Aphrodisiac (14 page)

Don’t ask me where this was headed.

***

It was about two a.m. when I got home to our DUMBO loft. In boy briefs and a plaid pajama top, Benita sat cross-legged on the floor with her laptop on the coffee table in front of her. I was relieved she hadn’t asked Fip to spend the night. He was one of those people who started each morning ready to sing and cook pancakes and engage in obnoxiously cheerful conversation. I just wasn’t up for that.

Any more than I’d been up for my dinner with Alan. I’d done my best to act amused, but I wasn’t able to get my mind off our imminent meeting with Kyle Drummond or the spooky, sexy eyes of Eldridge Mace.

I finally had to make it clear to Alan that I wouldn’t be going back to his place for the night. He tried to cover his surprise and disappointment—not easy for a man who was used to having women jump at the chance. I felt so guilty I almost offered to pay for dinner. But after glancing at the outrageous bill in Alan’s hands, I decided this famous multimillionaire could survive a disappointing date. And I reminded Ms. Munchkin to stop feeling so grateful for his attention.

Of course, it would probably mean he’d never call me again. And I had foolishly left a message on my mother’s phone about my date with him. Now she’d say I screwed things up in my usual way.

I flopped into a chair near Benita and listened to her complain about her childbearing clock ticking away thanks to her hopeless relationship with Fippy. Seems they had a screaming argument right after having great sex. (I didn’t ask if they tried any of my Do-Me-Good samples.) Then she turned to the computer. “Look at this one.” She had just begun searching the net for Kyle Drummond before I came in.

I sat next to her and read an article from the corporate news department on Milotech’s website.

“
Paramus, NJ, April 21, 2005—Former Chief Financial Officer of Milotech Pharmaceuticals taking over as CEO.
”

The bulk of it was background about “leveraged buyouts” and “experience in secondary offerings.” Boring stuff. Not my territory, but definitely Benita’s.

“A real deal maker,” she said.

“Let’s get to the good part.” I brought up the bottom of the page where a photograph showed a man about fifty-seven with full head of dark hair slightly graying at the temples. And challenging owl eyes that spoke of smug confidence. “Looks like the type who calls the shots in bed as well as in the boardroom.”

Next we checked out a spread on Drummond and his wife in
Town and Country
.

“Hmm. Not a trophy,” Binnie said. “Men like him usually do a trade-in when a woman hits the midlife mark.”

“Maybe he doesn’t care, given the magnitude of his extracurricular activities.”

Benita turned her head to me. “Now, once we’re there, rule number one—when casing somebody out, you get to know
them
. They don’t get to know
you
. Meaning, avoid introducing ourselves until necessary. First, we hang close to Drummond. Listen in on his conversation.”

“A simple but sound strategy. Let me guess. You got that from
Law and Order
?”

“No, my cousin Felix. He did time upstate for breaking and entering.”

My cell’s ringtone threw a start into me. Benita and I exchanged a questioning glance. Who would it be at this hour? I didn’t recognize the caller ID. Was it Curtis? On second glance I realized who it was. Inez, Benita’s mother. I picked up.

Inez was often aggressive and demanding, but tonight she was in rare form, shrieking and shouting into my ear. There were only two reasons she ever called my cell—if she couldn’t reach Benita, or if she had some supernatural vision concerning me. From the gist of what I could make out through her frantic tone echoing in my phone, it was the latter. I cut in. “Please slow down. I’m having difficulty underst—”

“You’re in some kind of trouble, aren’t you?”

Could she have picked up on what was happening? While my Aunt Lana was highly intuitive, Inez practiced Santeria and could be downright psychic. I hesitated. Could I trust myself to lie convincingly? The last thing I wanted was to drag Inez into our mess and put her life in danger. “Me? In trouble?”

“Saint Theresa is trying to speak to you.”

“To me? Or do you mean—”

“To
you
, Saylor. My reading was very clear.”

“Why would Saint Theresa want to speak to a nice Jewish girl like me?”

Inez grumbled something in Spanish, then answered me as if I were an idiot. “Saint Theresa embodies Oya. Oya is the
orisha
who watches over cemeteries.”
Orishas
were the spirit guardians in Santeria.

“Cemeteries?” I didn’t like where this was going.

“Gwendolyn. Your dead friend. She’s trying to contact you.”

Oh terrific. Just hope Gwen didn’t plan on actually dropping by. Then again…“About what?”

“Something of great importance. This much I know. We should do a séance. You, Benita and me.”

What if Inez could actually point us in the direction of the tablet? Can’t say I wasn’t tempted to see what would come through on her psychic radar. But knowing who’d likely follow us to her door, I paused, scrambling to come up with an out. “I, umm…hold on a sec.” I covered my cell and tossed a pleading look at Benita. “Your
mami
did one of her
santera
readings. Says Gwen is trying to contact us from the other side. ”

“No fooling.” Her tone was glib. She did not exactly share her mother’s reverence for the spirit world. “Last time it was the spirit of Sugar Ray Robinson. He had some tips on how to improve my jab.”

“It’s serious, Bin. Inez knows something’s wrong, and she knows it’s about Gwen. You’ve got to admit that’s pretty accurate. She wants us to do a séance with her.”

Benita stood up, poised for defense. “Forget it. Unh-uh. N-O. No. I don’t do conversations with dead folk.”

“But this might help us find the tablet!”

“Sorry. Too early for Halloween. Besides, none of that woo-woo stuff is gonna get us out of this mess.” Her mouth formed a grim line, her dark eyes pensive. “That Curtis guy didn’t mention my family, but I don’t want to give him any new ideas.”

“Neither do I.”

Binnie reached out her hand. “Give me your phone. I’ll settle her down.”

My Spanish wasn’t bad, but Benita was speaking so fast I couldn’t keep up. Aside from the use of
gente mala
, badass dude, I lost most of their conversation.

“
Hasta
.” She ended the call and handed my mobile to me. “I told her some guys chased us down Plymouth Street the other night. Nothing else. That should hold her off.” Benita gave me a challenging look. “And there will be no séance. None. But you know my
mami
.” She shook her head. “Insisted I come over tomorrow morning and pick up some protective oils for us to wear. Play along, right? But you stay here. Between your tendency to shoot off your big mouth and that Curtis guy following you around…”

“Agreed.”

At this point sleep was the last thing on our minds. We turned back to the laptop and did a thorough web search on Kyle Drummond. Exhausted, but still too wired for bed, we studied the poem, trying to find hidden references to him or his company.

My Final Good-bye

This is my farewell, golden priestess of the sa-zi-ga.

Heaven’s Daughter has brought the storm upon me, I meet my end.

Embark for the Jewel in the center of Pearl. Behold the words of Raphael.

You will meet the scribe, magician of a million creations.

Garden of bells amid beech and oak, my heart sleeps here.

Over her words, a crescent moon of lapis blue.

The loyal sentry of my youth, this last crusade you must endure.

My dream is now your dream, and you are its watchman.

Eternity awaits.

Gwen

“I don’t get it, Binnie. Nothing here seems to connect to Kyle Drummond.”

“Gwen probably had no idea who hired her killers.”

“I guess not.” I yawned. It was nearly five a.m. and the need for zzz’s finally caught up with us. With daylight bursting through the blinds, bringing a feeling of safety and optimism, we retreated to our bedrooms.

THIRTEEN

My sleep was interrupted by a door closing and the sound of Benita’s voice calling to me. “Wait’ll you see what I brought from El Barrio for our lunch, Saylor. This’ll get your appetite back on track.”

I sat up. A light summer rain tick-tacked against my window. The clock read 1:42. Was it Tuesday already? Day four.

“Would you believe
Mami
called me this morning at seven thirty saying, ‘Where the hell are you?’ I was asleep for a big two hours.”

I tossed on an old pair of jeans and shuffled out to the kitchen.

Benita chattered away. “Come on, sweetie. Eat up.” She stood at the kitchen island in baggy shorts and her ‘I’d love to punch you’ T-shirt laying out our favorite take-out from a corner stand in East Harlem.
Alcapurias, pastelillos
and
bacalaitos
. Enough fried food to kill Jake Steinfeld three times over.

Benita pulled up a stool and began stuffing her face. “Feel like making some coffee?”

I swung into action.

“Almost forgot,” Benita said, munching. “That bag over there on the counter. That’s
Mami’s
Casa Boricua specials.”

I knew what she was referring to. The protective oils Inez wanted us to wear. Straight from her botanica on East 116th Street. Unlike Benita, I loved going to Casa Boricua. Loved the mystical aura of the store, plus the sensory overload. Luscious aromas of curative candles, oils, soaps and herbal remedies. Shelves and display cases stocked with statues of robed saints with halos, wooden crucifixes, some Buddhist and Hindu figurines, beaded necklaces in the colors of the different
orishas
and of course objects painted with symbols of the Taino Indians, who were the original inhabitants of Puerto Rico.

I poured the coffee and cooed over the dessert Benita pulled out of a paper bag—carved mango on a stick. “So, tell me,” I said. “Are things cool now with your
mami
? Think she’ll keep at arm’s length?”

Benita licked her fingers and smothered a laugh. “Depends on how you look at it. My
mami
doesn’t exactly know how to quit. She had another one of her vision things. Something about you and this other guy.” She started in on her dessert.

“Wait a second, Morales. You can’t just drop that and run. What about me and this guy?”

“Okay, okay. Something about a dude watching over you.” She did a theatrical impression of her mother: “
Tell Saylor she has a guardian. A man with skin like copper and eyes pale as diamonds
. That’s it.”

There was only one man I could think of who fit that description. But I didn’t mention this to Benita, since she didn’t like Eldridge Mace any more than her mother’s visions.

When we’d eaten our fill, Benita took her laptop from the coffee table to her bedroom to check up on her office e-mail. As soon as she left, I looked in the bag from Inez. Two items had “Benita” written on the lids in black marker and two had “Saylor.” I lifted mine out and headed for my bedroom.

Sitting on the floor, I examined my little prizes. I recognized one as a
despojo
, a flower and herbal remedy for a purification bath. The other looked more homemade. A Pond’s cold cream jar with a rubber band around it and a note stuck into that. Must be the protective stuff. The note told me the places to spread it on my body and what to say to Oshun while I did this.

Each person has a ruling
orisha
or guardian spirit. Like most of the world’s earth religions, Santeria’s guardian spirits were elements of nature. Benita’s was Chango the storm god. Mine was Ohsun the river goddess. She was like Venus, Aphrodite and Inanna—a goddess of love and the sexual arts. Right up my alley.

I opened the Pond’s jar. Wow. A greenish unguent that smelled pretty strong. Like the ancient people who wrote the formula on Gwen’s tablet,
santeros
believed fragrance had power.

And so did I.

Mmm. Nothing like a hot bath to calm the nerves and cleanse the body. I stretched out in the tub, submerging myself in water filled with the medicinal herbs. After drying off, I opened the cold cream jar and followed Inez’s instructions: “Apply liberally.” By the time I left the bathroom I was a walking grease stick, slippery from head to toe with Oshun’s floral protection.

The rain had tapered off to an almost nonexistent drizzle. Hands tucked inside the pockets of my chenille robe, I rested my hip on the window ledge inside my room and gazed out at the Manhattan Bridge. The pungent scent from Inez’s oils was undeniably strong. I sniffed my wrist. With the exception of the
rosa de Jerico
, I had trouble identifying the other ingredients. However, I had no problem recognizing the familiar figure of a man shadowboxing alongside the East River below.

Eldridge Mace.

Fluid and powerful as the river itself, he was the classic embodiment of male glory and athleticism. I was certain he was the copper-skinned, diamond-eyed man Inez saw in her vision. Could it be he was more interested in me than I thought? Fighters from the gym often jogged along the promenade. Still, he did seem to be taking an awfully long time working out in plain view of our corner apartment. Considering today’s shabby weather, he could have stayed indoors and used the treadmill or done his shadow boxing at Gleason’s.

I decided it was in the interest of our quest for me to go down there and accidentally run into Eldridge. But first a damage report.

Turning to my dresser mirror I examined my injured kisser. A definite improvement in the lip department. Swelling was down, and the split was fading. I smoothed some Mauve Matte on my lips, threw on jeans and a tank top and slipped into high-heeled sandals. My hair was a tad gooey from the Inez treatment, so I just pulled it into a ponytail. Wanted to get there before he left.

Benita had fallen asleep, sprawled out on her bed. I left a Post-it on her door. “Gone for walk in park. Back soon.”

When I reached the park, there was no sign of Eldridge. I did a quick scan for his red T-shirt and black running pants. Hmm. Maybe he was jogging on the promenade. I headed down the wooden walkway along the river.

“What’s the hurry, Dr. Oz?”

I had no idea my sprightly stride had escalated into a power walk. I now jammed on the brakes. Eldridge sat on a bench, his arms stretched across the back, his head cocked at a challenging angle. The sight of him shot a strange feeling through me. I almost pulled a retreat. “Mr. Mace. What a surprise.”

No response. As usual, I couldn’t tell what Eldridge was thinking. His tight tee was soaked with sweat. He had that spent, post-workout look. Bet it was the same look he got after a round of good sex.

Suddenly feeling ridiculous for coming out here, I strained for something to talk about. “It was nice of you to make it to my demo party last night.” He hadn’t bought a thing, and I knew he only came in hopes of proving I lied about my boyfriend. But why should he even care if he wasn’t at least a teeny bit attracted to me?

“You really need all those gadgets to have a good time?”

How obnoxious. “Sex toys are perfectly natural. We’re not the only species who like them, you know. Orangutans use sex toys made from twigs and leaves.” He didn’t look impressed. “Some of my clients need a little help. For the rest, it’s just additional fun. Or don’t you believe in fun, Mr. Grumpy?”

At least that got a smile out of him. “Want to go have a pizza with me at Grimaldi’s? Then afterward we could maybe do something…fun?”

Was Eldridge asking me for a date? Or was I dreaming? Boy, would I ever love to spend this sultry summer evening with him. “I can’t. I’m going out.”

“Where ya goin’?” Was he disappointed? His face was so hard to read.

“I’m going to a launch party for a new perfume. It’s over on Jay Street where the old Club Moonbase used to be. Should be interesting.”

He nodded silently.

I felt guilty. Don’t ask me why. It wasn’t as if Mr. Popular with the Ladies didn’t have Tara Buckley and who knew how many others. I looked at my watch. “I better head back.”

Taking my time with my exit, just in case he got the urge to try a little harder, I meandered
very
slowly along the railing. Hel-looo. I’m wait-ing. Ask me if I’m free tomorrow night, dammit. I paused to gaze out at the river. Not a word. Forget it. Probably for the best, since Gwen had me embroiled in a do-or-die mess that would ruin any girl’s social life. I turned and started marching off.

“Have fun,” he said.

***

Benita was awake now. I could hear one of her typical fits of agony over what to wear coming from her bedroom. On the way to my own room, I got a call on my cell. I noticed it was Raffy’s number.

“Hi, Raffy. Thanks for sending us to Tim. We couldn’t have put this together without him. Or you. We’re following a lead of Tim’s tonight. Going to a perfume launch.” I realized how wired I sounded and made myself slow down and say, “What’s up?”

“Listen. We need to talk. Stop by the Jewel on your way home. I don’t like phones.”

“I’m not sure how late we’ll be.”

“I’ll be working till four a.m. Be there.” Click.

Things were popping. I could hardly keep up. In fact there was also a message on my cell from Darryl Applebee to say he was expecting me to be at his house at three tomorrow afternoon to have a look through Gwen’s leftover items. I left a quick confirmation on his voice mail as I stepped into my room.

The dress I’d picked out for the launch party lay across the bed. A one-shouldered silk in deep purple with an asymmetrical triple-tier hemline. My hair was not looking tops, so I swept it up into a knot and secured it with a barrette, pulling down a few curly tendrils. My oily face made putting on makeup a bit tricky, but I managed, adding an extra swipe to my lashes to draw the focus away from my lip. I slipped on my dress and added shiny black slingbacks, plus amethyst earrings and a choker. Voila.

One distinct problem remained. The sweet
rosa de Jerico
had faded and a faint smell of rotting fruit had taken over. Wheeeuw. Couldn’t tell if it was rue or some other pungent herb Inez used. I sprayed some J Lo Live Luxe on my arms and throat. And some Opium on my legs and tummy. I figured this ought to cover it up. Didn’t make a dent. How about Euphoria? I dabbed on a bit. Sniff. Nope, weird taint still there. Maybe Boss Woman. Not bossy enough.

I’d gone through about ten of the perfumes on my dresser by the time Benita opened her bedroom door and called to me. “Saylor, you’ve got to help me decide what to wear. After telling me how many celebs and society folk go to these perfume parties, I don’t want anybody thinking I’m there to bus tables.”

Definitely worse than her usual clothing quandary. Odd how our past wounds have a way of sneaking up on us. Something even the best therapy can’t cure. I understood. Like Benita, I’d busted my tail to achieve a lifestyle that offered a little glamour and fun. But deep inside I’d always be the working-class daughter of the folks who ran the local foam outlet.

I capped my bottle of Wicked and buzzed across the loft. “Don’t worry, sweetie. You’re the only woman I know who can go five rounds and still look like she walked off the runway.”

Her room revealed the two sides of Benita. Boxing posters on the wall, and white lace curtains on the windows. “
¡Ay, Dios mio!
” she said. “You smell like a backed up toilet.”

“But I covered the protective oils with floral perfumes.”

“So you’re a garden with fresh manure.”

“Thanks. Pick out your own clothes.” Then it dawned on me. I stepped closer to her. “You didn’t put on the oils Inez sent you.”

“
Mami
means well, but she gets a little carried away.”

“How’re you going to protect yourself against someone like Drummond? Something terrible could happen.”

“Yeah, like some nutcase CEO could hire a couple goons to kill us and our families.”

Uncle Pete was having a walkabout in her room, his small head cocked to one side as he recited a medley of his favorite dirty words.

I knew Benita couldn’t be pushed, so I just pulled a crepe V-neck tank dress from her closet. “Try this. You should always wear body-hugging clothes to show off how cut you are.” Truth was, the dress code at New York City parties often ranged from Gucci to church bazaar Mardi Gras wear. “I just realized something. Once we see Drummond, what is it we’re going to do?”

“We make him talk,” Benita said. “And I tape his voice on my hidden microphone. Look. I recorded most of yesterday’s session with Tim.” She turned to the bed and opened her handbag. Inside was a pocket-sized tape recorder. “I put it in my Louis Vuitton bag so they don’t suspect anything cheesy.”

“Where’d you get that neat little toy?”

“Where else? RadioShack. I rigged it up myself.”

“Is that legal?”

“Not sure, but we need something juicy enough to make the cops act.”

“Brilliant. Only one small problem. How do we ‘make him talk’?”

“People have a funny way of telling the truth when they’re looking down a barrel.” She reached back into her bag, this time pulling out a .38 Smith & Wesson revolver.

My eyes went wide. “Where did you get that?”

“My cousin Felix.”

“Are you crazy? We could end up in jail!”

“Or else dead in four days.” She put the gun back in her bag.

I knew she’d learned how to shoot from her brother Hector, but carrying someone else’s gun was illegal. Aside from that, I hated guns.

Yeah, I know what they say about women who hate guns. Totally unfounded. I love penises. Guns were designed for morbid business like blowing grapefruit-sized holes in somebody’s chest. Not exactly my idea of fun. Whereas penises, though similar in design, are much more amiable and infinitely more sensitive. The penis actually spends most of the day soft, fluffy and hanging loose, conserving its hardness for when it’s time to play. You can keep the NRA. Give me a penis.

I shook my head. “You’ll never get through the door with that thing.”

“Saylor, this is an invitation-only event. Very exclusive. High fashion. I doubt they’ll be frisking Donald Trump with a metal detector.”