Sugar (28 page)

He wanted to see her again. He’d even sort of apologized. They could pick up exactly where they’d left off. That should be enough for her only it wasn’t, not nearly. She blamed herself, not him. She’d been just as adamant about their no strings rule as he had. They’d started out with a level playing field: sex only, lots of it and all in the spirit of consensual adult fun. She hadn’t expected to develop . . .
feelings
for him.

Feelings, who was she kidding? She was in love with the son-of-a-bitch.

Just like the Nazareth song said, love hurt. It really, really did.

Only an A-class idiot fell in love with her fuck buddy. The longer she stayed in their arrangement, the more hurt she’d be when it ended. There was only one “solution” so far as she could see.

She’d break things off with him tonight
before
any clothes came off.

Sarah dropped off the groceries at Liz’s, and then stuck around to make a simple dinner of pasta tossed with olive oil and steamed veggies. Given Liz’s nausea, Grandma Campanelli’s spaghetti sauce was definitely ruled out. She’d been throwing up off and on all day. Even though she swore her stomach had settled, she only managed a few forkfuls.

Liz set her cutlery down on the plate’s edge. “I’m sorry, Sarah. It really is delicious. I just . . . can’t.”

Feeling her heart drop, Sarah was determined not to show how worried she was. “Do you want me to make you something else, a poached egg maybe?”

Liz answered with a weary head shake. “I just can’t stomach anything right now. I’m still so queasy. I don’t understand it. Usually the anti-nausea meds kick in by now.”

Concerned, Sarah admitted, “You don’t look so good.”

That Liz had dispensed with the habitual head scarf was a testimony to how bad she must be feeling. Pearls of perspiration gathered on her upper lip and hairless scalp. She leaned across the table and pressed the back of her hand to Liz’s clammy forehead. It felt warm.

Liz chuckled. “That’s because I have c-a-n-c-e-r.”

Knowing how Liz hated being fussed over, Sarah dropped her hand and moved back. “Thanks, but I got the memo. Still I think we should call the doctor and check in.”

Liz sighed. “You’ll only get the answering service telling you to dial 911 if it’s an emergency. This morning’s appointment really took it out of me, but Dr. Gleason told me to expect to feel worse before I felt better. He was right.”

“But—”

“Please, Sarah, just let it go.” It was the closest Liz had come to snapping at her—ever.

Against her better judgment, Sarah relented. “Okay, but then let me stay with you tonight.”

Canceling her “date” would mean delaying breaking things off with Cole but another day or two wouldn’t make any lasting difference. Beyond bed, their “relationship” wasn’t going anywhere.

Liz’s missing eyebrows lifted. “And miss out on another date with the Incredible Hunk, nice try but I think not.”

“For the record, the other night he canceled on me.”

Liz shrugged. “So don’t let him get away with it. Tell him how you feel, what you want, and he can either choose to get on board or not.”

“We have an agreement, remember? Rule Numero Uno: no strings, just sex.”

“Agreements get renegotiated all the time and as they say, rules are made to be broken.”

“Not this one.”

Liz cocked her head. “You know what I think? I think someone’s scared and I’m not talking about Cole.”

“I am not . . . scared.”

Liz looked at her askance. “You used to be a good actress, I’m just sayin’.”

“Okay, so I don’t want to end up as yet another woman he’s ditched for trying to get too close, so sue me.”

“For all you know, he feels the same way about you.”

“Yeah, right, and that’s why he asked another woman to his tight-assed charity event?”

“Didn’t you tell him you were lying low, flying under Ye Olde Radar Screen yada yada?”

Liz had her there. “Yeah, but—”

“No buts. So far you haven’t even let him take you out to a restaurant and suddenly you expect him to ask you to be his date for a black tie function where scores of paparazzi are bound to be. Seriously, Sarah, you can’t have it both ways. Behind-the-scenes fuck buddies or public couple,
decide
.”

“He doesn’t want a girlfriend.”

“He said that what . . . eight weeks ago when he was drunk. Are you going to hold him to that single statement for what, the rest of your lives?”

“No, of course not but—”

“No buts.” She grabbed Sarah’s hand, squeezing with surprising strength under the circumstances. “Look at me, Sarah. I mean
really
look at me. I am the absolute fucking poster child for ‘Life is short.’ Everything I thought I had handled, everything I thought I knew, is either bullshit or a big question mark. I used to hate how easily I put on weight, how top heavy I was and now I’m under a hundred pounds and flat as a board, praying I survive the poisoning to get cured. I left LA to prove to myself I was done with porn, to raise my kid away from it, and yet all my closest friends here in New York are former adult entertainers, including you. Once I got here, I worked myself to the bone building up my graphic design business, worrying how I was going to afford to send Jonathan to college, and now I’m not even sure I’ll live to see him graduate elementary school. Life’s too short not to take a chance on being happy. Serious shots at happiness, and great guys like Cole, don’t come around all that often. When they do, it’s up to us to act, to make like the ancient Romans and
corpe diem
—seize the day. So seize the fucking day, Sarah, seize it!” She collapsed back against the chair, her fingers slipping free of Sarah’s.

Taken aback by her friend’s fierceness, Sarah said, “You’re right. I have been too cautious, too afraid of getting hurt again. But it takes two to tango. I can’t force Cole to be in a relationship with me.” She couldn’t—not anymore than she could make him love her back.

Liz’s expression softened. “I’ve seen you two together, the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not watching, the same way you look at him when you think no one will see. The way you guys were at the wedding . . . Face it, you both blew past the fuck buddy stage weeks ago.”

“You’re right, I did, but I’m not so sure he did.”

“You won’t know that for sure unless you put yourself out there and ask him. Promise me you’ll at least think about it.”

“Okay, I promise,” Sarah said, thinking of the coming night, not a “movie night” but a date, or so Cole had seemed to frame it.

Walking back to her building, gaze scanning the street for probable reporters, she thought over what Liz had said. The same speech coming from anyone else would be easy to dismiss, but Liz was her best friend, her person. They’d both had a parent who had in one way or another failed them. Although Liz had moved to LA a few years ahead of Sarah, they’d gotten into porn for pragmatic reasons. Having cancer and fighting for her life seemed to have lent Liz an enhanced clarity that Sarah lacked, certainly where Cole was concerned.

He hadn’t so much as mentioned what movie they might act out. Instead he’d asked her out to dinner as if they were having an actual date. Had she been too quick to shoot him down? An actual date with Cole, how might that go?

Thanks to the paparazzi crashing the wedding, they were already busted. So far the world hadn’t ended. He’d called, wanting to see her again, in public, no less.

Maybe I don’t want to be off the hook
.

Was getting away from the sexually charged atmosphere of the apartment and going somewhere to talk worth a shot? Once she got back to her apartment, she’d call and tell him to forget takeout and make a restaurant reservation instead?

A note taped next to the mailboxes announced the elevator would be shut down for repairs starting tomorrow. Fucking great! While she certainly didn’t miss driving in LA traffic, she suddenly found herself sighing for her two-car garage. Living in Manhattan, who needed spinning classes? These days she went to yoga purely to be polite.

Punching the up arrow, she figured she might as well enjoy this particular “amenity” while it was still functional. The elevator ascended with a cryptic creak, and landed with a bone rattling jolt. Grateful when the doors opened, Sarah stepped quickly out.

She stuck the key in her door and opened it. The apartment seemed crowded with scenes of her and Cole. Even the damned air was scented with his particular aftershave and musk. Pissed off about that, she crossed the threshold, thinking to open a window, air the place out. Her sandal crunched on something other than floorboards or carpet. She looked down and saw a facedown the cream-colored envelope bearing her footprint. Someone must have slipped it under her door during the day. That was weird. She’d paid both the rent and the monthly maintenance fee a few days ago. All her other mail came to the box below.

She stooped to retrieve it. Standing, she turned it face up—and froze. Calligraphy—bold, thick, and familiar swam before her eyes. Panic plowed into her. Her blood froze. Her body shook, not just her hands but the whole of her. Her stalker had followed her to New York! He’d found her! He must have seen the photo of her and Cole at the wedding and hopped on a plane.

Hands shaking, she forced herself to break the seal.

Every bitch has her day. Yours is coming—soon—with a final photograph to send you on your way. Camera Sutra
.

So much for poetry. None of the previous notes had been so brief— or so angry. Her heart hammering, she fell back against the door. This was bad, really, really bad. She needed to get the hell away from here and fast. This time she’d go totally off grid, somewhere, no one knew her. Her thoughts flew back to Liz as she’d just left her. Like it or not, she’d made promises, put down roots. She couldn’t run, not anymore. She’d committed to staying for Liz and Jonathan and the group and . . . Cole? Fuck buddy or boyfriend, disappearing on him with no explanation, not even a goodbye, didn’t feel fair. More than unfair, it felt . . . wrenching.

But she had to do something, starting with contacting the police. Whoever wrote that note needed serious professional help. If it was Danny and he’d followed her to New York, he was sicker than she’d supposed. Keeping the note to herself would be beyond stupid. Looking back, she couldn’t believe she’d stayed silent about the others. The only person she’d confided in was Martin. Obviously the PI he’d hired hadn’t panned out. She reached for her phone to call him, but then thought better of it. He might well try talking her out of going public but beyond that, she didn’t need him anymore. She could stand on her own two feet.

She was Googling the police non-emergency number when her cell sounded off. “S-arah!” Jonathan’s voice, terrified, hysterical wailed into the receiver.

Sarah snapped to attention. “Jonathan, take a big breath and tell me what’s happened.”

“Mommy . . . she’s on . . . on the bedroom floor . . . twitching.”

Sounded like a seizure—shit. “Is she breathing?”

“I . . . I think so.”

“Listen to my very carefully. I need you to be a big brave boy and hang up and call 911. That’s 9-1-1. The operator will ask you for your name and address and some other information. Can you do that for me, baby?”

“I . . . th-think so.” He repeated his address: 200 Mercer Street, Apt 4F.

“Great, now hang up and make the call. I’m on my way.” Grabbing her bag and keys from the counter, Sarah raced out of the apartment.

T
he first time I set eyes on Sarah, Sugar, I nearly blew my load. Even before she had a clue about how to do her hair and makeup, how to dress, how to walk into a room and light it up, I saw how special she was, how amazing she could be
.

All this time I’ve waited for her to see me, really see me. That’s what I wanted then. It’s what I’ve wanted.

But to the Sugars of the world, men like me are putzes, stepping stones. My gifts, my homage have gone ignored, and now my patience and my pilgrimage have come to an end
.

Since I can’t get Sarah to see me, I’ll see her . .
.

Dead
.