Sex, Murder and a Double Latte (33 page)

“No, I guess not.”

“The other man in the video—if you can call people who do those things
men
—was tan with dark hair—Latin, I suppose. That’s all I know. I certainly didn’t spend any time studying it for distinguishing characteristics. Of course, I destroyed the tape.”

I started surveying the room. A table set for five, a fresh bouquet in a crystal vase, a CD tower…

“I would appreciate you not leaking any of this to the media…”

…a Japanese screen, an entertainment center…

“But at the moment that’s not really my main concern. Just stop calling me.”

…a new set of golf clubs…

I ducked just as the putter was swung over my head.

I whirled around and grabbed the other end of the club. Donato yanked it to the left with enough force to pull me off my feet, but I didn’t let go. His boot went into my stomach and I gasped in pain. I still had the end of the club, but I wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer. I pulled the putter as hard as I could, prompting Donato to do the same. Then I let go. He fell backward and the club went flying through the closed window.

I turned to run but he had my leg, and I came crashing down. He was straddling me now. I tried to evade his grasp, but it was no good. My arms were pulled behind my back. I heard Marcus’s phone come crashing to the ground and then felt the plastic of the cord dig into the skin around my wrists. I screamed and cried for help. He flipped me over and stuffed a silk scarf into my mouth until I gagged.

“You have a choice about how you are to die,” Donato instructed. “I can inflict minimum or maximum pain. I would prefer minimum. Please nod your head if you agree.”

The feelings of panic I had experienced when Andy had attacked me, when I found Barbie, when Marcus had discovered the hatchet, couldn’t compare to this.

“Nod your head, Sophie, or I’ll start with the face.”

I nodded.

He removed the scarf from my mouth, careful not to inflict any undue discomfort. His gentle touch was terrifying.

“Why?” I whispered.

“Why?” He crouched over me. “Sophie, you surprise me. I thought you, of all people, would understand.”

“I don’t.”

He sighed and gazed out the broken window. “This is my art.”

“Your art?”

“But can you not see it? I have, in fact, created a new art form. Just as Monet created Impressionism and Isadora Duncan created modern dance, I can now list myself amongst the greatest artistic geniuses of all time. And
my
art…my art is more powerful than anything that precedes it.”

Had my fear affected my hearing, or was he truly this crazy? “Donato, this isn’t art. This is murder. It’s not revolutionary, it’s not unique, it’s…it’s evil.”

For a split second Donato’s perfect face became distorted and twisted, then it smoothed back out to its elegant shape. “I thought you would see. But since you do not, allow me to enlighten you. Art is simply a creative way to recreate the world that we already live in. Picasso did not invent the female face, he simply put it together in a manner that caused us to see it differently. But the ancient question is still on the minds and lips of every man or woman who has read a book, listened to a piece of music, or viewed a performance—‘Is it art that always imitates life, or can life be made to imitate art?’ This last century has only served to make those questions more relevant. The child who shoots his schoolmates after seeing it done in a movie. Was the child violent because he was watching the film or was the movie violent because its creators had tapped into the mood of contemporary youth? I address this in my art. I take the more cerebral art of singers, filmmakers and writers like yourself, and make it more tangible, more passionate, more accessible. Surely you see the genius in that? The horrible beauty? Why, there has not been an artist that has had such a direct affect on the lives of people since Leni Riefenstahl.”

“Leni Riefenstahl? Leni Riefenstahl made films for Hitler equating Jews to rats. How is that related to what you’re doing now? Are you some kind of whacked version of a neo-Nazi? Are you doing this because I’m Jewish?”

Donato pulled himself to full height. “You are not listening to me.”

I pulled my knees into my chest.

Donato ran his fingers through his hair. “Forgive me—” he was smiling now “—but I do not care about your religion, nor do I harbor any ill will against the Jewish people—neither did Riefenstahl.”

The videos and the lectures from my college history courses began to flood into my mind. “Her art…oh God, she did it for her art.”

Donato’s smile widened. “Precisely. You do understand.” He again knelt by my side. “Hitler gave her the opportunity to change the world through her art. To be allowed to make films so powerful that the citizenship of Germany was willing to stand by and applaud while the Nazis directed their dogs to rip apart the children of their Jewish neighbors…. How could any true artist not envy the ability to achieve something so monumental, so earth-shattering?”

I shook my head and tried not to hyperventilate. How had I missed it—it must always have been there, in his eyes. His eyes were insane. “You killed them—all of them—in the name…in the name of art.”

“I assume you are referring to JJ Money and Tolsky. Yes I did. JJ Money was at a social gathering. He lived in the penthouse above the apartment of a collector, that is how we met. I was able to draw him into conversation and he spoke of his music, he claimed to be the voice of black urban youth. He defended the violence of his lyrics—after all, he was simply verbalizing an existing anger. He said the music was real, and that it was that reality that people were afraid of.” Donato laughed quietly. “I am paraphrasing of course—the exact slang he used is beyond my ability to repeat.”

“And that inspired you?” I knew it was a lost cause but I had to reason with him, I had to try. “Donato, don’t you get it? The sentiment in the music may have been real, but he wasn’t actually hurting anyone.”

“Precisely.” Donato’s lips pulled back once more to display his white, glistening teeth. “He had not gone far enough. He lacked the vision, the courage. It was left to me to bring his message to the hearts of the public. When he died, the world stopped and listened, not just his fans, not just his critics, the world. Everyone was touched by his anger, by his magnificent rage.”

“So, did you become his lover, as well?” It was a stall tactic. I just needed time to think, to come up with a way to do the impossible.

“The only lover that he truly desired had to be injected or inhaled. Those who love narcotics are easy to befriend and manipulate. I would visit my client, then travel up to see him, bearing gifts, always bearing gifts. I do not think he knew that it was my plan to call DC Smooth. He was too high to notice when I took control.”

“And now DC is in prison suffering for your ‘art.’”

“Ah, that was perfect, although the irony was missed. DC has a song that speaks of being unjustly accused due to the color of his skin. No one made that connection. Perhaps I made his guilt a bit too convincing.”

I wriggled my wrists against the cord; there was no way of loosening it. I could try to keep him talking until Marcus returned from…from where? Not from getting wine. My breathing quickened and I forced myself to ask. “Marcus?”

“Marcus? You wish to know what has become of him?” Donato massaged his palm with his thumb. “He is at Kuleto’s with Dena and Mary Ann, awaiting your arrival. I told Marcus that you called to change the plans and he informed the others. They know you may be late, so they will not be concerned.” He checked his watch. “But more time has passed than I had expected. We must get on with this. They are waiting for me, as well, and I must do what is necessary to ensure that Marcus is given credit for this crime. I had originally planned to seduce Dena, but after my research I came to see that she does not allow men to enter her heart as easily as she allows them access to her bed. Marcus was more open, more…vulnerable.” He sighed and stood up. “I do wish I could sign my work, but I must accept my required anonymity.” He crossed to the clubs.

“And Tolsky?” I asked. Time, please, God, give me time.

Donato lifted a driver for his scrutiny. “You shouldn’t have fought me over the putter. I did so want to get the details right.”

“How…how did you get to Tolsky?”

“JJ Money introduced us,” Donato said, his eyes never leaving the club. “Once I discovered the truth of his sexuality, the rest was simple. Margaret only needed the tape to end the marriage. I knew that she would destroy it, and once I convinced Alex that I, too, did not know of the tape, it was inevitable that he should turn to me for comfort. I vowed to help him repair his wretched union. The gratitude he expressed was truly touching, particularly after I offered to dictate a letter to Margaret that he could send to her. ‘To my beloved wife, I can not live without you…’ He wrote my words and drank my wine. He could not taste the Valium by his fifth drink. He only woke briefly when I made the cut, just long enough to cry out in pain, long enough for me to give him one last kiss.” He pressed the club to his chest. “I do think I loved him. He was beautiful in his suffering.”

Donato started toward me, the club loosely balancing in his hands. “But you know all this. You are stalling, and it has become tiring.”

“Please…”

“I wish you hadn’t sent Barbie to the park that day, she interrupted my creative flow. My talent cannot be wasted on the insignificant. It was you who was supposed to die.”

“Donato…”

“Shh.” The scarf was in my mouth again. He caressed my cheek. “If I had not known that you would come to suspect me, I would have chosen you as my lover. It would have made this moment all the more poignant.”

The tears were blurring my vision. I tried to make some last protest but choked on the silk.

“Shh…do not worry. Your art will now be given the serious attention it has always deserved.”

I squeezed my eyes closed and tried to remember how to pray.

Donato cried out. I opened my eyes to see that the source of his vexation was Dena. She had somehow confiscated his driver and was swinging it at his head. He grabbed the club from her and threw it down, then he lunged for her, but I managed to kick my feet out in front of him and he crashed face down onto the ground.

Dena jumped on his back, her heeled boots causing him to howl in pain. I looked over at the crystal vase resting on the side table. She could use it as a weapon. I tried to tell her as much but the scarf made that impossible. I frantically started to push my bound form along like a snake, in hopes that by moving toward it I might be able to draw her attention to the vase. She took no notice and instead leaped off his back and dove for her tote bag, which she had dropped on the floor. Donato began to rise, his teeth bared. I looked up at the vase, willing Dena to do the same, but in the moment that my eyes were averted I heard a snapping noise and Donato’s guttural scream.

I refocused on Dena. She was standing above Donato with a whip that she had apparently cracked across the side of his face, hitting his right eye in the process. He was on his knees clutching it with both hands. At last, she looked in my direction and realized my purpose. She skirted Donato’s arm as he flung it out in an attempt to grab her, and seized the vase. The sound of the crystal breaking over his head echoed in my eardrums, and then there was silence. Donato lay motionless on the floor.

She ran to my side, took out the scarf and started working on the wire. “Jesus, okay, hang on. Are you all right?”

“Yes!” I felt the wire loosen and I yanked my hands free and threw them around Dena’s neck. “Oh my God, thank you. Thank you. He was going to…oh God, Dena. How did you know I was here?”

“We were supposed to have dinner here, weren’t we?” she asked, pushing my hair away from her mouth.

“But it was relocated to Kuletto’s. He said Marcus called you.”

“Well, if he did, I didn’t get the message, but the golf club among the shards of glass on the sidewalk—that message I got loud and clear.” She pulled away from the embrace. “You have to call the police now, and I’m not fucking kidding this time.”

I nodded and tried to wipe away the layers of tears from my cheeks. I looked over at the whip, now lying motionless several feet from Donato, but decided I wasn’t ready to comment on that yet. “I’m calling, I’m calling right now.” I didn’t wait for Dena to reconnect the phone but searched the floor for my cell instead. It lay adjacent to Donato’s body. As I reached for it I saw his hand twitch.

“Oh God.” I snapped back my arm and bolted for the opposite end of the room. “He’s coming to, I think he’s coming—”

“Relax, this isn’t a movie. Even if he does come to he won’t be able to do much more than moan and writhe around in pain. But if it will make you feel better…” Dena went to her tote bag and pulled out a pair of handcuffs lined with purple faux fur. “Ta-da!” She latched them onto Donato. “I have a matching blindfold too. Should we use it?”

“You…you carry those around with you?”

“I just came from Jason’s. The whip’s just for looks…at least it was until now.”

“Okay.” I tiptoed over to my phone and snatched it out of Donato’s proximity. “I’m going to call the police now and, um, I’m just going to let you tell them about the cuffs and the whip. Cool?”

“For Christ’s sake, it’s not like I was carrying a concealed weapon or anything.”

“No, no, that would be easier to explain.”

CHAPTER 21

“Since the majority of domestic abuse victims are women, it seems appropriate that every woman be allowed to seriously injure one man a year in order to maintain a healthy social balance.”

—Sex, Drugs and Murder

“L
’chaim.”

Mary Ann, Dena and I raised our glasses over our pizza. Sometimes the most traditional toasts are the most appropriate. Two weeks had passed since Donato’s arrest, and this was the first time since then that any of us had felt emotionally stable enough to go out and celebrate his incarceration.