Sex (8 page)

“I just can't stand the thought of them fighting,” he said, staring down at the table. “She's already lost Mary Moss and Sam Moon. I think Ed's the last friend she's got. And God knows she doesn't have her
father.
I know that's what she thinks.”

Tom tossed his notebook down on the splintered wood table and began to rub his tired eyes with his palms. He generally did everything in his power to keep all forms of negativity at bay, as it was enormously counterproductive. But the last few days had chiseled away at his defenses to the point where he'd allowed himself to appear this unprofessional in front of Natasha. It was shameful.

He knew his brother had given Gaia some kind of potentially harmful drug, and there had been nothing he could do about it. He knew Gaia was falling further and further into a solitary world, and he had no control over it. Not only were his failures as a father showing more clearly each day, but Tom was seriously beginning to wonder just what would be left of the warm, ebullient daughter he'd known when all of this was over.
If
it was ever over.

Meanwhile, Tom had been so deeply ensconced in
rubbing his eyes with uncharacteristic self-pity that he hadn't noticed that Natasha had pulled her chair much closer to his to comfort him. He didn't even realize she was there until he felt her hand on his right shoulder.

“I thought the
Russians
were worriers,” she joked, massaging his shoulder. “You must trust that things will work out. Gaia will be okay. We will
all
be okay. You must trust me, Tom.”

Once again Tom was struck with the immediate, impulse to pull his shoulder from Natasha's kind touch. And once again tonight, he didn't move a muscle. Tonight he was simply too weak to resist or pretend that it didn't soothe him.

“I just can't have her living a solitary life,” he said, bombarded with images of Gaia all grown up, living in the thousands of hotel rooms and classified locations where Tom had spent the majority of his life after Katia had died. “I can't have it.”

Natasha cupped his chin in her hand and turned his face to hers, examining his eyes.
“Hmmm,”
she huffed.

“What?” Tom asked, doing his best not to be mesmerized once again by her kind eyes.

“This life you fear for Gaia,” she said. “I think maybe it is
your
life you are speaking of, uh? This solitary life…”

She was also quite perceptive. “Is it that obvious?” he asked.

“But Tom, is it not also obvious that…” Natasha
stopped herself and pulled her hand from his face. “I'm… I'm sorry,” she breathed as she began to pull her chair back.

But something took hold of Tom's will. Maybe it was his weakened state or just a bout of temporary insanity—or temporary sanity, he wasn't sure which. Or perhaps it was just a sudden burst of plain old-fashioned yearning. Whatever it was, something made Tom reach out his arm and grab her chair before she could pull away.

“Wait,” he said. “What were you going to say?”

“No, it's all right,” she gasped. “I didn't mean to—”

“Please,” he interrupted. “I want to know what you were going to say. Really.”

For one fraction of a moment Natasha looked as openly shy as a five-year-old child. Her eyes widened, and her confident professional demeanor simply fell away.

This beautiful, professional woman, with one of the most dangerous and deceptive jobs on earth, had somehow managed to preserve some aspect of her innocence. And when it revealed itself, it was a beautiful sight. Beautiful in every sense of the word. In those moments she was just… remarkable. Truly remarkable.

“All right,” she agreed, leaning back toward him as she slid her silky hair behind her ears. “I was going to say that once again, I think you worry too much.
About your daughter and about yourself. This solitary life of yours…”

“Yes?”

“This is a choice, Tom. This does not have to be your life. Take tonight, for instance…” She leaned closer to him. “Is it not obvious to you yet… that you don't have to be so alone?”

Tom stared at her bold, unmoving eyes. She was proving superior to him in every aspect. Both more innocent
and
more brave. He was so amazed by her bravery, he didn't even know what to say.

“Oh, dear,” Natasha moaned, placing her hands on her cheeks. “Now I think perhaps I have been a little too obvious. I'm sorry, Tom. That was inappropriate of—”

“No,” he interrupted her. “No,
don't
be sorry. Don't.”

In matters of national security, Tom had more courage than most, but in matters of the heart, he'd only recently begun to understand what a coward he could be. And for just a long enough moment, he finally stopped his mind from spinning with guilt and he let her bravery inspire him.

“You're right,” he said. “You're right. I don't want to be alone.” He reached out his hand and ran his knuckles gently down the curves of her face. “No one deserves to be this alone.”

She fixed her eyes on his as he ran his hand through her hair, which was every bit as much like silk as it had looked. And finally he kissed her. For better or worse,
he tasted her lips, and it was as human as he'd felt in a very long time.

BARE-BONES EMOTIONAL SURVIVAL was now the name of the game. And that meant very little thinking, no feeling, and absolutely no crying under any circumstances. That meant that no thoughts about Ed or their crapped-on Shiny Happy New York Couple future were permitted into Gaia's brain. No thoughts about his lips, or his touch, or the perfect night she was straining so painfully to forget.

Someone to Stomp

In her new, officially lonely life, there was only one remaining solace, and that was the kicking of degenerate ass.

Of course Washington Square Park was now completely out of the question. All aspects of her previous life would now be dropped into a large tin can, doused with gasoline, and set ablaze. Besides, she'd had enough of Washington Square Park. From now on it was out with the old and miserable and in with the new and even more miserable. Namely, the Upper East Side. Gaia's official and unbearable new home.

“Boring” could not begin to describe the Upper East Side. “Dead” would be a more apt description. With its massive gray-and-white tombstones of buildings and its empty streets at night, the entire neighborhood was like some rich old people's ghost town. Right now West Fourth Street was probably crawling with people. Drag queens and skate freaks. NYU film heads and Long Island imports looking to get drunk at the Slaughtered Lamb. People laughing, screaming, yelling. Drunk off their asses, but undoubtedly alive. Meanwhile, Gaia had consigned herself to the stark, windy silence of East Seventy-second Street, with nothing to hear but the echoes of Ed's voice in her head and her usual self-hating mantras:
You're a freak of nature. You're a liar and a phony and a real bitch on wheels. You didn't deserve Sam
or
Ed, which is why this will be your life from here on out.

In fact, there was only one saving grace of her new life on East Seventy-second Street. And that was the vast uncharted territory of Central Park, which was where she'd ended up tonight, drifting through dark paved walkways and wide-open fields.

She had officially decided that Central Park would be taking Washington Square Park's place as her new stomping grounds. And she was desperately looking for someone to stomp.

Central Park was the ultimate bipolar park for the ultimate manic-depressive city. In the light of day, it
was a sunny, windswept paradise of sorts, filled with hearty bicycle riders and disco rollerbladers. Children laughed and frolicked on the old carousel. Rock bands jammed in the wide-open amphitheaters. Shakespeare was performed outdoors next to a grand old castle. And lovers took rowboats out on the scenic pond while hippies baked under the sun in the grassy expanse of Sheep Meadow.

That was in the light of day.

By night, Central Park was something entirely different. It turned into a den of degenerates, gangs, and general assholes. A place where drug deals were always being made and women were most likely being targeted by perverts in the bushes. A place that was too dark, poorly policed, and generally avoided by anyone in her right mind at night. It was exactly what Gaia had been looking for.

Only tonight she'd had no luck No screams in the night, no gang rapes to break up, no knife-wielding skinheads of any kind. Not even your basic run-of-the-mill eighteen-year-old mugger. It was hard to gauge distance in this massive expanse of landscaping and twenty-foot rock formations, but Gaia figured she'd probably traveled at least ten blocks in the near darkness, and she'd seen nothing but trees, two passedout homeless guys on a bench, and the occasional jogger. She'd heard nothing but wind, rustling bushes, and the din of crosstown traffic. Apparently her life
had become so empty, she didn't even deserve the pleasure of kicking a man where it hurt.

This, it seemed, would be her new life. Long, pointless walks in the park and then back to her beige-and-cream girlie bedroom with Natasha and Tatiana—her fretful fake mother and her supremely annoying fake sister. Her new family of complete strangers. Maybe it was time to just skip ahead to the old folks home now and live out her life in curlers and a lawn chair, staring at daisies and waiting for her next liquid meal. Because Central Park was all she had left. And apparently everything she'd heard about it being a crime-ridden hellhole at night was a bunch of crap. Either that or the mayor had just done such a bang-up job with additional cops that there was no one left for her to save. Central Park, it seemed, was just a park.

At least that's what she was thinking until she heard an enraged, muffled scream in the distance.

She instantly swung her body around to follow the sound. With each step she took, the woman's screams became louder until…

“Get your goddamn hands off me!” Suddenly they were only a few feet away. She was much closer than Gaia had thought at first. “Don't you freakin' touch me!” the woman howled.

Gaia had only one thought:

I love New York!

She took off toward the sound of the screams, heading toward the light pouring through the trees ahead.

“Will your shut your mouth?” a man shouted back as Gaia jumped a tangle of shrubs and leaped through a slim space between two trees. She landed in a crouched position and tried to get a better view of the scenario.

It wasn't just one guy. There were three of them. Three “dudes” with ridiculously macho hairstyles and thigh-length leather jackets. Two of them had the girl pushed up against a big rock while the tallest one had his hand on her neck and his body sprawled all over her. They looked like young pimp wanna-bes. Or some not-ready-for-Hell's Angels looking for something to do. Gaia couldn't get a good look at the girl yet, what with her assailant mauling her so thoroughly. But that was about to change.

Gaia was oh so ready to pounce. She was totally juiced up on adrenaline—the cure for all that ailed her. She checked herself for good mental preparation, and then she leaped out from the bushes, walking toward the triumvirate of Guidos.

“Are you okay?” she asked the girl, trying to sound as innocent as possible as they all turned their heads in unison.

The tallest dude peeled himself off the girl and whipped his head around, holding a thick hunting knife in his right hand.

Okay, one knife. Good to know.

“Keep walking,” he warned with a strong outerborough accent. Everything about him read Brooklyn Tough Guy, with the exception of the platinum blond streaks and tips atop his dark brown, lubed-up hair. He couldn't be much more than twenty. His friends looked older and much bigger.

Gaia's eyes turned to the girl, who was in dirty black jeans and a black hooded sweatshirt—had she raided Gaia's closet? She was pretty, in a goth sort of way, probably no older than nineteen. Even her hair had been dyed black, with the very notable exception of a huge streak of extremely fake-looking red flowing down in the front. Gaia couldn't quite read the girl's expression. She was probably too scared to ask Gaia for help. She probably didn't see how Gaia
could
help. But that was about to change, too.

“I just wanted to make sure she was okay,” Gaia said.

“Oh, I'm
sorry,”
he replied sarcastically. He turned back to the girl. “Are you
okay?”
he asked, in a fake-mommy singsong.

The girl didn't reply. She only looked back into Gaia's eyes nervously.

“I guess she's fine,” the dude said, looking back at Gaia and turning his knife in his hand. “I'm not so sure how
you're
gonna be if you don't turn your ass around and get out of here.”

“No, I'm fine,” Gaia said firmly, locking eyes with this asshole.

“No, I don't think you're
hearing
me,” he hissed. “Get your nosy bitch ass out of here!”

“I'll just wait till you're done,” she replied calmly.

He threw back his head, nearly laughing with frustration. “Bitches!” he groaned. “What is it with the bitches tonight?”

He began marching toward Gaia furiously. His buddies followed close behind, giving her easy access to them. But when they pulled out their knives, all three picked up speed.

That's when there was a sudden unexpected hitch in Gaia's chest. And a horrible dry lump in her throat. And a stinging queasy creak in her stomach.

No. No, goddammit. There's no way this is happening again.

What a horrible way to be reminded of Ed. Just when she'd found a truly viable distraction, here was the same miserable sensation that had frozen her like a Popsicle in Ed's bed. The “fear” thing. The “paranoialike” thing, or whatever the hell it was, started gnawing at her chest again, pounding in her head, making her feel ill and weak. All Gaia knew was that it always picked the absolute worst times to present itself, like when she was about to be attacked.