you were a poet.”

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me,” Mira said slyly. “And as soon as you get over here, I’m going to show you a few.”

“Okay, okay. Now you’ve got me all hot and bothered. Let me get off the phone. The faster I get finished, the faster I can be at your front door.” And with that, Tyler hung up.

Mira went into the kitchen and popped a bottle of Dom. She wanted to jump-start the party, so that by the time Tyler arrived she’d have a nice buzz.

Mira went back into her bedroom with the champagne. She picked up the remote to the plasma television mounted to the wall, and pressed the on button. She sat on the bed and switched channels. Mira was trying to occupy her time until Tyler arrived but there was nothing interesting on. She was accustomed to hectic workdays filled with meetings and snuffing out fires. Sitting around watching the boob tube was foreign territory to Mira.

She poured another glass of champagne and glanced at the clock on her nightstand. Only fifteen minutes had passed.
If I sit here another second, I’m going to die of boredom,
she thought. With the liquor fueling her desire, and time on her hands, Mira decided to put the television to good use and watch a porn flick. She walked over to the entertainment center, pushed the corner of one of the doors, and it popped open. She took a DVD out of the compartment, slid it into the player, and got back into bed.

The movie was one of her favorites. She poured another glass
of bubbly, spread her legs, and got ready to perform along with the actors.

The opening shot was of two pairs of bare feet standing on white shag carpeting. The feet were facing each other, and the smaller pair, with orange-painted toenails, was on tippy-toe. The camera slowly panned up the legs, to the thighs, to the two erect dicks. One cock belonged to a hairy man, and the other one belonged to a double D-cup “tranny.” The transsexual had a serious rack, and an equally big dick. Obviously she was still waiting to get “downsized.” The pair was engaged in a heated kiss, with their tongues battling for power. The tranny lost the fight, and was forced down on her knees by her lover. She then began to lick his balls, and suck the head on his cock. He grabbed her hair, forcing his jimmy farther down her throat, until it disappeared, and all you could see was his scrotum slapping against her chin as she feasted on his sausage.

“Suck that dick, girl,” Mira said as she slipped her fingers in and out of her hot box. Though she was into eating pussy, she still loved dick—especially a big one—and enjoyed riding the sole pole from time to time. Unlike Tyler, Mira was a true-blue bisexual. Now that she was seeing Tyler, she promised herself she wouldn’t double-dip. But that didn’t include watching a little dick action, so she kept her eyes glued to the screen.

While the b.j. was taking place, in walked a set of identical twins, both with bad weaves, but with killer bodies. The women stood on each side of the man, and began kissing his neck, cheeks, and mouth. He responded in turn by backing up and lying on the bed, all the while pulling the tranny by the hair so that her grip on his dick didn’t slip. The moment he lay on his back, one of the twins squatted on his face, and he started eating her out.

Watching the quarto-trios, Mira salivated as his tongue flicked in and out of the woman’s twat. She wanted a little action herself, so she opened the nightstand drawer and took out her trusty vibrator. But before she could pleasure herself, the phone rang.
Mira started to let the machine take the call, but she thought it might be Tyler, so she pressed pause on the remote and picked up.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Rhone, this is Henry Bishop calling from the lab.”

“Hi, Henry, what can I do for you?” Mira hoped that he had a quick question, so that she could get back to her movie.

“Your assistant told me that you were taking a personal day, and I’m sorry to bother you, but I need for you to come down to the lab.”

“Why? Where’s Nigel? Can’t he handle whatever’s going on?”

“I can’t get in touch with him, and I need for you to sign off on the new formula. I know there are time restraints on getting the product to market, and the sooner this is approved, the sooner we can go to the next phase,” he said, speaking in a rushed tone.

“Sure, Henry. I’ll be right there.”

Mira disconnected the call and then phoned Tyler. “Hey, I need to rush down to the office. I’ll leave the key with the doorman, so you won’t have to wait in the lobby in case I’m not back when you get here.”

“Okay, no problem. See you later.”

The moment Mira hung up, she put the vibrator back in the drawer, took the DVD out of the player, and made the transformation from freak momma to CEO. Mira dressed in a black tailored Armani pants suit with a white silk blouse, brushed her hair into a bun, grabbed her briefcase, and headed out the door. On her way to the office, all she could think was,
Where the hell is Nigel?

THE CARS
along Lexington Avenue were lined bumper to bumper, parking lot–style, in a complete standstill. Waiting impatiently in the traffic, Kennedy nervously fidgeted from side to side in the backseat of the taxi. She craned her neck out of the passenger window to see what the holdup was, but all she saw was a sea of yellow cabs, with a smattering of town cars.

Kennedy dug in her handbag for her cell phone to try Nigel one more time before storming Mira’s office. His cell rang once, before going directly into voice mail. She tried his home number but again no answer.
Where the hell is he?
Out of frustration, she pressed the power button, turned the phone off and threw it back in her purse.

Just as the traffic was working on her one good nerve, it began to move at a snail’s pace. She could have run faster than the slow-moving vehicles and was tempted to jump out of the taxi and sprint down the street, but she stayed put.
Patience is a virtue,
she thought as the traffic revved up a few minutes later.

Once the cab pulled up in front of FACEZ’s sleek granite
building, it occurred to Kennedy that she hadn’t formulated a script in her mind. She didn’t want to come right out and accuse Nigel of treason, nor did she want to play cat and mouse. Mira seemed much too smart for that game. Kennedy paid the driver, got out, and played Soul Train Scramble Broad with the jumbled words in her mind, tossing them around until the puzzle was solved. With the dialogue solidified, she exhaled a breath of confidence and went through the revolving door.

Kennedy’s heels clicked loudly as she crossed the marble lobby toward the directory panel to her left. She scanned the alphabetical list and found Mira’s name, rank, and suite number. Armed with the exact location, Kennedy took the elevator to the twenty-first floor.

“Can you please direct me to Ms. Rhone’s office?” she asked the receptionist.

“Your name, please.”

“Kennedy Bryant.”

The receptionist called Mira’s secretary and then said, “It’s the last office at the end of the hall,” pointing the way.

Kennedy’s armpits were moist with perspiration from the nervous energy coursing through her body as she neared Mira’s office. “I’m here to see Ms. Rhone,” she announced to the secretary.