Naked Tao (8 page)

By no means is it a fancy corner office like John’s, but it had been home to me for several years. Unlike John’s office, it had been ransacked and was a total mess. One odd thing I noticed was the bottle of Pappy was gone and in its place was an empty bottle of Jim Beam. I wondered about that, but it was time to leave.

I managed to get out of the building without further incident. Once I was on the road again, I decided I needed to stop somewhere and have a good stiff drink. It seemed like the best idea I had all day. 

“…you should be very confused right now.” - Ch’ing

My head throbbed to the jungle beat of a rap song crackling from an old clock radio salvaged from my parents’ attic. Like a scratched record, the same two annoying lines repeated again and again. 

“I’m a man of Tao, naked and wild. I can make you howl, naked and wild.” 

Something had to be done about that throbbing. Either I needed more tequila or the radio needed to die. Since making a decision was totally out of the question, I decided to do both. First, I hit the mute button, but it didn’t work. Frustrated, I stabbed it a second and then a third time. It must have been possessed, because it kept playing. 

That’s when a brilliant idea leaked through the alcohol haze and I yanked the cord out of the wall. The music played on. Just as I was about to take a swing at the radio, a bright light dialed the headache up to max. 

I put a pillow over my face and groaned, “Just kill me now.” 

It didn’t help. The pillow stank from last night’s sins and the radio continued tormenting me. I groaned and tossed the pillow to the floor. Then I grabbed the radio and smashed it against the wall. It couldn’t have gotten much worse, but it did. 

“Have you lost your mind, Grant?” 

It was a chick’s raspy voice, sounding like she’d smoked one too many unfiltered Camels. The voice belonged to a tall brunette with nearly two inches of dirty blond roots and chipped red nail polish. She was naked in my bathroom doorway. 

There was something familiar about this woman, but I couldn’t place her. She was also a little scary. Her torso was covered with a tattoo of Eve holding a snake in one hand and a half-eaten apple in the other. Her face was hard-worn, as if she had seen some tough times.  I thought she might look older than she actually was. 

I realized I was staring at her and averted my eyes. I was also naked, so I reached for a dirty sheet to cover myself. I have a habit of giving strangers nicknames and tagged her Eve. 

She cleared her throat expectantly, so I mumbled the first thing that came to mind, “The music woke me.” 

She blinked a couple of times. I wasn’t sure if she was adjusting to the light, or if she was trying to decide if she should ask about the radio. 

“What music,” she finally asked. 

Now I was confused, so I asked a question of my own, “You didn’t hear the radio?” 

“No, you were dreaming…all curled up into a ball and begging someone to please stop,” she said. “Do you want to tell me about your kinky dream while we act it out?” 

I let out a little groan. I was not interested in kinky games. Besides my head felt as if last night’s tequila had taken root and a large, festering agave was growing in it. I fought back an eruption of stomach acid burning its way past my heart and half way up my esophagus, before I finally managed to choke it back down. 

She was nearly to the bed when I blurted out, “I have a headache.” 

She froze in place and fixed a glassy stare at the center of my forehead, as if she could see into my head.  “Really?” she asked. “You have a headache. I can’t believe you just said that to me. It sounds like something I would say to my husband.” 

Even though it was the truth, I also hated saying it. Cynthia often used the same excuse. I heard it often enough from her that I became reluctant to initiate sex.  The truth is, begging for sex made me feel like a loser. 

That wasn’t the worst of it. Cynthia revealed her true nature on those occasions she tried to negotiate an exchange of sex for something she wanted from me.  As you can imagine, it didn’t go well when I pointed out she was trying to turn a trick with the love of her life. 

So, I eventually stopped asking. After a couple of sexless months she told me I was emotionally bankrupt and demanded a divorce. It was just like her to make it my fault. She said she needed more from a partner than I could give. Go figure. She emptied our bank account, moved her girlfriend into the house, and kept the Benz. 

Eve was looking a bit impatient as she crossed her arms over her small bosom. I didn’t know what she expected me to say. I sure didn’t want to talk about headaches or spouses. If anyone was due an explanation, it had to be me. Geez, she was a married woman standing naked in my bedroom. 

I shrugged. “The headache is real, but you have a husband at home,” I said. “Maybe you should offer to do kinky things with him. I’m really not interested in married women.” 

Her eyes traveled downward and came to rest at my groin area, where the bedding was tented. I followed her eyes. Damn, I was hard. My body had betrayed me and it was embarrassing. I wished I could do a better job of hiding it from her, but I knew it was hopeless. 

“Yea, that’s what you said last night and your lack of response proved it,” she said. “Fortunately, things are looking up this morning.” 

My hands were shaking. I wasn’t sure if it was caused by an overdose of tequila, or the nightmarish day I had yesterday. I didn’t have a clue what she was talking about, because I didn’t remember a thing about last night. Was she saying I couldn’t perform? Not that I wanted to have sex with her, because I didn’t, but not being able to perform in that way was something a guy never wanted to happen. 

“I’m not interested,” I said. 

Maybe I should have been more diplomatic, because it started to get ugly at this point. “Look at you,” said Eve. “You’re a mess. You live above a hookah bar. I thought you were some kind of hot shot lawyer.” 

She was right about the apartment. It wasn’t much. Two small rooms above a hookah bar in a busy section of the Highlands.  The larger of the two rooms was divided by a Formica counter top into a kitchen and living room. The initials of a prior tenant were carved into the Formica and judging by the burn marks, it was once used as an ash tray. 

Two mismatched thrift store bar stools lined the bar. One was solid enough, but the other was a menace. I kept meaning to throw it out before someone got hurt and sued me for what little I had. Not that I entertained guests in the place. 

Other than a half-eaten pizza and an empty tequila bottle, the apartment was neat enough. A stack of unopened mail lay in a pile of dust at the end of a beat up old coffee table. Several of the envelopes were marked “final notice”. I should have opened the mail and paid a few bills, but I really got distracted with the big case I was working on for Pathogen. 

The only thing of value in the place was a dusty antique sword with strange markings standing alone in the corner like a silent sentry. It was a gift from Ch’ing. With a twinkle in his eye he told me it was older than the hills, and a priceless piece of junk.  I felt a stab of panic remembering that he was missing. I needed to get it together and find out what was going on. 

At the end of the counter was an open door leading into a small windowless bedroom.  On the floor was a king sized mattress that took up most of the room. That’s where I was at the moment. The only light in the room came from a bare light bulb in the small bathroom.  It provided backlighting for Eve. The truth is I would have preferred something closer to total darkness. 

I sighed. I couldn’t remember ever waking up with a stranger before, and didn’t know how to handle it. What I did know for sure was it was time to get rid of her, but first I asked her about last night. 

“For the last six months I watched you come into my bar and order the same thing” she said. “It was the most expensive bourbon in the place, a Jim Beam Devil’s Cut…never diluted with a mixer or ice, and always ordered neat.” 

She swept her arm around my crappy apartment and shook her head in disbelief. “You have that right mix of bad boy and good guy that is so delicious,” she said. “The devil’s cut drew attention to the danger lurking behind your smooth lawyer façade. I could tell you were some kind of bad ass, but I could also see a lost little boy in there too. It made you especially hot!” 

“It was always the same,” she continued. “You would sit at the bar and sip your one drink, while the hottest chicks in the place hit on you. Once you finished your Devil’s Cut, you would excuse yourself and go to the men’s room. From there you would quietly slip out the door without saying good bye to anyone.” 

“I thought you might be gay or something,” she said. “What a waste that would be. I always wanted to turn a gay guy. So, last night when you started ordering shots of tequila, I saw an opportunity and decided to take it. You were interested at first, but then you noticed my ring and chilled. So, I made some adjustments.” 

I raised an eyebrow and asked, “Adjustments?” 

“I told you my husband died in a motorcycle wreck a few months ago and I wasn’t ready to take my ring off,” she answered. “You got all sappy and told me about your dad.” 

“But why would you lie like that,” I asked. 

She narrowed her eyes and said, “Because I can.” 

I didn’t remember any of this and I didn’t like her lies. “How did we get back here?” I asked. 

“Seriously…it didn’t take much once you were good and drunk,” answered Eve. “I let you call me Ginny and bent over every once in a while to show you my tits. We closed the deal when I followed you into the men’s room and grabbed your cock. Men are so easy to manipulate.” 

I didn’t like being manipulated and the last thing I needed was a jealous husband. 

As an afterthought she asked, “Who’s Ginny by the way?” 

I wasn’t about to discuss Ginny with this woman and decided to keep the discussion focused on her.  “Won’t your husband want to know where you spent the night?”  I asked. 

“I’ll tell him I couldn’t sleep after work and went to my sister’s for coffee,” she said.  “He’s so stupid.  He believes whatever I tell him.” 

The lies reminded me of Cynthia. I did not need another liar in my life. I was trying to figure out how to get rid of her when my iPhone vibrated. The call was from Eric.  Getting rid of her was going to be an unpleasant task. I dislike being rude, especially to women. I don’t usually take calls when I’m with someone, but it was a welcomed diversion. 

“It’s very early,” I said. 

“He lives,” said Eric. “Glad you survived the night.” 

“What do you know about last night?” I asked. 

“Only that you didn’t go home like you promised,” answered Eric. “You were seriously wasted dude and wouldn’t tell me where you were.  I’ve never seen you so paranoid. You kept jabbering some nonsense about a blond, a ponytail, Ginny, and a kiss.” 

“I didn’t kiss Ginny last night,” I said. “You’re tripping man.” 

“Damn, I was afraid of that,” he said. 

Eve was ransacking the room for her clothes. The place was a mess before she started, but somehow she still managed to make it worse. 

“How do you find anything in this mess,” she growled. 

“I hear a chick’s voice,” said Eric. “Dude, you’re holding out on me. Did you take Ginny home? It’s about time you found someone like that. I have to say…you stayed with Cynthia way too long! What was that skanky stripper’s name? You know…the one she left you for…Chasity…Candy?” 

“Candida…and no I didn’t bring Ginny home with me,” I said. 

“Unbelievable…Candida…how fitting she chose a STD for a stage name,” said Eric. “It’s not Ginny…bummer. Well…anyway, I’m glad you got some action last night, but if it had been me, I would have poured my energy into Ginny. Damn, that girl is special!” 

“Take it easy Eric,” I said. “Aren’t you the one who’s always telling me it’s only sex?” 

“What I tell you my friend is don’t be afraid, it’s only pussy,” answered Eric. 

Eve said a little too loudly, “You’re a loser, Grant,” then slammed the door on her way out for added emphasis. 

“Damn, she’s pissed,” said Eric. 

“Yeah, the perfect ending to a really bad night,” I said wryly. “Is there any news on Ch’ing?” 

“No, but I’ve got my best guys on it,” answered Eric. “There’s nothing to do about the angry chick but move forward, Grant. Speaking of which…I’ve got a job for you.” 

“I don’t want a job, Eric.  I’m moving to Bhutan.” 

“Yeah right, you’re broke. Let me help you out, Grant. I have a job for you.” 

I was suspicious. “What kind of job?” I asked. 

“Padma Ganesha needs protection,” replied Eric. 

“You’re joking right,” I said. “I’m not a body guard, Eric. I’m a lawyer.” 

“Grant, you’re an unemployed lawyer,” said Eric. “You need the money and maybe it’s time for a change. Besides, who knows where this could lead…perhaps a rich corporate client. On second thought, I was starting to think you might not be cut out for that attorney shit anyway.” 

The one thing I knew for sure was, I wanted nothing to do with another heartless client like Pathogen. Maybe it was time for a change. 

I wondered why Eric needed me to guard someone and asked, “You’re the professional. Why don’t you do this?” 

“I would, but I’ll be busy trying to save you’re sorry ass from guys who lift weights all day in prison,” replied Eric. “Besides, they asked for you. It’s a lot of money and could keep you occupied while we get the rest of this mess sorted out.”