The Cost of Vengeance (16 page)

“Tell me about this opportunity, Mr. Black?”

“Before I do that, I need to talk to some people. But in the meantime, anything that I can ever do for you, all you have to do is ask and consider it done.”

“Are you saying that you’d do anything for me, Mr. Black?”

“You’re a very intelligent woman Ms. West, so I think you understand what I mean.”

“I do,” I smiled and he returned my smile. “I just wanted to hear you say it.”

“Okay. I would do anything for you, Ms. West. And all I’ll ask in return is that you look at me with those beautiful eyes and say ‘thank you’ with those lips,” he said, and I was done for the evening.

For the rest of the meal and over drinks afterwards, Mr. Black and I talked and flirted. There was a part of me that wanted to say, “What I really want is for you to make love to me tonight.”

But two things prevented that.

One: I didn’t want to hear him say, “No, I have a plane to catch.”

And the other, the stronger reason: was that he had made me feel like wanted me the way I wanted him. So if that was the case, I wanted him to take his time and make love to me.

Not fuck me like he had a plane to catch.

At about eight thirty, Mr. Black glanced at his watch and said that he had to go. I signed for the waiter. Mr. Black, as a gentleman should, insisted over my objections that he pay the check. Mr. Black stood up and came around to pull out my chair. I extended my hand and he helped me up. I looped my arm in his and gently rested my head on his shoulder as we walked out. We shared a cab in silence for the ride to my apartment. He asked the driver to wait while in escorted me to my door. “Thank you for a lovely evening, Mr. Black.”

“It was my pleasure, Ms. West. We have to do this again, next time I’m in town.”

“I’d like that,” I said. “And I’ll be looking forward to hearing about this opportunity.”

“Good night, Ms. West,” he said with a polite hug and another kiss on the cheek.

“Good night, Mr. Black. Have a safe trip,” I said, and once again watched Mr. Black walk away from me. But this time, I knew he’d be back.

I am alone.

Alone everyday on this island. I really don’t know how long I’ve been here, because I stopped counting. But I know it’s been years. I still think about the night that they took me: I was watching television and looked up and there he was, standing in my living room with that smile on his face. I tried to get away, but he was too fast for me. He put something over my mouth and the next thing I knew, I woke up chained to this bed.

For the longest time, they would come in here everyday and spend hours asking me about some papers that they say I’d read. I kept telling them that I only had a chance to glance at them before the man came back to get them. Back then, I used to hope that they would realize that I didn’t know anything and let me go. I would spend all day in this room, chained to the bed. They let me get up twice a day to eat and use the bathroom, then they’d chain me to the bed and leave.

Then one day, instead of chaining me to the bed after I ate, they just walked out and left the door open. I got up and followed them out of the house. I hadn’t been outside in so long, that it took a while for my eyes to adjust to the sun. By the time my eyes focused, they were on a speedboat and they’d left me there.

After that, I began walking. I didn’t know where I was exactly, but I had always thought I was in Freeport. I would eventually get to someplace or find somebody to help me. So I walked. It didn’t take long for me to realize that I was on a very small island and there was nothing there but that one house. So I went back to the house, thinking that they had finally realized that I had no idea what they were talking about, and they had no further use for me. They had left me there to die. That’s when I saw the stack of books on the table in the kitchen. I went to the refrigerator and found it full of food. “At least I won’t starve to death,” I said to know one. I didn’t know if they would be back, so I resolved to make the food last.

I spend my days walking the island, thinking about the life I once had and my family, and reading the books they had left for me. When the food was running low, I began thinking that I would have to start surviving on coconuts like Robinson Crusoe. I woke up the next morning and found the refrigerator had been restocked, and a fresh supply of books had been left me for while I slept.

At this point, after all this time, I’ve accepted my fate. Alone on this island, cut off from the world I used to know. Separated from my family. It was bearable when they first took me, because some woman would come to see me and she would bring my baby with her. But that ended the first time she called me momma. After that she stopped coming. That made sense though. Once she started talking, she would surely tell her father and he would come rescue me, like he always does.

But he’s not looking for me—because he thinks I’m dead.