for,” she told the betta fish, carrying him into the kitchen as she sat at her little table with the Lean Cuisine. “They call each other. Talk over men. Take a vote and decide what to do. My only girlfriend is Lei Texeira, who’s as messed up about men as me—maybe more so. She’d shoot herself in the head before she’d sleep with a stranger, like I have so many times. She’d never understand this weird situation. No. I need to figure it out myself.”
Loverboy had little to add to this monologue.
Marcella shoveled in the woefully small portion of food in minutes, then tore into a loaf of bread sitting on the shelf and ate a couple of slices. Sipped the wine. Loverboy fanned his fins at her, and she dropped a few bread crumbs into the bowl. Rogers and his family had given her the fish for Christmas, and she was surprised at how attached to him she’d become.
“Who says fish aren’t good companions? Okay. I know. I wanted to check out Natalie’s place, see if I can get a look at whoever she’s sleeping with. I’ll go do that for a while, see what that kinky artist is up to, then just drive by the Club. Have a look. I don’t have to decide now.”
Loverboy did a few laps, gobbled at the floating crumbs.
“Okay. It’s a plan. I can do this.” Marcella went back into the bathroom and blew out her hair with the hair dryer, reveling in the sensation of hot air blowing over her squeaky-clean skin. When it was thick and straight, brushing her waist, she touched up her full mouth with fire-engine red. She whisked mascara over thick, curly lashes and slid into thin black silk pants. A loose velvet tank top completed the ensemble.
She put on the heavy gold Scatalina family cross her parents had given her for First Communion. It felt a little superstitious as she did so—as if warding off some sort of spell. She decided not to overthink it. She might be promiscuous, but she was no slut. There was a difference—and the difference was, she was in charge of whom she slept with.
Marcella slid her cred wallet and the small .19 caliber into her soft black leather purse. On her way out, she picked up the fish bowl and planted a kiss on it. A bright red lip print remained. Loverboy attacked it, bumping the glass.
“Love you too, baby.” She locked the door behind her.
Marcella took the elevator for once, feeling a very real physical tiredness masked by nervous energy—scuba diving really did have a sneaky physical effect. In the building garage, she got into her car, a black Honda Accord two-door.
She whipped the light canvas cover off, tossed it to the front of her parking stall. The dim lights of the garage gleamed off the chrome of custom rims, and Lei’s humorous gift of a pair of fuzzy purple dice dangled from the mirror.
She rolled out and, ten minutes later, drew up in front of Natalie’s dilapidated building, parking across the street in the shadow of a tree just enough to be hidden but not so deep in shadow she couldn’t see out. Seeing the dice reminded her to call her friend Lei, and she speed-dialed Texeira. It went to voice mail again.
“Damn, girl! Call me back. I need to talk to you.” What the hell. She doubted Lei would have any idea what to do, but the impulse to tell someone her ridiculous situation was strong—and this situation reminded her how few people she had to really talk to.
Marcella looked up the building to Natalie’s windows. The lights were on in the tenth-floor apartment, but no movement appeared. Marcella reclined the seat, turned the radio to a Latin guitar station.
It didn’t take long before she began to have trouble keeping her eyes open, and she checked her watch. Only nine o’clock. The time frame for partners to meet each other at the Club was between nine and eleven. If she waited here long enough, she’d be making her decision.
A pang somewhere south of her navel informed her that some parts of her body were casting a vote for going.
The lights went out
Loverboy had little to add to this monologue.
Marcella shoveled in the woefully small portion of food in minutes, then tore into a loaf of bread sitting on the shelf and ate a couple of slices. Sipped the wine. Loverboy fanned his fins at her, and she dropped a few bread crumbs into the bowl. Rogers and his family had given her the fish for Christmas, and she was surprised at how attached to him she’d become.
“Who says fish aren’t good companions? Okay. I know. I wanted to check out Natalie’s place, see if I can get a look at whoever she’s sleeping with. I’ll go do that for a while, see what that kinky artist is up to, then just drive by the Club. Have a look. I don’t have to decide now.”
Loverboy did a few laps, gobbled at the floating crumbs.
“Okay. It’s a plan. I can do this.” Marcella went back into the bathroom and blew out her hair with the hair dryer, reveling in the sensation of hot air blowing over her squeaky-clean skin. When it was thick and straight, brushing her waist, she touched up her full mouth with fire-engine red. She whisked mascara over thick, curly lashes and slid into thin black silk pants. A loose velvet tank top completed the ensemble.
She put on the heavy gold Scatalina family cross her parents had given her for First Communion. It felt a little superstitious as she did so—as if warding off some sort of spell. She decided not to overthink it. She might be promiscuous, but she was no slut. There was a difference—and the difference was, she was in charge of whom she slept with.
Marcella slid her cred wallet and the small .19 caliber into her soft black leather purse. On her way out, she picked up the fish bowl and planted a kiss on it. A bright red lip print remained. Loverboy attacked it, bumping the glass.
“Love you too, baby.” She locked the door behind her.
Marcella took the elevator for once, feeling a very real physical tiredness masked by nervous energy—scuba diving really did have a sneaky physical effect. In the building garage, she got into her car, a black Honda Accord two-door.
She whipped the light canvas cover off, tossed it to the front of her parking stall. The dim lights of the garage gleamed off the chrome of custom rims, and Lei’s humorous gift of a pair of fuzzy purple dice dangled from the mirror.
She rolled out and, ten minutes later, drew up in front of Natalie’s dilapidated building, parking across the street in the shadow of a tree just enough to be hidden but not so deep in shadow she couldn’t see out. Seeing the dice reminded her to call her friend Lei, and she speed-dialed Texeira. It went to voice mail again.
“Damn, girl! Call me back. I need to talk to you.” What the hell. She doubted Lei would have any idea what to do, but the impulse to tell someone her ridiculous situation was strong—and this situation reminded her how few people she had to really talk to.
Marcella looked up the building to Natalie’s windows. The lights were on in the tenth-floor apartment, but no movement appeared. Marcella reclined the seat, turned the radio to a Latin guitar station.
It didn’t take long before she began to have trouble keeping her eyes open, and she checked her watch. Only nine o’clock. The time frame for partners to meet each other at the Club was between nine and eleven. If she waited here long enough, she’d be making her decision.
A pang somewhere south of her navel informed her that some parts of her body were casting a vote for going.
The lights went out
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