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WILLIAMSBURG, BROOKLYN, NY—William Vale Hotel
Naim and Brandy had made themselves presentable and were at the hip West Light Bar on the 22nd floor inside of The William Vale Hotel in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Electric-blue and mustard-yellow velvet chairs and a polished stone bar anchored the vast room, with a three hundred sixty degree view of Brooklyn, Manhattan, and Queens from twenty-two stories up. Beautiful.
He was in denimed jeans, black blazer, with a shirt and tie. She had changed out of her office costume and into a little black dress, extremely high heels, pearls around her neck, and carried a handbag as pricey as a Manhattan Penthouse. She held a martini glass in her hand and took a grateful gulp. They both glanced at her Cartier wristwatch.
“What can I say. Time is money,” she said, smiling.
“Tell me about it. We’ve both had very long days,” he said, continuing to make small talk. He was exhausted and wanted to be in bed. Preferably with her.
“It’s always a long day at the Times,” she replied. “Especially when you break a story with photos of a dead judge.”
“I read your piece. Is it OK for you to publish these sorts of photos?”
She turned towards him as she answered. “That depends. I’ve verified the source, so...”
“Wait a minute. You’ve talked to Judge Weston’s killer?”
“Twice. And the FBI thrice. In person. The FBI Cyber Unit was livid that I published the photos.”
Naim concealed his amazement. “Sounds very exciting,” he said, touching her hand.
“You’re being kind,” she said, enjoying his touch.
Was he making a pass at her? He was such a charming romantic and she knew that nothing he did was an accident.
“It’s only exciting until a killer wants to meet.”
“Absolutely not,” he said, sipping Veuve Clicquot. “No way I’m letting you meet any person bold enough to kill the Chief Justice. Hell, I’ve seen news accounts exposing the murder of four people. The judge’s wife has about three breaths left. No way can you meet him.” His subtle concern shifted to a smile. “Not alone, anyway.”
“You’re very concerned,” she said, grinning. She opened her handbag and extracted a folded piece of paper. She unfolded it and read from it: “These are the people he hinted at as next on his list: The President of the United States; The Vice President of the United States; the Secretary of State; two undersecretaries of State; the president’s chief of staff, Todd Decker; one of his two deputies, Carmen Vargan; two U.S. Senators; and the Attorney General.”
“Quite an impressive list of victims,” Naim said, watching bites from chef Andrew Carmellini being placed on the table.
“Thank you,” she said to the waiter. And then to Naim, she said, “All but the senators have considerable access to the Oval Office. Perhaps the killer does, too. And victims is your word, not mine. As you know some people are looking for a change in Washington.”
“Hence, the reason the Justice was killed. Removing Weston gets rid of a liberal, allowing the president to appoint someone else.”
“Exact-a-Mundo,” she said, pointing at him with a fork—steak on the end of it. “Someone’s been watching CNN. But the new appointee will have to pass the scratch and sniff test of the conservatively lead Senate.”
“So how are we to meet this animal?”
“We?”
“Yes, we. Or oui, if you like it in French.” He winked.
“There will be a demonstration by Americans for Sentencing Reform tomorrow on Capitol grounds. He asked me to be there and he’d find me.”
“So, he knows what you look like?” A bit of fear had crept into his voice.
“Everyone does. My headshot is public and on every article I write.”
“Good point.” He remembered reading her bio and admiring her New York Times online headshot nine months ago when they’d met. He had saved her from being run over by a drunk driver.
“Enough about me,” she said, watching the waiter place their fifth of seven courses in front of them. “How’s Marco?”
“He’s Marco. Superman. Adonis. The school sent out an e-mail blast indicating classes were canceled this week. There’s a candlelight vigil on Friday to mourn the deaths.”
“But is his arm good?”
“Yes.”
“So sad we have people that can mentally choose to kill innocent people,” she said, looking into the air. “Is he at the dorm or your home?”
“You know we finally finished converting the former maid quarters into his private apartment. He’s there with Amber. She’s a wonderful girl.”
“Yeah, I can see them marrying, have sex, kids, and grow old together. In that order.”
“Like you and I?”
“Hold it. I’m no one’s old,” she said despite being four years his senior. Her stunning sex appeal and brilliance were her most stimulating attributes. The ones that he adored about her. It was nice for him to date a woman that enjoyed museums, operas, and roller coasters, which were his faves.
“Neither am I old.” He was laughing. “I was, however, implying that we’d grow old together.”
“Oh, OK,” she said, “cause you were about to get shot.” She playfully made her hand into a gun and shot at him. “Pow.”
“You’re too much,” he said with a wide grin on his face. His mood saddened. “I had it out with Sinia. She, once again, tried convincing Marco to move back to North Carolina. She did it right in front of Amber with zero fucks given to the girl’s feelings. Or his for the matter.”
“What’d he say?”
“No doubt, he refused. And, then, she was pissy tonight because I made clear that she couldn’t stay at my home. I’m at a point where she’s more nuisance than anything else and her constant attempt to put a wedge between Marco and me is getting old. I had Ginger get her a room at the Peninsula.”
“Certainly, she can’t complain about you putting her up there,” Brandy said, giggling.
“This is not funny,” he replied, laughing. His laugh settled into a weak grin.
“On a more serious note, thanks for the transparency. Things with her will get better, Naim. You’re a good man and time has proven you to be a grandfather—”
“Whoa, grandfather? You know something I don’t?” He knew that she and Amber had had a few play dates.
She laughed. “Let me rephrase, great father. Two words.”
He wiped his forehead, and said, “Be careful with your words editor. I’m barely a father. And not looking to be a grandfather before fifty.”
She leaned over, brushed her lips against his ear, whispering, “Did I tell you what a superior lover you are, too?”
He licked his upper lip, glancing at her with a critical eye.
Brandy blushed. Everything he did turned her on. She said, “Don’t let anyone question who you are, or your worth. You’ve overcome odds that typically leaves young, AA men in a vat of despair and hopelessness. I’m not going to sit here and stroke your outlook on life, which is always bright...”
“Except when my Achilles heel comes to town,” he said, cutting her off. “But, continue, your words are blaming and therapeutic.”
“Although older than you, I’m not your counselor,” she said, laughing. “Let’s just get that straight. And I would not excoriate or character assassinated your baby mama.”
“OK. OK,” he submitted. He seductively raised an eyebrow, and asked, “What time are you flying out to D.C. Tomorrow?”
“Haven’t decided, but I may be taking Amtrak. Why?” She had an idea but asked.
“Sleep with me.”
“Don’t ask me to do something. Make me do something.”
__________
Naim brought Brandy to her third climax and continued his ministration until she stopped climbing up the wall, before he pulled a few inches out of her by getting into the push-up position. She gasped and he re-entered her.
Laying on top of her, he let her breathing normalize. “Nothing like a late night workout.”
She pulled his head up by gripping his ears. Staring into his eyes, she said, “Your cockiness is dangerous.”
“What did you say about my cock?” he asked, contracting his stomach muscles, forcing his penis to jump inside of her.
She emoted and stared at him. His chiseled shoulders and defined biceps made her wetter. He rested his head between her soft breast, kissing each hardened nipple. They were in a luxuriant Yotel suite, setting Naim back three-hundred-bucks for the night.
Brandy Scott was worth every penny.