Seductive Shadows (3 page)

“I forgot, goddammit!” She pounded her fist on the mattress.

I opened my mouth, but the only thing that came out was a sigh. I searched inside, deep within my body, for the tingles Dallas had left. Seconds passed. The only things I felt were the dull ache between my eyes and an overwhelming urge to shout inappropriate things at her.

She was dying; I had to remember that.

“How would you like to be stuck in this bed, at the mercy of your daughter?” she asked, glaring at me. “You wouldn’t like it, would you, Charlie? You wouldn’t like to be forty-two years old, rottin’ the fuck away in this bed.”

For the first six months after my accident, I had to wear a cast from my ankle to hip. Almost a full year of physical therapy followed. The crutches rubbed my armpits raw, and the rash became so bad the doctor had to treat that, too. That was only the physical pain; the mental pain was even worse. I
was
at Lilly’s mercy then. But she’d worked nights at the bar—the shift she’d had since I was a kid—and would go out with different men during the day. She would return home in the early hours of the morning and cozy up to me in bed, relaying her night at work—telling me about the tips she’d made and the drunks who’d come in to visit her. Then she’d leave me for several minutes while she mashed together items from the fridge, returning with a plate of overcooked scramble and a full description of the man she had slept with. It was too much detail for a mother to be telling her daughter, but asking Lilly to stop sharing only made her talk more. So until she passed out, she would tell me about the man’s
love
, how many times he had said it during the night, the characteristic that had attracted her. And after she rested, she wouldn’t speak his name again…unless someone else she slept with happened to have the same name.

Lilly stopped working at the bar two years ago. She needed a caretaker to do even more than I had already been—someone to pick up her medication from the pharmacy, cook her meals, pay her bills and help her in the shower. I became that person. Medicaid sent in a nurse once a day to check her vitals and treat her bedsores. But I was the one who listened as she whined about getting pregnant at eighteen, and about the men who had wanted to marry her until they found out they’d have to support me as well. About the stretch marks I had put on her body, and the cellulite on her ass. I was the reason she had been a bartender, now with a disability check that barely covered our rent, and had no man who loved her. And she liked to remind me of it every single day.

We both knew she was dying now; the doctor confirmed it during our last meeting with him. She was told she had three months to live. That was a month ago.

It wasn’t her fault that her body had rejected treatment and, since I didn’t have other relatives, I would be without any family once she died. I accepted that she was going to be gone soon. What I couldn’t accept was that she had chosen alcohol over me long before she’d gotten sick, had abandoned her responsibilities and let our neighbors and her bar buddies raise me—that was, until I found Emma’s family, who were far better parents than Lilly ever could be.

Not only had she deprived me of a childhood, but she’d compromised my future as well by stealing my identity. Shortly after her diagnosis, she opened three credit cards under my name using my social security number and accumulated an enormous mound of debt. It would take half my life to pay it off. But I didn’t report her to the police; I couldn’t put a dying woman behind bars. So I consolidated the balances and paid the most I could each month.

“Answer me, dammit!” she shouted.

“No, I wouldn’t want to be rotting away,” I said.

Her hand shook in the air as she pointed at me. “Then the least you can do is have some fucking patience with me.”

I ground my teeth together, pulled the cigarette from her fingers and stabbed it into the ashtray. There was a lot I could blame her for: me not being able to take a full semester of classes, being the reason I still lived at home, being a shitty mother. But I wasn’t going to argue with her today.

I set the pills in her hand. “Take these.” Then I left her room and shut the door behind me.

***

The art building was next to the train station and not too far from my work, so I stopped by Professor Freeman’s office to drop off
Kerrianna
. He took her out of my hand, tore off the protective brown paper, and set her on the easel in the back room.

Standing in front of her with one arm crossed and the other palm cupping his chin, he said, “Your pieces always introduce the darker side of life. But this…this is the darkest.”

Being honest in my work was the only way I knew how to paint, but there were consequences and risks when using a darker hand. Had I taken it too far this time?

“I feel her pain,” he said. “It’s surging though the canvas.”

I smiled and nodded. A tingle sparked in my lower stomach.

“Your sugar skull was an interesting creation; fresh and inventive. But this shows significant progress, Charlie.”

In the previous class I had taken with him, our final project was to paint our own theoretical autopsy, and what we thought a pathologist would find inside of us. Most of the students incorporated their vices and showed how those would be their causes of death. Mine was a self-portrait; I wore black lace lingerie and let hints of my body poke through the sheer fabric. White powder covered my face, black lines ran down the length of my lips, and a large splotch dotted the tip of my nose. Swirls decorated my cheeks and chin, a web extended across the width of my forehead, and outlining my eyes were circles of teal. My face was a sugar skull. For me, every day was the
Day of the Dead
.

The difference between Professor Freeman and everyone else in the art department was he knew the many sources of my pain. He lived in the suburb of Newton, the same town as me, and he had heard about the accident. When I had turned in the sugar skull, we discussed the origin of some of my inspiration. What he had taught me during this past semester was how to channel the hurt from the crash, from the noises and visions, and turn them into objects.

This was what I’d done with
Kerrianna
.

“I didn’t include her face because—”

“I know why,” he said, “and I think your reasoning is brilliant. The
whole piece
is brilliant. Bravo, Charlie. Bravo.”

My brows raised; I couldn’t seem to keep them down as I faced him. And after I fumbled with the first few words, I gave up and smiled. Of course he knew my reasoning; I had opened up to him. It meant that he also knew the similarities between
Kerrianna
and me. I still wasn’t sure how that made me feel.

“I’m assisting a former student with her new gallery in the South End; it will be open and running within the next few weeks. This could be the perfect opportunity for you, I believe. An exhibit…late summer or early fall. What do you think?”

I couldn’t believe what he’d just said.

“Yes, of course…thank you, I would love that.”

He laughed. “It’s settled, then. Why don’t we reconnect in a month or so to discuss the details?”

“I’ll email you,” I said, and I smiled again. “And I’ll stop over for our regular meetings, like we discussed previously.”

Even though part-time students didn’t have advisors, Professor Freeman had offered to become mine. He had outlined my courses for the next few years; he knew I had two planned for summer term, which would complete my freshman year credits, and his mentoring and reviewing of each piece would continue straight through.

“Please do,” he said, pausing. “Charlie, I know yesterday was a hard day for you. I’m glad to see you smiling today.”

I thanked him silently and turned toward the door.

I’d been employed at the Back Bay Grand Hotel as a front-end supervisor for four years. It was only the second job I’d ever had. My first, in high school, was at a jewelry boutique; I worked there until the accident. The hotel was close to the train and to Northeastern—both just a short ride from my apartment—and since I worked the night shift, I could take early morning classes. Lilly’s pain was worse at night, so she took an extra pill that knocked her out until morning. She required less care in that state. I didn’t like leaving her alone for all those hours, but I had to work, and school was equally important. Besides offering a slightly higher wage, the night shift was also the quietest shift available. My life was loud: the shouting at home, city honking, bursts of creativity exploding in front of my eyes, the screams I heard inside my head. All of that was reduced to a drone when I had the time and space to relax my breath. That opportunity came to me late at night, while everyone slept.

But if Jody was staying at the hotel? My mind would be roaring then.

I logged into the computer; he had checked in this morning. It only took an hour into my shift before I felt him. He hadn’t actually touched me; he didn’t need to. I was so tuned in to his movements and sounds that I could sense him—smell him, even—as soon as he stepped off the elevator. The heels of his shoes clicked on the marble as he walked over to the desk. When he pressed his hands against the wooden counter, the outer rim of his tattoos poked through the cuffs of his button-down. A black winter hat covered his shaved head, even though it was warm outside, and scruff dusted his cheeks. He was beautiful.

“Evenin’, Charlie,” he said. His voice was deep, slightly raspy, and his accent caressed my ears.

With just his stare, my flesh felt as though it had been licked. And bitten. Was it a true need…or was it just me needing
him
?

“Did you have a good flight, Jody?”

He nodded, and coughed into his fist. The gesture revealed a little more of the dragon that swirled around his forearm. “I came in from Vancouver. Cold as hell up there.” He lived in London, but consulted for a high tech company so he traveled the world. At the end of every month, he stayed at the hotel for at least three nights. 

He always told me about the place he’d last visited. I’d never traveled outside of New England; in my mind, though, Jody brought me to all the countries that had been stamped on his passport.

“How long are you staying?” I asked.

The computer showed four nights, but I liked to hear him talk, to have his attention, his hands gripping the desk with tension. Aviator glasses hid his blue eyes, but I knew they were on my lips…and my breasts.

He shifted his jacket, moving it from his right shoulder to his left. “A few more nights. Then it’s back to London for a bit, before I head to Bangkok.”

My mind didn’t just travel the globe with him; it fucked him, too. My eyes moved from his lips to his fingers, ignoring the circular shield of gold that he wore. I studied each one, picturing how they would look when they shined from my wetness. His mouth opened, and his tongue touched the inside of his lip. I could feel it flick my nipples.

“Have you been there before?”

“Several times,” he said. “I prefer America over Asia. Everything tastes better on this side of the Atlantic.”

“The food, you mean?” I played naive extremely well.

He laughed, and leaned into the desk. The movement sent me his smell; a hint of vodka, musk, and spring air. “The food, too.”

“You must be hungry, then?”

He smirked. “Always.”

“There’s a new restaurant on the corner of Mass Ave and Newbury. They specialize in prime meats…I know that’s your favorite.” I paused for his reaction. “Should I make you a reservation?”

He took off his glasses and his pupils met mine. Then he exhaled a full breath through his nose, sending me more of his smell. “Please.”

I broke our stare to look up the phone number. While I was on hold, I teased the phone cord between my fingers, running my hand up and down its length. When I bit the corner of my lip, I heard his breath quicken.

“They can take you in ten minutes,” I said as I hung up. “It should take you about that long to walk there. Our bellboy Jason can get you a taxi, if you prefer.”

His vision circled my face before landing on my eyes again. “I’ll walk.” He stepped away from the desk, but turned around after a few paces. “Cheers, Charlie. Until later?”

“Always,” I said.

I watched him walk through the double doors. He stopped briefly to say something to Jason, then disappeared down the sidewalk. I had been mentally playing with Jody since I’d met him during my first month at the hotel. But I’d never taken it farther than words. Neither had he. The reason was on the screen of his iPhone: two smaller versions of him and a stunning female who wore his matching band. That didn’t stop me from fantasizing. In my head, Jody dragged me by the arm to his room, threw me against the back of the door, ripped a hole in my tights, wrapped my legs around his waist, and fucked me. I didn’t want him to be soft or gentle, and he wasn’t.

A tingling started.

My eyes darted around the lobby. When the hallway cleared and the elevator settled, I bent over the desk, resting my clit along the edge of the counter. I had six hours left in my shift, and all but three of our guests had already checked in. It was going to be a quiet night. But I wanted to be alone, and somewhere private.

The topcoat of my black nails shone under the lights. My wetness wouldn’t look as hot on my fingers as it would on Jody’s, but they would sparkle…soon. Two at first. Three when I got closer to the peak.

I couldn’t wait six hours. I wasn’t going to.

I picked up the phone, continuing to rotate my hips in a circle, and dialed security. “Walter, it’s Charlie. Can you watch the desk for a few minutes?”

“Is everything all right, Miss Charlie? You look a little anxious.”

I knew the camera was pointed directly at me; it turned me on even more. But Walter couldn’t see anything below the customer’s counter, which was higher than mine. “It will be. I just need to take care of something really quick.”