Bliss (2 page)

"Linnet's over there." Yuen drew Sinclair's attention to the
author and her entourage who had set up a display on a large
dais at the front of the room. The walls of the ballroom were
lit with artfully done track lighting that brought the eye
straight to the life-sized mock-up of Linnet Costa's book
jacket. Naughty nubile angels were her latest obsession.
Apparently they photographed well.

"And the best part is that the food and drinks are on the
house," Sinclair teased.

"Nice." He sounded like a college kid let out for his first
spring break.

The guest of honor worked the room well, looking wicked
in head to toe fire-engine red. The latex and metal dress
sparked as much conversation as her book. Sinclair hoped
that she looked half as good when she turned fifty.

"Go on and introduce yourself, Yuen. I'll be back here getting a bite to eat." He looked at Sinclair as if he thought she
was joking. "Go ahead," she said. "I won't leave without
you."

"Funny. Since I drove."

Her smile faded as he walked away. She glanced at her
watch. Two hours should be a reasonable amount of time to
stay, she thought.

"Hello, Sinclair."

It was the woman from the elevator. Tonight she wore
black slacks that sat low on her hips, emphasizing their soft
curve and her flat belly. The blouse was a sheer white and
showed off the lift of her slight breasts under a white camisole. Her upswept hair made her seem taller than before. Still,
she had to be at least three inches shorter than Sinclair's five
feet ten. Her scent, Chanel Coco if Sinclair's nose was correct, invited her a closer inspection.

"Good to see you again," Sinclair said.

"Believe me, the feeling is mutual." Regina's glance traveled
quickly down Sinclair's body, taking in the loosely draped burgundy dress and high heels. "I never figured you for a Costa
fan."

"I'm sure there are lots of things you figured about me that
were wrong," Sinclair smiled to lessen the sting of her words.
From the corner of her eye she saw Yuen pause and clear his
throat, preparing to approach his idol.

"Touche." The corner of Regina's mouth lifted. "Would
you like a drink?"

"Sure."

They walked to the bar together where Regina ordered a tequila sunrise for herself and a gin and tonic for Sinclair.
With their drinks in hand, they left the bar for the cozy comfort of the attached lounge with its overstuffed love seats and
thick rugs, all in shades of red and copper. They found an
empty sofa in the midst of the shifting crowd and sat down.

"So what other things would I have figured wrong about
you?"

"I don't know." Sinclair eyed the smaller woman over the
rim of her glass. "You haven't told me what other conclusions you've jumped to."

Regina laughed. "I'll keep those to myself for now." She
sipped her drink and nodded toward the guest of honor. "So,
do you know Linnet?"

"No, not really. I've seen her in the building a few times,
but that's about it."

"You must run into a lot of women in that elevator." A
smile settled on Regina's coral mouth.

"Not many interesting ones."

Regina smiled at the implied compliment. She leaned
closer, draping her arm along the back of the sofa, tickling
the other woman's nose with her lightly floral perfume.
Sinclair's breath caught. She could've counted the freckles on
Regina's nose if she'd wanted to.

"This is her, right here." Yuen's voice made Sinclair look
away. He stood a few feet away with a smiling Linnet Costa
next to him.

Regina leaned back from Sinclair as they drew closer.

"Linnet Costa, this is my girlfriend, Bliss Sinclair. She was
the one who invited me here tonight."

"Ms. Costa." Sinclair stood up and extended her hand to
the handsome woman. Still seated on the couch, Regina
watched the introductions with a curious smile.

"Please call me Lin." Then the writer turned to Regina.
"Nice to see you, Regina. I thought you were on tour."

"Not until the end of next month." Regina stood up, too, and gathered Linnet in a surprisingly intimate embrace. "Your
book is terrific, by the way. When is the next one coming out?"

"Spoken like a true fan." She turned to the man at her
side. "Yuen here was just telling me about his pro bono work
with the Delancy witches three years ago. That case gave me
a great idea for a book."

Regina shuddered theatrically. "You're right. Madness,
group sex, witchcraft, and murder. Sounds right up your
alley, Lin."

The others laughed, but Sinclair wrinkled her nose. Of
course, Yuen noticed.

"What?" he asked.

"Should you even be talking about that case? Client confidentiality and all that?"

"It's been-"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Lin said with a smile that wasn't the least
bit apologetic. "You're very right, Sinclair. I was just so fascinated with the whole story. I was the one who brought it
up.

Yuen's smile held a trace of embarrassment. "I was just
helpless to Lin's charms." They shared a guilty laugh.

"You wouldn't be the first," Regina said. She and Linnet
smiled at each other.

"Linnet! Linnet!" A man loaded down with camera equipment waved frantically to get her attention. He was having
issues pushing both his bulk and his equipment through the
crowd.

"Pardon me, everyone." Lin excused herself and started to
make her way to his side.

They watched her graceful back disappear into the crowd.

Sinclair was the first to speak. "She's a very nice woman."

"And gorgeous too." Yuen tilted his head close to his girlfriend's. "Though nowhere near as beautiful as you, of
course."

"No need to be diplomatic, my lovely boy toy. She's defi nitely gorgeous and any man would be a fool to kick her out
of bed."

"Or woman."

Sinclair turned to Regina. "Why would you say that?"

"She's bi. It's pretty common knowledge." Her eyes flicked
over Sinclair.

"Yup." Yuen gave his best leer. "Maybe you and Lin could
hook up while I-"

Sinclair poked him in the belly before he could finish.
"Don't be a pig."

He oinked. Regina laughed. "By the way, we were never
really introduced earlier, but I'm Regina Velasquez. Lin and I
are old friends."

"A pleasure." They shook hands then started laughing
again. Sinclair rolled her eyes.

"I had a good time tonight. Thanks." Yuen held Sinclair's
hand as they walked through the gilt-edged revolving doors
and emerged onto the street.

"I'm glad you liked it."

A scent of rot rose up from the gutters, mingling with the
smells of old fruit and spilled alcohol that poured from the
doorway of the market they quickly walked past. On the wind,
the acidic tang of piss floated from the alley near where Yuen's
car was parked. They hurried to the black Lexus convertible
and drove off.

"Want to come back to my place for a drink and a little
sex?" Yuen asked as they drove uptown. He wasn't joking.

Sinclair shook her head and manufactured a smile of regret. "No. Not really. I'm tired. That party wore me out."

"I forgot that it's only Wednesday and you have work tomorrow."

"Yes." Sinclair didn't need reminding. She already had her
suit pressed and laid out for the next day.

At her apartment, Yuen kissed her goodbye, touching her with a possession that seemed odd for him. "I'll call you
later." His hardness pressed against her belly.

"OK."

As soon as Sinclair crossed the threshold of the apartment,
she shrugged off her coat along with any lingering traces of
tiredness. It wasn't deliberate. She wanted to be tired. But
even with a long soak in the bathtub and a luxurious cuddle
in her grandmother's old cotton robe, she still had too much
energy to sleep.

After almost five years the insomnia still caught her off
guard, as if there was something she could do on one particular night that would put her right to sleep. Instead of sleeping, she read. Thousands of books filled her neatly arranged
shelves, every genre, every author she'd found even mildly interesting from all her years of working at Volk. She turned on
the bedside light and curled up under the covers to read.

Morning. Sinclair stepped out of the shower, toweled herself dry, and put on her robe. The apartment was quiet. No
music. No noise of someone else stirring in the bed. And up
this high on the fifteenth floor, not even the noise of traffic intruded. Sometimes she thought that could be part of the
problem. She was so separate from everyone, no real friends,
no family. Now, as the days passed, an unfamiliar sense of
loneliness was beginning to invade her life.

Her only real pleasure came from being in her apartment,
sheltered by its sand-colored walls, comfortable earth-toned
furnishings, and memories of her grandmother. Photographs
that she had taken a long time ago hung in their expensive,
oversized frames all over the apartment. Bare-limbed trees
weighed down by snow, boulders framed by magnificent blue
skies and tinted gold by the sun. An old photo of her and her
grandmother on a faraway beach, laughing. All images from
the happier and well-traveled life she had before her grandmother died.

Her Gram had had a fascination with America and its
landscape. She took endless pictures of it, mostly crooked,
underexposed, or unrecognizable shots that keenly disappointed
her and eventually drove Sinclair to take photography classes
in high school. She and Gram saved for months to buy the camera that ended up documenting their last few years together.
Sinclair put that camera away years ago, stuck it in the back
of a storage closet along with a few other things that she didn't
want to see anymore.

Even though Gram had been long past her youth, her
death still took Sinclair by surprise. The elderly woman had
left the apartment to indulge in one of her favorite thingsnocturnal shopping-but hadn't gotten very far. A stroke laid
her out in the middle of the sidewalk while Sinclair slept.
Less than an hour later she was dead. There was so much
more that Sinclair had to share with her, so much that they
still had to do together. Mavis's granddaughter hadn't been
able to sleep through the night since.

Her robe whispered against her legs in the dim morning
quiet as she moved by habit from room to room. A morning
ritual. With all the lights still off and the glow of approaching dawn stretching equal parts light and shadow across her
apartment, she could feel the night's change to day, and welcomed it. If she closed her eyes long enough, she could imagine being home again, standing in the kitchen of her father's
old house in Jamaica, the one where she'd spent her first thirteen years, waiting for her mother to come down the hall and
begin making breakfast. She opened her eyes and resumed
her walk through the apartment.

Sinclair took pride in the order of her space, in the certainty that she knew where everything was and why. It was
the way her Gram raised her. Even her habits now were still
influenced by the fifteen years she'd lived with her grandmother. Gram loved tea. She used to drink it all the time.
They'd shared countless mornings with their heads bent over the first cup of Darjeeling-lots of milk, lots of sugar-just
talking.

"What are you going to study?" Gram had asked a fifteenyear-old Sinclair, smiling but perfectly serious.

"Accounting," Sinclair had answered. Not because that was
what she wanted for herself, but because that was what she
overheard her grandmother say was best.

With a sigh that no one else heard, Sinclair slipped into the
kitchen to make herself a cup of tea before getting ready for
work.

At five o' clock that afternoon she closed her office door
behind her and prepared to leave. "Miss Sinclair," Shelly
stopped her. "A woman came by and dropped these off for
you earlier. She was a cutie."

Shelly handed her two neatly bound hardcover books.
Between the crisp white pages of the top one lay a card.
Regina Velasquez. Writer. Her phone number and uptown
address were neatly written below that. Sinclair's eyebrow
rose.

"Thanks, Shelly." She ignored her secretary's curious look
and slid the books into her briefcase. "See you tomorrow."

At home, Sinclair propped the card up on the edge of the
tub while she took her bath. Earlier, she'd sniffed the card,
brushed it under her nose, and found the light scent of mint
that clung to it. She stretched out under the bubbles and
leaned back against the inflatable pillow propped up against
the back of the tub. Irresistibly, her eyes wandered to the card
again. Regina Velasquez. At the book release party, Regina
had been polite yet mischievous, especially after Yuen came
back with Linnet. She flirted shamelessly with Sinclair as if
putting on a show for Yuen, touching the small of his girlfriend's back, refilling her drinks, even kissing her lingeringly
on the cheek when they said their goodbyes. At first Yuen seemed titillated, then annoyed. By the end of the evening he
and Regina both seemed to be in competition over who could
be the most solicitous to Sinclair's needs. Sinclair had been
content to sit back and enjoy their attentions. She hoped that
neither of them had known just how much Regina had intrigued her.

Fresh from her bath, her body still steaming from its heat,
Sinclair slid naked into bed to read Regina's first book. It was
a collection of essays on sex and love. Making Sex, Having
Love. Nice title.

The first time someone else touched me with the
intent to pleasure, I fell in love. Not with that person, but with the act itself. Such intimacy and accord. Even with the awkwardness of first time
lovers there was a grace and purity, carnal and
beautiful, that I knew from that moment on I
could never live without.

Sinclair slid down into the covers and continued reading.
This was a woman who unabashedly loved sex. The more
she read, the more descriptive and less academic Regina's
prose became. Sinclair squeezed her thighs together and
crossed a hand over her stiffening nipples. Regina was very
good. She imagined the slight woman reading the words
aloud, her soft red mouth shaping the seduction, an invitation to fall into her silken trap. And Sinclair was seduced. In
the cool seclusion of her bedroom, she felt Regina's hands on
her, touching her skin, teasing, satisfying. All these things
that she wrote about aroused Sinclair's curiosity-the goodnatured teasing among friends that eventually became a thoroughly gratifying group orgy, going down on a lover in a
crowded subway station, the scorching wave of a shared orgasm in a cozy bed for three. All these were alien experiences
to Sinclair. Regina's words made her long for them. Her fin gets slid down between her thighs. She didn't fall asleep until
almost five in the morning.