In Too Deep (19 page)

1.
Abe had deep hatred/resentment for Travis. Why do you think he did?

2.
Although he didn't agree with Travis's lifestyle, Randy never disowned him. Would you have done the same with your own brother, sister, son or daughter?

3.
Why do you think Travis put up with Brian's abuse? Was he truly in love with him?

4.
Taki had issues with her husband Whilice . . . were they warranted?

5.
Did Abe get what he deserved in the end?

6.
Did Tina truly want to be a “family” with Randy?

7.
Was Abe wrong for cheating on Nakyia? Or was there room for justification considering her affliction?

8.
Monique truly loved Randy. Did she put up with too much, for too long? Would you have given up on the relationship?

9.
Do you think Abe and Randy will ever be close again?

10.
What—if anything—do you think Abe learned from Travis' death?

“A
mado Mio.”

Playing from my iPod in the living room.

“Amado Mio” by Pink Martini.

I leaned my head back. Listened to the melody. Felt my skin tingle. The breakdown was coming. My skin always tingled when it did.

“Amado Mio.”

Like sex, the song was that good. That sexy. That intense. That powerful. If there were a movie about me, this would be my theme song.

I closed my eyes.

Breathed slowly.

Ran my hands up my thighs, past my stomach, over my erect nipples, to my neck, then back down again.

I was wet from the hot water covering me. I was dripping from the melodic orgasm Pink Martini and their groove had caused. Every woman needs to own a copy of this song.

It was the perfect size. The prefect width. The perfect stroke.

To hell with a dick. Just put this song on repeat.

Ringing.

There was no ringing in the song.

I opened my eyes and looked over to my right. My BlackBerry was on the rim of my tub, ringing softly, the volume set at level two. I sighed. I was in mid-stroke, nearing self-fulfilled ecstasy. I should have turned the damn thing off.

I reached over and grabbed it with my fingers wet from the water and my pussy. A Friday night, nearing nine-thirty. Aida followed the rules. Only one other person who didn't.

I connected the call and placed the BlackBerry against my ear. “Marlene.”

“We have a potential client.”

I exhaled. “It's Friday night, Marlene.”

“I know I'm not supposed to call.”

“Yet you did.”

“I'm sorry, but—”

“Friday nights are off limits.”

Marlene sighed apologetically. I could see her running her hands through her hair. She said, “I know. I tried not to call, but she sounds desperate. She wants to know if you'll help her tonight.”

In the background, “Amado Mio” had finished and was restarting. I'd heard the song thousands of times, but each time was like hearing it for the first time. I hated missing any of the song. “Give it to Aida.”

“You've given the last three clients to her.”

“And she's done well with them.”

“It's been four months since you've taken a client on.”

“And?”

“Lisette . . .” Marlene paused momentarily. I could tell she was trying to choose her words carefully. “I know I've asked you this before, but are you sure you're all right? Believe me, you are the strongest person I know, but after everything you went through with Kyra . . . I would understand if you were a bit scared.”

I closed my eyes and shook my head.

That name.

Kyra.

Almost a year ago, she'd taken me to the edge. She thought she'd been on my level. Thought she'd been better than me.

She'd been wrong.

But she had taken me to the edge.

She'd caused things to happen. Things that kept me from getting a full night's sleep. Things that had me on edge. Things that had indeed scarred me. Of course, I would never admit it to anyone. Marlene had seen me at my weakest point and that would be all she would ever see.

I said, “I'm fine.”

“Lisette . . . I know you don't like to admit it, but you are human.”

“I'm fine,” I said again.

Marlene wouldn't let up. “She had you beaten and raped. I don't know anyone who can go through that and remain unscathed.”

“I said I'm fine, Marlene.”

“Then why haven't you taken on any clients, Lisette?”

I clenched my jaw.

Two years ago, I became a home wrecker: a woman hired by wives to “ruin” their marriages. They sought my services for various reasons. Some were women who'd become fed up with their husbands' infidelity. They wanted evidence to use against them to help garner the best payoff possible. Some women were victims of emotional, physical, or verbal abuse who felt trapped and saw my “expertise” as a means of escape. Other women weren't seeking an escape or a big payday. They just wanted leverage. Something to hold over their husbands' heads so that they could do whatever the hell they wanted to do. Pictures, videos, sometimes the satisfaction of walking in and seeing their cheating bastards in compromising situations—whatever they wanted, I provided.

Marlene had been my first client. A fear of scrutiny from her friends and family kept her hostage in a marriage to a pathetic asshole. I gave Marlene the same thing I gave my clients after her—the very thing that I got off on.

Control.

Marlene and all of the other clients had none. That meant they had no power. I'd learned a long time ago that life without control wasn't life at all. Life without control was death. Life without control just didn't make any sense to me. Before I helped her, Marlene was weak. She changed when she got control back.

Kyra had managed to take my control away from me. She'd managed to render me powerless. Although I'd never told her directly, Marlene's newfound strength had been what pulled me away from the edge of insanity I'd been teetering on. Before my services, Marlene had been an acquaintance. Now . . . she was a friend—my only real friend—and despite the fact that I never called her that, she knew it, and I appreciated her for that.

“For the last time . . . I'm fine,” I said. “I haven't been in the mood to take on any clients.”

“Lisette—”

“Give the client to Aida.”

Marlene was silent for a moment before sighing and saying, “OK.”

“I'm going to go back and enjoy my Friday night now.”

“Are you listening to your song again?”

“Of course.”

“Can I ask you something?”

I pressed down on my eyeballs with the middle finger and thumb of my free hand. I exhaled. “What?”

“That song . . . it's about love. Why do you like it so much?”

I opened my eyes and looked toward the living room. The breakdown in the song was coming again.

It was a valid question.

I didn't believe in any of the song's lyrics, yet the song resonated and stoked a fire inside of me more than anything else had. It didn't make sense.

“I don't know, Marlene,” I said. “I just do.”

“Love is possible, Lisette. I know you're jaded and don't believe in it, but it is possible. Trust me, after all of the bullshit with Steve, I was prepared to swear off of it forever too, but just when I was ready to do that, Michael came into my life.”

I groaned. I really didn't want to hear any of her sappy shit.

“Marlene . . .”

“I'm just saying, Lisette, what you do . . . the men you trap . . . not all of them are assholes. There are some decent ones out there. As much as you think there not, if you try to leave your door cracked open just a little bit, you'll see the right guy can come along and it could be a beautiful thing.”

I clenched my jaw. Friend or not, I'd had enough. I said, “I don't do love, Marlene,” and then I ended the call and turned my BlackBerry off. “Shit.”

The bath water had grown tepid. I'd missed another replay of “Amado Mio.”

I was irritated.

I turned the hot water faucet on, leaned my head back, closed my eyes, and put my focus back on the song that had no real relevance in my life. At least not in my current one.

“Amado Mio.”

A song about being in love forever.

I breathed.

Listened to the song.

And as hard as I tried not to, I went back to a time I'd let go of a long time ago.