Ablaze (3 page)

Angel
grabbed
her hair. "Wake up, Angel. Wake up."

"Stop. Stop it. Come on, get up. You're
sitting on my melted dibs."

Warm tears rolled down her cheeks. "Tell this isn't
happening. This is a nightmare. Willy wouldn't do this, Bi. Willy and I are
happy. He never complained or―"

"He's a sick son of a bitch. I knew it. What did I tell you?
That's why he can't look me in the eye when I talk to him. Because he's afraid
I'll be able to see past his soul. Bastard. Man, it's a good thing he's been
caught. I doubt marriage would stop a man like him from fantasizing about young
girls. Have you looked into his computer? Bet you'll find porn sites on the
history log."

Angel felt lightheaded. "Please stop
that Goddamn cellphone."

Bianca left Angel's side to picked up Angel's
phone. "It's your grandpa. You have eight missed calls from him and from
Minnie. Delilah, the cake…oh never mind."

"I don't want to talk to Manfred or
anybody, right now."

"Can't blame you." Bianca tossed
the cell phone on the bed.

"I should have listened to you and
Manfred."

"What, about the bad luck thing? Angel,
I'm superstitious, but this," she pointed at the television, "has
nothing to do with bad luck. Your fiancé is a perv caught in the act. Look, he's
got condoms in his pocket and brought the girl edible orange-tasting underwear.
Angel, this bastard is going to jail."

"Bi, I don't feel good. I'm gonna be sick."

"You look like Kermit the frog. Get up
so I can help you out of that gown."

Angel swallowed, but her throat felt tight. She tasted something
nasty in her mouth. Oh, God, she was going to be sick.

The camera focused on Willy's face again with a caption at the
bottom about his job and that he was soon to be married. He didn't look like
the suave man Angel fell in love with.

"Please believe me. Let me go and I promise I won't do this
again." Willy made a sign of a cross on his chest and then put his palms
together as if in prayer. "Okay, It's true that my fiancée is a spoiled
nosy brat, but the real reason why I came here is…is because I couldn't get
satisfaction from her."

Angel gasped
,
then threw up all over her expensive brand new wedding gown.

Chapter Three

Dylan hung up his cell phone. So Manfred was
finally able to convince his granddaughter to come and stay here. He was hoping
Manfred would fail. Un-fucking-tunately, he didn't. He offered his house in
Queen Anne where Angel McCready could stay, but Manfred refused. Manfred
believed that this condo located in the heart of Seattle's busy environment would
help heal his granddaughter's tired soul. But would Angel like it here? She
must be expecting a posh condo. Pink Door wasn't the place for a rich woman
like Angel. The rooms upstairs were small. Okay, this Angel needed a diversion,
but what about him?

He needed to finish polishing his manuscript
right now. Babysitting a woman, especially one who'd been humiliated and
cancelled the wedding that she dreamed and worked hard for because her fiancé
was a fucking maniac was the last thing he wanted to do. After her ordeal,
Angel would be worse than Hendrix when he was ten, crying all the time, afraid
of the dark and wouldn't eat. At least, with Hendrix, he was able to cuddle
with him and had managed to bribe him with ice cream and two hours of cartoons
on television. With Manfred's granddaughter, he wouldn't know what to do.

Damn it, and what if this woman was suicidal
and decided to cut her wrists on his watch? Manfred said Angel couldn't sleep. And
a sleep deprived person often suffered from headaches, blurred vision and dizziness.
Irritability, inability to concentrate, confused all the time and stressed were
the mental side effects of lack of adequate sleep. Now who would want to be
around a woman like that! Not him. He should have said no to Manfred. But how
could he? The man sounded desperate. On such a fucking short notice, he agreed
to be Manfred's granddaughter's guide for a month.

Goddamn it.

Dylan stretched his back. How long had he been
sitting on this barstool? He'd brought his laptop here in the restaurant, which
he often did and made a big dent polishing his story. It would probably take
him three or four days to finish his edits and then he'd send it to his editor.
Mya would be surprise to see this manuscript a few days early before the
deadline. She was one sweet agent, but she could turn into a she-devil with a
forked tongue when unhappy.

Manfred's granddaughter would be at the
airport tomorrow. He would make sure her presence here wouldn't eat up a big
amount of his time. He'd show her around, dine with her. But nighttime would be
his.

He glanced at the digital clock at the
bottom right hand side of his laptop. His brothers would be here by noon. Still
early. He still had time to work.

He'd discovered he had a talent for writing
a week after he quit medical school. It had been the night sky bright with tiny
dots of stars that put him in the mood to write a poem. But his rhyme was awful
that he started to write a full sentence instead. That one sentence had turned
into a paragraph. He didn't stop writing until a whole plot formed in his head.
By the time the sky turned bright orange and purple, he had written a draft for
a short story. A romance story. Now, he had five books in print and electronic
formats. Two had made it to New York's bestselling list. And both had become a
motion picture.

He'd been invited to numerous conventions, but
turned all of them down. What would the female writers he befriended online and
readers say if he showed up in all of his six two height. Would they still buy
his erotic books? Would they hate him for making them think that he was a woman
or would they fawn all over him because he was…was what? Handsome? He wasn't
ugly by any means. Whatever. Yeah, disguising as a female author wasn't
uncommon. Some of them weren't even hiding. Nicholas Sparks, for example, wrote
chic-lit and he made big dough from doing it.

But he wasn't Sparks and his stories were
enough to make an experienced woman blush. So, no matter what, Dee F. Bennett's
real identity would remain a secret.

Chapter Four

Ugh! Her feet hurt like hell. Why in the
world did she wear high heels? Well, how would she know she'd end up walking up
hill and on cobblestones no less. It was Manfred's fault. He should have warned
her about Seattle's Centennial Days Event. He should have warned her about
Seattle's streets. My God. Seattle people must have fat calves from all of the
uphill walking they do here.

With each hand, she pulled a Samsonite. One hit
a deep groove between cobblestones, forcing her to stop walking. Stupid. With
all her strength, she pulled the luggage real hard, but her purse slipped down
to her arm. She ignored it. She was definitely regretting coming here a day
early.

Angel wiped the sweat running down her left
temple with her forefinger and then raised her arm to check her armpit. Damp. Her
twenty-four hour anti-perspirant wasn't even a match for this heat. She never
felt so icky before. In fact, she couldn't recall the last time she perspired
like this, not even when she joined the marathon for cancer awareness.

She felt like a wilted flower. Shit, crap,
damn! There, she felt better now. Hell, who was she kidding. She felt like a
pig in the oven. It was a good thing she wore her short skirt and a tank top
instead of black slacks and a silk blouse, otherwise, she would have been dead by
now from a heat stroke. Too bad she forgot her water bottle at the airport
where she bought it. Actually, she couldn't remember where she had put it. Now,
she felt like a thirsty camel on a dry desert. Why in the world was she born
forgetful?

The No-Ingles cab driver who dropped her off
blocks away from Pike Place Market due to street closures said that this summer
had been the hottest year in the history of Seattle. And she was here. This
wasn't the Seattle she had in mind when she left North Carolina. Freakin'
freak! She shouldn't have let Manfred bully her into coming here. But she
couldn't stand his incessant calls and pleadings that she take a vacation. So,
angry and annoyed, she surprised him when she called to tell him that she was
already at the airport bound for Seattle.

Manfred said she'd love it here. Well, so
far she felt nothing but the whole thing being a pain in the ass right now.

This was all Willy's fault. She wouldn't be
here if he wasn't a freaking maniac. The ball-less scumbag couldn't even tell
the police that he needed help, that he was one lunatic who badly needed an intervention.
But nooo. He had to use her as an excuse for chatting online and befriending
young girls. What an asshole. Someday, when she was old, wrinkly and couldn't
throw a punch, she would talk to Willy. Right now, he'd better not show up. She'd
freaking pound his testicles into smithereens. And if Manfred caught him, God
only knows what would happen.

Hell, she didn't think at the age of
twenty-four she would feel the world collapsing on top of her. The feeling was
hard to take in.
After six months of living with William, she
thought she knew him enough to say
yes, I will marry you
. Well, now she
knew Willy inside and out. Damn glad she found out the truth about his evil
soul sooner. She didn't freaking need closure on this one.

God, she spent months cooped up in Manfred's
house because of what that idiot had done to her! Well, the heck with him.
Manfred was right. Why should she treat herself like a prisoner? Hiding in the
house with all the curtains drawn. Willy was the one who deserved to be
imprisoned, not her. She should enjoy her freedom, the sun, air and freedom to
find another man. Ha!

Angel gripped her luggage's handle and began
to trudge up hill. Her Samsonites bounced on the cobbled street, but no way she
would lift and carry both. She couldn't even carry one! She bet there wouldn't
be any wheels left on these monstrous things by the time she reach Manfred's
condo.

Lord, she needed to find a Starbucks coffee
shop. Manfred said Seattle was heaven on earth when it comes to coffee. Frappuccino
with extra whip would be awesome right now. But where the hell was the shop?

Angel groaned when she stepped on an uneven
part of the street. God, that hurt.

Hawaii would have been much better right now.
Sunny, but at least she would be at the beach sipping piña colada under a huge
umbrella. But Manfred along with Minnie and Bianca gave her their thumbs down
at the Hawaii idea. Bi reasoned that she would only look pathetic and miserable
in Hawaii, sunbathing alone, walking along the beach or while having dinner. Manfred
said Seattle's environment would help her forget Willy as if she hadn't already
done that. What did Manfred think she'd been doing for three months? Pining
over that ass? No. She'd been working hard sculpting and coming up with more
authentic ideas. Willy's face crossed her mind only a handful of times--when
she was awake. Nighttime was a totally different story. Willy was a nightmare
that wouldn't go away. She hoped leaving North Carolina would help.

Manfred's condo should be right in the heart
of downtown Seattle. The noise, activity, life of downtown, not a time alone in
an island, would definitely help avoid idle time, thus no thinking about the
past.

Maybe something good will happen about my
trip here.

Now, all she had to do was find Manfred's
new condo.

Too bad Bianca couldn't come with her. They
would surely have fun, get drunk and dance all night.
Angel sighed. For months, she worked so hard working on
her wedding preparations
,
not
knowing that her groom-to-be was a pervert
.
Pervert. She'd heard the
word before
,
but never
really paid attention about how corrupt morally a pervert could be. If it weren't
for the show,
To Catch A Predator,
she would have been married to one by
now. Angel shivered at the thought. Well, she was lucky so no need to mull over
the past.

Before leaving North Carolina, she promised
herself, Minnie and Manfred to start anew and forget about Willy. And that she
would do. She would not shed another tear over Willy. Not anymore. Time to face
a new day. A new beginning. To begin, she'd change back to who she was--happy,
trusting, and I'm-walking-on-sunshine kind of girl. Why lose her good traits
because of one asshole. Hah! Be tough and shrug the damn tragedy off. Be her
sunny self. That she would definitely do. Now, to start her new day, she must
get a strong cup of freaking frappuccino.

Angel closed her eyes briefly. She imagined an air-conditioned
room, cold floor--she hated carpeted floor--cold frappuccino…moist chocolate--Eeekkk!
Before Angel could fully open her eyes, she was already on all fours. Her knees
and palms burned. "Oh, my
God
!
Owwieee!" She quickly got up and looked around. No one was around to
witness her go down. "Thank
God
."
She checked her knees. They were red and badly scraped. "No, no. I hate
blood. Don't bleed, knees." Blood
,
however
,
didn't cooperate. They
beaded on the cut. "Oi!"

I'm not going to cry. Smile and everything
will be fine.

Angel was looking around her
,
wishing no one saw her go down when she spotted Second Avenue. Thank
God
, she thought. Next would be First and then
she would be on Boston Street. What she couldn't remember was if the condo was
on the left or right of Boston street.
From where she stood, she could
see the high-rise buildings and Space Needle which were one point one miles from
Pink Door by car. That was what she found out online before she left home. Not
bad. Later, she'd do a bit of exploring just so she could send a picture back
to Bianca.

Angel grumbled her way to the crosswalk. An African American T-shirt
vendor with a big friendly smile approached her. He offered three for ten dollar
shirts with a picture of Space Needle printed on the front.

"Bargain," he said. "I'll throw in another shirt if
you buy."

"Why?"

"Because I feel lucky today."

"Ah. What about an umbrella. Do you have one?"

"No. But even if I have one, how are you going to hold it?"
The man eyed Angel's suitcases.

"Right. Well, do you happen to know where Pink Door is?"

The man smiled big. "Two more blocks."

Angel already knew that. "Thanks."

"Shirts?"

"Alright. But put it in the plastic bag, please. I don't
think I can open my luggage here." She fished out two five-dollar bills
from her purse and gave it to the man who just kept on smiling. "Thank
you," she started walking when the man called her back.

"Miss, you forgot your luggage."

Angel turned around, looked at the Samsonite standing on the
sidewalk and then at her empty hand. "Gah! Jesus, my brain is so fried.
Thanks again."

"You're welcome."

Angel grabbed the luggage's handle. As she started walking, the
man was kind enough to tell her the condo was on the left side of Boston street
beside Starbucks. Hard to miss, he added. He even offered to walk with her if she
would buy more shirts. Angel declined. She wasn't directionally impaired
,
only tired. The problem was she might not make it. It was too
damn hot.

Angel discovered that walking along Seattle's streets was
comparable to going on a hike in the mountains except the streets were paved
with cement or cobblestones. Downhill was easy, but now she must climb another
street. And why oh why did it seem like a block here was longer?

A man and a woman passed her on the left. They were walking
briskly and laughing. She wished the man could pull her up hill.

Bianca wasn't kidding when she said Seattle was crazy during
summertime. A lot of musicians were playing their instruments
,
practically on every street corner. Tourists were everywhere.
Kind of cool. But she wasn't in the mood to appreciate this melting pot city
and its grunge music. Her feet ached, her tank top was plastered to her body
and her throat was parched by the time she reached the street where the condo
was supposed to be located. She looked around her
,
but all
she could see were rows of different two-level stores.

I'm in the right place. The T-shirt vendor said two more blocks. The
condo is somewhere around here.

Finally, after what seemed to be an endless walking, she reached
Pink Door. But relief was short lived. Pink Door was a restaurant. She faced
the two-level building painted in earth tones. Charming, really, but clearly
she was facing a restaurant. Okay, it must be just a coincidence. She must have
read the address wrong. Incensed that she overlooked something as simple as an
address, she opened her purse and fished out her printed directions. Thank
goodness she had the good sense to print a map
,
otherwise,
she'd be looking for a phone directory right now. At the bottom of the paper,
she read the address: No. 1708. The same number printed above the restaurant's
door.

"Oh, no.
You've got to be kidding me.
Manfred,
did you give me the wrong address?"
Surely, there must be a mistake
here. She thought about calling her grandfather. Unfortunately, she couldn't
find the damn phone. She had already turned her purse inside out
,
but no freaking Iphone.

Although, there was a good side to not having a phone. For the
past hours, she didn't have to listen to it ring constantly. It had been three
months since Willy made a fool of himself and yet people still sent her text
messages
,
expressing their
sorry
to last her a lifetime. An editor from North Carolina Digest wouldn't even quit
calling
,
asking if she'd be
interested in giving her own side of the story. As if she would do such stupid
thing! Feeling her anger rising, she quickly stamped it down. She came here to
relax, enjoy and not mull over the what-should-have-beens.

Angel took a deep breath
,
inhaling hot summer air spiked with the scent of fresh baked cinnamon. There
must be another Pink Door around here. She exhaled slowly and raised a brow at
the
Close
sign hung inside the windows with closed white shutters. The
sign
,
however
,
didn't stop her from trying to open the door. If someone was
inside
,
good, she could ask for the
other
Pink Door. She turned the brass knob. Luck of all luck
,
the door opened. She immediately walked
inside. Since she'd been out in the sun, the room was in semi-darkness. Her
shoulders sagged with relief when cool air-conditioned air welcomed her.

"Yes! Cool air. Thank
God
. And
smells fresh
,
too." She spotted a chair
and immediately plopped herself on it. "Heaven in hell."

She closed her eyes to savor the moment. The
restaurant was quiet. No other sound except for the soft music floating around.
She recognized it right away.
My Heart,
by
Perishers
. How about
that. Angel sighed. She couldn't explain it, but for the first time since
To
Catch a Predator
plastered Willy's face on television, she felt at peace,
away from the pain, humiliation and regret of what could have been a beautiful
wedding. It felt as if she just got out of jail after a long year sentence.