Return to Poughkeepsie (11 page)

When she was finally done, she pulled back the curtain. Sitting on the bathroom vanity was a folded towel and her favorite, very not-sexy pajamas, both warm from the dryer. Livia dried herself and put on the offerings her husband had snuck into the bathroom.

When she opened the door, the bed was made and the laundry folded. Blake sat on the edge of the bed with a grin that told her he knew she’d be impressed.

“You know I suck at that.” He pointed to the clothes he’d wrestled with while she showered. Sure enough, the piles were a bit askew.

“You totally suck at that.” She twirled her damp hair into a knot, then picked up the baby monitor.

“They’re both still napping. I just checked,” Blake told her. “And yes, look, their feet are covered by a blanket.”

“Well, it
has
been more than six weeks,” Livia sighed. “We should get this over with.”

Blake rolled his eyes. “So sexy. Just what every man wants to hear.” He patted the top of the bed, and Livia got in as he slid back to the pillows, the mattress creaking with their arrival.

She curled into his arms again, smelling his chest and smiling. He was her home.

“How long has it been since we’ve been in this bed alone?” Livia closed her eyes and sighed.

“I think it was three weeks ago.” His chuckle rumbled in his chest.

Livia put her hand on his heart, waiting for it to beat. It did, over and over.

Blake pulled the comforter around her shoulders, and she snuggled deeper into his arms. He began stroking her hair.

“You’re going to put me to sleep.” The warmth, the shower, and his arms were forcing her eyes closed.

“That’s the point, my love. Take a nap.”

Livia’s mind whispered thanks, but the words didn’t make it to her lips.

When she woke three hours later, she was disoriented. She looked to the monitor first, and it was off—no comforting green light assuring her the world was still on axis. Listening closely, she could hear the TV on and Emme’s playful voice. Livia tossed off the covers and headed downstairs. Every light was on. Emme had an elaborate fort set up with bed sheets over chairs.

Blake was walking with a fussy Kellan. He looked grateful and pleased with himself as he saw her panic slide into knowing. He had let her sleep. Now she was unbearably turned on.
Dear God, that nap was better than money, sex, and more money.
Her kids looked cuter. Her life seemed brighter. It had been a wonderful rest.

She sat in the rocking chair, and Blake passed a wriggling Kellan into her arms.

“Did we wake you?”

Livia grabbed a fistful of his hair and held his face close to hers. She peeked in Emme’s direction—she was deep in her fort. Livia smiled and turned her attention back to his mouth. She whispered, “If we were alone, I would have you right now.” And she kissed him until he moaned.

His eyes full of lust, he backed away to let her feed the baby. “Are you hungry? I ordered pizza.” Blake turned toward the kitchen.

“That’d be great.” Livia put her head back and enjoyed the feeling of the baby releasing her milk.

Emme peeked her head out from under the flower-patterned ceiling of her fort.

“Mommy! You’re awake. Kellan was getting hungry, and I told Daddy to let him eat pizza, but he said no, and I said, ‘Daddy, put the pizza on your chest and let Kellan suck it,’ and Daddy just laughed, but I bet Kellan would love pizza. Hi, Mommy.”

Livia watched her daughter emerge from her fort. She had a stuffed dog tucked under her arm. Livia used her free hand to pull her little girl close, kissing her cheek over and over noisily. “I want to eat you. Forget pizza. I’ll eat you with no teeth!” Livia tickled Emme’s armpit and gently nibbled on her.

“Mommy! You are too silly!” Emme leaned into the love, letting the attention fill her.

Blake returned with a warm slice of pizza and a tall glass of ice water.

Livia knew she had it made. This was it. She’d daydream about these glory days as an old woman. She hoped she’d still be able to dream up the details, years and years later. She prayed she’d never forget Blake’s wild hair, sexy and careless. She hoped she’d remember exactly how lopsided Emme’s pigtails were when she demanded Blake do her hair instead of Mommy because he was “less ouchy.” In a perfect world, whenever Kellan’s nose wrinkled up, she would remember what it felt like to be so connected to him, to be his nourishment.

8

Mary Ellen

E
VE
L
OOKED
I
N
T
HE
M
IRROR
of her Mahopac hotel room—her home away from home now that neither New York or Poughkeepsie seemed like a good option. Staring back at her in this dinky little dive was a new woman. A few subtle changes and a different hair color made a world of difference. Her long blond hair was now bluish black. Her eyebrows were thinner with a new arch. The effect made her blue eyes pop, and she’d used liner to make her lips appear a bit bigger.

Soon enough, January was ready for her audition. She grabbed her purse, which included no weapons—she wasn’t even taking her favorite hair knife—and called a cab to take her to the mansion in Somers.

When they arrived, the cab driver wouldn’t take her up the driveway or accept any money for the ride. As he squealed away, she knew she was in the right place. Walking up the long driveway, she surveyed the dense trees she passed before she reached the gate. She hit the intercom and a very clipped voice asked her for her name and purpose.

“January. Audition.” The less she said the better.

She was told to wait, and soon enough a limo pulled in from the street. The door opened, and Eve got in. There were four other women in the car and two bodyguard types. No one was smiling. This was a somber affair, despite the party atmosphere when they arrived at the house. Twinkling lights lined the paths and music played from unseen speakers as they were lead inside and into a waiting room.

The draperies alone probably cost what a middle-class family made in a year. In total Eve counted twenty girls in the room—some in very suggestive clothes, others like her who were tasteful in their black dresses and pumps.

She made sure to stand close to the tall blonde with close-cropped hair. Micki would have a mole like Marilyn Monroe, according to Shark’s last text a few hours ago. After she asked Micki for a mint and confirmed her identity, Eve passed her the message and wandered away.

When it was time to move, the ladies were told to form a line. Eve made a point to be last. She needed to see as much of the situation as she could before she was in the room. The hallway was set up like a makeshift airport security gate, and each girl was thoroughly searched before she entered the room beyond the checkpoint.

The first few passed through without incident. The fourth one leaned in to the bodyguards suggestively. The ladies following her then tried to out-do each other with flirting. Eve watched as Micki went through without making a fool of herself. Eve half wondered if she’d just condemned the woman to death. Shark never told her if he was saving either of them. She could easily be walking to her doom. Why a weapons business would have a call for prostitutes and want them to act the opposite was puzzling.

When it was Eve’s turn, the bodyguards smiled.

“Hey, baby. You’re last in line. Lucky you. The caboose gets the body cavity search.” The closest one reached his hand toward her skirt.

She bared her teeth.

“Whoa! Rules are rules, honey.” The one on her left slid his hand across her ass.

Eve stomped her foot, scraping her heel down his shin and grinding it on his toe. “Touch me and die. The metal detector will tell you everything you’ll ever get to know about my body.”

She expected a fight, but the other bodyguard just motioned her through. They looked through her purse as she passed under the detector’s scan. Eve took her bag back on the opposite side, and the bodyguards assumed a quiet, almost respectful demeanor—only one of them now stood on one leg. Eve turned and entered the room.
Ballroom
, she mentally corrected.

After giving the large expanse a onceover, she stood again at the end of the line of girls. Suddenly a clacking of heels echoed in the room as a woman appeared at the top of the staircase. She was slight and dressed in a pastel blue shirt-and-coat combo. Her black hair bore a distinctive gray stripe, which she wore like an elegant badge of honor. As she slowly descended, like this was her wedding or something, Eve struggled to get a bead on her age. She noticed that each of the woman’s pumps had a delicate bow made of diamonds at the toe just about the time she determined her to be perhaps a bit past fifty.

When the woman finally reached the end of the staircase, she smiled a loving schoolteacher’s smile. But her eyes were the giveaway. This woman, whoever she was, had the most soulless eyes Eve had ever seen.

Some of the other girls made the mistake of scoffing and whispering. Eve could make out mumblings of
mobster’s wife
and
prima donna
. The woman cleared her throat and patted her chest gently, her femininity over the top—Southern belle dipped in syrup and rolled in sugar. It was all for show; Eve was sure of it.

The woman moved to the center of the room, facing the women in line to audition. “Hello, girls. First, let me thank you for coming here and submitting to the guards and detectors.” She looked from one to the other and smiled. Some girls responded, others did not. Eve returned the woman’s gaze evenly.

“Do you pick out hookers for your husband?” came a voice from somewhere down the line. Nervous giggles rippled through the room.

“I’m
Ms.
Vitullo, but please, call me Mary Ellen. This evening I’ll just need to speak with you for a few moments so I can decide if you’re right for this job. I’ll let you gather your thoughts.” She twirled and made her way to a nearby table. A bodyguard ran over to pull out her chair. She sat and sweetly thanked him. And then they waited. Mary Ellen gazed out one of the floor-to-ceiling windows as the women chatted nervously.

Eve watched her for tells. She didn’t like what she saw. This woman was manipulating them. After a weird amount of time had passed, the room settled into an awkward silence. Only then did Mary Ellen turn and beckon for the first girl in line. True to her word, she had a brief, quiet conversation with the auditioning prostitute before shaking her hand and pointing to a table on her left. Girl after girl endured the encounter, and each was sent to the table on the left. Micki was next, and when she was through, Mary Ellen pointed to another table on her right.

The chatter halted at the left-hand table. Suddenly it was clear some evaluation was going on. A few more girls were summoned, and three of them were sent to the right. Last was Eve. Mary Ellen beckoned coyly, almost flirtatiously to her.

After Eve took her seat, Mary Ellen smiled indulgently. “I noticed at the check-in you were unwilling to submit to the search by my guards. Care to tell me why?” She batted her lashes.

“Not particularly.” Eve crossed her legs.

“Well.” Mary Ellen raised a perfect eyebrow, or at least part of one. Botox seemed to have rendered a good portion of her face immobile. Her eyes were so brown they were almost black. “Name?”

“January.” Eve didn’t fidget and tried to avoid a staring contest with the woman. Her vibe was intense.

“Last place of employment?” Mary Ellen gently bit her finger.

“Lollipop’s Ladies, and then I went solo.” Eve sat back in her chair and waited to see how this information would be digested.

“What’s your best skill, Miss January, wouldya say?” Now she was folksy, like they were best friends.

Eve wasn’t sure what story to make up. She decided to go with the truth.

She leaned in and spoke in a whisper. “I can tell you’re going to kill every single girl at that table.” She pointed to the left.

Mary Ellen’s eyes widened just a tiny bit in surprise. “And if I sent you to that table? What would you do?”

Eve stood. “Try me.”

Mary Ellen stood as well and looked up at Eve. “I’ll need you to go sit down.” She motioned with her head to the table on the right.

Eve nodded and sat down next to Micki.

“Boys? Can you show the ladies to the left their new view, please?” Mary Ellen looked every bit the gracious host.

The girls from the other table lined up, clearly excited at the thought of living in this huge mansion. Mary Ellen came to sit at the right-hand table, across from Eve. She waited until the rest of the ladies were out of the ballroom, gazing at the spectacular view of the mountains just beyond, dotted with house lights.

She turned to the small group of women at the table. “So, after that group is done, I’ll have the boys show you your view.”

As the first gunshot popped, eyes widened all around the table. Most of the women seemed confused, curious, but Eve knew it was a .48 Magnum with a silencer. The second and third shots drew their attention. Eve knew if she looked she’d see the girls falling boneless to the stone patio. She didn’t look. Eve watched Mary Ellen instead. Horrified screams now came from the remaining girls on the terrace. Eve bet they were starting to run, trying to escape.