The Muffia (12 page)

“Well, how can we find out?” Quinn asked.

“Neither the state of California nor your federal government wants to spend money or time on one sky marshal for El Al Airlines when he has died of natural causes,” Nissim declared.

Josi returned with a stretcher and a suitcase out of which he pulled two white doctor coats. He and Neve the fridge put on the coats while Nissim laid the stretcher out next to Udi on the floor. Once they’d buttoned the coats, each took an end of Udi and lifted him onto the stretcher.

Poor Udi, I remember thinking. Poor me.
Such a waste.
We were only getting started and we were destined for a lot more great sex and probably a lot of other fun stuff before he was cut down so young. As I watched Nissim and the other two guys carry him away, I longed for him to get up and say it was all a cruel joke. Of course, he wasn’t going to get up. Or get it up ever again.

I was annoyed with myself for feeling relieved at not having to go through what would probably have been a lot of probing questions by overly inquisitive American cops. Once they’d realized we’d been fucking, they would have barraged me with prurient questions that had nothing to do with anything relevant—questions like what position we were in, if this had been the first, second or third time that afternoon, where his penis was and what my hands were doing—all the while perhaps jerking off under the table or behind those one-way mirrors they have in interrogation rooms.

Quinn snapped me out of my gloom. “All I can say is I’m glad the Muffia are meeting tomorrow. This is going to be a show stopper.”

Chapter 17

At seven o’clock the following evening my doorbell rang. I was still disturbed and distracted by the events of the previous day, but I was determined to serve a delicious meal and put on a brave face that evening, even if I had to paint it on, which is what I ended up doing.

Initially, when I first read
Disturbed
, I’d been turned on by all the connections between food and erotica. Originally I’d planned to prepare some delectable fare inspired by the movie
Tom Jones
. In that fabulous film, Tom, played by Albert Finney, and Mrs. Waters (consummately portrayed by Joyce Redman), share a sumptuous feast at a roadside inn without exchanging a word. Across a rustic table by candlelight they gnaw on a chicken carcass, suck on crab legs and slurp oysters from their shells, letting the flesh slide down their throats before finally burying their faces into juicy ripe pears—all as if they were eating each other’s loins. They tug, suck, lap and lick—leaving little to the imagination about what they would later do in the bedroom. Of course, in our case, the Muffs would be talking and not having sex, but the point was to show the food/sex connection.

As might be expected after the event with Udi, I didn’t have the same . . .
drive
to cook up a delicious erotic meal. But in keeping with my Muff hostess credo, I hadn’t asked people to produce potluck either. The solution was to take half the money I’d made earlier in the week for assisting at the anti-doping arbitration hearing of a well-known bicyclist and put it toward a meal I would call eclectic take-out.

The value-added that evening, and a distraction designed to ensure the pressure to entertain was off yours truly, would be in the person of one Laetitia Verdun, an acquaintance whose pre-nuptual agreement I’d handled. Laetitia made a living going to gatherings of mostly women, but sometimes men, selling items she claimed were guaranteed to improve anyone’s sex life.

“Kind of a Tupperware party but with sex toys,” she’d told me. There was an endless assortment of sex toys—positioning pillows, an item of sex furniture called “The Liberator,” books like “Toygasms” and “Tickle His Pickle,” various flavored lubricants, fake fur handcuffs, vibrating thongs as well as a varied selection of vibrators like the “Fukuoko Finger Fun” and the “Talking Head.” All would be served up by Laetitia like so many casserole covers. And all of the toys could be handled if not taken upstairs to a bedroom for a full test drive.

“That,” she said, “would most definitely
not
be permitted.”

Since I was pretty sure there was at least one Muff who hadn’t made it to Babeland to purchase a
wascally wubber wabbit
, I thought the sex toy demo would be the best way for everyone to look and take a feel, if not actually enjoy.

Glancing in the hall mirror, I caught sight of the lovely white tulips Udi had given me, now beginning to droop. I also noticed my shirt was stained with coffee, which I’d been drinking too much of.
I’m falling apart
.

Quickly I whisked off the shirt and threw it at the bottom of the hall closet, leaving me clad in a dark spaghetti-strapped camisole when I opened the door. 

Standing outside were Jelicka, Vicki, Lauren and Paige. Quinn had called an hour before, swearing up and down that she hadn’t said anything to anybody about Udi and the El Al guys, so I was a little puzzled to find the four of them staring at me. Paranoia stuck. Then I realized I had more makeup on than they’d ever seen me wear, which I'd smeared on in an effort to cover the dark patches under my eyes. That, combined with the low-cut cami, must have created a picture that didn’t jibe with what they knew of me.

“Hi,” they said in unison a half a second too late.

“Hi!” I replied without missing a beat.

“Is this your impression of ‘Lucky Girl?’” asked Paige.

“You’ll see,” I said, ushering them into the hallway, which looked just as it had when Nissim and his associates had carried Udi out on the stretcher the day before. In fact, the whole house reflected no change at all. Not even Lila had felt a different vibe when she’d come home from the movies last night. It was as if Udi had never happened at all.

Yet I knew that Udi
had
happened and waves of upset kept hitting me. Even though I’d tried to hide my sadness, shock and lack of sleep under makeup, I knew it was just a matter of time before I couldn’t keep it up anymore and I’d have to kick them all out.

“What beautiful flowers, Maddie. Are those from the pilot?” Lauren said.

“Sky marshal. Yes.”

“Gorgeous. He has good taste.”

“He picked Madelyn,” said Paige. “That shows he has good taste.”

The two-dozen tulips were spilling over the edge of their thick glass vase. A few petals had even become detached from the stems and lay forlornly on the glass side table. I had a nasty visual of Udi’s body going through something similar.

“How’s it going?” asked Jelicka, her blonded locks swept up in a chignon. “He’s really sexy, huh? Israeli men are totally hot, but they’re arrogant as hell, I want you to know.”

“Well, I don’t know many Israeli men, but this one’s very attractive and very nice,” I said. “I promise I’ll tell everyone later.”
And more than you can imagine
.

“I’ve been to Israel. I know from whence I speak,” Jelicka said vehemently before backtracking. “Of course, he could be different. I've been wrong before.”

"Really?" said Paige.

"Not often," Jelicka shot back.

Vicki, wearing tight jeans and no make up, gave me a kiss, then pushed past us with a large zippered black bag. “I’m going to set up my video camera in the dining room.”

“This is the project she was hinting at in the emails,” Jelicka whispered. “She’s been very good about keeping it a secret, but obviously it’s about us. Given her condition, I think we should indulge her.”

“I don’t feel like being on camera,” I said.

“Yeah, you don’t look well,” said Lauren. “Everything OK?” Lauren was more put together than usual. She was wearing a brown tweed mini-skirt—unheard of for her—but she did have on typically fabulous footwear. The skirt might have been a little
too
short, but she projected such confidence she pulled the look off.

“Well, most things are going all right. Lila’s doing well, and I think I got the job with the Sports Mediation panel, but I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Just put on more makeup, Maddie,” Jelicka said as if she couldn’t see that I already had on more makeup than all of us collectively wear in a week. “Plus I doubt Vicki will do many close shots so just punch up the eyes a little and you’ll look great.”

The doorbell rang again. I was wondering if I’d make it through the evening and if I did, what kind of condition I’d be in at the end of it. Because I didn't think I could feel any worse. In any event, there was no turning back.

Chapter 18

Take-out food was presented in various cartons and containers, bowls and trays along the dark maple sideboard in my underused red dining room, which had capacity for twenty at my large, only-looks-expensive dining table. All the candles had been pushed to the two ends and lit, and the group of us occupied the center. I’d made some effort with the table settings at least. Each of us had a pretty new placemat and napkin of gold-threaded burgundy silk made in Laos but purchased at the local Pier One and positioned at decorative intervals.

“Is there a reason why you had this catered, Mad?” Lauren asked. “I mean other than this mysterious ‘tough couple of days’?”  It’s not like you to farm out responsibilities.

It was nice of her to acknowledge this but it was as if she was speaking through a dense fog over a long distance connection on a dying cellphone. Then she was talking again before I could respond.

“Maddie? Are you all right? I didn’t want to say this when we came in… but you are
not
all right, are you?” Lauren somehow had come to be standing next to me, holding a tray with her plate piled high with schwarma, garlic naan, Peking duck, and farfalle arrabiata (in honor of the “hit man” from the book), as well as a bowl of steaming tom kah gai.
Nothing wrong with her appetite.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I wanted to cook, but I was too . . .
disturbed
?” I offered a wan smile. I suddenly realized Lauren hadn’t brought a sauce or condiment. It was almost shocking.

As the day had turned out, my disturbance had interfered with shopping and cooking. I’d ended up ordering dinner from several local restaurants using my credit cards in an effort to keep up the theme of
eating the book
, as it were. In
Deliciously Disturbed and Distracted
, Lucky Girl conducted many an illicit rendezvous in various and fantastic ethnic restaurants, and since I’d been too discombobulated to cook or to choose one main ethnic restaurant, I’d given up and gone with them all. The only nationality I hadn’t been able to find represented locally was Ethiopian. Lauren apparently had been so flummoxed when I told her what I’d be serving, she couldn’t even think of a sauce to bring.
That explains it
.

“Maddie?” Lauren repeated through the fog.

“Her name is Mad
elyn
,” Vicki said, giving me a wink. She’d had some treatments for the cancer and the latest tests had come back negative, so she’d bleached her short spikey hair white-blonde to celebrate. “I personally think it was inspired to have all this ethnically eclectic food, though if you’ve had a tough few days, you should have called us to bring things.”

I proudly and resistantly, despite recent events, held onto my refusal to hold a potluck. “If the characters in the book had feasted on paella,” I responded. “I might have delegated that.”

Vicki smiled then pointed her video camera at Lauren’s heaping plate. “This looks deliciously disturbing.”

“It looks great. I just wish you'd let us know you needed help,” Lauren said.

In fact, no one seemed to mind that night that they’d driven in from all the various corners of LA County for such a cobbled-together meal. Everyone had been disturbed—deliciously and in other ways—after reading the book and they all wanted to talk about it.

“Let’s start,” said Quinn, giving me a smile of encouragement.

“OK,” said Paige. “I’m going to start.”

Vicki’s camera was pointed at Paige who
seemed
normal—for Paige—though her hair wasn’t
quite
as perfect as it usually was. “This woman is a real mess and I felt an immediate bond. She could be me,” she said, a tone of resignation in her voice.

“Are you stepping out on Richard?” Jelicka asked.

“No, but I’m attracted to her life of adventure.”

“If you had her life, you’d be attracted to some other kind of life,” said Kiki. “That’s life.”

“Part of me wishes I could be more like her," Jelicka resumed. "You all think I’m brazen and go after what I want, but when it comes to men, and actually acting on my desires, I’m a chicken.” She paused, and despite the fact everyone wanted to talk at once, in our usual fashion, we waited for Jelicka to continue. “That’s all I’m willing to say right now.”

“Come on,” Vicki said, camera still shooting. “That’s weak.”

Jelicka shrugged. “Sorry.” She wasn’t apologizing for anything.

“This isn’t exactly about the book but the book sort of started it all,” said Lauren suggestively. “After I bought the Rabbit, based on all your recommendations, I started practicing and I started getting really good. One evening when I thought George wasn’t coming home ‘til late, I got it out and started doing some o' that ‘exterior work.’ Who’s line was that?”

Paige raised her hand.

“I love that. So I was doing exterior work, determined to have an orgasm only by playing around on the outside, and I’d been at it for maybe five minutes. Sia’s ‘Breathe Me’ was playing and I started working it a little deeper, you know? That song is so erotic—”

“Sorry, but are we doing the roundy-round or talking about the book?” Rachel asked.

“Shhhhhhh.” Everyone except Rachel and me were into Lauren’s story. I was only half listening, thinking about how I was going to tell everyone about Udi.

Lauren went on. “I couldn’t stand waiting and so, you know, I started working Bugs—”

“Bugs?”

“Shhhhhhhh,” said Vicki, capturing it all.

“Calling it ‘the
Rabbit’
was too impersonal so I gave it a name. Anyway, I started working Bugs further inside. And each time I did, I must have let out a little groan or something. I don’t know how much time had gone by, but the song was still on—maybe it was on a loop. Anyway, I felt the orgasm coming on. I must have been getting loud. That’s when George busted through the door and he had a candlestick in his hand, ready to clobber somebody, I guess. When it registered what I was doing, he dropped the candlestick and stared at me… and I couldn’t read the expression on his face. He looked angry and hurt and kind of afraid all at once.”

“What happened?” Quinn asked, kind of stupidly. Lauren wasn’t
not
going to tell us. I was now hooked and even Rachel wanted to hear about Lauren’s disturbance.

“I remember being embarrassed that he’d caught me so I said, ‘Hi honey,’ and he stood there for about a minute before he pulled his pants off and jumped on top of me. He kept saying how hot it was that I was getting myself off and how he never knew I had it in me and then I told him there was a lot of stuff he didn’t know about me and that just made him more nuts. He threw Bugs on the ground and started screwing me like mad.”

“Wow,” most of us chanted collectively, sighing in vicarious pleasure.

“Ugh,” said Sarah. "That sounds so . . . I mean, good for you, Lauren. I don’t want to take anything away from that, but right now, better you than me. I’m bloated and feel like
Supercunt
. As you’ve no doubt noticed, you are all fucking and my life is just fucked up. My husband is having an affair, I’m pregnant and reasonably sure the baby is not Nate’s and I don’t want to know—”

“Shit, I’m sorry Sarah,” said Vicki. “Camera roll out. Can you say all that again?”

“V, can you just pick it up from wherever?” I said. “I mean . . .”

She shrugged. Something happens when people get a video camera in their hands. It's like they forget about other peoples’ feelings.

“The good news, I guess,” Sarah went on, “is that Nate and I have come clean and since we’ve both been bad, our wrongs have cancelled each other out, in a way, I mean, neither of us can get all high and mighty about the other one’s antics.”

“So you’ll stay together?” Rachel asked.

“Yup. We wanted another kid and after Nate read
Deliciously Disturbed . .
.”

“He read it?”

“Yup,” Sarah said again, “and after he read it, he said, ‘I didn’t realize women go through the same kind of stuff guys do. You know, all the wanting to feel excitement and newness and all that.’ He’s agreed we will be open with each other from now on and we’ve talked about a more open marriage, swinging and, you know, things like that to keep our marriage fresh.”

“How progressive,” Quinn said. “I don’t think I could share.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Jelicka said. “Roscoe never even suggested it.”

Kiki wore a tight expression. “I actually found all the vibrator emails to be a little offensive, if you want to know the truth. People spend too much time worrying about sex, in my opinion, especially for an endeavor that at its best is fleeting and, its worst, just more laundry.”

Kiki had never struck me as particularly evolved sexually, certainly not someone who’d condone swinging, for example. But she seemed to be turning into a prude, and I knew she wasn’t one. After all, Kiki was the brazen Muff who’d told us that when she was walking around Rome in her early twenties, she had a way of getting rid of all the Italian construction guys following her through the cobbled streets. Her technique was to reach into her underwear and pull out her soiled sanitary pad. Then she would wave it at them like an escaped mental patient, sending them running as fast as their legs could carry them.

But maybe it was all an act. Appearances are deceiving and Kiki was more than capable of secrecy. There could well be something more going on. People do what they think is good for them, after all—things they believe they can get away with.