Blow Your Mind by Eric Pete Page A

spring collection or something? Is that your idea of stress? The mayor will be appointing me as chair on his inner-city development committee next week. I’m supposed to come up with a plan for Hunter’s Green . . . without bulldozing the hellhole. Now, that’s stress.”
     
    My cell rang in my purse, stopping me from being less prudent with my comeback. I decided to answer it and use that time to cool down.
     
    “Hey, girl,” Rory said. “Sorry I missed your call earlier. Issues with Morris’s father. Your message said you were at the doctor. Everything okay?”
     
    “Yeah. It was nothing. Thanks for calling me. Look, I’m going to call you tomorrow. I’m at dinner right now.”
     
    “Out? Like in a restaurant?”
     
    “Yes. Me and Tanner.”
     
    “About time Mr. Clucker got with the program. Wine and dine and maybe a sixty-nine. Something I swear by.”
     
    I laughed. “Good night. I’ll talk to you later.” As I hung up, I accidentally hit the wrong button. It showed recent calls, many I didn’t recognize. They’d been blocked with a *67 too, so my number wouldn’t be identified. I dropped my cell back in my purse, too weary to worry about it now.
     
    “Rory?” Tanner asked, already knowing the answer. I smiled and nodded. “At least the whore gives you a lift.”
     
    “Tanner, I’ve told you how I feel about the name-calling. And just what’s that supposed to mean, anyway?”
     
    “Nothing. I’m just ticked that she can bring the most energy out of you that I’ve seen in days. Just thought we could go out after this . . . see the sights. But sleep is all that’s on your mind.”
     
    I sighed. He didn’t mean the riverfront or Cray Gardens. Visits to the spot he had in mind always left me feeling dirty. “How about next week?” I feebly offered.
     
    “Can’t. I’ll be busy with the committee you just ignored. Remember?”
     
    “I guess I’ll have to make it up to you.” I did my best to project enthusiasm, although I was never good at faking it. In order to fully please him, I almost had to become another person.
     
    “Uh-huh,” he grunted as he looked at our entrées being brought over.
     
    Although the rest of our meal was delicious, the conversation was limited. Stunted , perhaps, was a better word.
     
    At least I’d be taking my sleep aid on a full stomach.
     

16
     
    PUMPKIN
     
    “ I ’m here,” I spoke into the receiver.
     
    As I exited the cab at the Radisson, I admired the new Motorola cell phone I’d purchased. The custom color matched my eyes perfectly. Bianca’s old Nokia lacked a sense of style, just like her. At least with the money I now had, I would no longer have to use hers.
     
    After tipping the cabdriver, I tightened the trench coat I was wearing.
     
    Cold night tonight.
     
    And I’m the coldest , I whimsically thought from behind my designer shades as my stilettos one-two-stepped into the lobby.
     
    The atrium was bisected by trails of guests returning from their evenings. It was that time for most. Drunken conventioneers, shuffling back to their beds with incredible tales of things terribly un-incredible. I stood in their midst, a rock dropped in the middle of swarming ants, parting the wave as I looked and waited.
     
    Two characters looked out of place in the lobby— more Holiday Inn or Motel 6 types, if you asked me. The big black one looked like he had asthma . . . I could imagine an inhaler strapped inside his black leather jacket where a gun would probably go. The pale one looked to be Spanish or something, with a dash of el negro thrown in. Even though they huddled close, looking shifty, I didn’t figure them to be gay. They were waiting for someone too.
     
    It had better not be Henry , I thought. I started to call him, tell him I’d meet him in back or something.
     
    But he was already emerging from the hallway elevator. A dark Italian suit was his choice for the night . . . my suggestion. He probably had to sneak back