Femme Noir (26 page)

“You showed your ass. I’m not your monkey.”

“Whatever, Miss Swanson, now drive.”

“Fuck that and fuck you, you washed-up wannabe,” I snapped. I started to open the door and set off running to purge these people, but I saw Reese jump the curb in an SUV and come barreling toward us. Reese screeched to a halt only after she hit Lila’s car in the rear. Lila and I were thrown against the dash. I barely registered what happened when Reese flew out of her vehicle in a rage, waving a gun.

“Oh, my God,” I murmured. “The bitch done lost her mind.” This was so much worse than I had anticipated. A gun? Who was Reese kidding? None of this was that big; none of this was that bad. I rolled my eyes as I got a mental overhead glimpse of this sordid triangle. I’m one of those dykes now, I thought acidly, my stomach turning sour. And over a woman I don’t want or like. “Oh, I miss LA.” I sighed and prepared for war. Reese would have it no other way.

Lila was weeping softly in the passenger seat. “I love you; I love you; I love you,” she whimpered and I was startled because I thought Lila was speaking to me. I relaxed when I realized Lila was crooning to Reese, who stood in front of the car, shouting and screaming, mostly inaudibly. I caught the words “shithead” and “big shot” and “slimy piece of shit” and so assumed Reese was challenging me to a duel. Over Lila? She had to be joking.

“I shouldn’t’ve done it. I know she can get this way, I know her. I shouldn’t’ve done it,” Lila cried.

“Oh, come off it. Why don’t you two just go somewhere alone, talk, and patch it up?”

“No, no, it’s irreparable.” Lila shook her head, tears streaming down her face.

“Irreparable,” I mocked. “It’s not irreparable.”

“She will kill us,” Lila said simply.

“Kill us? Kill you, maybe. But my black ass is gonna be on a plane to LA.” I glanced at Reese, who still screamed and beat the hood for emphasis.

I put my hand on the door handle so I could get out and negotiate with Reese. I wanted to calm things down, defuse this situation. Lila put a hand on my arm and stopped me. Reese took aim with the gun and blew a hole in the windshield between Lila and me. I covered my face. Lila, jaw clenched, eyes hard, released the emergency brake and stomped on my foot that rested on the gas pedal. The car lurched forward. Through my fingers, I got a glimpse of Reese’s wide-eyed terror before the sickening thump. I was only dimly aware of shouting, “Crazy bitch!” over and over. Lila was silent, grim, and determined. The car stopped almost as soon as it started.

“Get out,” Lila barked.

“What?” I was dazed. Glass had peppered my face.

“Pull yourself together,” Lila said dryly. “Run. I’ll take the heat. Go.”

“But…” I looked around. At the edge of this abandoned lot, in the distance, ordinary life was proceeding, ignorant and indifferent of this trauma. Traffic flowed. Lights changed. People walked. The sun shone. The wind blew. And here I was, in hell.

“Oh, man.” I sagged against the wheel.

“Are you an idiot?” Lila said harshly. “Get out while you can. The cops are coming.”

“How…how do you know?”

“Look, I just know, okay? Come on, get out of this, leave,” Lila urged brusquely. “Jesus, what will it take? Do I have to drag your sorry ass out?”

“No.” I stood shakily and slammed the car door behind her, Seized by a morbid desire, I walked to the front of the car where Reese lay, her eyes filled with fright and pain. She had blood bubbling from her nose and mouth. “Thank God, Nora, help me. Help,” she croaked.

I shook my head and grinned grimly. I leaned close to Reese’s face and hissed, “I won,
fool.
” Then I sauntered back to the driver’s side where Lila was leaning against the car, tearing at her own dress with a nail file.

“Aren’t you gone yet?” Lila cried. “And don’t you breathe a word of this, hear?” She stuck a finger in my face. “I’ll fix this, but don’t you tell a soul or else. We know where you live and we’ve been there
once.
”

“You?” I felt shock move deeper into my body like a sweet numbness.

“We trashed your dump. You didn’t have anything good anyway.” Lila laughed at me.

In the crazy over-wet air, clarity sparkled in my mind. “You killed Michelle.” My voice was flat.

Lila laughed. “Don’t be silly. Not
me.
” She paused meaningfully. Her eyes rolled toward Reese. “Not
me,
” she repeated. “But I didn’t mind. And I didn’t stop it. Michelle wanted Reese for herself. But I told you, all those nasty femmes better not touch my butch. And Michelle was getting above herself, wasn’t she?”

All of a sudden, I knew that Michelle had been having an affair with Reese and that either Michelle threatened to tell Lila, hoping to milk another cash cow with blackmail, or she actually did tell Lila, after which Reese went insane for revenge. No one gets away with destroying the cozy little equilibrium of Lila and Reese’s world, right? Michelle and Reese had been having an affair. Reese had to come to Los Angeles a lot, allegedly for shows and gallery openings, so it had been perfect. She and Michelle teamed up while Reese kept the home front with Lila. Maybe things got out of control and that was the desperate phone call from Michelle to me. I smiled bitterly as I thought, maybe it was all just some misunderstanding. Who knew if Reese would even survive this accident? Well, no more than she deserved.

Then Lila nodded at me, as if we had said everything. Then Lila put a finger to her lips for silence and knelt by Reese, smoothing hair from her forehead. Reese’s eyes fluttered. “It will be all right, baby, mama’s here.” Lila spoke coldly to me. “Come on, you don’t really care that Michelle is dead, do you?”

“But…but that’s no…it’s still not—”

“And who the hell cares if it was Reese Cup or me or the two of us? No harm has been done. Justice is served.”

“No…you’re wrong…it’s—”

“Are you going to argue or run? You better run. You don’t understand any of this. Last chance.” Lila stood and slapped herself in the mouth, causing fresh bleeding. Then, staring straight into my eyes, Lila worked herself into a fever pitch of hysteria. Starting small then building, so by the time I was on the run, I could hear both sirens and Lila’s high-pitched wails.

Chapter Twenty-Six

I ran, totally lost. I ran for miles, burning my muscles and gasping for air. The molasses that was Oklahoma oxygen starved my pumping lungs and incinerated my throat. Max or not, I had begun to regret coming here. Hell, I regretted ever having lived with Michelle. Lived with? I regretted ever having seen her. It was an absurd path of inevitability. That one smile and wink at Michelle three years ago led to me in Tulsa, fleeing a crime scene on foot. God, I am ridiculous, I thought as I ran. Morning traffic was heavy and I dodged cars and looked for landmarks. There were none. I looked for long butts in the gutters. I found none. What now? Follow the game plan, my sane voice said. Follow the game plan. If you do that, everything will be all right. This troubled day will end and sunset will see you on a plane to Los Angeles.

“Yeah,” I gasped, bent over with my hands on my knees. “That’s right. It’s just like a game. I need to stick to my plan. With a plan, I’m invincible. I’m safe. Just do my list and leave. I’ll be okay. I’ll be fine. I’ll be just fine. I’ll be all right.” I stood, rolled my shoulders and cracked my knuckles. “Just fine.”

I went into a convenience store and bought water. I eyed the packs of cigarettes lustfully, my mind justifying and rationalizing in every direction to convince me to buy some. “You haven’t bought in a year. That’s good. That’s commendable. In fact, respectable. But come on. You deserve a good relaxing smoke while you execute your plan. It will help you stick to the list. After all you’ve been through this morning, hell, the Surgeon General would smoke. Just one pack. No one needs to know. Come on, come on, you’ll feel so much better. It’s just the thing for your frazzled nerves.” I shook my head against that voice. “Max would want you to. She would strip open the pack, pat one out, kiss your mouth, and then place the cigarette in between your lips as her fingers lingered there. Then she would light it for you as you stared into each other’s eyes. Come on, do it for Max.”

That nasty, sneaky voice.

“And a pack of Marlboros,” I said gruffly to the clerk. I looked up taxi services and called for a car. Did I have Max’s address? It didn’t matter; I could get there. In between huge gulps of frosty cold water, I stared at the cigarettes. I sat on a bench in the shade to wait. I pretended Max was there next to me.

Max took the pack, sliding it from my hand to her own and unwrapped it slowly, like a striptease. Then she smelled the pack with closed eyes. Max cracked the top and slid out a cigarette. She put it in her own mouth and lit it, the fire making a small orange burst on her face. She dragged the smoke deep into her lungs. She held her breath and leaned in to kiss me, smoke pouring out of our joined mouths. Only then did Max place the cigarette to my lips. I spat the cigarette in a graceful arc to the ground. “What took you so long?” Max asked. “Teaching you who is boss,” I replied gruffly. “I’ve always known who was boss.” Max laughed. “That’s funny, me too,” I answered. With smoldering eyes and itchy, hungry hands, I knocked her to her back on the bench. Cars rushed past heedlessly. Max succumbed, letting her head drop off the bench’s edge.

I sank onto her soft, yielding body. I filled my hands with her luscious flesh. I popped the snow-white globes that were Max’s breasts out of her bra and feasted on them, my head moving quickly from one to the other. I left wet tongue tracks all over her skin. She moaned and writhed, wrapping her legs around me and gripping like a vise. Oh, those thighs! Odes of eternal lust for those strong round thighs. I hated thin thighs; they looked anemic, spindly, unhealthy, and masculine. Women not only held up the world, but also gave birth to it. They needed big, juicy thighs to do that work. They held the earth in their thighs, they walked and worked and fed and loved and fucked with those thighs, and with jobs that important, women must have substantial weight. It was disrespectful to expect women to do their holy work on toothpicks. Thin thighs were a sign of a depleted woman, not fulfilling her role as goddess. Max had grand, wondrous thighs, and I wanted to brand her. Feel her squirm; see her flesh sizzle as the iron burned my mark into her skin. Oh, it drove me crazy not to be able to chew on mouthfuls of Max meat. To lose myself in the sheets of wide muscle, to pinch and stroke and grab abundance by the handful. As I hovered over Max, car horns honked. I drank from her creamy rich tits like a suckling infant. Her nipples swelled from cool pink pinheads to hot sweet berries. Her great hips were undulating under me, urging me on. My hand crept to her navel and she groaned her assent. I slipped my hand down, down, down to the tangle of hair and the slick heat that infused my fingers. Oh, God, yes!

A bus coming to a stop in front of the bench broke my reverie. The bus door flapped open and the driver waited for some sign from me, and I shook my head. I sat alone, smoking and sweating, until the taxi pulled up.

“Swan Lake,” I told the cabbie.

“What address?”

“Don’t know. I’ll know it when I see it, just go.” I slammed the door and grimaced at the no smoking sign.

At Max’s house, I noticed there was still no sign of her. I sprinted up the stairs to the front door and after extracting one more, I put the new pack of cigarettes in the mailbox.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Finally, I drove away from the house, watching it grow smaller in the rearview. At a stop sign, I closed my eyes and said good-bye to Max. Only someone honking brought me out of the trance. Having forgotten to send flowers to Michelle’s mother, I found my way to Miss Dell’s and picked up a bunch of lilies. Then I went to Thomas Wynter’s grocery and bought an Italian cream cake. Now, I was ready to see the McKerrs.

I dug through my backpack for the tattered paper Sloane had given me. I headed over there, feeling nervous. The homes just got bigger and grander until they passed absurd. The lawns and trees grew and the driveways stretched into squinting. By an educated guess, I turned into one and pulled slowly down the long stone driveway, its curves showing off the landscaping and taking me deeper into privacy. Finally, I saw a black family barbecuing under the trees by the garage. I parked and waved. They all grinned and waved back. Even the weather seemed better here, cooler, drier. The food smelled heavenly, and with sudden grief, I wished I belonged somewhere. I was alone now. Great Grama dead, Grama dead, Ma dead, Michelle dead. Orphaned and single. I wished to be taken under some family’s wing, the matriarch cooing and scolding and everybody welcoming and missing me when I was gone. I wanted someone to say, “Where’s Nora?” I wanted to be smiled at and cuffed and hugged too long and nagged about churchgoing. Nothing matters but this, I thought, roughly wiping something out of my eyes. I miss you, Grama, I miss you, Ma.

I carried the flowers and cake up to the back door. The family watched silently, the pitmaster waving flies away with his tongs. An old grizzled man snored in a hammock.

“Yes?” A solid matronly woman in a maid’s uniform answered the door. I was surprised. It was the woman from Michelle’s graveside service. The woman who had arrived and read from the Bible after everyone left.

“I…I brought these for the family,” I stammered.

“Are you a friend?” The woman was icy and professional.