Read Online Blood Relations by Barbara Parker - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Barbara Parker
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cross-legged on the sand and lit a cigarette. Her toenails were painted red, and a thin gold chain glittered on her ankle. “Everybody is talking about it. They say you were there.”
Sullivan nodded. “Yes, sorry to say. Having nothing better to do that night, and being in the mood for something trashy, which George Fonseca’s parties always are, I went along.”
The American girl adjusted the straw in her insulated tumbler. “I can’t believe it was rape. I mean, Ali Duncan is such a slut.”
Caitlin said, “Excuse me? She’s a friend of mine. And not a slut.”
The girl raised one slender shoulder.
“I was there, too,” Caitlin said, “and I’m not going to talk about it. Sullivan, you shouldn’t either.”
The Haitian model said, 1 read the article in the New Times, but they made it to be that everyone was drunk and this happens all the time, every night.”
“Oh, doesn’t it?” Sullivan drawled. “The tourists will be so disappointed.”
The other girl said, “A friend of mine was there with her boyfriend, and she told me that the lights came on and the music went off, and everybody was like, ‘What’s going on? What’s happening?”
“
Sullivan said, “Caitlin, after you and Ali left, a policeman barged right into the VIP room. He was screaming, ‘Get back, turn on the fucking lights! Nobody move.” Klaus’s bodyguard tried to push him out, but he drew his gun and called for some backup. They came in like storm troopers, blocking the exits, taking names.
Everyone looked quite dazed. Never, never turn on the lights in a nightclub. The carpet alone will make you in.
And meanwhile Klaus Ruffini was pouring himself another glass of champagne and smiling as if he’d never had so much fun. They didn’t arrest him because, well, look who they’d be arresting, but I personally know that the matter is now under investigation.”
The Haitian girl nodded, excited to be in on this. “The police want to raid the Apocalypse for a long time. I heard they have arrest many people that night for drugs. They might close it down because of letting girls in so young, do you think so?”
Caitlin refocused the telephoto, then circled her hand in the air to signal she was ready. Tommy called out the exposure. “Eleven … eight-seven … eleven … Okay, holding at eleven.”
In a hushed voice, the American girl said, “Sullivan, tell us. What did they do to her? Like, with a champagne bottle? Ewww!”
“Sorry, I’ve been instructed not to discuss that. But I distinctly heard George tell Klaus that he had arranged a surprise for him. He meant Ali, of course, as if she were an hors d’ouevre. Then Klaus said he wanted to see Marquis Lamont do it to her first.”
“He didn’t!”
“He offered George five thousand dollars to see the big black guy have sex with her. But he said it in words too crude to repeat.”
The American model shrieked. “Oh, God! That is so gross! Five thousand dollars? You lie!”
“It’s true, I swear.” He broke into laughter. “Oh, stop, that tickles.”
“You’re a lying sack!”
Caitlin spun around from the camera. “All of you, shut up! I’m trying to work.”
The models climbed off Sullivan, and with a sigh he leaned back on the lounge chair, locked his wrists over his forehead, and closed his eyes. There were suffused giggles from the women, then silence.
Caitlin looked through the camera. Little boy digging in the sand with red plastic shovel. Mom looking at a shell.
Dad on one knee, hand on mom’s shoulder. Everybody smiling. Tommy and Rafael holding the reflectors just right. No harsh shadows. Perfect.
Then the man swung the little boy onto his shoulders.
The woman smiled up at them. They laughed silently in the viewfinder, and their feet in the water kicked up froth but made no sound. Again and again.
The camera whirred and clicked. Finally Caitlin signaled the end of the roll.
Someone was whispering midway through a
Sullivan nodded. “Yes, sorry to say. Having nothing better to do that night, and being in the mood for something trashy, which George Fonseca’s parties always are, I went along.”
The American girl adjusted the straw in her insulated tumbler. “I can’t believe it was rape. I mean, Ali Duncan is such a slut.”
Caitlin said, “Excuse me? She’s a friend of mine. And not a slut.”
The girl raised one slender shoulder.
“I was there, too,” Caitlin said, “and I’m not going to talk about it. Sullivan, you shouldn’t either.”
The Haitian model said, 1 read the article in the New Times, but they made it to be that everyone was drunk and this happens all the time, every night.”
“Oh, doesn’t it?” Sullivan drawled. “The tourists will be so disappointed.”
The other girl said, “A friend of mine was there with her boyfriend, and she told me that the lights came on and the music went off, and everybody was like, ‘What’s going on? What’s happening?”
“
Sullivan said, “Caitlin, after you and Ali left, a policeman barged right into the VIP room. He was screaming, ‘Get back, turn on the fucking lights! Nobody move.” Klaus’s bodyguard tried to push him out, but he drew his gun and called for some backup. They came in like storm troopers, blocking the exits, taking names.
Everyone looked quite dazed. Never, never turn on the lights in a nightclub. The carpet alone will make you in.
And meanwhile Klaus Ruffini was pouring himself another glass of champagne and smiling as if he’d never had so much fun. They didn’t arrest him because, well, look who they’d be arresting, but I personally know that the matter is now under investigation.”
The Haitian girl nodded, excited to be in on this. “The police want to raid the Apocalypse for a long time. I heard they have arrest many people that night for drugs. They might close it down because of letting girls in so young, do you think so?”
Caitlin refocused the telephoto, then circled her hand in the air to signal she was ready. Tommy called out the exposure. “Eleven … eight-seven … eleven … Okay, holding at eleven.”
In a hushed voice, the American girl said, “Sullivan, tell us. What did they do to her? Like, with a champagne bottle? Ewww!”
“Sorry, I’ve been instructed not to discuss that. But I distinctly heard George tell Klaus that he had arranged a surprise for him. He meant Ali, of course, as if she were an hors d’ouevre. Then Klaus said he wanted to see Marquis Lamont do it to her first.”
“He didn’t!”
“He offered George five thousand dollars to see the big black guy have sex with her. But he said it in words too crude to repeat.”
The American model shrieked. “Oh, God! That is so gross! Five thousand dollars? You lie!”
“It’s true, I swear.” He broke into laughter. “Oh, stop, that tickles.”
“You’re a lying sack!”
Caitlin spun around from the camera. “All of you, shut up! I’m trying to work.”
The models climbed off Sullivan, and with a sigh he leaned back on the lounge chair, locked his wrists over his forehead, and closed his eyes. There were suffused giggles from the women, then silence.
Caitlin looked through the camera. Little boy digging in the sand with red plastic shovel. Mom looking at a shell.
Dad on one knee, hand on mom’s shoulder. Everybody smiling. Tommy and Rafael holding the reflectors just right. No harsh shadows. Perfect.
Then the man swung the little boy onto his shoulders.
The woman smiled up at them. They laughed silently in the viewfinder, and their feet in the water kicked up froth but made no sound. Again and again.
The camera whirred and clicked. Finally Caitlin signaled the end of the roll.
Someone was whispering midway through a
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