Pleasure Seekers (20 page)

A
lana couldn’t wait until her feet were firmly planted on terra firma. Being on the water for more than seven hours, dancing and drinking more than eating had left her feeling off balance.

The luxurious yacht finally docked at the slip below Derrick’s house and the passengers began disembarking. They were less boisterous than they’d been when boarding the gleaming vessel.

“Are you all right, Alana?”

She glanced up to find Derrick staring at her. A muscle quivered at his jaw. “I think I’m a little seasick.”

“I think you got too much wind and sun.” Her face was now the color of henna.

“I’ll be all right after I lie down.”

Derrick waved to his houseboy. “Take her to the bedroom overlooking the garden.”

Kris Dennison watched Alana being led away. “Where’s she goin’, Derrick?”

“Upstairs to rest. She may have sunstroke.”

“I’ll look after her.”

Derrick put a hand on Kris’s arm. “Leave her alone. I don’t want no shit to pop off in my house.”

“I ain’t gonna do nothin’ to her, D. You should know me better than that.”

“What I do know is that if anything happens to the lady you can forget about playing ball because I’ll personally fuck you up myself.”

Kristofer Dennison outweighed Derrick Warren by a hundred pounds and stood a full head taller, but there was something about the record producer that was scary. Maybe it had something to do with his lopsided face or the fact that he never raised his voice.

“Why would I want to hurt the next Mrs. Kris Dennison?”

Derrick’s eyebrows flickered. “You like her like that?”

“Why do you think I broke up with Maeretha?”

The seconds ticked off as the two men stared at each other. “Okay, Kris. Go take care of her.”

Kris caught up to the man responsible for keeping Derrick’s household running smoothly. “I’ll take her.” Bending slightly, he picked Alana up as if she were a small child. Her head fell forward onto his chest, and he smiled.

He carried Alana up the staircase and into a room, closed and locked the door, and deposited her on the bed. Kris sat on the side of the mattress and gathered her in his arms.

“What’s the matter, sugah?”

Her eyelids fluttered. “I’m just a little dizzy. I’ll be all right if I just lie here for a while.”

Combing his fingers through her curls, Kris smiled.
“Relax, sugah. In a few minutes you won’t remember anything.”

Alana tried opening her eyes but couldn’t. They felt as if they were weighted down with stones. Kris hadn’t lied. A quarter of an hour later she lay naked as he, equally naked, eased his penis into her vagina.

She felt the weight, the hardness pushing into her body, but was helpless to repel the man making love to her. And somewhere between fantasy and reality she thought it was Calvin. He’d come back and he was making love to her. Arching, she met the heavy thrusts as a moan of ecstasy escaped her lips. A ripple of starving desire spiraled throughout her body and the shudders increased until she was mindless with the passion scalding the blood in her veins.

She opened her mouth to scream but found her voice locked inside her throat by an object that wouldn’t let her breath. Thrashing, she pounded the chest of the man who’d just released his passion inside her. Just when she thought her lungs would explode from lack of oxygen she slipped away into nothingness.

F
aye stood in the kitchen with her mother and aunts, filling take-out containers with leftovers while the men lingered in the tent talking about everything from cars, sports, politics and the economy.

“Your friend seems to fit in with the rest of the menfolk, Faye Anne.”

Shirley glanced at her sister-in-law. “Why shouldn’t he? He’s just as crazy about cars as your brother.”

“He seems rather nice,” said another aunt for whom Faye had been named.

“He
is
nice,” Shirley insisted.

“But isn’t he a little too old for you, Faye Anne?” her namesake asked.

Faye halted putting a serving spoon of potato salad into a section of the plastic container. “Are you asking me if he’s too old to make love, Aunt Faye?”

“Faye Anne!” the other women chorused.

She gave them a challenging glare. “Isn’t that what you want to know?”

Shirley patted her arm. “You don’t have to answer that, Faye Anne.”

“But I want to, Mama. Bart and I are friends who happen not to be sleeping together.”

Shaking her head, Shirley went back to stacking containers in plastic bags. She handed them to her daughter. “Please take these outside.” She glared at the other women. “You heifers can be so tactless at times. Y’all always want to know somebody’s business but won’t tell your own.”

Faye walked out of the kitchen. She wasn’t about to get embroiled in a confrontation that occurred every time the women in her family got together. They were as competitive as crabs in a barrel, one vying to outdo the other.

Leaving the house through a side door, she made her way across the backyard and placed the shopping bags on the picnic table. Taking a quick glance at Bart, she saw him deep in conversation with her father and Uncle Teddy. Her younger cousins had retreated to a neighbor’s house where hip-hop blared from outdoor speakers.

Craig glanced up and waved to Faye. “Please come here, baby girl.”

Pinpoints of heat stung her cheeks. Even after thirty years her father still viewed her as a little girl. Sitting down beside Craig, she rested her arm over his shoulder. “What’s up, Daddy?”

“Bart just invited me and your mother to come out to his house on Long Island this weekend.”

Faye cut her eyes at Bart. What was he doing? It was one thing to accompany her to a backyard family celebration, and another completely to ingratiate himself into her parents’ lives.

“That’s nice. I’m sure the two of you will enjoy yourselves.”

Craig turned and stared at her. “Won’t you be there?”

“Of course she will,” Bart said in a dangerously quiet tone. “Faye has agreed to be my hostess for the next three weeks.”

Craig rubbed his palms together. “This is going to work out just fine because this is the first summer that I’m going to close the garage on Saturdays.”

Faye wrapped her arm around her father’s neck. “Good for you. Mama always said you work too hard.”

Leaning across the table, Bart offered Craig his hand. “I’ll send someone to pick you up early Saturday morning. And if the weather holds, then perhaps we can get in a few holes of golf.”

Craig pumped Bart’s hand vigorously. “I knew there was something I liked about you the first time I laid eyes on you.”

“Does this mean you approve of me dating your daughter?”

“You don’t need my approval, because I’ve never been one to tell my daughter who she should fall in love with or marry.” Craig ignored Faye’s soft gasp. “The only thing I ask is that you treat her right. If not, then your ass will belong to me.” Everyone sitting at the table knew Craig Ogden was not issuing an idle threat.

If it hadn’t been for the incessant thumping of a bass coming from the speakers across the street, the sound of chirping crickets along with the measured breathing of those at the picnic table would’ve been audible. The strained silence stretched on until Faye wanted to scream
at her father and Bart to end the unnecessary male posturing. The flames from votives that were lit with the encroaching darkness flickered behind glass chimneys with a rising nighttime breeze.

Bart eased his hand from Craig’s grip. “I would never deliberately hurt Faye. Not for anyone or anything.”

Before anyone could react to his impassioned declaration Shirley came out of the house with Faye’s handbag. “Your cell phone hasn’t stopped ringing.”

Rising to her feet, Faye reached into her purse for the phone. Alana’s name showed in the display. Pressing a button, she put it to her ear. “Yes, Lana?”

“Faye!”

Her heart racing uncontrollably, she moved away so no one would overhear her conversation. Alana was crying hysterically. “Where are you, Lana?”

“I…I’m home.” This was followed by another wave of sobbing.

“What’s the matter?”

“Please come. Please, please…”

Biting down on her lower lip, Faye struggled to keep her composure. “It’s all right. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Please.”

“I’m coming, Lana.”

Faye ended the call and walked over to Bart. Leaning down, she said, “We have to go back to the city. My friend needs me.”

He met her startled gaze. “Now?”

“Yes, Bart. Now!”

Moving off the bench and reaching into the pocket of his slacks, he took out his car keys. “I’m sorry but we have to leave.” He shook hands with each of the men, then, placing a hand in the small of Faye’s back, led her to the car. He handed her the keys. “You said you wanted to drive back.”

“I can’t,” she said. She didn’t trust herself not to wreck his classic automobile.

Curving a hand around her neck, Bart peered down at Faye. “Are you all right?”

“No. I just got a call from my best friend, and she sounded so upset.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know, and I won’t know until I see her.”

Opening the door to the coupe, Bart helped Faye into the vintage roadster. Rounding the car, he got in beside her. “Where does she live?”

She gave him Alana’s Central Park West address as he turned the key in the ignition.

The return ride was vastly different from the one to Queens. Bart concentrated on maneuvering in and out of the holiday traffic while Faye sat silently praying Alana was all right, that when she saw her it would just be a false alarm, that it was just Alana Gardner being a drama queen.

B
art parked in front of Alana’s apartment building. His right hand gripped Faye’s wrist as she attempted to get out of the car. “Do you want me to come in with you?”

“Thank you for offering, but no.”

“Are you coming back tonight?”

She met his gaze in the muted light from the dashboard. “I don’t know.”

He released her hand, shifted on his seat and reached into the pocket of his slacks. He handed her a set of keys. “Take these. The silver key is for the elevator to the first floor. The gold one will take you directly to the second level. I’ll leave your name with the doorman so you can get into the building.”

Faye placed her hand on his cheek. “Thank you for being you.” It was the same thing he’d said to her after their Memorial Day weekend.

His fingers wrapped around her wrist. Bringing her hand to his mouth, he pressed a kiss to her soft palm. “Good luck with your friend.” He got out and came around to open the passenger-side door. Extending his hand, he helped Faye out.

Leaning forward, she pressed her parted lips to his, kissing him with a hunger that belied her outward calm. “I’ll see you later.”

Bart felt her absence even though they stood inches apart. “Later,” he whispered as she turned and made her way toward the liveried doorman holding the door for her.

Faye rang the doorbell, listening for movement on the other side. “Alana?”

She heard the distinctive sound of the cylinders as Alana unlocked the door. Stepping into the darkened living room, she took one look at Alana and knew this was not one of those times when her friend was just being overdramatic. Her eyes were red, swollen, and her hair looked as if she’d been hit by a jolt of electricity.

She hugged Alana. “It’s going to be all right.”

Dissolving into another crying jag, Alana rested her head on Faye’s shoulder and sobbed until she had dry heaves. “It can’t be all right, Faye.”

Smoothing the flyaway curls, she kissed her cheek. “Why are you in the dark?” The only light coming into the room came from street lamps and the apartment buildings on the other side of the park.

“No, Faye. I don’t want the light.”

Turning like an automaton, Alana shuffled into the living room, pulling her robe around her in a protective gesture. She sat down on the apricot-hued leather sofa, staring across the meticulously decorated room with unseeing eyes. It’d been a momentous day when she’d
taken possession of the spacious one-bedroom apartment with views of Central Park, but now, tonight, it felt like a prison without bars.

She’d called Faye because she couldn’t call her mother. Melanie’s fear that something horrible would happen to her daughter if she lived in New York City had been manifested. How could she tell Melanie that her only daughter had become a date-rape statistic?

Faye sat in a leather armchair, dropping her handbag onto the carpeted floor. She waited for Alana to open up as to why she’d called her, why she’d been crying. The seconds ticked off to minutes.

“What’s the matter, Lana?” she asked, ending the impasse.

There was another moment of swollen silence. “Somebody raped me.”

Swallowing an expletive, Faye moved from the chair to the sofa, pulling Alana into a protective embrace. “Did you report it to the police? Go to a hospital?”

“No.”

“Don’t tell me you took a shower?”

“I took a bath.”

“But you washed away evidence.”

“It doesn’t matter because I don’t know who did it.”

“It does matter, Lana. A doctor or nurse could’ve gathered evidence for a rape kit, and then matched it with DNA from the men who were at the party.”

“Do you really think they’re going to step up and voluntarily offer a DNA sample?”

“They will if they want to prove their innocence.”

“And what if they don’t? Do you think they want to get caught up in a sex scandal with a woman who’s an escort? Have you forgotten that we get paid to entertain men?”

“That’s bullshit, Alana. Just because a man offers us money to spend time with him, that doesn’t give him the right to take us against our will!”

Alana buried her face in her hands. “I don’t know if it was against my will.”

“What are you talking about?”

Lowering her hands and clasping her fingers, Alana stared up at the ceiling. “I can’t remember anything after I got off the boat. I know I was feeling dizzy, but I thought it was because I’d drunk too much and hadn’t eaten enough.”

“How much did you drink?”

“I had a couple of mimosas.”

“What else?”

“I know I had a White Russian.”

“You had at least three drinks over how many hours?”

“We set sail at one, and we were scheduled to return around eight.”

“It’s not adding up, Lana. I’ve seen you down a bottle of champagne in three hours and you weren’t so drunk that you couldn’t remember who you were or what you did. I think someone drugged you.”

“No, Faye. That’s not possible.”

“You don’t know. Let me take you to the hospital so they can take a blood test.”

“No!”

“Stop blaming yourself for something you had no control over.”

“Stop it, Faye! I can’t take any more tonight.”

“Okay, Alana. The only thing I’m going to say is you have to get tested.”

Hot tears rolled down Alana’s face. Contracting an STD frightened her more than becoming pregnant. “I know. Will you come with me?”

“Of course I will.”

“Will you do me a favor, Faye?”

“Yes. What do you want?”

“Please hang out here with me until I fall asleep.”

“What if I spend the night?”

A cynical smile twisted her mouth. “Are you afraid I’m going to do something to myself?”

Faye stared at the lights coming from across the park. “No. You never would’ve called me if you planned on hurting yourself.”

Pulling her legs to her chest, Alana rested her forehead on her knees. “You’re right about that.” Lowering her legs, she pushed to her feet. “Thanks for being a real friend.”

“There’s no need to thank me, Lana. You were there for me when I broke up with Norman. And I can recall being a mood-swinging, snot-slinging wretch until you finally told me to snap out of it and get on with my life.” She stood up. “This time I’m going to tuck you into bed.”

“Where will you sleep?”

“I’ll crash on your sofa.”

“Don’t forget you have a change of clothes on the top
shelf of the linen closet, and you’ll find toothbrushes in the vanity drawer.”

Faye moved cautiously in the darkened apartment as she followed Alana to her bedroom, waiting until she was in bed, then retraced her steps and retrieved her handbag. Searching its depths, she found her cell phone.

“Hi,” she whispered when she heard the familiar masculine voice.

“Hey, baby.”

“I’m calling to let you know that I’m going to spend the night.”

“You’re a good friend, Faye Anne Ogden.”

“Don’t you dare call me Faye Anne!”

“Why not, baby girl?”

“You’re pushing it, Bart.”

“Didn’t your daddy tell you that I wasn’t scared? And speaking of families—your folks are super.”

“I suppose I’ll keep them.”

“You suppose? If you don’t want them then I’ll ask them to adopt me.”

“Good night, Bart. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“Okay. Good night, Faye.”

It wasn’t until she hung up that she recalled Bart’s remark about being adopted into her family. He had no family with whom to celebrate birthdays, weddings or holidays.

Faye realized that in spite of Bartholomew Houghton’s vast wealth and opulent lifestyle, he was a private, lonely man.

Why else would he pay a woman to be with him?