Aphrodisiac (11 page)

“That’s right. A tablet.” My heart jumped a beat.

“If it’s what I think, then …” She hesitated. “Look, my fling with Gwen only lasted a few months.” Her hands fidgeted restlessly with the coffee cup. “During that time I was breaking my ass on an art project. It was supposed to be a joint effort. The gallery listed both our names. We planned the idea together long before we were lovers, back when Gwen and I met through the sisterhood and discovered we both worked with florals and scents.”

I’d just told this woman my life was on the line, and she’s talking about her art. “Please, Raffy. The tablet. What do you know about it?”

Ms. Macho’s face revealed a touch of hurt and annoyance. “Relax, I’m getting there. Everybody’s in such a rush these days.” She ambled over to the wait station, poured herself another cup of java and studied me as she sat down. “Gwen and I met through the Circle of the Sacred Yoni.”

“I know.” I watched Raffy stir her coffee slowly. Very slowly. It was clear this lady would not be pushed. Time to go Eastern. Follow the path of least resistance. Flow with the river. “You were telling me something about Gwen and the art project?”

“At first Gwen was all into it. Then suddenly she drops out. Leaves me hanging. So I confronted her. We had this big blowup. Not like the kind I just had with your friend.” She studied the blank emptiness of the back wall for another thirty seconds, while I fought off an oncoming attack of facial tic. “I can be pretty tough, but when it comes to love and art, I feel things deep. I was the one who broke down and cried. Afraid she had somebody else.”

“And what about the tablet?” I’d run out of Zen.

Her voice at this point slid into a dirge. “That night after our big fight, Gwen felt bad. So, she poured the two of us a drink. We sat by the windows in her loft staring out at the river. She told me her reasons for screwing up around the show. It was a secret. Not a soul was to know about it.” Breathy swoon. “Makes me wonder.” Another long moment of silence.

I cleared my throat to remind her I was there. “Raffy?”

She put a cigarette in her mouth and prepared to light up. “Mind?”

“Thanks, I’d love one.” At this point I was desperate for any form of pharmacotherapy. She aimed the pack of Winstons at me. I plucked one out. First cigarette I’d had in fourteen years. Sinner. I could still hear my mother saying it would stunt my growth. Of course, she maxed out at five feet and never smoked a day in her life. “Was this secret about a tablet?”

Raffy blew two neat little rings of pollution across the table. “Gwen had some incredibly grandiose ideas about a goofy perfume of hers. She got really carried away. Drove me nuts.”

The perfume. Omigod. Emotional orgasm. It’s a wonder I didn’t start panting like a dog. Reaching into my purse I pulled out a square of folded paper and spread it open in front it of her on the table. “Read the second line. Was this the name of her perfume?”

Her brows went through the roof. “Fuckin’ A. That’s it. Heaven’s Daughter.”

“Now read the first letter of each line. Going downward.”

She almost swallowed her cigarette. “They got me.” Raffy heaved a long sigh. “Only Gwen could pull off something that ingenious in the eleventh hour. She had one of those computer-fast minds.”

“And balls. She probably wrote this poem with a gun pointed at her head.” I grabbed her wrist. “We can’t let her down. Please, Raffy. Tell me. Are you saying this perfume was somehow connected to a tablet? Maybe the tablet these guys are searching for?”

She nodded. “It was baked clay. Looked kind of like a flattened dog turd. About the size of my palm. Written in cuneiform, no less. How anyone can learn to read all those tiny little scratch marks. Beyond me. Gwen and I hooked up shortly after she’d been working on one of those overseas expeditions. That’s where she discovered it. Claimed its inscription was a formula for a sacred perfume of Inanna. You know, the ancient goddess of love.”

The words of Raphael finally hit home. I wanted to kiss her. “I remember Gwen traveled to Turkey last summer to consult on an archaeological project for Columbia University. So, this tablet must be in the school’s archives.”

Raffy started laughing. “Not quite. Gwen lifted it.”

“You’re kidding.”

“She was obsessed and just had to have it for herself. Don’t ask me why or how, but Gwen believed this tablet was going to change the course of history for women. She spent forever deciphering the ingredients. And just reading the thing was only the first step. She had to keep guessing what all those weird ancient names referred to. Because nobody really knows what a
nignagar
plant is or a ‘mother’s finger’ plant or even if an
amashum
is a plant or something else. That language hasn’t been used in three thousand years.”

I knew Gwen was highly skilled at reading cuneiform with its hundreds of tiny wedge symbols that all looked alike. And she was a brilliantly intuitive archaeobotanist. But I still couldn’t fathom why someone would kill her over this tablet. Raffy had given me a truckload of info. Everything except…“So, do you know where this tablet is now?”

“Haven’t a clue where she put the damn thing.”

My heart sank. I ground my cigarette into the clear glass ashtray. Figured it couldn’t be that easy. But at least we were getting somewhere. I looked over at Benita. She appeared to be having a great time reenacting scenes from the ring. I’d be damned if the lousy gutterworm who had Gwen murdered was going to do the same to her. Or me. I switched my focus back to Raffy. “One thing still bothers me. I was Gwen’s closest friend, but she shared her secret with you instead of me.”

“Come on,” Raffy said with a yawn. “I don’t have to be a sex therapist to answer that one. I was sleeping with her. And even then it took a lover’s row for Gwen to open up to me.”

Made sense. “Is it possible anyone else might know about the tablet?”

“I’m pretty sure there’s no one, except for Tim Donnelly.”

“Who’s Tim Donnelly?” I asked.

“He’s a nose.”

“A nose?”

“A perfumer. Creates fragrances for FWI. Fragrances Worldwide Incorporated. It’s one of about five big companies that make and supply the fragrances for most of the perfumes on the market. Apparently Tim was intrigued by the whole story of her ancient perfume. And Gwen went wild when she heard about him because he’s got contacts in several of the major fashion houses. After she got together with him she was talking fame and fortune.”

That had to be why Gwen bragged to me that Chanel, Dior and Calvin Klein would soon be fighting over her perfume Heaven’s Daughter. But when Benita and I called them, no one had ever heard of Gwen Applebee. Maybe we didn’t reach the right people. Or we were looking in the wrong places. But would someone actually kill over a fragrance? Considering how easily they made knockoff perfume copies today, it didn’t compute. There had to be more to the puzzle. “Do you know Tim, the nose?”

“Yeah. I introduced Gwen to him. I’ve been consulting with Tim on my olfactory art for the past three years.”

“Can I have his phone number?”

“I’ve got it at home.” Raffy lit up another smoke and puffed out a set of rings. “Give me your card, and I’ll e-mail it to you tomorrow.”

With two of my seven days now gone, the word “tomorrow” started a mosh pit going full swing in my stomach. “Please, would you do it tonight? No matter how late. I’ll be awake.”

TEN

So far it rated four stars, as dreams go. I was frolicking on a sunlit beach with Eldridge. Celebrating, dancing and removing our clothes. A seagull turned into a yellow taxicab and we got in the backseat. A distant chirping came from somewhere outside my dream’s protective bubble. I fought the intrusion. The Mace-man was kissing me now, and it was heaven. The sound repeated itself, insisting on being heard, pulling me rudely out of my REM world. My arm flopped across the sheets. I grappled for the phone and forced a barely audible “Hello?”

“Any luck in Mississippi?”

Dream over. The sandpaper voice on the other end snapped me to sitting. I gripped the receiver, wishing I could say something offensive. But now it seemed like I was in one of those nightmares where you try to scream and nothing comes out.

“Got anything you wanna give me? Or should I come over and look for myself?”

“I don’t have it yet.” I wasn’t surprised we were being watched, but that didn’t make it any less disturbing. Dammit, why had I picked up? Benita’s room was on the other side of the loft, so at least she wouldn’t be awakened by the call. My clock read 3:17. And I’d been up worrying until two. The effects of sleep deprivation emboldened me. “There’s no reason for you to call me at this hour.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Curtis said. “I been thinking about you in the back of my car with your legs spread wide…oooh yeaahh.” I heard heavy breathing, a moan and a couple of grunts. I slammed down the receiver.

Terrific. Phone sex with Captain Hummer and his supposedly oversized wiener. Delete and cancel,
please
.

My phone rang again. Caller ID showed it as a blocked number. Needless to say, I didn’t answer. But of course I listened and pressed record when the voice mail clicked in.

“
It’s Monday, sweetpussy. Counting today, ya got five days. Unless I get itchy. It ain’t easy for a man like me to hold himself back too long
.”

I grabbed the phone. “Wait a minute, we had a deal.” My voice quaked. “You agreed to one week. Don’t you come near me before Saturday.”

No answer. I waited.

Click. Dial tone.

***

Wearing a knee-length Paddington Bear tee—Benita had purchased it at the Less-Than-A-Dollar store—I blended up a banana smoothie for the two of us. It was the least I could do. “But, Binnie, if you use up all your vacation time now, say good-bye to that Carnival cruise.”

She sat at the kitchen counter, still dressed for work. She was so upset when I told her about my porno phone call from Curtis that she contacted her office and claimed the rest of her vacation days. This did not make her boss too happy. “Hey, it’s my life, too,” she said. “So don’t get into any guilt over it. I thought therapists didn’t approve of guilt.”

Setting two glasses on the island counter, I climbed onto the stool next to my roommate. “I ordered a trace on the Hummer’s license plate number through the web. I wonder if I could risk hiring a PI that way without Curtis finding out.”

Benita glared at me. “Not with
my
butt on the line, you can’t. Besides, we don’t need one. I’m telling you, we can do this. I found a website with some good do-it-yourself suggestions. And they’re cheap.”

“So, that explains what I saw on the table in our laundry room.” I’d found a magnifying glass, a small brush and an assortment of Gwen’s items, plus the note Darryl had sent to us. All covered in some mysterious brown powder. “What’s that brown stuff that smells like cocoa?”

She grinned. “Cocoa. Works great when dusting for prints.”

“What? Next you’ll be doing your homemade forensics in our kitchen, and I will not have skin shavings next to the arugula.”

“Bold times require bold measures. We may even have to go incognito.”

“Wonderful. I’ll be running for my life in a Darth Vader mask. And to think I was worried. I can’t believe you’re actually getting off on this.”

“Damn straight. Time to kick ass.” Benita hopped off the stool, rinsed her dishes and turned to me. “I need a good sparring session. Boxing keeps me ready. In fact, when this whole thing is settled, I might even come out of retirement. Let’s head over to Gleason’s this morning.”

I rolled my eyes. Since quitting the fight game, Benita spoke of coming out of retirement an average of three times a month. I’d grown immune to the announcement. “You go without me. I’ve been awake since that three a.m. phone call. The gym is the last thing—”

“You’re uptight about Eldridge being there with that Buckley chick.”

Was I that transparent? “Well, he brought her to Jaleel’s party.”

She shook her head. “I’ve never seen you fall over your feet like this for a guy. What do you want with a nutjob window-washer like Eldridge Mace? You’re a freakin Ph.D. There are plenty of hot lawyers and doctors and architects.”

“And don’t forget the mold removers.”

“Why are you so hooked on Mace?”

I thought about it, asking myself if this was all about Eddie Rivera and my sixteen-year-old heartache. Having no idea what the answer was, I just said, “I better get started. The receptionist at FWI told me ‘the nose’ would be in at nine thirty. I’ve also got to phone the Institute for Sexual Counseling, as well as my private clients and the women in my Clitoral Culture group to cancel everything for this week.”

I went straight to my room, determined to make up for my Mississippi debacle. How to bait Tim Donnelly into seeing us this very day? Raffy said he was interested in Gwen’s new perfume, and if the tablet did relate to that perfume, then he had to know something. Maybe he even knew where the tablet was. That statement in Gwen’s journal about me being the only one who knew could be out-of-date. She might have told someone like Tim since writing that note.

When I used Raffy DiNardo’s name, the receptionist put me through to the perfumer. He came across as cold and irascible, making things rather disconcerting at first. But my brilliant idea to tell him I had a gift for him from the late Gwen Applebee turned him around. We arranged to meet at three thirty in the FWI building on Fifty-seventh Street.

As soon as I hung up, a call came in from Irv Monsky, my aunt’s lover and the director of the Center for Being. It was about my Do-Me-Good sex toy demonstration party that was scheduled at the Center…tonight at seven. Where was my brain? Thanks to all the fun I was having courtesy of my dear, deceased friend, I’d totally lost track of my normal life.

Too late to call off the demo party. Some of the people coming were referrals from clients and friends. There was no way to track them all down. Plus, Irv had made an effort to round up members of his own flock for me. I couldn’t worm out now. And even though Lana was still in East Hampton, she’d want to know why I was canceling last minute.

As soon as I finished my brief talk with Irv, I rushed to catch Benita before she left for her workout. I broke the news and added, “So, after our meeting with Tim Donnelly in midtown, we’ll both shoot down to SoHo. I need your help with my sex toy party.”

“Do I have to?” Benita groaned. “Why can’t you be like most women and give baby showers or Oscar parties?”

“Come on, I was there to support you at every one of your boxing matches. And I had to watch them with my eyes closed.”

“Saylor, a person cannot see anything when their eyes are closed.”

“Exactly.”

“Make a deal. I’ll help out with your sex toy party if you come to the gym.”

“Done.”

After Benita took off, I phoned the Institute for Sexual Counseling to tell them I wouldn’t be available for my usual Thursday appointments at their clinic this week due to a personal emergency. Next I called clients and got into a mini session with Hannah McClure.

“You’re not alone, Hannah. Many women still grow up under the ‘bad girl’ curse, afraid to touch and explore their own bodies. Ridiculous, considering that guys become experts at getting themselves off long before losing their virginity. Given the number of females that still approach their first round of intercourse without ever having experienced orgasm, I urge you to hit the practice green. The sooner the better.”

By eleven o’clock I’d managed to either leave voice mail messages or have little chats with all of this week’s clients and the women in my Clitoral Culture Group. Such wonderful people. It made me realize how much I loved my work. And my life.

Resolute in my determination not to let anyone take it from me, I decided to dress in spunky, tight black jeans that made my legs look super firm, a low-cut floral blouse and a pair of pastel pink heels. I whisked on eyeliner, caked a matte lipstick over my healing cut and dabbed myself with Chance by Chanel. Hyacinth uplifts the spirits. Too bad I wasn’t going anywhere except the gym, where I’d be peeling off my clothes and pushing myself through a boring hour that would leave me a frizz-topped sweat-sicle. I tossed a pair of oversized sweatpants and an old undershirt of my brother’s into my gym bag. So what if they made me resemble a baby elephant? It was Monday morning. No way Eldridge would be at Gleason’s. Right now, he’d be somewhere up in the clouds overlooking the city, washing the windows of some office building.

The gym was only two blocks away, but I felt skittish and eyed all parked and mobile cars for any sign of Curtis and company. It was another day of blistering heat. Sunlight and people on the street offered a touch of solace and protection. Still, I moved swiftly.

When I got to the gym I saw Benita standing next to the second ring. Jaleel was lacing up her gloves. “Hey, Bin,” I called out.

Looking revved in her nifty orange mouthpiece, she lifted a glove to me. Manny, a skinny Dominican fighter from Flatbush, stood nearby. Don’t tell me she was going in with him today? Last time it took about four layers of makeup to compensate for six rounds with Manny. And this afternoon we had a meeting at the uber-company of high-fashion fragrance. I put off going to the locker room to change and hung out near the ring for the first round, pretending to watch.

“Get off the ropes, Binnie,” Jaleel said. She stepped to the side and unleashed a staccato blur of rapid-fire punches, her famous “Boricua Flurry.”

When the bell ended the round, Manny laughed and gave her a love tap on the shoulder. “You’re fighting like you old bitch self. You must got a man problem.”

She didn’t answer him, but I knew how few men Benita had gone out with since her divorce. Not that she’d ever dated as omnivorously as I. Despite my current dry spell, I normally had one or two play pals around. But my practical roommate had always been tough on men. She

wanted a husband and kids real bad, and if a guy didn’t appear to be Daddy material, she didn’t waste her time.

Benita leaned over the ropes toward me. “I’m gonna go a few more rounds. You want Rasheed to help you work the bag?”

“No, I’d rather just…” I was caught off guard by a hand on the small of my back. I turned. What was he doing here this morning? Eldridge stood close, wearing only boxing trunks that rode low on his hips. A sweatband made his Mohawk features more apparent. His cheekbones glistened with perspiration. So did his buff, bare torso. Guess he liked to work out as near to naked as possible. I clamped my teeth together to keep my tongue from hanging out.

“I’ll put you through some drills on the bag,” he said.

Not exactly the kind of drilling I wanted from him. “Oh, hi.” Taking therapy advice I’d given clients, I stayed in neutral, thinking it over. Always best to process what’s really happening with a guy when you’re dying to jump his bones. Not an easy task. His hand on my back was giving me a case of the randy tingles. But the last time he played cutesy-poo with me I watched him walk off into the sunset with Tara. What was he up to?

Eldridge dipped his head toward me. “Let me show you how to work it really hard.” His sultry tone removed any doubt as to the nasty double meaning.

Unfortunately, all I had in my gym bag were my baby-blimp workout clothes. I’d rot in hell before I’d let Eldridge see me looking like a walking tent. Benita started another round, and I feigned interest. “Thanks, but I’ll just grab a stationary bike.”

His finger softly brushed my lip. “You heal fast.” He lowered his voice. “You’re a fool not to tell me what’s going on. I’m not a bad guy to have around when there’s trouble.”

My acting skills were usually pretty good when I dealt with clients, but Mr. Mace dismantled my ability to focus. I stumbled over a few meaningless words, finally getting out, “You have an overactive imagination.”

“Depends on the subject.” His pale, sexy eyes locked on mine, snaring me in a Mexican standoff that felt decidedly erotic.

I considered what Benita said earlier about the effect Eldridge had on me. She was right. I was hooked on him in a way I couldn’t quite figure out. In my recent relationships, I’d been more disappointed than hurt. But I remembered too well what it felt like to fall hard and be wounded. And I suspected that’s just where I’d wind up if I got involved with the Mace-man. “Well, it was nice to see you, Eldridge.” I headed for the dressing rooms.

He followed me. “I haven’t forgotten what you said at Sunny’s. About Gwen Applebee.”

I wheeled around. “Sometimes I say too much. Especially after one too many martinis.”

“You look like you’re not getting enough sleep.”

A flattering comment. “Maybe the sex is too good.”

“Don’t put me on. You look tired. And not in that way.”

“Gee, thanks. First I’m fat, now I’m tired, next it’ll be—”

“I never said you were fat. I’m no good at judging a woman’s weight. You really know how to make a guy feel like a jerk. No wonder you don’t date anybody.”

I wanted to heave my gym bag at him, but I dug my fingers into it instead. “Up yours, Mr. Boxer. I have more boyfriends than I can handle.”

“I never see you with anyone. You came alone to Jaleel’s picnic. And Tara said—”

“Tara?!” A few people gawked at us. I got control of myself. “It just so happens the man I’m involved with now would send Ms. Tara-make-me-puke-Buckley begging on her knees.” This was control? Here I was, making up stuff again. Every time I saw this guy I turned into a maladjusted adolescent.