Laughing Through My Tears Page 4

  “I was coming to eat with you.”

  “You didn’t tell me that.” I cross my arms over my chest. “It looked like you’d found other company.”

  He smiles that smile of his. “Jealous?”

  “Hardly.” I turn to leave but he catches my arm. “Hey, let go.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Going home. I have to work.”

  “Here I’ll take you.”

  “That’s ok. I’ll walk.”

  “I’ll take you.” He has a steel vice on my wrist. I try to jerk away but he’s too strong. “You’re not walking home.”

  “Why not? I ran here.” He’s pulling me towards his car and now I’m angry. “Let me go. You are not going to drag me around like some caveman.”

  “I thought you liked that.” He’s enjoying this. I can tell.

  “No, I don’t.” I finally yank free and turn to walk away indignantly only he sweeps me up and ignores my outcry. His puts me down to open the door and I start to walk away again. He grabs my wrist, produces his handcuffs and clicks one on my right wrist. Then he waits patiently as I glare at him until I take my seat in the passenger. Then just to drive his point home he clicks the other end to the door handle before closing the door.

  We drive to my home in stony silence but I can tell he’s worried he’s pushed me too far because he’s giving furtive sidelong glances. It’s kind of funny because he was so cocksure a few moments ago. Then he rests his hands between my thighs and I throw him a bone by not brushing it away. He sighs and starts to stroke my inner thigh with his thumb. Just that can make me all melty yummy. We park and I turn to him and before I can speak he sucks me into the gentlest kiss, deep, long.

  “Don’t be angry. I don’t know what got into me. Jealousy.” He confirms more for himself than me. His face is close and his breath is tickling my lips. His next kiss is consuming and sexual and we are clearly heading for something by the time he breaks it. I can’t crawl into his lap like I’d like to because I’m attached to the door.

  “Unlock me. Please.” I’m breathing hard as his hand wanders into my tank. “Then let’s get upstairs.”

  He nods vigorously and we both laugh. In another few minutes neither of us is laughing as I’m up against my hall wall doing something I’ve only ever seen done in movies. He’s strong enough to make this position happen and it feels really good. We’ll have to do this again soon.

  His weight is consuming as it collapses on me after. I’m still wrapped around him when he says, “It’s hard for me to be understanding when it comes to you.”

  I’m all melted into his strong arms. I love it and I don’t feel like getting into a conversation that might make us more than what we are so I change the subject. “That was really good.”

  He lifts his head to shower me with his smile. “Yeah it was.”

  I smile back, “let’s shower.”

  He sets me to the floor as he says, “this lunch keeps getting better and better.”

  After, while he’s in the bathroom, I notice his gun belt and decide to give it a try. I’m in a matching bra and panty set after my shower and I know he’s going to love this. His gun is still in the holster so it makes it much heavier than I expected and it’s kinda complicated to snap up but then I do and it pushes my breasts up to swimsuit model swelling. I’m clicking the final click when he walks in.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” I flip my hair up and his look is concern, fear, and maybe a touch of anger, none of the emotions I was shooting for. Why’s he angry?

  “Officer, don’t take that tone with me,” I tease putting my hands on my hips.

  “Get that off now.” He’s walking cautiously towards me and his voice has a sharp note.

  My hands drop and I know my face does too because his look softens. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “How am I going to get hurt?”

  “By the gun.” His hands are on my hips and sliding up my body to start unsnapping all of my hard work.

  “Isn’t it locked? Or whatever you said?” He assured me of that the first night he stayed over. I’m not into guns, especially with an infant in arms reach. The belt is off and his hands are smoothing over me before his choking kiss.

  He assures me after, “that was hot. Just not with my gun in it, ok? You’re a little accident prone sometimes.”

  “I am not.” He gives me a look. “Like when?”

  “Like when you fell down the stairs.” Oh, yeah, the day after he and I figured out how good he and I were between sheets without clothes he was following me down the stairs. I was worried he was checking out my butt so I turned to smile at him and missed the last three steps. I sprained my wrist. I refrain from asking for more evidence as there have been a few other klutz moments. That said I don’t think that makes me especially accident prone. “I have to get back. I don’t usually take two hour lunches.” I smile coyly and slip my hand into his and start toward the door but he stops me. “Where are you going?”

  “Walking you to the door.”

  “Not like that.” He eyes my half dressed state.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Oh I am. I don’t need your neighbors with an eyeful of my girl.” He loves upping the ante on what he and I are. I keep thinking we’re hot, irresponsible sex. He keeps thinking we’re, well, we’re more. I give him a look and grab up the shirt we basically ruined a few minutes ago. He has a few clothes at my place, a further sign his perspective on us may be more accurate than mine. The shirt envelops me with his manly scent and size. It feels like a comfortable blanket.

  “Wow, that shirt’s never looked so good.” His arms wraps around me heavily as we walk to the door. He’s turning me into him and my arms are looping his neck when his phone buzzes. His hand cups my neck as he says, “hold that thought.” He answers but I’m not feeling patient so I mold into him and give my lips free reign to place soft, long kisses on is neck. I can tell he’s having trouble concentrating. When my hand runs flatly down his body to the front of his pants where he’s clearly more than a little interested in what I’m doing, he pushes me hard against the wall. It surprises me and I look up to get trapped in his intense gaze. Now he’s using his body as a weight to hold me against my wall and this is fun. He ends his call and turns his attentions on me. “What has gotten into you?”

  “You have.” I’m reaching up on my toes to dance my lips around his without actually kissing him.

  “Oh my god, I can’t get enough of you.” I can barely breathe through the crush of his embrace. “I’m going to cuff you to that bed and work you over for a weekend one of these days. Then I’ll be able to be as glib about this as you are.”

  “Promises, promises,” I laughed as his lips grab at mine playfully. And I’m happy in that moment so I wrap my arms around his head and give a real hug, a real, deep, longing hug and it brings a lump to my throat. I never thought I’d want to give that kind of hug again, not to anyone other than Sam. He can tell my mood has changed because his arms enfold me and he’s protecting me in his embrace.

  “I have to go.” I nod against his head and he pulls away in spite of the fact that I try to stop him. My eyes are closed to hide my tears as he cups my face. “Are you ok?” I nod afraid he’ll hear the tears if I try to speak. “Are you sure?” A tear falls, damn. “Let me call in.”

  I shake my head again and find my voice. “No, no. I have to work.”

  “I’ll come back tonight.” His voice is hopeful. My eyes close again as I nod and wrap him again in my hug. “And maybe we can have one of those conversations that usually send you running for the hills.” Yeah, lately he’s been pushing hard for something else, something other than late night visits. It sounds so good, too good, but I nod my agreement. His arms tighten. “My sweet girl.”

  ***

  I cook for a family on the weekends. They live on Harris Island, and their weekday cook gets Saturday and Sunday off. So I pick up the slack.

  He’
s a senior partner in a small investment banking boutique downtown. He’s everything I hate about that industry, and everything I hated about my time in it. Their kids are horrible, and their horribleness is a direct result of bad parenting. The mother spends more time away at spas than I spend wishing for a different life. I’ve been cooking for them for about six months, and I’ve never seen the father engage in a conversation lasting more than five minutes with any of the kids.

  I pull up to their ridiculous home and start unloading. The maid meets me at the back. She is a nice older lady from Dominican. She knows Iris.

  “Hola, Marga.” She’s waving to me. I smile as I walk up.

  “You did the shopping?” She gets all of my ingredients for me ahead of time. She nods. “Muchas gracias.”

  “No es nada,” she assures me. “Que pasas?” She looks upset about my eye. It’s actually looking better, and I can see through it now. I smile and shrug. There’s not much I can say to explain it. Hopefully it will fade soon and people will stop giving me double takes. I’m in the kitchen cooking when Donald walks in. He’s a big, big guy with a horrible, horrible personality. He doesn’t even comment on my eye.

  “The food was terrible last week. If you leave something like that this week, don’t bother coming back.” This is how he starts the conversation. They had guests last weekend.

  “Sue said everyone loved it.” I’ve never learned when to keep my mouth shut. I can see his eyes glitter.

  “It sucked. And you’re warned.”

  I nod and go back to my chopping as I fight back tears. Normally, I’d just be pissed, but today I’m a little out of sorts. Dinner is called, and the family gathers around the table. I serve their meals in courses. I don’t know where these people come from, and it’s possible this is exactly how they are used to eating. They are certainly much better at putting on airs than Sean and Marsha. It just all seems a little much. One of the kids tries to trip me as I serve. The others giggle. I resist the urge to slap them. Donald doesn’t eat the salad or the soup. He waits for the steak.

  “Look Daddy,” Elsa, the little girl, calls out. She is balancing a spoon on her nose trying to get his attention. The man is staring at CNBC. This I all I’ve ever seen on their TV. He doesn’t even blink in her direction.

  “Dad,” Donald, the oldest boy asks. “I was wondering if we could go to Sports Authority tomorrow for my glove. Like you promised.” Dad is busy kid, watching a rerun of a Maria Bartiroma interview, and looks like he might like a minute in the bathroom with some KY and her image.

  Donald stands up, picks up an entire apple bacon wrapped petite filet and says, “I’m going swimming.”

  He takes a hulking bite out of the steak before padding away. I ignore the look of rejection on the kid’s face because there is nothing I can do about it. I go back to the kitchen to get dessert ready. It’s almost seven, and I’m hoping to get home by eight. Whenever Mario and I start movies after nine, I fall asleep and then he tries to cop a feel. I have to give him points for perseverance.

  I hear a splash after about five minutes. I guess The Donald is finished with dinner. A few minutes later I see him floating on his belly. He does this sometimes. Swimming to Donald is floating. It’s only after a few more minutes that I realize he hasn’t come up for air. Something isn’t right. I walk out of the side door and call to him.

  “Donald? Mr. Davey?” He told me a long time ago to call him Mr. Davey. I keep forgetting.

  When he still doesn’t move or answer, I jump in. Something is wrong. I flip him over to find him blue and breathless. I cry out loudly for help. I’m trying to swim the beached whale back to the shallow end as the family runs out onto the patio.

  “Call for help! Call for help!” I yell at Sue. She’s dumbfounded. I’m trying hopelessly to pull this huge guy out of the pool. I don’t know CPR, but I think I can fake it. I’m pressing on his chest and blowing into his mouth. There is no response.

  Sue comes running out. “They’re on their way.”

  I’m crying. I can’t say why. It certainly isn’t out of despair. I can’t stand this guy. “I-I don’t know CPR. Do you?” She shakes her head.

  “Shit,” I say. “W-w-what are we going to do?” Sue really doesn’t look as upset as I feel right now. We hear the sirens. The maid has taken the kids upstairs.

  “The police are here,” she says, but it lacks the relief one might expect given the circumstances. The medics work to dislodge the meat until they realize he hasn’t choked at all. While flipping him onto his side, they find a patch of bee stings.

  “Ohhhh,” Sue moans, finally with some grief. “He’s allergic to bee stings.”

  Mystery solved. He’s having some sort of reaction. By the time they come to this realization it has easily been thirty minutes since Donald has taken air into his lungs. They work for awhile longer until they pronounce him dead at 7:55pm.

  ***

  It is two hours later, and I’m still at the Davey’s. As soon as the police saw my name, wheels started spinning. They are even threatening to take me down town. I guess that isn’t just a saying. Killing two clients in less than two days raises some suspicions. Mark arrives around ten. I’m no longer soaked, just damp, and shivering. He heard the call come in earlier and the fact that I was involved again. Normally, Mark is a special department of intelligence and counter intelligence, but he works SWAT on the weekends. Given the fact that CENTCOM is about a blink away from where I live, I feel much better knowing he’s doing whatever it is he does. Things get easier as soon as he shows up.

  “Is she finished?” He wraps a light jacket around my shoulders. I can’t tell if I’m shivering because of the damp night air, or because I’ve just killed another human. Ok, I’m being hard on myself. Technically, I haven’t killed anyone. They make me sign some papers and then Mark walks me out.

  “I’ll take you home.” His bike is at the end of the driveway.

  “No thanks.” I’m giving him my best you must be kidding me look.

  “You’re not going to be able to get out right now.” He’s right. A sea of cars is parked behind me. “Let’s go. I’ll be gentle.” He is holding my hand and leading me away from my safe SUV. I want to cry, and he can see it. “Come on baby, let me take you home.”

  I start crying. He’s never called me baby before. I finally nod and let him lead me to his death trap. He hands me a helmet and then gets on as I stand with the helmet in my hands considering how long it might take for me to walk home. When he pulls me to him, this kiss seals the deal. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

  I put the helmet on reluctantly while saying, “Don’t go making promises you can’t keep.” I fling my leg over and cling to him. We are at my place before I have time to break into a sweat. It’s not something I want to do often, but it is nice riding with my arms wrapped around him. He leads me up the stairs where Mario meets us.

  “Where were you?” Mario sounds hurt as he eyes Mark with an angry look. Mark does not look pleased with this intrusion. I kinda forgot I had made plans with two different men.

  “She was busy,” Mark answers for me in some kind of macho sword play.

  “Sorry, Mario. It’s been a long night. Next weekend.” I try to pacify the situation shaking myself out of my confused daze. Mark doesn’t even wait for Mario to reply. He leads me into the apartment and shuts the door in the man’s face. My crazy neighbor is smoking her cigs watching the whole scene unfold.

  “What was that all about?” He asks.

  “Nothing.” I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts that I don’t notice his anger.

  “It was something.”

  I finally look at him and realize what’s going on. “Hey, jealousy is not part of our deal. We’re anonymous sex. That’s all we are.” He is angry, especially with these words. “All Mario and I do is watch movies.”

  “Yeah, I bet. I can see that’s all he wants from you.”

  “Like I said, this is not part of the deal. If I
want to watch movies with Mario, and if watching movies really means screw his brains out, then I’m going to.” He is really, really angry now. I can see it. I’m good at pissing men off, really, really good at it. I keep on heedless of his anger. “It’s a right I get to enjoy after this last year.”

  He grabs me roughly and pushes me into the wall. “That’s a trump card that’s growing less and less powerful every day that passes.” His mouth is on mine in a smothering fashion before I can defend against his rather painful truth. My sorrow is beginning to tread the fine line between poetic and pitiful.

  ***

  I wake up in the middle of the night unable to get the past two nights out of my mind. My clients are dying, and it seems to be the result of my cooking, my presence, me. I don’t know. It is impossible not to feel some kind of guilt. I start to get scared. What if I did it purposely? What if I did something that caused these things to happen? Once a mom, it becomes totally possible to entertain the ridiculous. What would happen to Sam? He’d go to his dad. My heart calms one tick. I don’t want to go to jail. My heart increases again. I’m starting to shiver from the cold sweating oozing out of me. I should get up before I wake Mark. The problem is we’re totally entwined again. I try to ease out, but his grip tightens.

  “Where are you going?” I guess he wasn’t asleep.

  “You’re awake?”

  “I am now.” He opens an eye and smiles at me.

  “I can’t sleep.” I can tell he’s not going to let me go.

  “Because of all of this?” I nod. “They were accidents Margo. Sean’s case is all but closed. They’ll do an autopsy with this one, but my guess is it will be closed by the end of the week too. They’re weird accidents.”

  “I’m not going to cook next week.” I can’t. Two of my favorite clients are coming up next week. They are just wonderful people who also happen to be wealthy. I can’t kill them. I’d never be able to forgive myself. “I’m going to take the week off.” Not that I can afford to do this.

  “Whatever. But they are accidents.” He’s kissing me. Maybe he’s hoping that perfect mouth of his will erase my spiraling imaginations. I have to say if anything can it can. I’m sweating again, but this time it has nothing to do with fear. He’s kissing my shoulder, and I’m almost asleep.