Authors: Eric Pete

Frostbite (9 page)

BOOK: Frostbite

2.43Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

ads

It would be daylight in about an hour.

And sometime after that when she’d notice her car was missing.

On my way out, I lifted her keys from her bedroom while she remained in the bathroom. Right out from under the nose of a slumbering and snoring Ivan.

Yeah. Her
good-good
was that good.

Way Back ...

“See, Mommy told you it was okay,” she said as she led me by the hand past all kinds of lights and machines. We were at her job ... a TV studio. Except it wasn’t hers. Not anymore anyways.

My mom was on the soap opera
The Edge of Nowhere,
where she had played “Lettie Hunter from the wrong side of the tracks” ... Whatever that was. At least until they told her not to come back no more. It was after she’d had her heart broken by Trent Massey. But it wasn’t make-believe like on her show because he played Randall Fischer on
Promises for Tomorrow,
a show where he did all kinds of good stuff with other pretty ladies. But none of them were as pretty as my mom, even when she’d been crying.

“Trent!” she shouted out to him while he was in front of a camera talking to Irene Fuller. I knew her from
Promises for Tomorrow
too. She got married a lot, but maybe she’d say hi to me and my mom too. Randall Fischer had told my mom in front of me that he didn’t want anything more to do with her, but maybe he was acting then. Just like he was now with Irene Fuller.

Someone yelled, “Cut!” and I heard people complaining about my mom. But not Randall Fischer. He saw her and walked somewhere else. My mom began yelling. Saying bad things first then begging next. She’d been like this for weeks, but now was worse.

“Ms. Marie,” they called out to her when they saw who it was. That’s how the TV people called her ... Leila Marie. No last name. Just her first and middle. She never gave me a middle. Just my first—Truth. After the place in New Mexico where I was born, Truth or Consequences. Anyway, two men came toward her and she ran away, pulling me by the arm behind her, as she tried to get closer to the room that Randall Fischer had gone into. She was scaring me.

“Mommy, can we go?” I asked.

“Trent! I demand that you come over here and speak to me! I’m not leaving until you do!” she yelled, ignoring me. When more people tried to stop her, she tossed a fruit tray from off the table at them. They ducked and most of the cantaloupe and grapes missed. I was already hungry and my stomach growled over the wasted food all over the floor. Wanted to grab just a piece. Then she threw a pitcher filled with somebody’s orange juice. That didn’t miss.

We were going to be in so much trouble.

A man in a uniform grabbed my mom in a bear hug once he cornered us. She screamed and kicked while he carried her away from the set with another shoving me along behind them. The one carrying my mom kicked the door open to the real world outside. I squinted from all the light that was coming in. People wearing all kinds of clothes and costumes pointed and laughed at us as they walked by to other little buildings with signs on them. Other Randall Fischers and people from the wrong side of the tracks playing make-believe I guessed.

The man who was in charge came outside and tried to get my mom to calm down.

“Leila,” he said as he had the man in the uniform put her down. “You can’t come around here like this. You know better.”

I could tell he felt sorry for her and it calmed her down even though she still wanted to see Randall Fischer. Except he told her Randall didn’t want to see her. Ever. Not play acting. This man knew my mom from
The Edge of Nowhere
where he worked before. He reached in his pocket and gave her some money. More money that I had ever seen. Told her to leave. And to get some help.

She told him that the Trent man was the only one who could help her. He was about to say something else then he saw me standing there. The man who pushed me outside was still behind me, so I was afraid to move.

“Leila, you never told us you had a son. And Trent sure as hell didn’t,” he said to my mom.

“That’s because he’s been away in boarding school. Until I was fired,” she answered him, lying. Or maybe she was just play acting. I’d never been at a boarding school. Had never attended school. Just a steady diet of old books and the TV in the awful, scary hotel where we stayed.

“Why you didn’t tell them about me, Mommy?” I asked on the bus ride away from the studio. I remembered the night when she brought Randall Fischer by our hotel. When he first found out about me and where we lived, that’s when he broke up with her. And when she changed.

“Because you’re Mommy’s secret,” she said as she counted the money the nice man had given her. “And if people don’t know about you, they can’t hurt you, baby. No one can ever hurt you.”

“Oh. So ... where are we going now? Back to New Mexico?” I asked with a smile, hoping that was the answer. I had friends back there. Here in Hollywood, I never spoke to anyone. Just the TV and my mom ... when she’d come back from work. Sometimes she’d stay gone long. But I kept the door locked just like I promised.

“I wanted to go to Seattle. Trent was from there originally. Heard it was so pretty,” she said with a sigh as she stopped counting the money. “But that doesn’t matter anymore.”

The city bus took us to a Greyhound bus station filled with lots of people going places. We got out and my mom went to a pay phone where she made a call. She seemed even sadder as she spoke too low for me to hear. When she was done, she bent down to talk to me.

“We’re going see your Uncle Jason. In New Orleans,” she said.

“Is it somewhere nice? And happy? Like Disneyland?” I asked, hoping it was.

“New Orleans has its own magic, Truth,” she answered, forcing a smile for me I think.

Then she took me by the hand to buy our tickets out of Hollywood.

Seattle

I jogged along Alki Beach; the cloud-shrouded Olympic Mountain range barely visible across Puget Sound from me. Felt safe here. Relatively. If I needed to flee the country on short notice, Canada was just a prepaid boat ride and bribed border official away. At my one o’clock position was Vashon Island, a ferry in the distance bringing residents from the mainland on schedule. Public transportation was an interesting part of life around here. Boats, bicycles, buses, and trains shuttling bodies to and from the many hills, hamlets, and islands that comprised the area. Of course, city still had its traffic jams; a gift—kind of like gang activity and overpriced home prices—the locals liked to blame on the influx of Californians year in and year out. The good ol’
Seattle Freeze
in effect for outsiders. Of course, that kept people mostly to themselves and out of my business.

Perfect.

With the cooler temperatures and lower humidity, I was just now breaking a sweat as I slowed from full-on sprint to brisk walk. My destination was ahead, a condo on the water’s edge I was renting on Beach Drive. I lowered the volume on the Tinie Tempah album to which I’d been listening, enough to hear my labored breathing. I was welcoming the fresh, salty air in my lungs as a middle-aged woman and her barking German shepherd driving by in a Toyota Prius honked. Didn’t have enough fingers to count all the fuckin’ hybrids in West Seattle. Keeping with the area, I courteously smiled and waved, the woman no doubt trying to figure out if she’d seen the ever-elusive
magical jogging African American
in these here parts before.

Or if he was single.

Inside my place, I disabled the alarm and did a quick once-over to make sure I hadn’t any unwanted visitors. The condo was Spartan-like and contemporary, just as I preferred. I’d learned, back in Dallas when I got caught up with the delusion of normalcy, about the perils of being too settled in. Couldn’t buy into the illusion no matter how right it felt.

After a quick shower and change of clothes, I turned on the TV. A little background noise while I turned my attention to something else. In the kitchen, I reached into the microwave, which I rarely used. Inside, I’d stowed a small item wrapped in aluminum foil to the back, but now set it down on the kitchen counter. Pulling out a drawer, I grabbed a tiny screwdriver and a pair of disposable latex gloves which I donned.

I carefully peeled back the foil used for jamming signals, still afraid the object might explode via remote. Then, leaving it turned off, I dissected the flip cell phone that was given to me back in Chicago. Wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything capable of being tracked even with it turned off. Had repeated this procedure three times since leaving California, each time finding nothing but the obvious phone components.

Had two more days before the call that was to come. And trying to anticipate what the job might be for which I was needed was giving me a headache. Frustrated, I carefully reassembled the phone. Maybe a day down at Pike Place or some idle time at Point Defiance Zoo would be nice for a change. But first, I was craving some fresh hummus and pita bread from Ephesus up on California Avenue.

A harsh knock came on the glass patio window out by the barbecue pit I never used. I hurriedly wrapped up the phone back in the aluminum foil and placed it inside the kitchen drawer along with the gloves and screwdriver. Outside was a girl olive in complexion with dark, full eyebrows and a short pixie cut peering through a pair of cupped hands. Neither intruder nor threat, she was just my neighbor.

I came over, unlocking the door to let her in.

“I’m keeping your dog,” the girl said without so much as a greeting, flicking a cigarette back over her shoulder with no regard for my front patio or the beach below. The remaining smoke shot from out her nostrils as she glared at me like I’d done something wrong. But that was just her way. If she were truly mad, I wouldn’t be seeing her. Her name was Helene. Or at least that’s what she called herself. Upon first warming up to me, she’d told me her parents were professors at the University of Washington. She was still “finding herself,” so wasn’t suited for academia despite her smarts, which she hid behind an exterior of faux rudeness.

“Guess I can’t really object. After all this time, I’m sure he’s bonded with you more than me,” I said as I allowed her to walk freely inside my space. Same pattern she’d repeat every few months or so when I was in town. Could almost plot every step. Still, hoped she’d stay away from the kitchen this time and my little project. The dog she’d claimed was actually a stray I’d picked up as part of my persona when I first rented here. Helene fell in love with him, sensing a kinship no doubt.

“Damn straight. Me and mutt got a connection,” Helene said as she leaned over to look through my telescope set with a clear view of the sound and the southern tip of Bainbridge Island. “Ever caught anybody fucking with this?” she asked as she pulled away from the eyepiece. Was admiring her shape at the moment. She was barefoot, having run over from next door, with shorts not really hiding much of her full hips and ass. On the back of her T-shirt were dates and locales from the rapper Penny Antnee’s recent Change Don’t Come Easy tour including his stop at KeyArena. Found it funny for reasons I wouldn’t be sharing with her.

“Wouldn’t tell if I did,” I answered smartly as she looked back at me. Her features, a blend of her mixed heritage—Greek from her mom and local Duwamish tribe from her dad—gave her an unusual quality that was not unattractive. Of course, she played that down.

“When did you get back?” she asked as she finally warmed up enough to give me a hug. As they embraced me, I had no idea what the tats covering both her inner forearms represented. In addition to the cigarette smoke in her hair, I also detected the smell of apples.

“Late last night. Buster doing okay?” I asked about the mutt, changing the subject from my arrival time.

“Yeah. Except I changed his name. It’s Marshawn now.”

“Like Marshawn Lynch? The football player?” I asked.

“No. After an ex of mine. He was a dog too. Are you a dog, Brandon? Don’t be a dog,” she spat machinegun-like without so much as a breath between words.

“So where’s ‘Marshawn’ now?” I asked, honestly interested in seeing him after all these months.

“At Seward Park with my older sister. She and her family have a collie and they let them chase the ducks together. Where did you go this time?” she quizzed as she dropped across my sofa.

“All over,” I replied, knowing she hated my nonchalance, but welcomed the challenge of drawing more out of me. I plopped down beside her, letting her reposition her legs so they rested across my lap. It was a game with us. A little more revealed each time. Or so she thought.

“For a photographer, I never see your work. Not even in your own place,” she remarked at the bare walls as I rested my hand on her bare knee. To her my name was Brandon. Claimed to have grown up in the Pacific Northwest back when my dad was stationed at Fort Lewis and simply reconnecting with the past. The jet-setting photographer angle provided an excuse for my infrequent stays.

“I don’t like to show off. Besides, don’t need anyone breaking in while I’m gone. I keep most of my stuff at the studio. Got a little place by the Amazon offices on South Lake Union,” I said, weaving a bit of fiction that I felt sounded believable.

“Little place? By Amazon? Yeah. Explains why you’re renting here. Probably can afford one of those mansions on Mercer Island, but feel it would make you look too pretentious,” Helene joked as she stretched. Felt those powerful legs as they tensed then released, her toes wiggling at the end.

“That’s the story you’ve written for me. Guess I’ll stick with it,” I stated, smiling. “How do you afford your place? Plasma donations at the blood bank?”

“Cute. Parents. My mom says I’m too irrepressible to stay under her roof, so I get my solitude and freedom on these desolate shores. You should meet them sometime.”

“Why? We’re getting married or something?” I joked.

“Depends. If you treat me right, maybe we can play house,” Helene said, teasing her short, dark hair. An awkward hush fell over us. “Can you treat me right, Brandon?” she asked, no longer just fucking with me. Now it was about fucking me.

I wasn’t sure what I was about to say ... or do, but a buzzing sound interrupted us. Both of us looked around before I realized it was my personal phone. Had left it next to the TV.

“Um ... I need to get that,” I uttered. Ass could wait. Especially ass that might complicate things for me. I was up here to avoid complications. Still, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t down for a good fuck.

Helene pouted, biting her bottom lip rather than saying whatever had popped into her head. Then she relented, moving her legs aside in a slow, deliberate, sweeping arc. Gave me a chance to reconsider whether that call was really that important. I deliberated, letting my fingers linger as her knee slid out from under them, then got up.

On my phone, I had a single text message:

Where the fuck is my car, nigga? I know u took it. Will cut off ur balls ... after I fuck u.

I chuckled, realizing it was from Sophia. Had left her car safely in Vancouver, just across the border from Oregon. But before I could respond, Helene grabbed my phone away from me.

“Let’s see what ... or who has you smiling like that,” she said, backing away from my outstretched hand. At first she giggled, her eyes going between my phone and me. Then her brow furrowed.

“What?” I asked, still smiling. Message was harmless enough.

“Oh my God,” she said as she slowly handed my phone back to me. “I didn’t realize you were ...”

I waited for her to complete whatever her thought was.
Seeing someone? Involved? A ho?

“Gay,” she said as she completed her thought.

Gay? That wasn’t one of the phrases I’d guessed. What the fuck?

Then as I brought my eyes back to the phone, I figured it out. Of course, for safety and security, I didn’t have the number stored under Sophia’s name. It was under Albert, a dude’s name.

“I feel so, so foolish,” Helene said, covering her mouth before I could clear things up. Looked as if she wanted to go crawl under a rock and never ever see the light of day again. “The little dog. The industry you’re in. Hell, even this place. I shoulda known,” she grunted, throwing her hands up.

“It ... it’s okay. I wanted to tell you, but didn’t know how to,” I lied, feeling the last traces of my hard-on fading away. Wouldn’t be getting any ass from her now, but also wouldn’t be having her pry much either.

Concessions.

“Um ... I need to go. Yeah,” my friend and neighbor mumbled to herself as she shuffled by. Dazed and dejected.

And then I was left alone.

Helene promised she’d return, but ...

She felt she’d made a fool of herself. And I let her live with that feeling.

I walked over to my telescope. Repositioned it for something a lot closer.

Watched Helene as she walked along the beach ... alone.

I’d never used the telescope to watch someone fucking.

Only to watch someone I’d fucked with.

BOOK: Frostbite

2.43Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Read Book Download Book