Exposed (4 page)

Zan held his gaze for a moment, then broke into hysterical laughter, practically cackling.

“Day after tomorrow, Jake,” she promised, her voice raspy from one too many cigarettes. “Day after tomorrow you can go to the park to meet God. Then you can see what it's like.

“To be fearless.”

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Re:
We need to talk

Gaia, I really think we need to talk. We haven't been getting along for … well, for a while lately, and I think we need to do something about it. I think it's really messed up that we aren't going to prom together, and it's really messed up that we haven't really spent any time together in days. I'm sorry that you think I'm taking Oliver's side over your own, and I'm sorry that I just can't trust Skyler Rodke. But can't we work past all of this? When I think about the trouble we went through just to get together to begin with, it makes me even more unwilling to let it all go so easily.

What do you think?

—J

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Re:
We need to talk

I agree, Jake. I hate the way things have been lately. I'm sorry that my life has been so complicated, and I'm sorry that once again I've dragged one of the people I care most about into it. I'll give you a call later and we can figure something out.

Thanks for hanging in,

me

He had to give the people what they wanted.

verboten
WASHINGTON SQUARE PARK WASN'T exactly known for its lush foliage, but there were enough trees in the park to provide adequate coverage for God's purposes. All he really needed, after all, was a sliver of shade. A Sliver of shade and some willing customers.

Divine Savior
In Washington Square Park he had both in spades.

God had managed to keep demand for Invince high by using a three-pronged approach, one so simplistic that he couldn't understand why other dealers hadn't adopted it sooner.

When Invince first hit the scene, it was a mini-explosion. Tweakers, potheads, even crack fiends—everyone wanted to try the drug that made you feel invincible. Could you blame them? There was nothing else like it out there on the market. So after the drug had made a splash, once news reports starting coming back of increased violence, daredevil pranks, and the like, God knew that he'd scored. That was the first step. Getting the product out Known. In demand.

The measured doses were his second step. Unlike the ubiquitous dime bag of weed, Invince was available only when God said it was. Which meant a couple of times a week or so. Often enough to keep the addicts panting, but not often enough for anyone to get bored or burn out.

As if one could burn out on invincibility. Ha!

His third step in securing his stronghold was equally simple: he didn't deal with the plebes. No way. God dealt with the dealers. He was, in essence, a
distributor
. He dealt to the dealers and
they
dealt to the low-life scum-of-the-earth druggies. No need to sully himself among the common folk.

So a few times a week, just as the drug-addicted populace was getting
really
antsy, God appeared on the scene, like the divine savior that his title implied. He cut a few deals with a few losers with overdeveloped senses of importance, and then he slipped back into the shadows. Quietly, discretely, without fanfare.

He knew the laws of supply and demand, after all. He was as familiar with them as he was with the laws of human nature. And his knowledge of both subject areas was what made him such a success.

That, of course, and a great product.

“Yo,” a voice hissed from deeper within the shade of the scraggly tree. God whirled around to face a skinny young man whose acne-scarred face was partially obscured by a do-rag. Talk about an inflated sense of importance. What was this kid, thirteen? Probably thought he was really tough because he carried a knife or something in his pocket. Please. God could easily take him out with a sneeze.

Needless to say, God was not impressed. “Yes?” he said impatiently, letting his buyer see just how not intimidated he was.

“Yo, you got the stuff?”

“Well, of course. Wasn't that our deal? I told you I'd be here, after all.” God smiled, though in the shade, his customer couldn't see him.

“Yo, so I got the cash,” Dealer replied, swiftly fishing a wad of twenties from the back pocket of his oversized jeans. He held the roll toward God and flipped the edges once for good measure.

God snatched the cash out of his client's hands. He didn't care about the money. It was a nice perk, but it wasn't the point at all. He certainly wasn't going to bother to count it here, outside, in daylight. He pocketed it smoothly.

“How many tabs?” he asked quietly. “I can't quite recall.”

Dealer glanced nervously over each shoulder, as if suddenly doubting his supplier. Not like they hadn't been doing business for the last two weeks—three times a week, to be exact. Please. “Yo, don't you remember? I asked for ten sheets.”

“Right, of course.” God nodded, smiling softly. “I should have remembered that you like to buy in bulk”

Dealer finally cracked a grin, albeit a small one. “What can I say, man? Demand is high. I gotta give the peeps what they want.”

“Of course,” God agreed. “That's always been my motto.” From deep within his long, dark coat he produced a long roll of paper perforated into sections. He ticked off five perforations, then tore off a healthy section of the roll, presenting it to Dealer with little fanfare. Dealer hastily shoved it into his back pocket, which seemed to function as his carryall, being very careful all the while not to bend or fold the paper.

“That's always been my motto,” God repeated, liking the sound of it. Dealer glanced up uncertainly not sure whether or not he was expected to respond. Unable to think up the appropriate reply, he remained silent, readjusting the waistband of his pants now that his stash was firmly stowed.

God wasn't waiting for an answer. His gaze was already fixed on the distance, where customer number two was loping toward him, eager to make a deal. He couldn't spend too much time on any one client. Demand was high.

He had to give the people what they wanted.

From:
megan21§alloymail.com

To:
[email protected]

Re:
Scale of 1 to are-you-joking?

Hey girl—

Just got back from shopping downtown. Found, seriously, the
cutest
pair of sandals to wear with the jeans we bought last week, no joke. And the heel's that perfect level, you know, where it's comfortable to wear but also very slimming….

But I digress, big time.

The point is that who should I run into while strolling along Houston Street but Miss Moore. And I do mean “run into.” Seriously, if I were, like, a grand master martial arts warrior like her, I might pay
slightly
closer attention to where I'm walking. But the big hulk just stepped right into me as if I wasn't even there.

And why, you may ask, was our darling Gaia so distracted? Hmmm … well, let's see. Two words: Skyler Rodke. As in, not Jake. As in, not her boyfriend. As in, what is
up
with that girl lately?

I am so confused. First she was mucho out, and of course—'cause she's a weirdo. But then she was a little in because, well, she had the Liz Rodke stamp of approval. Then she was out because-she went behind our backs to that big Rodke society party, the be-otch. But then she was in again because she had all that
O.C
. -style angst going on with Jake et al., and we thought she was sort of pathetic and felt sort of sorry for her.

And when all is said and done, the girl still does have some sort of bizarre Midas touch when it comes to men.

I'm just confused. I mean, the hottest guys in school go after her even when she treats them like dirt. Jake Montone, the newest tall, dark stranger, could have anyone he wants. And she's
cheating?
I totally can't decide. Cool or lameas- freaking-anything? On a scale of 1 to 10, how much do we despise Gaia Moore?

That's all I want to know.

ps: heard back from USC today—I'm in! Time to party!

From:
[email protected]

To:
[email protected]

Re:
Scale of 1 to are-you-joking?

You have
got
to be kidding me. Jake finds out that Gaia's running around with Skyler, somehow in some alternate strand of the time-space continuum Jake forgives her, and you find her up to her old tricks.

No way. No freaking way.

Can't decide if I'm disgusted or just plain in awe. We're gonna have to watch and wait.

ps: must see your shoes!

pps: USC—awesome! Must register for Tanning 101!

CONCENTRATING FIERCELY, GAIA LEANED over Skyler's laptop, the glow of the computer screen illuminating her features. She closed out of the Internet and quickly entered into his system setup, deleting all of her cookies. She didn't know what Skyler was up to, but something told her he wouldn't be pleased to discover that she'd been e-mailing Jake. Given that Skyler had pretty much coerced her into going to the prom with him instead of Jake (not that—as much as she hated to admit it—she'd needed all that much coercing) and had in essence forbidden her to call Jake or anyone else, it stood to reason that e-mail was verboten as well. But what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

Skyler Trance
She and Jake
did
need to talk, that was for sure. Especially now that she had somehow snapped out of her Skyler trance. She only hoped she hadn't damaged her relationship irreparably. Her relationship with Jake—like most of her relationships, come to think of it—had had a rocky start, but it was special to her. It had only been very recently that they'd agreed to give it a try as proper boyfriend and girlfriend. True, her relationship track record wasn't stellar, but even Gaia wasn't ready to throw in the towel just yet. So she was thrilled to see that he had e-mailed her, wanting to talk. And she was
going
to
talk to him, just as soon as she could. Just as soon as she could get away from Skyler, that was.

Lord only knew when
that
would be.

She'd gone back to his apartment with him the night before, after they'd run into Megan. They had ordered Chinese food and rented
The Wild One
. It had been a mad Brando fest. They had read their fortunes aloud, adding the hilarious clause “in bed” to the platitudes. “Always be flexible … in bed.” “Fortune will smile upon you … in bed.” A laff riot. Gaia had acted docile, pleasant, and nauseatingly grateful to be in the presence of Skyler and his overwhelming generosity. She hadn't bothered to ask where the heck his roommate was or why said roommate was never,
ever
home when Gaia came over.

When it came time to go to bed, Skyler tucked Gaia into his own bed, firmly insisting that he was going to take the couch. Except for a back rub that lingered just a beat too long, he had been a perfect gentleman.

Gaia was sick of it.

Skyler had disappeared this morning on a quest for “the best bagel on campus,” and Gaia had encouraged him along on his sojourn. She needed some time alone to clear her head. Checking her e-mail, connecting with the outside world … that was just the first step.

She was in her enemy's lair. Alone.

This was an unparalleled opportunity.

If Skyler was a threat to her, she knew—if he was an enemy worth his salt, there wouldn't be much to find in his apartment. Otherwise he'd certainly never have left her there, unguarded.

But that didn't mean she couldn't do a little digging.

THINK
, GAIA COMMANDED HERSELF.
And think fast. Opportunities don't get much more golden than this
.

Effects of
She scanned the perimeter of Skyler's apartment from her perch at his desk in the common area. She always marveled at how stylish it was for a college student's living space. The hightech furniture, the unexpected details, like the heated towel racks and the Japanese screen surrounding his bed. And then there was the magazine collection perfectly fanned out on the coffee table. Nothing unusual there…

Not that Gaia had expected Skyler to leave a file folder labeled TOP SECRET: KEEP OUT sitting on the kitchen countertop or anything. But it would have helped.

The bathroom
. You could learn a lot about someone
based on what they kept in their medicine cabinet, Gaia knew.

Skyler's cabinet was an odd juxtaposition of moldy toothbrushes, crusty tubes of toothpaste, and upscale grooming products from places like Kiehl's. Either Skyler and his roommate were total opposites when it came to hygiene, or one of them had a serious case of split personality. Either way, Skyler's/his roommate's apparent predilection for “short and sexy molding creme for hair” wasn't all that useful.

The drawer underneath the sink yielded a driedout bottle of Los Angeles Latte nail polish by OPI. Gaia speculated as to what manicure-prone lady friend had left it behind.

Damn it!
The bathroom was a bust, and Gaia had no idea how soon Skyler would be back. How long could it take to get bagels? Sure, half of the city was probably standing on line at H&H right now, which could mean a lengthy wait, but still … did she want to risk getting walked in on?

Her curiosity got the best of her. Gaia tentatively stepped toward Skyler's roommate's bedroom. She pushed the door open slowly, wincing a bit as the hinges creaked.

Skyler's roommate, provided that he did exist, was essentially a Spartan. The room was all but unfurnished. Pushed toward the far corner was a sad little single bed, made, but with basic army-navy variety
wool blankets. Next to the bed sat a dresser that appeared to also function as a nightstand, despite being too tall to serve the task properly. And pushed against the wall next to the open door was a desk.