Three the Hard Way: A Play in Two Acts (26 page)

"I’m fat," I said, wanting to hear him convince me that I wasn’t. And to hear him tell me that I was beautiful again. Which he did.

"You’re not fat, Carla. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met."

I took a sip of my wine, "Stop it. You’re making me blush."

"Smile for me, Carla. You have such a beautiful smile. I think I could spend a lifetime looking at you smile."

I smiled. "Thank you," was all the response I could muster.

We spent the rest of the night talking; both in and out of the Jacuzzi. When the water got cold we refilled it once. The second time we talked until the water turned cold, and got out. We dried ourselves off and I started to get back in the bed, but Zavier walked outside and sat down in one of the chairs on the deck. Naked. This time there was no hesitation, the sheet was wrapped around me like a toga.

We spent over an hour out there talking and when I said I was cold, we came back inside and laid across the bed and we talked some more. Zavier was the most fascinating man I had ever met. He had done things and been places that I had only dreamt about. He seemed to be able to speak intelligently about anything.

Zavier had a philosophy about life that gave me reason to question my world and my very existence. He said, "Life is about risk, Carla. Some people choose to look at the risk in every opportunity. I choose to look at the opportunity in every risk. Remember, you will never steal second base if you never take your foot off first base. You have to step out there."

Until now, I have always chosen to play it safe. Take the same road that everyone else was taking, instead of the road less traveled. Just like he said, I am one of the people who agonize over the risk in every situation, instead of looking at the opportunity and the gain that may come from it. I silently vowed not to let that happen again.

The following morning we got up too late to eat breakfast in the dining room and too early for lunch. Or at least that’s what I thought. Zavier charmed the dining room staff into cooking breakfast just for us. He has such a way with people, especially the women. Oh, did I forget to mention that the entire dining room staff, or least the ones that I saw, were all women.

After breakfast we walked around the grounds and took a hike through the mountains on a well-marked trail. When Zavier headed off the path saying he, "felt the need to explore," I didn’t hesitate, at least not openly. We made love when we got back to the cabin and for just about the rest of the weekend. We did sleep in between, and even though we slept through dinner, neither one of us seemed to care. It was wonderful.

Late Sunday night, the limo drove us back to the airport. We said our good-byes and then sadly, Zavier was gone. The workweek was the same as the last. Every morning my arrival was met by flowers. The only difference was I gave Zavier my work number, my home number, and my cell phone number . I even gave him Shika’s phone number, and felt stupid after I did it. He also gave me his number, which by the way, he never answered, but always managed to call me right back. We talked everyday while I was at work, and every night well into the morning hours. One night we even had phone sex. I came so hard to the sound of his voice. On Thursday night he told me that he would be in town again that weekend, but he would be working and didn’t know if he would have very much time to spend with me. I told him not to worry. "The quality, not the quantity of the time was what was important."

Part V

I got off from work early Friday afternoon. It had been a particularly frustrating week and I just wasn’t feelin’ bein’ there, so I went home. I changed into something more comfortable: big shirt and sweats, and relaxed. As soon as I got comfortable the doorbell rang.

Zavier!
Was my first thought as I swung the door open. Imagine my disappointment when two white men in cheap suits stood before me.

"We are looking for Carla Edwards," one said. He was fat, balding and spoke with just a bit of an accent. The other one was tall with a thin mustache.

"I’m Carla Edwards."

"We are the police," he said, and both of them quickly held up there wallets. "Can we come in?"

"What’s this about?" I asked, scared shitless.

"Do you know this man?" he said holding up a picture of Zavier.

My first instinct was to say no, I’ve never seen that man in my life, and close the door in his face. "Yes."

"Do you know where we can find him?"

"No."

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"Sunday."

"Do you plan to see him anytime soon?"

"What’s this about?" I asked.

"He’s a very dangerous man, Ms. Edwards. We need to find him. Do you know where he is or where he lives?"

"No. Like I said, I haven’t seen him since Sunday."

He handed me a card, "If you should see him again, please call me. Your life and freedom may depend on it." And with that, they turned and walked anyway.

I closed the door as they walked away. I leaned against the door to catch my breath. How could I have been so stupid, so naïve, so trusting? What had I gotten myself into? Who have I gotten myself involved with? I didn’t even know this man and now the police were at my house, telling me that my life and freedom may depend on it.

I finally caught my breath and was able to walk into the living room, and sat down on the couch. I didn’t sit there long. I needed a drink. And not no damn glass of wine. There was a bottle of Absolute vodka in the refrigerator and that’s where I was heading. I got a glass out of the cabinet and went to get some ice. I opened the freezer and the cold air made my head spin as those questions swirled around in my mind.
What had I gotten myself into? Who have I gotten myself involved with? Was he really the wrong man?

Even though we talked just about the entire weekend at the cabin and everyday this week, I still hadn’t gotten around to asking any of the questions I had about Zavier. Little things like, who he was, where he lived, what did he do for a living? How about, do you have a criminal record? "Yeah, Carla, why didn’t you ask that?" I poured the vodka then searched in vain for something to mix it with. I decided to drink it straight. I made my way back to the couch. I can’t tell you how long I’d sat there when the doorbell rang again.

They’re back.

"What now?" I said to nobody and went to open the door. I swung the door open. "I told you I don’t know anything!" I shouted.

"Anything about what, Carla?" It was Zavier.

I fell into his arms. "Zavier." Then I quickly pushed myself away. "Who are you? What have you gotten me involved in?"

"Hold up a minute, Carla. Slow down," he said calmly. "Can I come in?"

I stepped away from the door and allowed Zavier to come in. I don’t know why. I went back to the couch thinking that I should have slammed the door in his face and yelled that I never wanted to see him again. Then I should call the police and tell them that he was just here. After all, my life and freedom depended on it. I turned around to tell him to get out. I looked into Zavier’s peaceful eyes.

"What’s the matter, Carla?" I heard the soothing sound of his voice ask. Suddenly, I began to think that even if I didn’t know him, he did deserve the benefit of doubt. A chance to explain himself. Maybe it was just a misunderstanding and the police, being the assholes that they sometimes are, were just trying to scare me.

Which they did.

"Sit down, Carla. Tell me what’s wrong."

"The police were just here."

"What did they want?"

"You."

"Me?" Zavier questioned, his face a contorted mask of disbelief. "What would the police be doing here looking for me?"

"I don’t know, Zavier. I was hoping you would tell me why my life and freedom may depend on me calling them if I saw you."

"Did they really say that?" he smiled playfully.

"Yes. And in case you haven’t noticed, this is not funny to me." His nonchalant attitude was starting to get on my nerves. And they were already bad at this point.

"I’m sorry, Carla, but you gotta admit, that does sound a little funny."

If I choose at this point to be honest, it did sound like something out of a movie. "You still haven’t answered my question. What have you gotten me involved in?"

"Carla, I swear, I don’t know why the police would come here looking for me."

That’s when I saw the blood on his jacket. "You’re bleeding."

"It’s nothing. Just a flesh wound."

"Have you been shot?"

"I told you it’s nothing."

"Take off that jacket, let me see." I anxiously began pulling on his jacket.

"Ouch. Take it easy."

"Sorry." Once I got the jacket off, I could see the left side of his shirt was red. He had wrapped his tie around it to stop the bleeding.

"See it’s nothing."

"Nothing!" I said, much louder than I needed to. "Zavier, you’ve been shot. You have to go to the hospital and get that taken care of."

"No. I’ll be all right."

I picked up the phone and began to dial a number.

"Who are you calling?"

"My girl friend Toshika, she’s a nurse."

"No, Carla. I’ll be all right. I just came here to clean up a little and then I have to go."

"No, Zavier. I’m going to call Toshika and you’re going to get that looked at. And then you’re going to tell me what this is all about. And don’t give me that shit about you not knowing what this is about." I received no further protest from Zavier.

After asking fifty questions that I couldn’t and wouldn’t answer, especially not over the phone,
it may have been bugged, you never how
, Toshika came over and dressed Zavier’s wound. While she was there, she didn’t ask a single question, like how he got shot. She simply cleaned and dressed his wound. Laughing and talking with Zavier as if they were the best of friends. I busied myself by washing the blood out of Zavier’s shirt. Before she left she tried to reassure me by saying, "It’s just a flesh wound, Carla. The bullet just broke the flesh and bounced off his rib cage. He’s lost some blood and should rest for a while." Then she turned to Zavier. "You may have some pain for the next day or two, but you should be fine. It was nice meeting you."

"It was nice meeting you too, Toshika. I know we’ll see each other again soon."

When I walked Shika to the door, her entire demeanor changed. "Call me, girl," she whispered.

I returned to the living room just as Zavier was coming toward me putting on his shirt. "I like her. She seems nice."

"Yeah, yeah, she’s a wonderful person and a good friend. Now, where do you think you’re going?"

"I’ve imposed on you enough for one day, but there is one more thing you can do for me."

"Not so fast. You need to tell me what is going on."

"Okay, Carla," Zavier said and reclaimed his spot on the couch. "What do you want to know?"

"I don’t know, Zavier. Zavier—is that even your real name?"

"That’s not fair, Carla. I may not have told you anything about me, but I never lied to you."

"My bad. But under the circumstances I’m sure you’ll allow me a little understanding here. So, let me rephrase the question. What do you do when you’re traveling, Zavier?"