Unconventional (The Manhattanites #4) (25 page)

“Pretty much.” She smiled, realizing Duckie’s openness about his servitude as a submissive to a wealthy older man was privy to all, even their doorman. The previous summer, Duckie had been collared by Mr. Leather USA. “Any unusual noises…or smells, like before?” She had to prepare herself for those accusatory stares from fellow tenants, who’d fallen victim to Duckie’s hallway tirades.

“Three days ago, it was non-stop Adele music and that fruity hookah stench.” Waving his hand over his nose, Caris suggested, “Maybe I could cheer Duckie up with a romantic dinner.”

He’d had a crush on Duckie ever since they’d moved into the building. A Vietnam veteran who’d returned to America and lived through the Stonewall riots, disco and the AIDS crisis, Kiki had found Caris’ stories fascinating. Caris didn’t understand why Duckie’s feelings for him weren’t mutual. He was also pushing seventy. While Duckie lusted after older men, Kiki had figured Caris might be a smidge too old.

“Sounds like Duckie’s grievance ritual with accompanied melodramatic anthems. What about yesterday? Any more noises?” Shifting from one sore foot to another, she counted how long she’d been in these dressy work clothes. Twenty-six hours.

“The tunes progressed to Lady Gaga and Beyoncé.”

“Good. Peppier music means Duckie’s spirits are lifting. Thanks, Caris.” Taking the package, she placed it on top of her roller bag and offered, “I have a feeling Mom sent some of those chocolate mint sandwiches you enjoy so much. I’ll bring ’em up when I’m on my way back out.” Kiki made her way into the elevator. Pushing ‘B’, she headed for the basement.

Located at the corner of Fifth Avenue and East Eighth Street, Taddy had found Kiki the apartment through her talk show host friend, Poppy White, who lived upstairs in the penthouse. Designed in 1928, the Art Deco skyscraper was a social step up from the Jersey City apartment she’d lived in before. It had only one
tiny
setback.

Twice over her budget, the apartment, with its cement floor and brick walls, was a renovated boiler room. To prevent a maintenance fee increase for the tenants during the recession, the Co-op board elected to rent out the unused space, after upgrading the building to central heat and air conditioning.

She’d enjoyed the studio and had the best times living there. Looking ahead, her skin got goose bumps thinking about the memories to be made with Dejon at his loft in SoHo, once they married.

“My body needs a good fuck. Come, save me. My pussy is in the palm of your hands,”
blasted from the other side of her apartment door.

“Ahhh, he’s playing,
Save Me
.” Kiki knew this ‘80s Birdie Easton song remixed to rapper Waris Sugar meant her roommate was at the makeover portion of his doom-and-gloom saga. Sliding her key into the lock, she opened the door, inhaled burnt strawberries from the hookah and expected to find him covered in a Baden Cosmetics mud mask.

In awe, she stood in the doorway, not expecting this one.

Was this a nightclub? The apartment glowed neon blue.

“Hey, gurl.” Naked, Duckie hung in a sling he’d apparently chained from the ceiling’s pipes. Sunglasses on. Tanning lamps up. He threw an extra pair of Chanel shades her way. “Put those on to cover your eyes.”

Lord, give me strength here.
She walked over to the music system and turned Birdie and Waris down to volume two. Picking up Duckie’s fuzzy bathrobe from the floor, she threw it in his direction. “Are we doing mud masks and massages today, Mr. Capri?”

Kiki wasn’t fazed. After working for Taddy Brill for the last two years, she’d pretty much seen it all. Having Liberace’s doppelganger as a roommate was a walk in Central Park.

“That was yesterday, boo. Today is colonics and twerking dance class.” Stepping out of the sling, he stood at about five-foot-ten. He tied the robe around his tight waist then attempted to jiggle his ass, showing Kiki his booty moves. Duckie didn’t have anything to shake, just bones.

“Did you eat while I was gone?”

“Am I giving off gaunt?” he asked proudly.

Never insulting anyone, she realized with her roommate, tough love was sometimes necessary. “You look as if I should fix you one of my Fluffernutter sandwiches.”

“Thanks! Diet accomplished.
Hunger
is exactly the look I was goin’ for.”

“Why?” At the cabinet, she pulled out a jar of peanut butter and a tub of marshmallow cream.

“Gives a more youthful glow.” Turning the tanning lamps off, Duckie fingered his Justin Bieber-inspired haircut then pouted. “Master Roane hasn’t called me. No texts or emails, either. Rumor has it he’s collared a new sub, some twink who attends Parsons Design School. Can ya believe it?”

“Duckie!” She wasn’t humoring him. Instead, she made him something to eat. Grabbing the last two slices of white bread from the bag on the counter, she knifed the salty brown spread on the right and the white goop on the left. Licking the cream from her thumb, Kiki sat Duckie’s plate on the counter.

“I mean really. At twenty-three, I’m over the gay hill. These eighteen-year-old bottoms are sneakin’ up behind me, stealin’ every eligible top out there. I’m going to be exiled to Brooklyn.” He came over and picked at the food.

“There’s a nice guy out there for you. I’m sure of it.”

“You’re lucky you found your soulmate and are getting married.” Duckie pointed his manicured finger in a sassy accusatory way at her. Then he took a bigger bite. Talking with his mouth full, he managed, “Even if your wedding is in your parents’ backyard and I…Duckie Capri, your gay bestie…wasn’t invited because they don’t allow homosexuals in Provo.”

Oh, brother.
Ignoring his invitation to join his pity party, she reminded, “Shouldn’t you be at work? Mr. Morgan put you on probation the last time you pulled a no-show. And you were, too, invited to my wedding. You just don’t wanna come ’cause it means interacting with my polygamist family.”

Raised to keep her family’s lifestyle a secret from anyone who didn’t go to her fundamentalist temple, Kiki hadn’t even told Dejon about her father’s four other wives. She’d thought of all people, Duckie wouldn’t judge. So she’d told him. Huge mistake!

Duckie Capri, with his liberal views on sex, for some reason had taken issue with anyone who wasn’t monogamous. This had prompted his bad habit, the one he’d tried a gazillion times to quit, to resurface. Gossiping!

Eight minutes. That was exactly how long it had taken for the news of Kiki’s poly family to hit Brill, Inc.

Sensing what the humiliation had done to her esteem, Taddy had urged, “Kiki, darling, let’s turn this negative situation around.”

“How?” Kiki had faced ridicule her entire life.

“By accentuating it into a positive. Let’s have a Polygamy party! Now, what is your Bible Belt known for other than Sister Wives?”

“Jell-O,” Kiki had replied.

In Kiki’s honor, Times Square had been turned into a Poly block party. They’d sported pastel prairie-style dresses and had worn blonde wigs. Taddy’s friends, Lex and Vive, had served green Jell-O jigglers.

Funny? Heck yeah, especially when Kiki had found out weeks later that they were actually vodka Jell-O shots. Leave it to Vive!

Poor Hannahette, who’d flown in from Provo for the occasion, had no idea what a Jell-O shot was. She’d gotten herself wasted. To this day, her mom bragged it was the best time she’d ever had.

So, Kiki didn’t push the issue with Dejon about her polygamist family. He could take it or leave it.

“Didn’t you hear me? I said Master Roane is collaring another slave.” The fastest eater she’d ever seen, Duckie shoved the last bite in his mouth. Then he put the plate in the sink.

“Maybe you should entertain the idea of letting this Dom have other subs.”

“No way, José.”

“Those who lead life with an open mind have an open heart, Duckie.”

No matter how many times Brill, Inc’s BDSM client Madam Queen Dick Dupree had tried to school Kiki on D/s culture, she didn’t get it. One thing for certain, she’d grown tired of humoring Duckie’s Master Roane drama.

“Whatever!”

“I’d rather talk about what you
have
versus what you
don’t
. Such as your job, which is still yours
if
you get your underfed, oversexed, sunburned heinie up to Times Square.” On that note, Kiki marched over to Duckie’s closet, pushed through his leather pants and yanked out a navy Hugo Boss suit for him to wear with a festive autumn tie.

Duckie was going to the office with her whether he wanted to or not. She couldn’t afford to cover his half of the rent if he got fired. Especially if Master Roane was no longer in the picture to pick up Duckie’s tab.

“Bietch, that sling
is
work. It’s Queen Dick’s new toy. We’re putting it on the Lifestyle Network and taping it right in our offices. So I’m takin’ her for a ride. Besides, Mr. Morgan is out of town this entire week, so my absence will go unnoticed.

“Where’d Mr. Morgan go?”

“After he admitted Miss Farnworth back into rehab yesterday, he and his hubby took off on Warner’s jet for Brazil to adopt their baby.”

“Ahhh, right.” Kiki grinned as the images of helping Taddy organize Blake and Miguel’s speedy baby shower, which had followed their impromptu wedding, focused in her memory. “I can’t believe they got an infant so quickly. I mean, before poor Vive gets outta rehab even.” Taddy had sent her an email the night before letting her know they’d found Viveca in the North Folk Long Island wineries, begging for booze.

“Two weeks is all it took. I heard Mr. Morgan shelled out major cashola for their li’l
bebê
. But not as much as that Iced Sherbet diamond was worth, huh?” He sauntered over to the fridge and grabbed a can of Miller Lite.

When they’d first moved in together, Kiki figured he’d drink Don Perignon as Taddy had. But as foo-foo as Duckie seemed, he’d forever be a native Milwaukee boy at heart.

“Huh?”

“Can you stand it? You were in Stockholm at that very Truman property and now it’s vanished.”

“What are you talking about?”

Kiki transferred the box from the suitcase to their kitchen table and opened the lid with her keys. She knew what her mom had sent without even looking inside. Regardless, the enthusiasm was there, considering there’d been a time when her parents had stopped talking to her, hoping she’d pack up her New York dreams and come back to Provo. This gesture reminded her that while she might never return home to Utah, she’d always be their little girl.

Duckie popped the tab off the can and chugged.

Thank you, Mom.
“I smell a homemade honey candle in here. This room freshener should mask that stinky beer. You know how sensitive my nose is.”

“Puhlease, you don’t even like the smell in here when I brew coffee.” He burped. “You seriously have no effin’ clue what I’m talkin’ about with Stockholm, do ya, girlie?”

“Nope.” She caught the lighter Duckie tossed her way from his hookah stand. She lit the wick.
Mmm.
“Isn’t it wonderful how the scent of this honey candle reminds me of home, when I’m not even in Provo? Here we are on Fifth Avenue but if I close my eyes, it’s as if Mom is right here, in our kitchen.”

“With Hannahette’s bees? Making honey?”

“Yes!
Home
smells so good.” Kiki missed Hannahette and her hobbies, beekeeping for starters.

“You sure your
magic underwear
ain’t on too tight?”

“Please. Do not start in with those cookie cutter Mormon jokes, Duckie.” Ever since Broadway played
The Book of Mormon
musical, every homosexual took liberty with poking snarky one-liners at her. She wished they’d all go back to watching
Kinky Boots
or
Wicked
.“Sorry, boo. It’s just…how many times do I gotta say it?
New York
is your home!” He cackled antics at her while taking out his iPad from his fake Gucci bag.

Ignoring him, she emptied the box of treats on the table. “Mom sent me another Marie Osmond doll.” Dressed in a bridal gown, the porcelain toy’s tag read, ‘Princess Rose’. Hannahette had collected the dolls since 1991.

He turned his on iPad.

Kiki pulled out a box within the bigger gift package. It was the board game “The Settlers of Catan.” She’d played it a million times as a kid but the fun never grew old. A dozen mint chocolates and a card rounded out the gifts.

She read the note. It was signed by her immediate family then also by her sixteen siblings from her father’s four other wives. The littlest of the Izatt clan, birthed by her father’s youngest wife, Jordan at age three had scribbled with the letter ‘J.’ Hannahette was her father’s first and oldest wife. She’d finished having her babies after Kiki. Grabbing a magnet, she stuck the card on the fridge.

Dramatically shaking his head, Duckie held up the screen.

“What is it?” Kissing Princess Rose on the cheek, she walked the doll over to the far wall and placed her with the hundred or so others.

“Pay fuckin’ attention already.” He shoved the device in her hands as she came back into the kitchen.

Glancing at the screen, her heart sunk.
Oh, no…
She read the online article out loud, “Forced Back to Rehab, Farnworth Liquor Heiress Found Wasted at Winery.”

“Skip that one about Vive, scroll down.” Duckie pressed the screen, bringing up the next article.

Whoa!
She continued, “Iced Sherbet Diamond Stolen at Truman Stockholm Hotel.”

“Forreals, you didn’t hear about it?”

“Air Sweden didn’t have cable on board, only movies.”

“Authorities on TV were sayin’ the case is tied to the Tivian Diamond that was lifted in Dubai a few months ago. They blew the safe right open. Same fake stones left in its place to distract people long enough so they could get away. Security has no idea how the robbers got in, or out, of the building.”

“How come?” Dizzy from the jetlag, she leaned against the kitchen counter, turned the iPad off, and rubbed her temples.

“The surveillance cameras’ wires were cut.”

“Who’d do such a thing?”