This Life: A Novel (8 page)

“Long walk,” Matt
muttered.

“Gives us more time to
talk.” Brett said that to Blake, still acting as if Matt weren’t around.

“I’m exhausted. How
about a compromise? We’ll call a cab, get out a few blocks away from my
apartment, and walk the rest of the way.” Blake glanced at Matt, who nodded
approval of her suggestion.

“Well, sometimes a guy
has to take what a lady is willing to give.” Brett offered Blake his arm, and
with arms linked they descended the stairs and stepped out onto the street.

And found that it was
snowing, big fluffy flakes of the kind little children dream of seeing on
Christmas Day. Like a little child, Brett turned his face up to the sky and
caught a snowflake on his tongue.

That tongue, long and
agile, made Blake feel warm all over.

Brett looked at her and
grinned. He’d meant his gesture to speak to Blake’s hormones, and he’d
succeeded, and he knew it.

Matt phoned for a taxi,
while Brett caught more snowflakes and Blake laughingly joined him. She felt
sorry when the taxi arrived for them, but the warmth and the sense of security
of sitting between two big, well-muscled men was almost sinfully delicious.
They got out of the cab five blocks away from Blake’s apartment, and Brett put
an arm around her waist and held her close as they walked.

By the time the doorman
welcomed Blake home, there was no question to be asked. She waited for Brett to
come in, and he did.

Standing between her
bed and the window that filled most of the wall overlooking the street, Brett
helped Blake out of her clothing, one garment at a time. Blake unbuttoned his
shirt with her teeth, making sure he knew that she, too, had skills. Her hand
moved as if it had a mind of its own to his hot, hard crotch, but he gently
brushed her away.

“No, let me.” He slid
down his pants first, standing framed against the city lights. His best friend
was trying to escape from his briefs, and Brett slipped those off too, his dick
high and…mighty. Blake’s lower lips thrilled with anticipation.

He made her wait for
it, kissing her breathless and nibbling her ears and nipples. She dug her
fingernails into his ass cheeks, making him gasp and slide himself between her
legs. Blake moaned, feeling sudden wetness down below and a need so strong it
hurt.

“Please,” she begged
him, and he lifted her in his arms and stretched her out on top of the bed
covers. Without preamble he spread her legs and brushed his tongue over her
mound, once, twice, then wiggled it between the folds around her clit and
licked that once before suddenly sucking her hard.

“CHRIST,” she groaned,
her hips thrusting with a will of their own. He seized her hips and pressed
them still, then rose and kissed her quiet as he slid his buddy inside her.

If he hadn’t been
kissing her, she would have awakened the whole apartment building.

Chapter Seven

March 26

New York
,
New York

Suki peeked into Blake’s
bedroom and announced, “We’ve got a taxi on the way, Boss. Are you about ready
to roll?”

Blake stood looking at
her black leather Gucci carry-on, consulting a list she’d made in a file on her
phone. “Got everything,” she answered. She zipped the carry-on shut, locked it,
and started rolling it through the living room.

That was when her
BlackBerry played Peter Gabriel’s “Big Time” to announce a phone call from
Vickie Sharp, Blake’s new publicist. “Go watch for the cab,” Blake told Suki. “I’ll
keep this short, I promise.”

“Blake, I’ve got such
good news for you!” Vickie piped in Blake’s ear as soon as she pressed the Talk
button.

“Well, no matter how
good it is, make it quick. I’ve got a taxi coming to take me to the airport.”

“You’re leaving
New York
? But I need you
tomorrow. I just talked to some television producers looking for a host for a
new reality show, and you’re exactly what they need.”

“That does sound
interesting, and I’ll be glad to talk to them anytime after this weekend, but I’ve
got to go now.”

“I’ve already scheduled
a meeting for tomorrow morning!”

“Reschedule it. You
should have checked with me first, anyway. I often have appointments with
lawyers, brokers, other business contacts. Talk to you when I get back.”

“But that might be too
late! They want to hire someone immediately!”

“I’ve got to go,” Blake
reminded Vickie, and clicked End Call.

She found Brett
standing between her and the door. “You still haven’t explained why you’ve got
to go back to
Miami
for the weekend,” he said,
well-muscled arms folded across his bare chest.

Antonio, relaxing on
the sofa and watching
Criminal Minds
on the large flat-screen TV, arched
an eyebrow. By now Blake knew him well enough to know that meant he was
listening to the conversation a few steps away from him, though his gaze stayed
fixed on the show.

“I’ve got something
personal to take care of back home.” She rolled the carry-on in her trail, out
the open door.

Brett followed her. “Is
something wrong with your mom?”

“No.”

“Then what’s happening?”

“I seem to remember
saying it’s personal, Brett.” She turned around to face him. He didn’t seem
aware of the fact, but Antonio stood behind Brett, monitoring the situation.

I’m relieved to see
Antonio watching over me. What does that say about my relationship with Brett?
She bowed her head, torn and reluctant to think about any of this, especially
now.

“I get it. You don’t
trust me.” Brett’s eyes narrowed. Even though Antonio couldn’t possibly see
that, he reacted to Brett’s tone of voice by moving a step closer, ready for
action.

“We’ve only known each
other a few days, Brett. You don’t know everything about me, and I don’t know
everything about you. Give it time.” She turned around again and pulled her
carry-on toward the elevator.

“Take me with you.”

“Not this time, Brett.”

“But why?”

“What about the word ‘personal’
don’t you understand, dude?” asked Antonio.

As Blake pressed the
elevator button for the ground floor and the doors started to slide shut,
Antonio and Brett faced each other in the hallway, looking on the verge of a
fistfight.
What have I got myself into?
She contemplated that question
as the elevator began its descent.

Chapter Eight

March 26

Miami
,
Florida

Lang climbed out of the
steaming Jacuzzi and stretched himself from toes to uplifted fingers, free for
the moment from aching joints. He motioned to Gabby to follow him, and she did,
making sure to bring the shot glasses and half-empty vodka bottle with her.
They dripped from the enclosed patio to the den and dropped themselves onto the
sofa, unconcerned by the work the water stains would make for the maid team.

“Pour me another shot,”
he grumbled, leaning over the coffee table. A mirror lay ready, where he’d left
it earlier. He tapped a small quantity of cocaine out of a clear plastic baggie
onto the mirror’s surface. He used his MasterCard to cut the powder into two
smaller piles, which he shaped into two lines about the width of a drinking
straw and the length of the credit card itself.

With one end of a
tightly rolled hundred-dollar bill inserted in his right nostril and his left
index finger pinching his left nostril shut, he sniffed his way up one line of
coke. He paused when the line was gone to breathe gently out of his mouth, then
snorted hard to draw the powder all the way up into his nose.

“Ahhhh.” He felt a mild
sensation of lightness, as if a breeze could carry him away. “Fuck yeah, this
is good stuff.”

“Hey, I want some!”

“Just wait your goddamn
turn. I pay for this stuff, I decide when you get some.” He transferred the
rolled hundred to his left nostril, pinched his right nostril shut, and
repeated the process with the other line.

Now he felt like he was
floating, and only two things could make him feel even better. He put out a
hand for the vodka shot Gabby had poured for him and gulped it down in a single
swallow. Then he lay back and spread his legs. “Suck me.”

“I want some coke
first.”

“Well, you’re not
getting any until you suck my dick.”

Gabby hesitated, and
Lang knew she was thinking of grabbing the baggie and prepping a couple of
lines for herself. He also knew she remembered what happened the last time she
defied him. She finally cupped him in one hand and slid his hardening prick
into her warm, wet mouth and suckled him.

“Oh yeah. Take me,
cunt. Harder.”

She did as he told her,
sucking him with more force. He reached down and grabbed fistfuls of her hair
and pulled as she sucked, until finally he arched his back and shot his jism
down her throat. She coughed a little, just once, but licked her lips and
swallowed as he’d taught her.

“You’re getting pretty
good at that now,” he said, when he was no longer panting for breath.

“Thanks.” After a few
seconds, the blonde actress asked, careful not to whine, “Please, can I have
some coke now?”

“I guess you earned a
little reward.” He sat up and tipped a tiny bit more powder onto the mirror’s
surface and shaped a single line, of the same dimensions as each of the two he’d
snorted.

“Just one line?”

“I can dump it back in
the bag, or snort it myself.”

“I’m sorry. Please.
Thank you. Lang, please…”

As he handed her the
hundred, his iPhone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, and his heart raced.
Snatching up the phone and the baggie, he said, “I’ll be back in a few,” and
shut himself inside his study.

“What’s up, Sal?” Lang
dropped into his favorite recliner, put up the footrest, and made himself
comfortable.

“Blake just boarded a
flight back to
Miami
.”

That made him sit
straight up, the act making him wince from the strain in his abs. “When does her
plane get in?”

“About ten tonight.”

“Well. I think we
should welcome the bitch home.” He felt a tingling excitement shiver up his
spine at the thought.

“That isn’t really the
sort of thing Donato sent us here to do.”

“Fuck Donato,” Lang
growled. “Listen, I want you and Lucio to follow her. You know what her car
looks like. She has a chauffeur, so this will be tough to pull off. But the
first chance you get, I want you to slash her tires.”

“Won’t the driver put
up a fight?”

“I doubt it. He’s an
old man. But if he gives you trouble, rough him up a little.”

“Okay. But if Donato
hears about this—”

“Don’t be a moron. Make
sure he doesn’t.” Lang clicked the call off and sat back, grinning up at the
ceiling.

“Maybe there’s a god in
heaven after all. Here’s my chance to teach the bitch a lesson she’ll never
forget.”

Chapter Nine

March 28

Tampa
,
Florida

Henry Walden, Blake’s
chauffeur since a 9/11 back injury forced him to give up his career as a New
York firefighter, parked the rental car in the Poe Garage with half hour to
spare before the Florida All State Band concert would begin. Instead of his
usual suit and tie, he was dressed in jeans, sweater, and a jaunty beret. Blake
and Suki were likewise dressed to blend in: Suki in jeans and blouse, and Blake
in slacks and sweater.

Suki didn’t wait for
Henry to open the door for her. As soon as the car stopped moving, Suki popped
out of the backseat and turned in a slow circle, inspecting every detail of
their surroundings.

“I thought you were
trained to blend in,” Henry teased. Chauffeur and bodyguard had taken an
instant liking to each other, chattering like old friends throughout the drive
from
Miami
to
Tampa
.

Who would have
guessed Suki can be really friendly?
Blake smiled as Henry opened the door
for her.

“I think you should
come inside with us,” Suki said to Henry, ignoring his little joke.

Here and there, cars
were pulling into parking spaces. Thirty- and forty-something couples climbed
out of most, usually with one or more teenagers or young children. Some cars
yielded senior citizens, probably grandparents of children performing in the
afternoon’s concert.

Blake found herself
watching them all with a jealousy so intense it pained her heart.
I should
have kept Lionel, and never married Lang. My son and I should be a family…

Suki ceased examining
the area, half-turning so that she could see Blake and Henry and yet still keep
watch on activity in the garage. “I don’t know what it is, but something isn’t
right. Come inside the Straz, Henry.”

“I’ll be fine staying
with the car. I do it all the time,” Henry replied, his voice mellow. “My
grandkids got me this fancy phone. I sit in or near the car, goofing off on
Facebook…”

“You shouldn’t do that
this time,” Suki insisted.

“What’s wrong, Suki?”
Blake slung her purse strap over her shoulder, anxious to go inside the Straz
and lay claim to a seat as close to the stage as possible.

“Like I said, I don’t
know.” Suki frowned as a couple walked by, their toddler shrieking to enjoy the
echoes in the garage.

“We only have two
tickets,” Blake reminded Suki.

“Then take Henry in,
and I’ll stay here.”

Henry shook his head. “No,
you’ve got to stay with Miss Bertrand. She’s the one who needs protection. I
don’t have an enemy in the world, thank God.”

“But—”

“Suki, we need to go
in.” Blake glanced at the time on her BlackBerry: twenty minutes until the
concert would start. All the best seats might already be taken. “Henry, keep
your eyes open. If there’s any chance of trouble, run inside the Straz and text
Suki, okay?”

“Yes, Miss Bertrand.”
Henry shut the rear doors of the car as Blake hurried to the covered walkway
leading from the Poe Garage to the
Straz
Center
. Suki hesitated for a moment, looking at Henry with worry
etched into her facial features. Then the bodyguard trotted to catch up with
Blake and stayed by her side the rest of the way.

All the seats in the
first five rows were occupied, but they managed to get seats near the center of
the sixth row, and those weren’t bad. Blake’s tummy flip-flopped as if it were she,
not her son, due on stage in fifteen minutes. Suki sat tapping text messages
into her Android smartphone.
Probably to Henry. She’s really very worried
about him. I wonder if I made a mistake…

Then the lights dimmed,
and the band moved onstage and took their seats. Blake couldn’t see Lionel’s
face well, but she knew he was the taller and lankier of the three French horn
players. A student conductor took the shadowed podium, and a spotlight flashed
on to illuminate a balding man in a blue suit.

“Ladies and gentleman,
the state of
Florida
has tens of thousands
of talented young musicians. Only the best of the best, however, are selected
for All State Band. Every young man and woman on this stage with me today was
chosen from hundreds or even thousands who play the same instrument.”

The speaker paused for
breath and approval, and the audience clapped their hands in enthusiastic
reception of the praise he was bestowing on their children and grandchildren.
Blake clapped her hands so hard that her palms stung, and she felt warm tears
brimming in her eyes.

“Professionals would
spend weeks rehearsing the pieces of music you’re about to hear. These kids had
only one week to master them, and I think you’ll agree they did, in fact,
master them. I’m honored to present to you this year’s Florida All State Band!”

With that, the bald man
scurried off the stage, the lights brightened again, and the tuxedoed student
conductor bowed to the audience before turning his attention to the band. He
tapped his baton on the podium, and in unison the musicians readied their
instruments. A crisp wave, and the stringed instruments offered up the
pondering first notes of Dvorak’s “New World Symphony.” The first clarinet
sounded a question, and Blake’s son Lionel suggested the first French horn’s
answer, which the flutes and piccolos then discussed briefly before the whole
band started arguing.

Blake felt as if her
chest would burst, she was so filled with pride. She sat hypnotized as the band
completed the first movement. They then launched into Gunther Schuller’s “Diptych
for Brass Quintet and Concert Band,” the opening phrases of which sounded like
perfect music for the soundtrack of a horror movie.

From the end of that
piece the band swung into a rendition of Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue” that at
last got Blake’s tears flowing.
My dad would have loved every note of the
jazzy piece.

Next came “I Dreamed a
Dream,” from
Les Misérables
. And then, to Blake’s surprise and delight,
Lionel stood and moved to the front of the stage for a performance as a
soloist.

Her son made the French
horn sing the romantic lyrical phrases of “I Dreamed a Dream,” with as much
soul as any world-famous instrumentalist. When the piece ended with Lionel’s
horn murmuring the last sad line all alone, Blake found herself on her feet,
cheering as well as clapping fit to knock her hands off her wrists. She was not
the only one.

She sat again as Lionel
returned to his seat, and noticed Suki diverting her intense gaze from the
stage back to Blake. The bodyguard studied Blake’s face as if picking her out
of a police lineup.

“Is there a problem?”
Blake asked Suki, swallowing tears and trying to sound stern.

“Not that I know of, Boss.”
Suki’s face took on its accustomed blankness, and she continued texting Henry
or whomever else she might be in contact with as the band struck up Sousa’s “Stars
and Stripes Forever,” their grand finale. After the last soaring triumphant
note, in unison the band members and their conductor bowed to the audience, who
gave them a standing ovation that lasted long after the kids had left the
stage.

Blake was still
applauding when Suki clasped her hand and hissed in her ear, “We’ve got to go
now, Boss.”

“But I—” She yearned to
go find Lionel and hug him so tight he’d have trouble breathing, tell him how
talented he was, how he was so like his grandfather.
But he doesn’t know me
,
she reminded herself, and suddenly it was Blake who couldn’t breathe.

Suki either didn’t
notice, or didn’t care. “NOW, Boss.” She dragged Blake with her, pushing other
audience members out of their way, and by the time they reached the covered
walkway to the garage they were moving at a full-on run.

“What’s the—” Blake
gasped out, but then Suki started hauling her up three flights of stairs.

“Henry missed check-in,”
Suki rapped. She didn’t break stride, and she wasn’t breathing any harder than
if they’d been moving at a lazy walk.

On the fourth level
Suki pulled Blake, still at a run, directly to the rental car. At first Blake
thought Henry must be napping, his head bowed over his chest.

Then she realized his
gray hair was red with blood.

“Crouch behind me and
dial nine-one-one,” Suki snapped at Blake.

Down on her knees,
struggling to see the BlackBerry’s keypad through her tears, Blake noticed the
car’s tires were slashed. Suki must have seen it too, because the last thing
Blake heard before the emergency dispatcher spoke to her was Suki snarling, “Goddamn
it, the tires should have been enough. He’s just a nice old man…”