VenCo(27)

Naked now, at the foot of his bed, his tattoos livid against his pale skin, he was suddenly overcome with lust. It was the kind of lust that shot blood and want into every part of a body; the kind of lust that came with a warning sign—this is a bad idea—so you only needed it more. He grabbed his cock, already stiff, and the heat of his hand brought him fully to attention. His head lolled back so that he was staring at the yellow streetlight streaking across his cracked ceiling.

“Oh godddd . . .”

It didn’t take long. He was soft and slow with himself and then hard and fast. And when he was done, his stomach unclenched. His head emptied of anxiety and instead filled with the slow slur of alcohol. Suddenly he was drunk. Suddenly he was ready for bed.

Lying spread-eagle in his queen-sized bed, under a single sheet, with a pleasant throb in his groin, he tried but couldn’t really remember the night. There was a man, he thought, maybe someone he just met? Maybe someone he knew once? But then he thought, no, there was only a series of strangers and a steady line of shots. He could really use some company tonight. He should plug in his phone and call the redhead he met last week. Lulled by booze and orgasm, he fell asleep.





11

Feast Day




The house was clapboard painted matte black with shiny black trim, from the shutters to the gingerbread over the covered porch. Maybe it was the layers of black, or the depth of the porch, but the front door didn’t seem to get any closer as Lucky climbed the stairs.

She hesitated on the fourth step and turned around. “C’mon, Stella,” she called.

Her grandmother was still at the car, straightening her kerchief, using the tinted window as a mirror. They’d come straight here, not having had time to check in to the motel. “I said I didn’t want to be late!”

“Keep your shirt on, I’m coming.” Stella straightened and stared at her granddaughter. “But I don’t know why you want me in there.”

“Actually, that’s a good point.” Lucky tossed the keys, and they landed in the grass at Stella’s feet. “Why don’t you wait in the car.” At least she wouldn’t have to explain why she had an elderly chaperone at a job interview.

“I’m a senior citizen, for fuck’s sakes!” Stella said, making a big show of the effort it took to bend over to retrieve them. “But I’m listening to the radio. You can’t stop me.”

“Why would I stop you?” Lucky swept the street with her eyes in case anyone was witnessing this elder abuse ruse.

Keys in hand, Stella straightened up smoothly and went around to the driver’s side, got in, and slammed the door shut behind her. Soon she had the radio cranking.

With her grandmother safe in the car, Lucky climbed the last step and crossed the porch to the door. Beside it was a small brass plaque engraved with a single word, VenCo, over a doorbell embedded in a black curlicue frame. She took a deep breath. “Here we go.” She pushed the button but heard nothing. Maybe it was broken? She was about to try it again when the door was opened by the woman from the food court, wearing a chic black suit.

“Lucky. Come through.” The woman turned, smooth as a dancer in street shoes.

“Freya, how nice to . . .” But Freya was already walking away. “Alrighty, I’ll just get the door, then.”

She followed, taking in the grey flocked wallpaper, the feminine curve of the staircase, lined with portraits of women who seemed to watch her pass, the ceiling that soared two storeys. Above her, small birds hopped from stem to swag of a massive crystal chandelier, singing freely.

“Ummm, your birds have gotten loose.”

“They’re not my birds.” Freya shrugged, still walking.

Lucky quickened her pace. When she caught up, she whipped out her professional office voice and tried to make a good impression. “So how long have you worked here?”

Freya’s stare stitched Lucky to the high-gloss hardwood beneath her boots. “We don’t need to talk,” she said. “I’m not the one who decides if you’re in. I was just the recruiter. Meena Good is the head of this . . . office. You’ll be meeting with her.”

Head down now, Lucky trailed her into a wide hallway inset with alcoves holding shelves of books and jars and statues. The runner carpet that muted their steps was deep green and patterned with striped snakes slithering in all directions.

“Whoa, wouldn’t want to walk over this thing high,” Lucky blurted. Nice. Bring up weed at the first meeting. Good move, St. James.

“Wait till you see the garden.” Freya smiled.

They stopped in front of a rounded door at the end of the hall. Freya rapped lightly before entering. “Meena, your guest is here.” Then she sashayed away without another word.

Meena Good sat behind a massive desk in a tall chair upholstered in blood-red leather. She was backlit by a triptych of curved windows that matched the rounded door. “Hello, Miss St. James. A pleasure to have you join us. How was your journey here?”

“Since I was travelling with a seventy-seven-year-old, it was like mapping a route from one restroom to the next.” And now I’m talking about pee breaks. Awesome.

Meena laughed. “Yes, near the end, my father was a difficult passenger. He could barely make it to church on Sunday, and he was the minister.” She stood, and Lucky saw how tall she was—statuesque, in a cream silk blouse and oatmeal wool slacks, a wide silver clasp bracelet on each wrist to match the rings on her long, elegant fingers. “I am glad you brought your Elder with you.” She closed a book on her desk and added it to a small stack of hardcover notebooks.