RECKLESS — Bad Boy Criminal Romance (35 page)

              “Peter,” I say.

              “Do you go to college here?”

              “No, I’m just visiting.  I’m at the hotel just down the street.”

              “Me too!  I’m visiting some friends.  I go to UT -Knoxville.  Where do you go?”

              “I don’t.  I’m graduated.  I’m a lawyer.”

              “Really?  I thought maybe you were younger.”

              “Nope.”

              “Really?”

              “Yeah.  I’m Peter.  Peter the lawyer.”

              “I’m from California originally,” she says.  “I like the south okay.  Except in the winter.  It gets too cold.  I like the outdoors.  I like to hike and swim and watch the sun set in the east.”

              “You mean the west?”

              “No, I like it when it sets in the east.”

              “Oh,” I say.  “Are you an astronomy major?”

              “No.  I know I’m a Capricorn though.”

              “Cool.”

“Hey, I’m going to get a drink,” she says.  “Do you want one?”

              “Yeah, thanks.  Whatever you’re having.”

              “Okay.”  She walks away.

              Angela approaches me.  “Why are you talking to her?”

              “Why not?”

              “Because she’s an idiot.”

              “What’s wrong with that?”

              Angela sighs.

              “What’s wrong?”

              “Nothing.  I just want to go back to the hotel.”  She reaches and takes my hand.  “C’mon, let’s go.  Please.”

              “Look, you can go back if you want to.  You don’t need me.”  I pull my hand from her and reach into my pocket.  “Here.  Take the room key.”

              “Why can’t you—”

              “Hey, she’s coming back.  Go ahead.  I’ll be back later.”

              “Whatever.  I really hope you have a lot of fun.”  Angela stomps away.

The brunette hands me a beer.  She only takes a few sips of hers.  “I’m kind of through partying tonight.  Do you want to walk me back to my room?”

              In our hotel she leads me to her room, No. 414.  We sit on the bed and kiss. I glance at her purse on the floor.  She kisses my neck.

“Hold on a second.”  She stands, picks up the purse, and steps into the bathroom.

I sit on the bed.  She comes out of the bathroom without her purse.  We continue kissing and start to remove each other’s clothes.

Two and a half hours later I lie on the bed.  The brunette has fallen asleep.  I stand, get dressed, and walk into the bathroom.  Her purse is on the sink.  I pick it up and extract the cash.  I exit the room and return to my and Angela’s room two floors below.  Angela reclines on the bed watching television.  “Where’ve you been?”

“I brought that girl back to her room.”

“What’d you do with her?”

“What do you think I did with her?”  I sit on the end of the bed.

Angela sits up beside me.  “What?  Tell me.”

              “Tell you want?  What details are you interested in?”

              “I just want to hear you say it.  I wanted you to come back to the room with me.”

              “What’s up with you?  Why are you acting so weird?”

              Angela rubs her hand down my neck.  She holds her hand up and there is glitter on her palm.

              “So what?”

              “She’s in this hotel?”

              “We’ll have to be careful.  She’s a couple floors up.  414, I think.”

              “Do you have your lighter?”

              “Yeah.”  I take my lighter out of my pocket and hand it to her.  “I don’t think you’re supposed to smoke in here.”

              Angela walks into the bathroom.

              Sitting on the edge of the bed, I take off my shoes.  “What are you doing?”

              Angela takes a can of hairspray and leaves the hotel room.

Looking at my shoes, I don’t see her exit but hear the door’s thud upon closing.  “Angela?”  I jump up, open the door, and look out.  She’s already down the hall, about to go up the staircase.  In my socks, I jog after her.  I bound up to the fourth floor and see her down the hallway.

Angela marches to the door of 414.  She begins spraying it with hairspray.

I catch up to her.  “What is this?  What the hell are you doing?”

Angela reaches into her pocket and takes out my lighter.  She sparks a flame. 

I see it and smack the lighter out of her hand.  She tries to pick it up.  From behind, I grab her by the arms.  Angela struggles to free herself, but I wrap my arms around her upper body and pick her up.  She lifts her feet into the air and kicks off the wall, propelling us both backward.  I hit my back on the opposing wall and release my grip on her. 

Angela swipes the lighter from the ground, sparks it, and sets the door of 414 ablaze.  I snatch the can of hairspray from the floor, grab Angela by the wrist, and we rush back down the staircase to our room.

I let Angela in first and then close the door. 

She starts toward the bed.

“Hey!”  I grab her by the upper arm, then the other, and slam her against the wall.  She tries to free herself, but I pin both her arms against the wall over her head.  “The fuck’s wrong with you?!”

We look at each other, both breathing heavily.  Angela thrusts her head forward and kisses me hard.  We pull back, look at each other for a moment, and then kiss again.

“Grab your stuff,” I tell her.  “We need to leave right now.”

              “Fucking c’mon.”  I find a gas station payphone and dial Terrell.  It’s nearing three o’clock in the morning on a rundown Memphis street corner.  Angela sits in the Toyota passenger seat bundled up in a sweater and coat, tired, waiting.  I’m freezing, holding the phone and listening to it ring and ring with no answer.  “C’mon, Terrell.  Answer the fucking phone.”  With the third ring and nothing, I hang up and start back toward the car.  As I reach for the door handle, the payphone rings.  I jog back over and pick up.  “Hello?”

              “Hey.  Who is this?” Terrell’s voice asks.

              “Hey man, I’m in town.  I’ve been trying to get ahold of you.”

              “Who is this?” Terrell asks, puzzled, slightly irritated.

              “I’m sorry.  It’s Brandon.”

              “Brandon? Where are you?”

              “I’m in the city and I need a place to stay.  Can you help me out?”

              “Of course.  Hey, I’m about to get off work.  Meet me at my house.”  He gives me the address.

              His house is in a sleepy, tucked-away family neighborhood located in midtown Memphis.  The lawns are professionally manicured with lots of decorative flowers and plants and garden statues.  In the backyards are pools and swing sets.  Gone is his grandfather’s old pickup truck.  In its place in the driveway is a black Dodge Charger with dark, tinted windows.  Terrell stands at his front door in a heavy wool coat with his hands in his pockets.

              “Fuck, man.”  He hugs me on the porch of his house.  “I was starting to think I’d never see you again.”

              “Nah.  I miss you too much to stay away for good.  This is Angela,” I say.

She stands a few feet behind me.

              “Ah, okay.”  Terrell smiles.  “Looks like you’ve been busy on the road.  Go ahead and come inside before we turn into fucking icicles out here.”  We step inside and Angela excuses herself to the restroom.  Terrell asks, “Where’ve you been?”

              “Everywhere, it feels like.  I eventually went down south about as far possible.  Made it all the way to the ocean, the beach.”

              “How was it?”

              I shrug.  “It was alright.”

              “Just alright?  I thought that was the American Dream.  Making it and retiring to the beach.”

“Yeah.  We crawled out of the ocean millions of years ago.  Now everybody is trying to get back.”  I follow Terrell to a living room at the back of his house.  I sit on a leather loveseat and look outside through big glass windows.  In the backyard is a small, stone swimming pool surrounded by bamboo.  “You got a pool now?  Forget the beach.  It looks like you got about all you need right here.”

“Ha.  Yeah, I’ve been making some scratch since you left,” he says.  “Been able to afford some fun new toys.”

              “Are you running the strip club?  The one you were planning before I had to go?”

              “Exactly.  Curtis bankrolled it in the beginning.  But at this point, it’s up and running.  I proved to Curtis I know what I’m doing, so he’s basically hands-off and just takes a cut of the cash each month.  I’m the owner … on paper, that is.  And he’s allowed me to take a nice salary.  I hire a guy whiter than you to mow my lawn.  How about that shit?  Talk about the American Dream.”

I laugh.  Then I think about the time that’s lapsed.  “Too bad I had to go.  I could’ve taken you up on having a job and getting in on the ground floor.  I’d probably have a place like this by now.  Or at least something.  Not to mention bringing home some of the female talent from time to time.”

Terrell grins.  “Just one of the perks.”

              I force a smile.

              “Hey, if you decide to stick around, you can have a job.  With your mind, I doubt it’d be long before earning a promotion to a management position.”

              I nod.  “That might not be a bad idea.”  I think a moment, then say, “I can’t help but notice you’re grandmother isn’t here.”

              “Yeah, she passed.  Almost two years ago now.”

              “I’m sorry.”

              “She lived a good life.  I was even able to spoil her with some of this cash I’m making before she went.”

I smile.

“What are you guys talking about?” Angela asks, as she steps into the room.

              “Just catching up a bit,” I tell her.

              “I’m sorry, but I’m exhausted,” she says.  “Would it be okay if I went to bed?”

              “No problem,” Terrell says.  “I have a guest room for you guys.  I’m exhausted myself from working all day.  Why don’t I take off early tomorrow and we do something?  Have a nice dinner, some drinks, whatever.”

We agree and Terrell leads us to our room as we tell him goodnight.  Angela and I strip down to our underwear and get in bed and fall asleep beside each other.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Angela and I wake up at noon and Terrell is already gone.  In the kitchen the refrigerator is stocked and I find a skillet and turn on the stove.  I fry an omelet for each of us.  As we eat, I open my wallet.  The photo strip of Angela and me from Mississippi falls out.  I pick it up and show it to her.  “I guess I’ll go ahead and throw this away.”

“No, don’t!  Give it to me.”

“You want it?”  I hand her the picture.  “I thought it creeped you out for some reason.”

              “I don’t know what I was feeling then.  I was just being stupid.”

              “Maybe you felt weird because it stole your soul.”

              “What?”

              “I’m just playing.  I once read about people who believed that being photographed steals your soul.”

              “Well, I have the picture now.  Does that mean I own your soul?”

              “I guess so.”

“I’ll keep it safe in my pocket.”

On the kitchen countertop near the stove I find several books of matches.  They have a logo that reads “GODDESS CABARET”, the strip club Terrell runs, I assume.  By early evening, Angela and I are bored.  Instead of waiting for Terrell to return home, I think to meet him at work so as to get a chance to see his club and get out of the house.  I use a spare key to lock the house and we drive over.

              The parking lot is overflowing with cars and I reconsider going inside.  “Terrell’s probably busy,” I say to Angela.  “I don’t want to bother him.”

              “I don’t feel like just sitting in his house anymore,” she says.  “Can we at least go do something?”

              “Yeah.  Let me run inside real quick and tell him we’re going out.”  I leave Angela in the car and walk inside.  Immediately after stepping into the club, I realize it is an upgrade from Platinum Pleasures where Terrell used to work.  The girls are hotter and the club is roomier with one main stage and two satellite stages.  A dining area is separated from the stages by red-tinted glass windows, through which only the silhouettes of the dancers’ gyrating bodies are visible.  Patrons eat steak and au gratin potatoes and crème brûlée and drink from a full bar.  Back in the dancing area, strippers mingle with the customers.  One asks me if I want a private dance, which I decline.  The club is packed, shoulder to shoulder.  I force my way through the crowd, trying to find Terrell’s office.