This Life: A Novel (19 page)

“Well, how about Littleneck?
It’s a
New
England
clam shack in
Brooklyn
. Say,
eight o’clock
?”

Blake did some quick
calculating. She’d finish the mentoring sessions at seven, and Friday night
traffic in the city would mean an hour was just enough time to travel from the
studio to the restaurant by taxi. Technically Antonio’s shift should end at three,
and Suki’s should begin then. If she asked Suki to bring a change of clothes,
she could be reasonably fresh for dinner.

“I’ll meet you there.”

“Sweet! I’ll see you
later.”

My bodyguards are
going to hate this.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

June 19

New York
,
New York

Littleneck was a small,
glass-doored place easily mistaken for any other greasy diner until a person
got near enough to read the words “clams” and “lobsters” on the windows. Brett
was waiting for them outside, wearing a baseball cap for protection from the
rain that had been falling for a half hour.

“My dad is originally
from
Boston
, and he loves this
place,” Brett confided as he opened the door for Blake and Suki. “He says this
is the real thing, clam rolls just like you get in
Maine
and
Massachusetts
and all. I say he’s
right.”

Judging by the aromas
in the air, Blake didn’t doubt the food was delicious. Scents of garlic and
tartar sauce and greasy french fries and beer made a tantalizing mix that got
Blake’s tummy growling to be fed.

They started with bowls
of clam chowder, followed by Blake’s memorable experience of clam rolls.
Buttered, toasted, top-split hot dog buns held hot, tender giant fried clams.
On the side were homemade pickled cucumbers, and Brett also sprung for an order
of fluffy french fries shared among the three of them.

She was too enraptured
by the food to make conversation, so it wasn’t until they’d cleaned their
plates that she leaned back in her chair and murmured, “Thank you, Brett, that
was heavenly.”

He smiled and said, “I’m
glad. You needed some heaven after all the hell you’ve been through lately.”

Blake slanted a glance
at Suki, and asked, “What was it like for you, your first time being questioned
by the police?” Blake recalled a time when Brett shared he was arrested for
robbery as a teen.

With his head bowed,
Brett said in a hushed voice, “Terrifying, even though I’d done exactly what I
was accused of.” He looked up, meeting her gaze, and added, “Second time, I was
pissed, because I hadn’t done the shit they said I did, but they refused to
believe me because I’d fucked up once and admitted it.”

“Now I know how you must
have felt. Both times.”

He shrugged. “Well,
that’s life as a person of color, isn’t it. Listen, let’s not ruin a good night
by talking about the shit legal system. What do you say we go for a walk, or
maybe go watch a movie on that big old TV of yours? I’ve got a Netflix account
we can use to download something.”

“A movie sounds good.”
She grinned. “Something funny, or maybe action with lots of righteous
ass-kicking.”

“You’ve got it.” He
laid down a generous tip on their table, and wrapped an arm around her
shoulders as they went out to the street to hail a cab. She flinched at first,
then enjoyed the comfort of his arm around her. It felt good.

Later, as they sat on
her sofa watching
Midnight in Paris
Brett turned his attention from the
movie to study Blake’s face and posture for a minute. “Girl, you’re wound up
tight as a spring.”

She flashed a small
smile at him and said, “Yeah, well, I guess a few days of hell aren’t totally
erased by one yummy dinner. I didn’t expect you to be sitting here…again.”

“Tell me why you hate
me.”

“I can’t because I don’t.”

He slid closer to her
and began rubbing her shoulders, his strong hands soon massaging all the
tension out of her muscles. As she relaxed under his attentions, he leaned in
and whispered in her ear, “We could have more than one dinner tonight, if you
know what I mean.”

Instantly she tensed up
again. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“I don’t either,” put
in Suki, blank-faced and cross-legged in a recliner.

“I’m not saying let’s
be a couple again. I know I screwed that up. But we were good in bed together,
and that’s a great way to get rid of stress.” Brett turned his hands palms-up
in surrender. “Up to you, Blake, but I still care about you, and I hate seeing
you unhappy.”

They watched the rest
of the movie in silence. Near the end Matt drifted into the living room,
rubbing sleep out of his eyes. He noticed Brett, looked at Suki, and she
shrugged.

“I’m going to need more
coffee,” Matt muttered, and turned back to the kitchen.

When the movie ended,
Brett stood and put his cap on. Blake walked with him to the door, and he
spread his arms for a hug. She moved into his embrace and thought,
If I
close my eyes I can pretend he’s Kenton Rhodes.

Blake knew she shouldn’t
yield to temptation, but she couldn’t help herself. “Don’t go.”

“You sure?”

She nodded. “I just
need a quick shower first. It was a long, rough day.”

He grinned. “Showering
together could be fun.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Matt
muttered as he walked past them with a steaming cup of coffee and seated
himself in the other recliner.

“Something about
nailing somebody to a tree on your mind, Matt?” Suki still had no facial
expression.

Blake took Brett’s hand
in hers and led him into her bedroom, under the disapproving stare of Matt and
the practiced blank face of Suki. Blake mixed the hot and cold water to exactly
the temperature she craved, and turned around to find Brett already stripped
naked and very much in the mood. He helped her out of her clothes and lifted
her into the shower. They soaped and scrubbed each other, with pauses for
nibblings and sucklings in strategic locations. She let herself abandon every
worry. Brett wasn’t everything, but he definitely knew how to make a woman feel
like one.

He kissed her, his
tongue playing hide and seek with hers, and just as she caught him he slid a
hand between her legs and stroked her love button with an expert finger. She
groaned, and he picked her up and held her straddling his hips. They merged in
the stinging spray, and Brett had to lean against the shower wall as Blake’s
pelvis took on a will of its own and hammered him for what seemed an eternity.

Finally she was
finished, and he set her down gently on her feet again. They were both gasping
for breath.

“God, that was amazing,”
Blake managed at last.

He laughed and pulled
her into his arms again. “It’s fine if you just call me Brett.”

#

Sometime in the night,
Blake woke from a strange dream of people shooting at her with lasers. Her
bladder nagged her to empty it, so she slid out of bed and stumbled into the
bathroom.

It was when she emerged
and stepped toward the bed that she noticed a dim red aura coming from her open
closet. She investigated, pushing hangers of garments aside, and found a
palm-sized silvery gadget with a lens glowing bright red.

A camera.
Her
heart froze, and for a moment or two she felt like she was choking.
Goddamn
you, Brett Skeet.

She picked up her
bathrobe which she’d last left draped over the chair at her desk, slid into it,
and pushed her feet into her slippers. Padding into the living room, she showed
the camera to Matt. “Go ahead and tell me I’m a fool. I deserve it.”

Matt shook his head. “No,
Ms. Bertrand. You’re not a fool. Just a rich lady, and that means a lot of
people are gonna want to take advantage of you.”

He took the camera from
her, inspected it, then flipped open a panel and tapped out a little plastic-looking
card. “Without this, no harm done.”

Then Matt stood and
strode into Blake’s bedroom, and shook Brett’s shoulder to wake him. “Put your
clothes on and get out,” he barked as soon as Brett opened his eyes.

“What? Something wrong?”
Brett sat up in bed, blinking against the light from the hallway streaming
through the open bedroom door.

“Yeah, you.” Matt
dropped the camera on Brett’s lap. “I’m giving you two minutes to get your
sorry ass out of Ms. Bertrand’s apartment, or I’ll put you out by force.”

Incredibly, Brett tried
to hand the camera back to Matt. “This isn’t mine.”

Matt seized Brett by a
handful of hair and hauled him yelping out of the bed. “I wasn’t fucking
joking, man. Put your damn clothes on and get out. You can take your camera with
you. But Ms. Bertrand keeps this.” He showed the memory card to Brett for a
moment before dropping it in his jeans pocket.

Brett scowled, but didn’t
say a word as he rushed into his briefs and pants. He grabbed his shirt and
shoes and camera and ran out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

Blake went into the
kitchen and made herself a Jack and Coke and drank it down. “Well, Brett Skeet,”
she muttered to herself, “you’re no Kenton Rhodes, that’s for damn sure. Hell,
he probably isn’t as great as I’ve imagined, either.”

#

June 20

New York
,
New York

She slept late, waking
up just in time for lunch. That turned out to be a couple of bacon and egg
biscuits Antonio had brought from McDonald’s. Not as healthy as she usually
liked, but, damn it, she deserved some self-indulgence today.

In keeping with that
thought, after she ate her microwaved Mc-brunch and washed it down with some
coffee laced with plenty of cream, she went out on the veranda and pressed her
BlackBerry’s speed-dial number for Uncle Thorne. He answered just before her
call would have gone to voicemail, sounding still drowsy himself.

“Hi there, girl. Are
you okay? You’re not having any more problems about that fire, are you?”

“No. That was awful,
though, but by itself I think I could handle it. Just…” Blake watched the
Saturday comings and goings of New Yorkers, no less busy than on a weekday.

“Just?” Uncle Thorne
asked, prompting her.

“There’s just been so
much
to handle, lately.” Blake found herself baring her heart to Uncle Thorne: the
race to make a one-year profitability plan for the Wishman Spears, Margot’s
suicide attempt, Brett’s attempts first to possess her and then to sell her
out, Lang’s mind games with the restraining order and getting his girlfriend on
the reality show, being questioned about the arson at the restaurant,
everything.

“Whew. Girl, you need a
vacation,” Uncle Thorne suggested, when at last she’d told him everything.

“I agree, but I can’t
take one because of the damned TV show.” Blake wondered what it must be like to
be anonymous, like so many of the people going about their weekend activities
ten stories below her.

“Maybe not, but there’s
another possibility, you know.”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“Well, your Mentors
& Protégés is launching Monday, isn’t it? You’ve got hiking with that Internet
genius Mark Summers for auction, and a guitar lesson with me, and a bunch of
stuff like that. How about putting yourself up for auction, and have a day you’d
never have if it’s you calling all the shots?”

Blake felt a smile
sneak onto her lips. “Uncle Thorne, you’re a
genius
.”

He chuckled and
responded, “Now that’s something I don’t often hear. But I have my moments.”

“I love you. Thanks for
letting me vent and for giving me an idea for getting away from it all for a
day.”

“Love you back, girl.
Call me anytime, you know that.”

When they ended the
call, Blake promptly put herself up for auction. She fought the urge to specify
what she and the winning bidder would do together, instead listing simply “an
afternoon with Blake Bertrand.”
It’s a day away from everything. This may be
one helluva adventure.

She changed into a
jumpsuit for her jujitsu lesson from Suki, grinning with anticipation. Monday
couldn’t come soon enough.

Chapter Thirty

June 22

New York
,
New York

Blake wasn’t surprised
when Brett called in sick from work at
The Takeover
Monday morning.
No
doubt he’s busy working a new scam. I feel bad for whomever he’s conning, but
that’s never again going to be me.

The website to raise
funds for her Mentors & Protégés activities, dreamittolife.org, opened for
auction bids at
8
A
.
M
.
EST.
All day, whenever she had a minute free from reality
television duties, Blake monitored the progress of the first auctions.

Hiking with Mark Summers
,
the first premium package, Blake priced to open at $10,000. By
noon
the bidding was already
at $60,800.

A Lesson With Former
Santana Guitarist
started at $500, but by
noon
the highest bid had climbed to $8,300. She
made a mental note to look up the leading bidder on the Internet. He was in
Maroon 5, unless she was mistaken.

Dinner With Manley
and Melinda Yates
was a package she expected to appeal to business leaders
and tech fans alike, so she’d assigned an opening price of $5,000. As of
noon
, the top bid was
$23,200 and certain to climb some more.

A soccer ball
autographed by David Leckam had fetched a high bid, so far, of $1,700. U2’s
Bono had donated an autographed guitar that he’d actually used extensively on
the band’s latest record and tour, and that was going for a cool $2,500,
undoubtedly with more to come. Lady Gaga offered one of her most outrageous
music video costumes, and bids for it had already soared to $19,100. No
celebrity item was going for less than $1,000.

As for
An Afternoon
With Blake Bertrand
, she’d settled on an opening price of $500 for that,
too. She was astonished to find that by
noon
someone was already bidding $33,000. Even as she watched, an
anonymous bidder offered $35,000 to spend a few hours with her. For a moment
she worried that the anonymous bidder might be Lang, but she quickly dismissed
that fear. He was obeying the letter of the restraining order, if not its
spirit. Not even Lang would be audacious enough to believe the issuing judge
would grant him an exception because he won an afternoon with her in an
auction.

Whoever the anonymous
bidder for a few hours with her might be, Blake was thrilled.
Halfway
through the first day of auctions, my Mentors & Protégés has already raised
more than $100,000! I can go ahead and announce the official launch!
She
texted Vickie to do just that.

go!,> Vickie texted in reply.

#

Vanessa and Jerome
visited Blake’s NBC studio office as she and Antonio were getting ready to
leave for the night. “Blake,” said Vanessa, flashing a broad smile, “Jerome and
I have been discussing the remaining contestants, and we were wondering if you’ve
got any thoughts yet on who you’ll choose as the winner.”

“Not really. I haven’t
even announced the third elimination, and after that there’s still nine
contestants left.” Blake didn’t sit down again, but she leaned against her desk
and studied first Vanessa’s face and then Jerome’s.
What are these two up to
now?

Jerome seemed to be
trying to hide behind Vanessa, but he surprised Blake by speaking next. “Don’t
you think one or two stand out from the pack, though?”

Blake glanced at
Antonio. His eyebrows were arched, visible in spite of his Ray-Bans.
At
least I’m not alone in thinking this is a weird conversation to be having so
early in the competition.

“Of course a few people
have been especially impressive so far,” Blake conceded.

“If you had to name
four who you think have the best chance of winning, who would you say?” Vanessa’s
piercing gaze reminded Blake of a predator judging the right moment to snatch
its prey.

Blake shook her head. “There’s
every chance the four best now aren’t going to be the four best by the end.”

“For the sake of
argument, tell us who you think the best four are now, then.”

She considered for a
minute, her head bowed so that their watchful faces wouldn’t distract her. “Ray
Fisher is working hard on every assignment. Vin Guevara is brilliant. Eve
Womack is both.” After hesitating a moment, she finished, “Gabby Truitt never
seems to be exerting herself or thinking outside the box, but somehow she keeps
coming up with the goods. So, those are the four who’ve done the best so far.”

Vanessa and Jerome
exchanged happy grins. “That’s good, your thoughts are similar to ours. And
Jerome and I are thinking that Gabby should win.”

Blake stood up
straight, taken by surprise. “Why?”

“As you say, she comes
up with the goods for every assignment. She’s also got charisma, and the others
don’t.” Vanessa folded her arms across her chest. Almost behind her, Jerome
nodded agreement.

“I also said that may
change by the end of the competition. Starting a business is a lot of hard
work. It takes months of planning and preparations to do it well. These
contestants have only twelve weeks. Some are going to burn out before the end,
watch and see.”

“Maybe you should give
Gabby a little extra help if she needs it, to make sure she wins.”

“Absolutely not.” Blake
slung her purse over her shoulder. “The winner will be the person who has most
earned it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go for the night.”

Blake marched out of
her office with Antonio close behind her.
Why can’t I just have a good day
anymore? For every good thing that happens, lately, at least two bad things
happen.

Antonio glanced at
Blake’s face as they waited for their taxi back to the apartment to arrive. “Should
I call Suki and warn her you’re in the mood to kick the shit out of somebody?”

She made a face. “Please
don’t. When Suki thinks I’m in a bad mood, she works me until I hurt all over
for a week.”

#

As if her thoughts were
a premonition, Blake entered her apartment to find two men in black suits
sitting on her sofa, waiting for her. Suki sat in one of the recliners, dressed
for jujitsu, staring at the visitors. “Hi, Boss,” said Suki, when Blake stood
in the doorway. “These two guys from the FBI want to talk to you.”

“Oh, hell. What can it
be this time?” Blake flung her purse down by the door and stood by the giant
flat-screen TV, her gaze locked with those of the agents.

The agents looked at
each other for a moment. What that accomplished, Blake couldn’t guess, because
they were both wearing shades. Both turned their heads to look at her again, in
perfect unison, and the slightly taller one said, “Ma’am, is it possible we
could talk to you in private?”

“It’s possible,” Suki
answered for Blake. “But it won’t happen. We’re here to protect Blake Bertrand.
Even from the FBI, if you try to hurt her.”

They looked at each
other again as Antonio moved to stand between Blake and the agents. The taller one
spoke. “Let’s just be direct, then. Ms. Bertrand,
Miami
police have requested
FBI assistance in investigating the fire that burned down your Cuban
restaurant. Do you have any idea why?”

“No. And I don’t know
why you’d want to talk to me about it, anyway. My attorney already proved I was
airborne when the fire started, and that I haven’t made any financial
transactions that could be payment to an arsonist.” She eyed the recliner that
stood empty, weary and wondering if she’d somehow be at a disadvantage if she
sat down.

“Your Cuban restaurant
was engaged in money laundering for the Mafia,” said the shorter agent.

Blake’s legs felt
rubbery all of a sudden. She leaned against the wall. “I don’t have anything to
do with the Mafia!”

“Well, ma’am, I’m
afraid that’s just not true.” The shorter agent crossed his legs and studied
her through his shades. “Our investigation already shows that a number of
properties purchased and maintained by you and your ex-husband laundered money
for the Mafia.”

“It must have been Lang’s
doing.” Blake didn’t resist as Antonio helped her into the empty recliner. He
then positioned himself behind her. She felt a wild urge to giggle as she
imagined Antonio and his Ray-Bans having a staring match with the FBI agents in
their shades.

“Can you prove you had
nothing to do with it?” inquired the taller agent.

“I thought the burden
of proof is on the prosecution, because the defense is innocent until proven
guilty,” countered Suki.

The agents shot shaded
looks at Suki, in unison, and again Blake felt a crazed need to giggle. She
bowed her head over her knees and clamped her hands over her face to stifle the
impulse.

“That’s true, ma’am,
but even early in the investigation the evidence isn’t looking good for your
employer, here.”

“Well, Boss will just
have to hope her attorney can call your evidence into question. And yes, she
does have an attorney, so maybe you should speak with him.” Suki continued
staring at them, her expression cold and unmoved as a statue’s. Being without
shades clearly didn’t faze her.

“May we have your
attorney’s name and number, Ms. Bertrand?” The taller agent pulled an ink pen
and a mini notepad out of his jacket pocket and waited to make notes of the
information.

Blake consulted her
BlackBerry for the contact info of Enrico Torres, and the agent dutifully
scribbled the name and number. The agent then read them back to her to confirm
he’d got everything correct. He tucked pen and pad away, stood, and said, “I’m
sure we’ll talk again soon.”

The shorter agent
stood, too, and threw up a salute at Blake as he followed his partner out of
the apartment. Blake stared at her BlackBerry, her stomach caught in the grip
of an icy fist. “I guess I’d better call my attorney, too.”

She dialed Torres’s
number and wished her life was a nightmare she could wake up from.