home, nothing like the small place they had. It was tastefully furnished too. Ben had made a lot of the furniture. He worked as a carpenter—when he felt like it. He greeted her and led her into the living room.
It had high ceilings and huge windows. In front of a gray leather couch was a glass-and-brass coffee table with a large pile of cocaine, a razor, straw, and a foil packet. “Have a line,” Ben said.
“Thanks.” Mary grinned. Ben let her do the honors, and she cut four fat lines, two for each of them. She instantly began to glow with self-love and jubilation. Life was grand.
Mary reached into her pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. Vince would die if he could see her now, she thought. She counted them out, three hundred and twenty-five dollars.
Forty-five minutes later Mary was walking out the door. She climbed into her car. Feeling fucking wonderful. Beth was working today. She was a bartender. Mary decided to go down and have a drink. And sell what blow she could.
12
B elinda slowed, cruising in her red MR2 at twenty miles an hour, looking for the job under construction. She had to concentrate. Coming here to see Vince for lunch was a spontaneous thing. She had never come down before, and she probably never would again. But she couldn’t keep her mind on work. Right now she wanted him. She wanted him pumping away inside her.
Last night had been a drag. There had been nothing interesting, no one she’d even consider taking home. And she had called Nancy from the bar. A few glasses of wine and she always seemed to lose her armor and she knew it. Nancy hadn’t ever defended her against Abe, not once in the twenty-eight years she’d been alive, so why did she hope for it now? Besides, she’d been doing well enough, coping with him on her own.
Abe had called back. He had demanded she meet him in Los Angeles tomorrow. He was flying in for a day or so, which wasn’t unusual; he frequently came to California on business.
“I can’t get down there tomorrow,” Belinda said tightly.
“Bullshit. You live forty-five minutes away. Have your ass over at the condo at eight A.M . for breakfast.”
“Why?”
“Because we have a discussion to finish and another one to begin.”
He rarely presented her with a summons. Belinda hated being ordered around. “Have you ever heard of the word please?”
“Oh, Christ! Would you please come over tomorrow morning? And your mother wants to see you.”
“You’re bringing Mom?” Belinda was surprised. Nancy never accompanied Abe on his business trips.
“That’s right,” Abe said. “I’m taking her to a party.”
The construction site loomed before her, across the road. Belinda hung a U and pulled up in front of the chain fence. The house was framed, the roof under construction. A couple of bare-chested, tanned carpenters banging nails up there saw her and whistled. Belinda smiled and slowly got out of the car.
She was wearing a white denim miniskirt, high-heeled sandals, and a thin white tank top that clung to her bare bosom. Lots of gold bangles and black Anne Klein shades. She started through the gate. The hammering had stopped.
She looked up at the three men who were checking her out. “Vince around?”
“He’s out back,” the blonde called down.
Just then Vince appeared around the corner, bare-chested, his torso gleaming with sweat. He saw her and stopped dead.
She smiled wickedly and sauntered forward. Vince hurried to meet her. “Hi,” she said softly, putting her arms around his neck and pressing every inch she could against him.
He groaned, crushing her. “God, what are you doing here?”
“What do you think?” she said in a low voice, sliding her hands into the curly black hair at the nape of his neck. She held his head and kissed him, forcing his mouth open and thrusting her tongue in. Her nipples were hard from the contact with his skin—even through her cotton tank—and she rubbed them sensually against his sweaty chest. He
It had high ceilings and huge windows. In front of a gray leather couch was a glass-and-brass coffee table with a large pile of cocaine, a razor, straw, and a foil packet. “Have a line,” Ben said.
“Thanks.” Mary grinned. Ben let her do the honors, and she cut four fat lines, two for each of them. She instantly began to glow with self-love and jubilation. Life was grand.
Mary reached into her pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. Vince would die if he could see her now, she thought. She counted them out, three hundred and twenty-five dollars.
Forty-five minutes later Mary was walking out the door. She climbed into her car. Feeling fucking wonderful. Beth was working today. She was a bartender. Mary decided to go down and have a drink. And sell what blow she could.
12
B elinda slowed, cruising in her red MR2 at twenty miles an hour, looking for the job under construction. She had to concentrate. Coming here to see Vince for lunch was a spontaneous thing. She had never come down before, and she probably never would again. But she couldn’t keep her mind on work. Right now she wanted him. She wanted him pumping away inside her.
Last night had been a drag. There had been nothing interesting, no one she’d even consider taking home. And she had called Nancy from the bar. A few glasses of wine and she always seemed to lose her armor and she knew it. Nancy hadn’t ever defended her against Abe, not once in the twenty-eight years she’d been alive, so why did she hope for it now? Besides, she’d been doing well enough, coping with him on her own.
Abe had called back. He had demanded she meet him in Los Angeles tomorrow. He was flying in for a day or so, which wasn’t unusual; he frequently came to California on business.
“I can’t get down there tomorrow,” Belinda said tightly.
“Bullshit. You live forty-five minutes away. Have your ass over at the condo at eight A.M . for breakfast.”
“Why?”
“Because we have a discussion to finish and another one to begin.”
He rarely presented her with a summons. Belinda hated being ordered around. “Have you ever heard of the word please?”
“Oh, Christ! Would you please come over tomorrow morning? And your mother wants to see you.”
“You’re bringing Mom?” Belinda was surprised. Nancy never accompanied Abe on his business trips.
“That’s right,” Abe said. “I’m taking her to a party.”
The construction site loomed before her, across the road. Belinda hung a U and pulled up in front of the chain fence. The house was framed, the roof under construction. A couple of bare-chested, tanned carpenters banging nails up there saw her and whistled. Belinda smiled and slowly got out of the car.
She was wearing a white denim miniskirt, high-heeled sandals, and a thin white tank top that clung to her bare bosom. Lots of gold bangles and black Anne Klein shades. She started through the gate. The hammering had stopped.
She looked up at the three men who were checking her out. “Vince around?”
“He’s out back,” the blonde called down.
Just then Vince appeared around the corner, bare-chested, his torso gleaming with sweat. He saw her and stopped dead.
She smiled wickedly and sauntered forward. Vince hurried to meet her. “Hi,” she said softly, putting her arms around his neck and pressing every inch she could against him.
He groaned, crushing her. “God, what are you doing here?”
“What do you think?” she said in a low voice, sliding her hands into the curly black hair at the nape of his neck. She held his head and kissed him, forcing his mouth open and thrusting her tongue in. Her nipples were hard from the contact with his skin—even through her cotton tank—and she rubbed them sensually against his sweaty chest. He
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