At five-fifteen, Blaire paced back and forth in the break room at Hip, Hip, Hairay. Her feet ached from traversing the concrete floor for the last half hour.
Outside, streaky clouds stretched across the sky. A light wind had picked up through the day, heralding some sort of weather shift. Her agitation pointed toward its own “shift on the horizon” as well. I swear I saw someone lurking outside the window. I swear it. I’ve got to get the courage to tell him about Karlos.
She paused at the sound of the front door opening.
A few seconds later, Lola swished into the break room. Her matted braids had been coiled upon her head in a rather witchy-looking manner.
Dressed in her usual state of flowing red, green, and gold drama, she stopped short when she saw Blaire. “Whoa. Who died?”
Blaire nibbled her nail. She forced her teeth to let go and said, “I’m the one who’s going to die if I don’t tell Jackson what I need to tell him.”
“This again?” Lola swung her huge gold cloth bag onto a hook on the wall and removed her lightweight red sweater. She hung the sweater on the same hook as the purse. “I thought you’d resolved that. You told me you had a moment of sharing, and everything was back to unicorns and butterflies.”
Blaire smirked, despite her fretful mood. “I did not say everything was back to unicorns and butterflies. I only mentioned that the sexual connection was still good, and we shared with one another. So, your theory might be wrong.”
“It’s not my theory,” Lola said, reaching for a blue and brown ceramic teacup from the back counter. “It’s my mother’s. I never said she knew everything.”
She filled the cup with hot water from the electric hot water pot and pulled open the drawer underneath.
“Right. Well. I might have fudged the truth a little when I told you that everything was good between us.” Blaire’s lips pressed tight. “It was him who shared, not me.” She wrapped her arms around her midsection, hugging the purple fishnet mini-dress Lola had gifted her recently, which hung over a pretty white cotton slip. “He had a horrible upbringing, and I mean horrible.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Lola said, as she tore open the gray and green wrapper from her chosen tea bag. She dunked the bag in hot water and turned around to lean against the counter. “Some people get a shitty hand at birth.”
Blaire shuffled toward the break room table and slumped on one of the chairs. “You got that right. It makes me feel all the worse for not being able to step up to the plate and share.”
“Now, stop with the comparisons. We each have our own demons to conquer.” Lola’s lips pursed.
“Yeah, I guess.” Blaire propped her head in her hands and stared at the remnants she’d left from lunch. Glancing at Lola, she said, “Gosh, I was so busy today I barely had time to eat. I didn’t get to finish before my one o’clock arrived. And then, after that, it was go, go, go.”
She scooped the white paper sandwich wrapper toward her and crumpled it into a ball.
“I hear that. Some days we don’t have time to breathe.” Lola lifted the ceramic mug to her lips and blew on it. “Me? I’ve only got the one client, then I can get back to relax land. I actually got some sunshine on my skin today.” She eyed her already caramel-colored arm, and then she took a tentative sip of her tea. “Mmm, perfect.”
She removed the tea bag and threw it in the stainless-steel garbage can in the corner.
Blaire stood, stepped across the room, and added her crumpled wad to the can. “Yes, it was gorgeous until right around three. Now it looks like change is in the wind.”
She reached for a paper towel from the dispenser, held it under the faucet of the small sink, and wet it.
“So, what are you afraid of if you tell him?” Lola said, eying her over the top of the mug.
“Oh, you know…he won’t want to be with me.” Blaire wiped down the table, brushing crumbs into her open palm.
“Haven’t you heard of commitment? It’s a step some couples are willing to make. You must have it to survive the ups and downs. From watching you, I’d have guessed you’d be married by now.” Lola sauntered to the break table and sat opposite Blaire.
“We kind of danced around the topic. I don’t want to make a commitment until Jackson gets straight with his brother and he doesn’t want to make a commitment…well until he gets straight with his brother.” She scrunched up her face.
Lola nodded. “Hence, your insecurity.”
“Hence, my insecurity.”
“You haven’t heard from that playboy, have you?”
“Karlos?” The sound of his name cast a shiver through her system. “Thank God, no. I never left a forwarding address when I moved here. The only address he knows is the one where he sent tickets for glamorous trips and pricey gifts.” At least I think he doesn’t know where I live. “So, I’m probably paranoid. Maybe he’s just out scamming for a new mark.”
“What kind of glamorous trips?” Lola said.
“Oh, you know. I’d get a ticket to Paris at the drop of a hat. Monaco. The Turkish Riviera. It was all so breathtaking. My family thought I had scored bank for a boyfriend. I did, too.”
Lola’s eyes grew wide. “Are you messing with me? This dude sent you tickets to travel across the world?”
Blaire’s face flushed. “That’s right. Oddly, he never came to Seattle. He said he wanted to see me in his world—the world of the wealthy.” The heat in her face and neck increased. “He gave me the attention I craved, in spades. A credit card to buy whatever I wanted. He wanted me to show up looking like something I’m not. He’d meet me at the airport. We’d drive off in a different car in each new city. Sometimes it was a Maserati. Sometimes it was a Rolls. He liked to flaunt his wealth.”
“Damn, girl. And how is it I’m giving you my leftover clothes? You must have a closet full of more expensive clothes than I can afford.” Lola’s eyebrow cocked.
Sweat dampened Blaire’s brow. “I got rid of every single piece once I escaped. I wanted no reminders of the way I’d been duped. My family all thought…” Her gaze slid away. “They still think that I was with a playboy and he dumped me for someone else. They never knew about the crime or the part I played or how I got out within an inch of my life.”
“Nuh-uh, stop right there,” Lola said, putting her palm out. “I don’t want to hear anything about this so-called life of crime. If I know you didn’t kill anyone, extort anyone, or harm anyone in any way, I’m good. You can tell that part to a priest or, better yet, your heroic boyfriend.”
For a second, Blaire got lost in memories of Caracas: approaching the marks Karlos or others in his gang would point out, telling them in her faltering Spanish of some kind of trouble she was in, leading them around the corner to men with sharp knives and sinister faces who would cut off all their hair as they screamed, fought, and shot daggers at her with their eyes. She couldn’t imagine the helpless rage those women felt at being violated.
Without thinking, she reached back and touched her long ponytail, the way she did every morning when she woke up by Karlos’ side, certain that her hair had been cut off in the night.
And then there were the ones who died when they put up a fight.
That had only happened a couple of times.
The gang had boasted about it over shots.
Karlos had been furious.
“We’re not that kind of a gang. We’re for profit, not for murder,” he’d roared, pounding the table.
But he’d fucked her with a vigor that night as if hearing of the experience brought him some sort of perverse thrill.
She glanced out the window, searching for a way out of her mire of memories.
Jackson’s truck pulled up in the parking lot of Purple Vines across the street.
Relief and guilt flooded her. “Speaking of boyfriends…” She pointed out the window. “There he is. He told me him, and a couple of guys were going out for drinks tonight. While I slave away on women’s hair.”
Jackson stepped from the truck, looked toward the salon, and brightened when he spied her. He lifted his arm and waved.
She blew him kisses.
He pretended to catch three kisses and pressed them to his chest.
Her heart did all sorts of skips and twirls, while her lusty needs surfaced as damp heat in her panties. She grinned at him.
He grinned back. Then, he looked away as Griffin’s black pickup truck turned into the parking lot.
“Aw,” Lola said. “That exchange didn’t look like a lack of love to me. Maybe you two have made a commitment to commit when certain things have resolved. That seems fair. So many times, people commit before checking out the merchandise, if you catch my drift. Then, they need to back out of horrible mistakes. I say to share with him. He looks at you like you’re the answer to his prayers. I doubt if he’s going anywhere anytime soon.”
Blaire dragged her gaze from his handsome physique. “Do you really think so?”
Lola shook her head. “Girl, with you two, it’s so obvious. I’ll be crushed if you two break up. You’re like Prince Harry and Meghan Markle. Love-bunny mush cake.”
Blaire blushed. She glanced back out the window.
Jackson stood with Griffin and another guy she didn’t know. They all seemed in good spirits, laughing and talking.
She kept her gaze on them until they disappeared into the bar. Rolling her lips between her teeth, she vowed to come clean to him. And, hopefully, soon. If Karlos was really stalking her, she needed to spill her secrets before it was too late.