The darcy files, p.9
The Darcy Files, page 9
Man, he needed a computer right this very minute before all these plot ideas disappeared in the bottom of his plastic wine goblet.
“Your writer friend also knows about the murder?” he asked.
“Sure, I think everyone does. He has an idea for a book about them. Dude, you deadass need to start the story before he scoops ya.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time someone did that. You didn’t tell this Gio guy who your brother was, did you?”
“Duh. Of course not. I want him to like me for me, not for you!”
“Good, and I changed my mind. I wanna meet this Gio.”
She glanced around the courtyard, then shrugged. “He’s gone. I guess he got the writing bug. You know how that is. Oh, wait...ya don’t.”
“Smart-ass.”
Gigi fiendishly grinned.
“I gotta say, I think your cat friend is spot-on about their profession. I heard it directly from the mother’s lips. This little meet-and-greet is a marketing ruse to solicit new clients for the Meryton Arms red-light sex business,” he said.
“Then...go for it.”
“Go for what?”
“You want information, and she is attractive. And you probably need to get laid.”
“You’re outta your frigging mind.”
“Oh, please. Don’t throw shade...Alex. You write about this stuff all the time. What would Logan do?”
Exactly what Charlie expects me to do. Shag her rotten. Make her my muse. Write the damn book.
“I’m not that kind of guy, Gigi. I don’t give consequence to women other men pay for and I’m not easy, contrary to your assertion.”
She chortled. “Bull! Hooking up with her is an investment in your book, money well spent. It’ll help your writing process and stoke your love life—two things you are in dire need of.”
“Ha ha. I don’t need that kind of help in the bedroom. I need help to try to keep women out of it!”
“Well, you better do something because my friend is determined to put their story on paper. It’s dog-eat-dog in the publishing world—at least that’s what Gio says.”
He glanced up at the woman in question, and their eyes met.
She flashed a blinding smile.
He smiled back.
“That’s it. Work it, Alex,” Gigi teased.
“Shut up.”
Long, slender legs on four-inch heels sashayed toward him in slow motion. The breeze licked Liz’s shoulder-length, dark-chocolate hair, and the world shifted on its axis in some kind of time continuum.
“Hi,” she greeted in a breathy, sultry voice.
His great wordsmithing brain froze.
“Hello?” she repeated, tilting her head and knitting her brow.
“H-hi,” he stammered.
Again, she warmly smiled. “I thought I knew everyone at Meryton...”
I bet you do.
“But I’ve never seen you before. Did you just move in?” she said.
“No, I...um...am visiting my sister for the weekend. She’s recently moved in.”
“Welcome to the Meryton Arms. I’m Liz Bennet in Building A, 2C.”
“Hi...sorry, I said that already.” He uncomfortably chuckled, running his free hand through his hair. “I’m Will. I mean, Alex...Tobin.”
“Which is it, Will or Alex or Tobin. Or is Alex your middle name and Will your first or maybe you go by both, or maybe it’s Tobin and we’re going last name first in introductions, like a Bond, James Bond type of thing?”
“Funny. It’s Alex Tobin.”
“Then it’s nice to meet you, Alex Tobin.”
“And you as well.”
She seems nice, if not well-practiced in her charms, but then most murderers are convivial psychopaths.
“Do you live here in the city?” she asked.
“No. I just arrived this afternoon from Boston.”
The killer-dame scanned the garden, then took a sip of her martini. “I’ve lived in this apartment complex my whole life. Boy, I sure can tell you where the bodies are buried.”
He nearly sprayed his cabernet, breaking into a cough.
“Are you okay?”
“It’s nothing. I just heard...(cough)...there were a few murders at the Meryton.” Smooth, real smooth. Idiot.
“Ah, the Meryton Arms rumor mill. They sure don’t waste time. You’re not here more than a few hours and you’re already dialed in on the gossip.” She chuckled, leaning toward him, filling his lungs with a honeysuckle scent. Her perfect pink lips tickled his ear when she spoke. “Pro tip. Don’t believe everything you hear, especially about murders.”
Of course, she’d say that.
And then she confirmed it. Liz looked away, brushing the hair from her shoulder. Any crime fiction author worth his salt could pick up on a woman’s tell.
Clearly unable to hold eye contact with him, her body language gave away her guilt. And what a body. It spoke to him in more than one way, but he reminded himself of Fatal Attraction Reagan and the trouble her body got him into.
He, on the other hand, long mastered his body language despite her heaving...Keep your eyes locked on her face. He struggled with the manly instinctual pull to travel south. “I...um only heard good things about Meryton, despite your body—I mean, the dead body,” he recovered.
“Yeah. It’s a nice place to live. Most everyone is friendly and meet-ups like this foment genuine community when the chips are down for some of our elder residents. I hope you enjoy your visit with your sister.”
There was so much to like about her, and in any other situation—where she wasn’t a prostie or murderer—he might consider getting to know her as just some ordinary guy and girl, but this was official business for his book and more than likely a solicitation for potential clients on her part! At a loss for words, he awkwardly smiled, which usually put women at ease. When she smiled back, he knew he was affecting her in a good, not creepy, way.
But then, she sympathy-touched his arm, making him feel like some rando loser after all. “Do I make you nervous?”
“Um...no.” He took a sip of wine.
“I’m glad. So, what do you do for a living?” she asked.
“I’m a...in insurance, and you?”
“I’m a consultant.”
Is that what they’re calling themselves now? “In what industry?”
She prevaricated, obviously considering how to answer. “The service industry.”
“That’s pretty broad. Hospitality or personal?”
“Well...both. I’m definitely in the hospitality industry,” she said, brushing the waves from her shoulder again.
He chuckled and leaned toward her. “Now, I’m really curious. You’re awfully cryptic about your career.”
A sexy blush rose to her cheeks—definitely another tell.
“I have to be. Some people look down their nose at what I do. In my profession, anonymity and confidentiality between my clients and me are sacrosanct. Bragging is sacrilegious.”
“That’s commendable these days, with everyone virtue signaling and posting their every movement on social media.”
“I’m not on social media. Food porn has no appeal to me.”
Porn, too? “You do know, I’m going to guess what your profession is, right?”
Smiling, she batted her long lashes. “Try as you might, I won’t give it up and I’m confident you’ll never guess.”
“Don’t be so sure. If you won’t tell people what you do for a living, how do you advertise?”
“I don’t. Potential clients just find me, or I meet them at a party, word of mouth, friend referrals, even neighbors in the Meryton, to which I owe my mother’s excessive pride in her five daughters.”
“I can relate to your mother’s need to tell everyone how special her kids are. I have a talented sister and brag about her, too,” he pandered.
“Ah, but my mother is southern, and that takes bragging to a whole other level. She’s my biggest fan, though. Tell me about your sister.”
“She’s an amazing person with a vibrant spirit and heart of gold. We’re very close even if I’m the overprotective big brother and she’s a smartass Zoomer who has more brains than I’ll ever have. She was a gifted child and now a gifted fledgling actress. I guess you could say I’m her biggest fan.”
“Such a glowing description. I hope to meet her.”
“She’s around here somewhere.”
“And is she your biggest fan?”
“I don’t know. I know she looks up to me, but that’s probably because there’s a thirteen-year age difference between us.”
“Maybe you’re her hero big brother.” She lightly laughed with provocative innocence, flipping his heart. “See, God gives us all unique talents and gifts. You’re a caring brother and an attractive insurance consultant who helps safeguard your clients’ future. She’s a bright light filled with sisterly love and goodness, and I help single men achieve their dreams.”
Jeez, why don’t you come right out with it? She just blew whatever cover she thought she had. This chick actually thinks she’s God’s gift to men!
“Ah, so you just tipped your hat there.”
“No, I didn’t.” She laughed, shaking her head. She seemed to like this old-fashioned game of What’s My Line.
“I’d like to hire you,” he unintentionally blurted. WTF are you saying?
“But you don’t know what I do for a living.”
“Maybe I already know, and I’m just pulling your leg. Maybe someone in Meryton Arms recommended you.”
“That’s certainly possible, but they don’t know the half of what I do for my clients, and I don’t mean to offend you or be disrespectful, but my services aren’t cheap. My consulting fees range between two and five hundred an hour depending upon your desires. Sometimes, I’m asked to stay for an entire week and that runs about ten grand.”
He swallowed hard. “Dollars?”
“Actually, I prefer to be paid in Bitcoin.”
Oh, yeah. High-class, professional prostie. Jeez, now he’s even talking like his sister!
Petting his chin, he considered Gigi’s position on the matter. Yeah, it could prove advantageous, an investment in book “research,” but could it be tax deductible? Maybe Charlie will reimburse him. He did, after all, promise his friend to do everything in his power to finish the book. At any rate, Liz’s talents could help him overcome his writer’s block or at the very least release some tension. He didn’t actually have to take her to bed, but he could pick her brain once the cat was out of the bag.
“I’m not insulted, and I can afford it,” he said.
“And you’re single, right?”
“Very.”
“In that case—to be frank—I’m glad I trusted my instinct by coming over to talk with you. I’m sure you’re aware how important first im-pressions are, and in my professional experience, you appear to lack confidence when faced with a woman. After stumbling over yourself by telling me your drink needed a date, I thought you might need some of my expertise. If you’ll allow me, it would be an honor to help you overcome your nerves and uncertainty with the opposite sex.”
What? She’d be honored to have sex with me? “Excellent,” he said.
He didn’t know if he should be insulted or pleased to have secured an “interview” because of whatever the woman saw lacking in him. It was her fault he was tongue tied...and...and the ground was uneven! Apart from stress relief, he had absolutely no need to pay for a hook-up or had any uncertainty about sex, women, or anything else! He was confident his year-long—self-imposed—celibacy and his minor sexual frustration didn’t show! The woman didn’t know what she was talking about!
“Great! Sundays are usually my date off, but since you’re visiting the city for only a few days we could meet then. If that’s okay,” she said.
“That works. What exactly is entailed?”
“On our first consult, we’ll discuss your impediments, and you’ll fill out a questionnaire and go over servicing options...”
Questionnaire for a roll in the hay? Jeez, even prostitution has been turned on its head these days. Do they now use Hold Harmless in case sex gets rough or Non-Disclosure Agreements to avoid scandal?
“This way I will have a better idea of what position to take when helping you get through your moves. Together, we’ll work on...” she glanced around them, then whispered, again touching his arm. “Well...you know...technique.”
Yeah, he knew. I do just fine in the ‘technique’ department.
“Sounds good. I would, um...” he swallowed. “Like the works.”
“Not a problem. We’ll discuss pricing on Sunday. Well, I should mingle. It’s been so nice to meet and talk with you, Alex.” She reached into her dress pocket and removed a business card. “Since texting is so impersonal and the antithesis of everything I believe and practice in my profession, please call me to set a time for Sunday.”
“Sure. Do you take your fee upfront?”
“Not until we’ve consummated our relationship.” Her grin reached her expressive eyes. “You know, I have to say...I’m truly looking forward to working with you. I think, well, I hope, you’ll be pleased with my services.”
His gaze stayed fixed on her luscious lips, fighting the pull to travel downward. “I’m sure I’ll be very pleased. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
He glanced down at the card. “For Men Only” Elizabeth Bennet, Personal Consultant
After relinquishing the window bed to Darcy’s inspired need to write, Gigi volunteered to sleep on a blow-up mattress in the second room—the one with the window a/c. At half-past one in the morning, he sat with his back against the wall, furiously typing away on the laptop keys lit only by the computer screen glow. Yes, he paid attention to Gigi’s opinions about the blue light cycadean rhythm disruption and all that other oxidative shit she went on about, but he needed to get his thoughts out before the plot bunny disappeared into the weeds. On occasion, he’d stop and gaze out the open windows to 2C across the courtyard. Black silhouettes against the pulled shades teased him. My muse is still awake.
In fact, several tenants were still awake. Some apartments had shades, others like him, were on full display, but with the lights on. He agreed with Gigi that in this heat, curtains restricted the flow of air. Still, the view was a veritable Rear Window: A gamer dude, a midnight-munching chick, and a book-reading woman wearing a pink polka dot bathrobe burned the midnight oil. He wondered if they could see him in the blue light.
Gigi was right about a lot of things today, just not the murder weapon. The writer’s block had disappeared with the introduction of the two murdering hookers.
Although taken aback by the leggy vixen, Logan kept his cool. He lit a cigarette, gaze riveted to her shapely figure as he tried to draw a bead on her. There was no way around the effect she had on him. She was more than attractive; she exuded raw sex-appeal from her demure, wholesomeness. But he knew, he always knew, with these kinds of women. Underneath the classy persona laid a wild tigress waiting to caterwaul for the right price from the right alpha male. She wasn’t a run-of-the-mill cheap streetwalker; she was one of those high-class escorts corporate moguls paid to wine, dine, and fulfill every fantasy for a cool one thousand an hour. Logan also knew Beth Jamison had witnessed the murder of a polarizing and veteran United States Senator.
He wasn’t so naïve to believe her an innocent bystander to the crime. Not on your life; he suspected her profession was only a cover to her career as a gun-for-hire.
Across the ballroom, he acutely watched her work the crowd in search of her next political victim.
Despite the nagging guilt over his voyeurism, he couldn’t help glancing back to the white-shaded window. The light switched off. She’s going to bed.
But she wasn’t.
Exiting the apartment into the lit hallway, she locked the door, then walked toward the staircase, body disappearing with each step down.
“Who leaves at one-thirty in the morning? In the city that never sleeps, on-call personal consultants, that’s who.”
To curtain or not curtain, ethics over inspiration? These were very important things to consider. Whatever Alex Logan would do, he’d do the opposite.
Saturday
Being lucky was a matter of viewpoint when considering the Bennet family’s rent-controlled three-bedroom dwelling in the Meryton Arms apartment complex. Not every gift was a blessing. The lure of remaining tethered to an inherited apartment where the rent hardly raised a mere three percent each year was an undeniable boon. However, when faced with a family of seven living in said apartment, not such a lucky thing. A second-floor apartment in the West Village of Manhattan was highly sought after. In fact, all apartments in the Meryton were so coveted that hopeful denizens searched the obituaries for available rental listings. It paid to know who had just “vacated” an apartment and who the next of kin was. However, in Liz and Jane’s situation, they knew before anyone else—even the classifieds—when Mrs. Phillips in 2C had vacated. They sublet the apartment two days after the funeral.
“Did you hear that?” Elizabeth asked, turning to the open windows overlooking the courtyard below.
“How could I not? Her southern charm is at it again,” Jane said with a chuckle. “Who’s her prey this time?”
Elizabeth snorted and walked toward the conversation outside. She peered below. Another snort left her lips, observing how their mother posed on the chaise lounge. The woman’s floppy sun hat cast a shadow upon her face—but sadly not enough to cover up her ample bosom spilling from a bikini top. She shamelessly flirted with the superintendent of the building, standing over her and staring unabashedly at her assets. The woman’s gifts worked overtime; they had to. This was serious business.
