Lust (3 page)

A week ago she'd been wishing Oliver dead—now she was bantering over cell phone etiquette with him.

Dripping With Nostalgia

“OW. OKAY, THAT HURTS.”

“It's supposed to.”

“Yeah, but it really hurts.”

“No pain, no gain, Jake.”

“No gain, then!
Ack!”
Jake dropped the bulbous kettle-drum he had been holding up with his foot. It hit the floor with a crash, which was immediately followed by three thudding sounds from the floor below.

“That's old lady Teverasky,” Jake said. “I think you made her week. She loves hitting her ceiling with her broomstick—it reminds her of the old country, where they do that for sport.”

“Don't try to distract me,” Gaia said, crossing her arms. “I'm supposed to be keeping you in shape.”

“What shape? A rectangle?” Jake flopped backward on the couch.

“A rectangle? Why a rectangle?”

“Because that's what I feel like: a wreck and a tangle.” He looked up at Gaia, who was trying to be really firm and drill-sergeanty.

“That's it, I give up,” she said, flopping down next to him on the couch. “Your bad jokes are draining me.”

“Oh, good, I give up, too,” Jake said.

“You know, you're not going to get any stronger if you don't keep working out,” she scolded him.

“You know what? Forget it,” he said. “I've been on a workout regimen since I was, like, twelve years old. I think a couple of weeks off is just what I need.”

“Whatever. Just don't come crying to me when you wake up and realize you're Mister Flabby.”

“And what'll you be, Miss Crabby?”

Gaia snorted. Actually, that stung a little. She knew she was hard to get along with. Lord knew she'd lost enough friends along the way—more than most people made in a lifetime. She wasn't sure—she was never sure—if Jake was just kidding. So far, he always was. But she'd seen Ed, good old best-friend-cum-boyfriend Ed, go from being an easygoing buddy to being a jaded, bitter ex in no time flat.

She had to admit, though, that being with Jake felt nice. Mellow, sort of.

“So are you still feeling . . . agitated?” he asked cautiously. Gaia suddenly felt the walls closing in on her.

“I don't want to talk about it,” she said, standing up and walking to the window. She felt bad for snapping at him, but she had to be careful about telling him too much. At the same time, she knew that her evasiveness made her seem ungrateful.

“Hey, okay, we won't,” he said, trying to play it off. “You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to,” Jake said. “I was just asking so I wouldn't be a dick for not asking.”

That evoked a small smile. “I know, Jake. I didn't mean to snap at you.”

She turned back and looked at him. “I have to go to Urban Outfitters to get new sneakers,” she said. “I've been putting it off, but when my old ones got melted—well, just look at them.” She held up one foot and displayed the way her ancient Chuck Taylor sneaker had split where the rubber met the fabric. Her sock poked out of the hole, and the sole was a mushed-up, melted mess.

“Nice,” Jake said. “But weren't you caught in that fire like a week ago?”

“Something like that. I'm having separation anxiety. I've had these sneakers forever.”

“It's time to let them rest in peace,” Jake said somberly. “They've done their job. They're tired.”

“Want to come with?” she asked.

“Nah. I'm tired. I'm going to take full advantage of my gimpy state and rest up a little.”

Gaia knew Jake's shoulder was still bothering him from the shooting. She also knew better than to ask him about it. He was as private as she was—another thing she liked about him. “All right, I'll see you later,” she said. “Don't get up. I'll let myself out.”

“I wasn't getting up,” Jake called after her. Gaia gave him a smirk as she went through the door.

Urban Outfitters was on lower Broadway. The walk wasn't long, but Gaia's poor old sneakers kept ripping, so by the time she got inside they were like flip-flops.

Gaia strolled around the shoe section, immediately rejecting the sneakers that had sparkles or platform soles. All she wanted was to grab a pair of Chuck Taylors identical to the ones ruined in the fire and get out of the cavernous store. But they were nowhere to be found.

“Chuck Taylors?” she asked the nearest salesperson.

“Uh, yeah, maybe if you visited the time-machine section of our store,” she said snottily. “Try the Pumas, I guess.”

Gaia tried on a pair of the black suede sneakers, marveling at how big her feet were. They felt like two little comfortable homes. She eyeballed her old Chucks, sitting forlornly next to her spanking-new shoes.

“Sorry, guys,” she told them. “It was great while it lasted, but we should have parted ways long ago.”

Gaia strolled up the sidewalk at her usual rapid pace. Lower Broadway was jammed with people, as usual, and she was bumping through them, heading uptown, when one bumped her especially hard, knocking her backward slightly.

“Oof! Watch where you're—Sam!”

She had literally bumped into Sam Moon. She hadn't seen him since their final, melancholy conversation. The one where Sam had basically told her that even though they were practically soul mates who had been though hell together, he just couldn't deal with
her weird, shut-down personality and never wanted to see her again. Sam, the guy who'd been the first to pitch his flag on the surface of her heart. Gaia looked up at him, seeing the uncertainty and discomfort on his face.

“Hey,” he said. He didn't exactly look happy to see her. Then again, he didn't look unhappy, either.

“What are you up to?” Gaia asked.

“I had to come here to get my new uniform,” he admitted, in a sheepish tone that made Gaia feel protective of him. “I'm working at a restaurant. As a bus boy, for now. But they say I can work my way up eventually.”

“Oh, man, that's great,” Gaia told him, but inside, her heart sank a bit.

“Well, not really,” Sam admitted. “I walked in there thinking I was going to be a bartender. Do you know they actually ask for resumes now?”

“Did you tell them you were a premed at NYU?” Gaia asked. “I mean, if you can pass organic chemistry, I'm sure you can mix a cosmopolitan.”

“I don't think they see it that way.”

“So where are you working? Is it somewhere near Dmitri's?”

“I actually . . .” Sam looked down, as though he couldn't really stand to meet Gaia's gaze. Then he took a breath. “I don't want to tell you where I'm working,” he blurted out. “And I'm not living with Dmitri anymore.”

“Oh.” Gaia didn't know what to say. For once she didn't have a wisecrack or a comeback.

“I just needed a change,” he went on. “I—this whole thing, it's just too strange. I need to make a complete break.”

“Okay.”

“It's nothing personal. I thought we could remain friends, but . . .” He shrugged.

“No, that's cool. You need space,” Gaia said. “Time to get used to the outside world. I think I know how that goes.”
Besides
, she thought,
I've sworn off friends for good, so it wouldn't work out anyway.

“Yeah, I guess.” He still couldn't quite look at her. They were so near the NYU dorm where he'd lived when they were dating. The whole scene was dripping with nostalgia.

“Don't lose my phone number, okay?” Gaia pleaded. “You never know when you might need someone to talk to. Someone who knows what you went through.”

“Uh-huh.” Sam was turning into Mister One-Syllable. This was too strange, too different from the Sam she used to know. Gaia wanted to get away.

“I won't be isolated,” he said finally. “I've got roommates and everything. And there's the job,” he added, waving his black pants and white shirt halfheartedly.

“I'm sure you'll be a bartender in no time,” Gaia said, trying to sound reassuring. “Or even maître d'.
Can you speak with a French acc-
sant
? Maybe grow a little pencil moustache?”

“I'll think about it.” Sam finally looked at her, and Gaia felt a little wiggle in her heart.

“I'm really happy you're making a clean break,” she told him. “I think this'll be good.”

“Thanks. Well. So I'm gonna go,” he said, giving her a small wave.

Gaia waved back and walked away. Then she realized she was walking the complete opposite direction of where she needed to go. She'd have to take a different train now, from the west side, and go crosstown on the shuttle. But that was infinitely more attractive than running into Sam again and repeating the awkward scene she'd just been through.

Seeing Sam could not have been more uncomfortable. They'd been completely in love not that long ago, and now he was like a total stranger. Worse than that—he was like an
acquaintance
, someone she barely knew and didn't care about. But she did care about him. She cared about him, but she was mad at him, sort of, for not understanding her better. And she was mad at herself—furious, in fact—for being the reason he was feeling so screwed up. If he'd never met her—if he had just kept dating Heather—well, they'd both have been okay. He wouldn't have been shot, and Heather wouldn't have been struck blind, and everything would have been hunky-dory. The only ruckus
would have been Heather's search for a dress to wear to his winter formal. But because of her, because of Gaia Moore, they were both in their own total messes.

And then there was Ed. Ed had been her best friend. She could hang out with him from morning till night and never get sick of him. They could be silent together, or they could talk about nothing and everything. Then they'd started dating, and everything in Gaia's life had seemed to blow up at once. She'd seen Ed threatened. And she'd also gotten distracted. In the end, Ed had gotten hurt, too. Not physically, but hurt just the same—badly. And he seemed to absolutely hate her now.

And finally there was Jake, who she hadn't even gotten close to yet, but who had already been shot. What else did she want?

She had to cross through Washington Square Park to get to the train. There weren't many people around at this time of day. The late afternoon shadows slanted long across the concrete tiles, and an eerie silence hung over the park. Gaia tried to shake off a feeling that something was about to happen, but some kind of spider-sense prickled within her. This time of day was always a little spooky, but she did hear something—a struggle. Somebody fighting, being shushed, being told to keep quiet while somebody else . . .

Gaia sprang into action. The sound was coming from the bushes by the gross little concrete buildings that passed as public restrooms. As she raced toward
them, she could see a man and a woman locked in some kind of scuffle. The woman was much smaller than the man; Gaia could see her thin white arms flailing at her sides.

Gaia leapt in the air and knocked the man straight to the ground. He was concentrating so hard on mugging his victim that she took him completely by surprise. He offered no resistance as she fell on top of him.

“Take off, punk!” she demanded, but the guy wouldn't leave. He seemed to be trying to reach for the woman, even now. God, what a persistent little pervert he was.

“Ohmigod! Ohmigod, Rob,
help!
We're being mugged!”

“Just run,” Gaia told her, not stopping to ask why she'd said “we,” when clearly she was the only one getting mugged.

“Don't touch me!” the woman screamed, reaching into her purse. Gaia turned to tell her more firmly to stop panicking and run her ass out of the park, when she felt her eyes explode with pain.

“Agh!
Did you
mace
me?” she asked.

“Rob, come on, quick,” the woman shrieked, and Rob—the mugger—got up and followed her, while Gaia staggered a few steps away. She could hear them talking to a policeman almost immediately.

“We were in the park, and this wild woman attacked us!” The woman was still shrieking.

“Where were you, exactly?” the officer wanted to know.

“Well, we were . . . standing by the public restroom,” the woman said.

“Standing?”
the officer asked suspiciously.

“Okay, more like standing and kissing . . . Maybe we got a little carried away with each other,” the guy said.

“I sprayed her with my pepper spray!” the woman added proudly.

Oh.
Oh, crap.
Gaia had a feeling the cop wouldn't be in too big a hurry to find her, but she didn't want to wait to find out. Her eyes still burned, and she was sure they were bright red and puffy. And she was horribly, horribly embarrassed.

What was the matter with her? She couldn't tell the difference between a horny couple and a mugging in progress? Had she lost all common sense?

No, she'd just misread her instincts because she was distracted—again. The frustration of running into Sam had thrown her off. And she'd taken it out on this guy Rob.

She got to the subway and descended the stairs, blinking painfully. She felt so stupid. Worse than stupid—she felt like a total and complete asshole.

What was that Bob Marley song? Who the cap fit, let them wear it.

She
was
an asshole.

A Complete Lack of Drama

“YOU ASSHOLE!” KAI LAUGHED. SHE
tried to shoot Ed Fargo back, but her laser gun was disabled for fifteen seconds because he'd gotten her smack in the back. He took this chance to escape through a back alley into the main room.

That was when the kid got him.

He couldn't have been more than eight years old, but he was quick, and Ed suspected he had a little-kid crush on Kai. He couldn't blame the little guy. Kai was like a Japanese anime character come to life: baggy pants, half-shirt, pigtails, and a thousand-watt smile. Plus she had enough energy to light Manhattan. She was a great girl, tons of fun, and Ed was fully enjoying spending time with her. Which was why the kid must have decided to fry Ed.