I don’t think anyone has ever begged me for anything—maybe an actor begged me to get him an audition for a Christopher Nolan movie once, but nothing like this. I tried to figure out what to do next, scrutinizing Titania until a Barney’s fragrance specialist appeared, bearing down on us in pursuit of a sale.
“We’re sampling,” I said as we moved away from the counter, heading in the general direction of handbags.
Was it possible Titania had
not
been the one who sent the pictures of me purportedly threatening the
Hello Kitty
conventioneers? Leaving aside the question of who, if not Titania,
had
sent them, this smoldering Moldovan with the big dreams whimpering in front of me clearly felt threatened by what I knew about her and sexy Mr. No Clothes. It sounded like she was willing to do anything I asked to prevent my intel from getting leaked to the wrong people—namely Jamie Harris, our mutual boss. Maybe we could make a deal.
I found myself in a situation that was new to me—
I was a blackmailer
.
I might get in trouble for this, I thought suddenly. But was it really blackmail? Even if all I was doing was scaring Titania into thinking I
might
reveal what I knew to Jamie? Even if what I’d be sharing was simply that Titania was not, in fact, gay but had a boyfriend? That’s not blackmail—
I don’t think
. In any event, I’d made no direct threat.
Instead—
oh my God
—instead, maybe I should be worried that Titania would try to hurt
me
! Really hurt me, I mean, as in physical pain. My brain started racing.
Titania might be part of some Moldovan Mafia, able to put out a hit for less of a reason than the one she had for getting rid of me, which was no less than her livelihood and the MM’s access into the Hollywood machine.
But that would be dumb, wouldn’t it? Of course it would. After all, I had said
we
had proof of her non-gayness. That meant not just me. So if she had
me
snuffed out, the proof would still exist, along with the threat. Even with me gone, Frank and The Muffia—just as powerful a force as the Moldovan Mafia, for sure—would come down hard on her and her associates. I decided I was safe and turned back.
“We’re cool for now,” I said. “I’m not going to say anything to Jamie. But I’ll remember what you said—about how you’ll do whatever I ask. So just remember you said it.”
She nodded, regaining some of her characteristically cool demeanor. I smiled and made a beeline for the Armani counter. Lunch hour was fast disappearing, and there was still lip liner to buy and a steak bowl to eat. But as we parted company, a chill ran over me—like I’d stepped from a warm taxi onto a New York City street in January. If Titania was telling the truth about the pictures, then someone else sent them, and I was back to wondering who.
There had to be someone who, up to that point, had remained silent—someone I might not have even met but who would like nothing better than to see me fall.
Later that day, Frank Sexton was sitting on an orange and pink cushion in the reception area at S-Factor waiting for me. I walked out of Studio One after a mind-blowing hour of pole jockeying during which I helicoptered to the sounds of Nicki Minaj’s “Out of my Mind” and the classic, “Love is a Battlefield” by Pat Benatar, and there he was, looking so out of place I did a double-take. Twice in one week he’d sought me out—and I was very happy to see him.
It wasn’t that his being there was unexpected because his sudden appearance into my life was always unexpected. No, the reason it was odd was that men rarely come into S-Factor, no matter how much they might want to—whether their interest is borne of curiosity or prurience. It’s as if they believe that inside the place, women are concocting a witchy brew that is equal parts magical, enticing, and terrifying. They desperately want to partake of what’s getting cooked up but they fear it could well be their undoing. Even if a man isn’t afraid of a spell overtaking him, he might stay away just because he doesn’t want to know how the tricks and treats a woman bestows on a man get to his table. He wants the mystery.
Knowing what little I did of him, Frank probably couldn’t care from witches’ brews anyway and, glancing out the window, I could see it had been raining, which went a long way toward explaining why he had chosen to wait inside.
K-Love, coming out of the studio behind me, saw Frank and quickly stepped between us. Clearly, she’d recognized him from our encounter a week or so earlier and smelled trouble.
“Can I help you?” she said as he stood. “You don’t look like the type who’s here for dance class.”
“You never know,” said Frank, with a smile. “But I’m here to see Ms. Cunningham.”
This guy was really growing on me.
“It’s okay,” I said, though K-Love looked none too sure.
She raised an eyebrow, curious about what was happening between Frank and me. Then she flipped her hair, like I’d seen her demonstrate countless times in class when she’s stickin’ it to the pole, and moved back to rejoin my classmates still coming out of the studio.
I turned to Frank and found him looking down at my shoes. Still sporting my pink bling Bordello platforms, I had a couple inches on him, and I don’t think he liked it.
“Are those comfortable?” He glanced up and met my gaze.
“Depends on what you do in them, I guess.” Sheesh—I hadn’t meant to sound so provocative.
In my defense, an empowering ninety minutes on the pole has been known to make a lioness of even the most timid pussycat. The whole idea is for a woman to learn how to unleash the creature within when she’s in a safe space so that she can do it any time she wants. I was still a work in progress.
Watching his reaction, I realized Frank might actually be a little afraid of me, which took me aback.
That couldn’t be why he kept his distance, could it?
I realized it could.
He cleared his throat. “I need to speak to you about a new development in the case.” That sounded ominous.
“Can you give me a minute?”
He nodded and turned to the door. “I’ll be outside.”
“Frank?” I called after him, remembering I hadn’t told him about my conversation with Titania. “I have something to tell you, too.”
He nodded and I watched him step outside, where it appeared to have stopped raining.
I took off the Bordellos and put each into its own pink satin bag. I said my goodbyes, assuring K-Love that I could handle the man who’d again shown up unannounced and left.
“How do you dance in those shoes?” Frank asked when I came through the door. A few drops of rain dripped onto my face from the wisteria wound around the archway over our heads.
“Waltzing or tango shoes, they are not. But they’re built pretty well for pole dancing shoes. They wouldn’t have fallen apart running for a plane, I’ll say that much for them.” I wiped away the drops, his eyes not leaving my face.
“Is that something you do?”
“The airport?” I remind him. “The pictures? The reason I know you?”
He studied me as though this was not at all relevant then did one of his scans of the area, presumably checking for danger signs.
“See anything?” I asked as we started for the parking lot.
On second thought, he wasn’t afraid of me. Instead, I got the feeling he thought I was silly.
“The rain has stopped,” he said, announcing the obvious.
“I meant something more significant. This new development, for example.” I stopped as my cellphone vibrated. I pulled out the device and looked at the screen. Steven. How long was he going to keep calling me before he got the clue? I dropped the phone back in my purse.
“Can I ask you a question, Frank?”
“You can ask another question, yes.”
It took me a second to catch up with his humor. “You can be a real jokester, can’t you?”
He had stopped a few steps beyond me and now came back. “Is that your question? If so, the answer is ‘not particularly.’ ”
Why was it so hard to read him?
Never mind, I already knew why, but I still wondered if I could get him to let his guard down. I bet Lauren, Jelicka, or even Sarah could have figured out how to crack his shell. At forty-two, I had the dating experience of your average twenty-year-old.
“How do you always seem to know where I am?” I asked.
“It’s my job.”
“And that’s it?”
“Yes.”
Clearly I would not be satisfied
. “Okay, so what’s the new development? Sorry, that’s four questions.”
“That’s five questions. Do you have any more? I’ll answer them.”
“Why don’t you have a girlfriend?”
This question, though on my mind, just slipped onto my tongue and now it hung out there. But his expression remained unchanged.
“Because I don’t.”
It made me happy he didn’t have a girlfriend, but
sheesh
, I might as well be asking if he had a piece of gum for all the emotion he put into it. He stopped and pulled a pack of Trident from his pocket and offered me a piece.
“No, thanks. Are we going to do this all evening? Oops—another question. How many is that?”
“Seven.” He popped a piece of gum into his mouth.
“By the way, I was good at math.”
“I know.”
“You
know
—?”
He pulled his Don Johnson sunglasses from a pocket and slipped them on.
Cute
.
“I looked it up,” he said. “This kind of thing isn’t hard to find these days. Pretty much public knowledge.”
Taking a deep breath, I willed myself to hold on to the vestiges of what had been a fantastic class. There was no end to the things he might know about me, which hardly seemed fair. If I could look him up, maybe the crush I had on him could be quashed. I took another deep breath and let it out. “You must have found something else, right? Otherwise, why are you here?”
We were standing at the edge of the parking lot where anyone coming or going from the little shopping-cum-office complex where S-Factor and Katsu-ya are located could see us. Frank started across the lot and gestured for me to follow.
“Steven Zucker has been sitting in his vehicle at your apartment building.”
It sounded insane. Why would Steven be at my building?
“When?” I managed to ask, trying to remain unperturbed by this information.
I was aware of the pulsing male energy pouring out of him—thick and decisive—and I loved it.
“Have you had any contact with him since you and I first met?” he asked.
“No!” I said, denying vehemently the mere idea of such a thing. “I mean, he’s left a few messages, and I’ve tried calling him back a couple of times. But I haven’t actually
talked
to him since—well, not since I got back from Japan when we… ”
Don’t be so explicit, Quinn!
“I haven’t seen him since the day after I got back from Japan.”
A piece of me wondered if Frank’s curiosity was strictly about the case, or if it was something more. Did I dare hope part of his concern might be personal?
“You communicate through texting, leaving messages...that kind of thing?” he asked.
“No!” I said again. “I never really even called him, unless I knew he’d pick up, because he told me not to; same with texts. He said his wife sometimes got hold of his phone and if she saw the texts or calls coming in from blocked numbers, she’d suspect something. So no, I don’t—I mean, I
didn’t
text or leave messages, though I confess to a few slip-ups.”
Frank’s body language said he didn’t believe me.
“Really,” I said, staring into those mirrored lenses. “The only time I ever phoned him was when he gave me a specific time to call. For the most part, it was a one-way street. And lately, we haven’t had
any
contact. There’s been no need for it because, well, it’s over. And I told him that; I told
you
that.”
We’d arrived at my car and he faced me over the hood. “Regardless of what you told each other, I saw Steven Zucker parked in front of your building in what appeared to be an agitated state earlier today.”
I knew that state.
“But why would he be at my building? Why not just call me?”
Frank said nothing.
“Nix that,” I said. “He
has
called me, and I haven’t picked up.”
“Why not?”
“Because… ” I let it trail off, hoping he wouldn’t push the issue, but that was a stupid idea—like hoping the on ramps to the 405 Freeway would be open.
“Because?” he prompted, doing another scan of the area.
Not wanting to say something stupid and make him think less of me, I opened the door of the Rav4 and got in, Frank taking the passenger seat, just as he had the last time. I didn’t want to give him the
because
, which was I didn’t completely trust my resolve where Steven was concerned. Admitting that, however, only made me look weak and I wanted to give Frank the best impression. He and I might someday…
Might someday what, Quinn?
Did I really think Frank and I were going to ride off into the sunset together?
Come on, you’re just attracted to him because you’re desperate and hate Internet dating.
He’s not your type, remember? And you’re probably not his!
In fact, he probably considered me damaged goods, without any sort of moral compass, given that I conducted a two-year relationship with a married man.
I looked through the windshield out toward the western sky, which had turned to blue with refracted hues of orange, yellow, and pink in the gloaming. Glancing over at Frank, I saw his faced tipped to the sky as well, in an expression of wonder. “We live in a beautiful part of the world.”
“We do,” I agreed, still watching him. I thought maybe I found myself interested in him precisely because he was not my usual type; that type being pretty, slick, and unavailable. Frank was neither pretty nor slick, and that last item—availability—well, I only knew what he told me, but I’d been around him enough to get a sense that he was telling the truth. After a few minutes’ hesitation, I figured it was only right I tell him the truth, too.
“The reason I didn’t pick up his calls,” I began, “is because I didn’t want him to charm me back. He’s always had this power over me. He no longer does, but I guess that’s why. I knew how unhealthy the relationship was, and I couldn’t do it any more, his being married and everything. This time I’ve been completely committed to staying away and I think I can resist anything he tries, but still—I’m a little afraid he won’t take no for an answer.”