Kiss the Girl (2 page)

“
Karl
,
what
?
”  This was the man who’d unflinchingly delivered every piece of bad news in her life, from boarding school
to her father’s death
.
The fact that he hesitated told her it was beyond bad.  “
Did the
clinic
burn down while I was away?  Did
M
om drop the f-bomb on a live
mic
again
?”

“No, nothing like that.”  Karl patted Nixie’s knee with one of those big, avuncular paws.  He put his hand back on the wheel and stared straight out the windshield
while they rocketed past a
collection of slip-shod huts and plywood b
uildings on the outskirts of town
. 
“It’
s about
James
,
”
he finally said.

Nixie sighed
,
both relieved and resigned
.  “You know already?”
she asked.

“
You
know?”

“That
my boyfriend
is a faithless bastard?  Yeah, I know.”  Nixie’s hands fisted between her knees and she stared out the window at the tents and shacks zipping by
, built
closer and closer together as they approached city center
.
  “Don’t worry about it, okay?  I’ll take care of it.  I have a plan.”

Karl slowed in deference to foot traffic and the occasional chicken but his volume went the other direction. 
“Don’t worry about it? 
Don’t
worry
about it?  How
can I not worry about it?
It’s my job to worry about this shit
, Nixie.” 
He shifted his bulk,
rolling up onto
one cheek so he could fish out his bandana again.  He mopped his crown and said, “Jesus.  What a day.  And what’s this about a plan?”

Nixie smiled.  She felt evil, and she kind of liked it.  She never got to be
evil. 
“
I found a pair of
panties
--
not mine
--
in my pocket this morning
,” she said.  “In
James
’s pocket, really.  I must’ve accidentally packed his shorts instead of mine.  Anyway, you can imagine my surprise.”

“Nice.” 
Karl threaded the Land Rover through what passed for rush hour traffic in rural Kenya.  Mostly goats and kids.  He shot her a look, then boomed, “
Jesus, y
ou fit into
your boyfriend’s
shorts
?”

“I’m tall.” 
Nixie shrugged. 
“Still,
I
probably
should’ve listened to Mom.  She always says, i
f he
fits
in
your pants, he shouldn’t
get
in
your pants.  Who would have thought I’d ever look back on my dating life and wish I’
d paid more attention to Sloan Leighton
?”

Karl’s mouth was a grim line inside h
is silver-streaked beard as he parked
outside the abandoned Red Cross building Nixie had co-opted as project HQ.

“Ironic,” he said.  “Now about this plan?”

“The press is going to eat this up
, you know
.
  They love messy break ups.
 
People will be wearing t-shirts taking sides
.  I’m going to have to turn the other cheek in public.  A lot.”

Karl nodded tersely.  “I know, Nixie.  I’m sorry.”

He cut the engine and Nixie leapt onto the hard-baked earth, slamming the door behind her like a rifle-shot.  She stalked through the
corrugated tin
doors
of the white stucco building
, Karl huffing at
her heels. 

A handful of journalists were gathered in the foyer, leaning on the front desk, telling each other lies and smoking.  It was a nice assortment, Nixie noted with satisfaction as she
mowed a path
through them without so much as a greeting. 

They lifted their heads
, sniffed the air
, and
came to attention
with the collective intelligence of their species
.
  Nixie
had
been raised in front of a camera lens.  She knew these men and women by name, asked after their kids, their spouses, their pets.  She respected their work,
and
understood that without them she didn’t have a job.  She never failed to greet them, or stop for a picture or a quote.  Her failure to do so now was tantamount to running a red flag up the pole and announcing, “I am bent on homicide.  Be ready with the cameras.”

Nixie knew exactly what she was doing.

“Don’
t be sorry for me, Karl,” she said.  She didn’t have
to look behind her to know
she was now leading a small parade.
 
“
Before I start turning the other cheek, I’m going to make sure Team Nixie has adequate ammo.”

“Oh
God
.”  Karl broke into a trot as Nixie took the stair
s
two at a time toward the
living quarters
on the second floor
.  The journalists fumbled for notebooks, cell phones, cameras, anything that would record the delicious disaster Nixie was about to serve up.

As she barreled down the narrow, dimly lit hall, a savage joy welled up in Nixie.  She was too honest with herself to believe she was
heart broken
.  She
hadn’
t loved
James
, but she
had
expected him to be faithful.  If she had to live through the public humiliation of his
infidelity
--
and she would;
some secrets never kept
--
at least she could strike the first blow.  In the endless retellings of the Nixie-
James
break-up the press was sure to provide in the coming months, there would be irrefutable proof t
hat she’d been the one to end the relationship
. 
She’d make sure of it. 
She was about to toss
his cheating ass out
in front of
a dozen
witnesses with cameras and a direct line to public opinion
. 

She paused outside the room she’d shared with
James
these past months
and Karl caught her elbow.  “Nixie, Jesus,
slow down and think! 
James is
a shit, I know, but he’s a well-connected shit.  His father’s about to run for president, for Christ’s sake.  You do this, and Team
James
is going to come back at you with some serious firepower. 
A
re you sure
you want to do
this?” 

She just smiled
at the j
ournalist
s
hovering
behind him like vultures waiting for the lions to clear out.  “G
et ready with those cameras, kid
s.”

“
James
!” she shouted
through the door
.  “
Get out here! 
I want to talk to you, you lying
sack of
...”

She threw the door open, and th
e words died in her throat
.  S
he stared in paralyzed horror at the bed.  At
James
’s naked ass, specifically, as it diligently humped some faceless woman in a similar state of undress. 
The woman’s moans
crescendoed
toward triumph, but Nixie wa
s stuck on her legs.  Long, toned and golden
, they poked
out
of the tangled sheets on
either side of
James’
busy butt
,
feet to the ceiling,
bouncing to the beat of the bedsprings. 

Nixie’s
vision wavered and grayed, and she sucked at the thin air.
  She knew those legs.  Everybody knew those legs.  They were famous.  Legendary.  Insured in the mid-seven figures
each
. 

“Mom?”

James
’s butt
lunged heroically once more, shuddered, then
went still
.  He groaned and dropped
his head to the pillow,
giving the room a clear view of her mother’s equally famous
face
--
her
head
thrown back on a cloud of
amber curls,
her
full lips parted in ecstasy,
her
eyes
squeezed
shut as she milked the moment for
every ounce of pleasure
.
  The cameras clicked and whirred like a plague of locusts at Nixie’s back
, the
strobing
flashes burning
into Nixie’s brain forever
the image of her mother’
s
airborne
feet, flexed and striving
,
as she finished up
what must have been
one
humdinger
of an orgasm
.

“Well, Nixie?” Karl said
, resigned
.  “I assume you wanted to say something?”

Nixie’s throat worked, her mouth opened, but no words presented themselves.  She th
ought about the past twenty-eight
years, the entirety of her life, spent trailing after her gorgeous, needy mother.  Her childhood washed pale with the explosion
of flashbulbs, overlaid with
shouting paparazzi.  Board
ing
schools
interspliced
with refugee camps, Red Cross outposts,
and
war zone after war zone.  Her mother always holding an orphan
, a victim, a widow
while her father, then later Karl, held her.
Then
nobody holding her.  Just her holding a clipboard while she slowly learned to run the show that revolved around Sloan
Leighton
and her fame.