Chapter 17
Noah was reviewing the company’s most recent shipping invoices when his wife stormed into his office and slammed the door behind her, stunning his secretary.
She tossed her handbag and damp raincoat into the nearest chair and strode to the edge of his desk. She’d been testy and despondent since her return from Georgia last evening, but she had never looked better. Today she was dressed in a suit tailored for office wear, but it was a form-fitting one he’d always admired. Time spent on the beach had put some color in her cheeks and stripped it from her hair. Sun-bleached strands framed her face, giving her a youthful, healthy appearance.
Her expression, however, wasn’t sunny.
“Hello, Maris. How was your lunch?”
“I was just introduced to WorldView’s whiz kid, Morris Blume. He told me to give you his regards.”
Goddamn Nadia! he thought. Why hadn’t she called to warn him of this? Then he remembered: He had given Cindy strict instructions to hold his calls until after he’d had time to review the financial statements stacked on his desk—ironically because of WorldView. He’d been going over the charts and columns entry by entry, becoming intimately familiar with them, seeking potential trouble spots which might cause Blume and company concern. Should they pose any questions, Noah wanted to have an explanation ready.
Remaining as unflappable as possible, he said, “How nice of Mr. Blume to remember me.”
“Apparently it wasn’t that much of a stretch for him, Noah, given you two had a recent meeting.” She braced herself on his desk with stiff arms and leaned toward him, her eyes flashing. “What meeting is he talking about, Noah? And why wasn’t I informed of it? What meeting?”
He stood up and came around the desk. “Maris, kindly calm down.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down.”
“All right, then, I’m asking you to. Please.”
He reached out to take her by the shoulders, but she backed away and slung off his extended hands.
“Would you like a glass of water?”
“I would like an explanation,” she said, enunciating each word. “You know how Dad and I feel about conglomerates like WorldView.”
“I share your opinion.” He hiked his hip over the corner of his desk and placidly folded his hands on his thigh, although he would have liked to wrap them around her slender neck. “That’s why I agreed to the meeting with WorldView.”
She shook her head in disbelief, as though up until that time she had been clinging to the hope that Blume was lying. “You met with those jackals? You actually did? Behind my back and without my knowledge?”
Noah sighed and gave her a pained look. “Yes, I met with them. But before you go into orbit, can you be reasonable and give me an opportunity to explain?” He took her fuming silence for permission to continue.
“Blume’s flunkies had been hounding me for months. They called until I stopped taking or returning their calls. With no regard for that blatant hint, they began faxing me until I got tired of throwing the damn things away.
“They made nuisances of themselves until I determined that the most expedient way to handle the situation was to attend a meeting and tell Blume to his baby’s-ass face that we were not interested in anything he had to offer by way of a merger. Period. End of discussion. I don’t think I could have made our position any clearer. I didn’t tell you about it because you were extremely busy and didn’t need any additional stress.”
“I’m always busy.”
“The meeting was inconsequential.”
“I hardly think so.”
“And, frankly,” he said, “I anticipated that you would react emotionally rather than rationally. I predicted that you would fly off the handle and lose all perspective. I hoped to avoid a scene such as this.”
“This isn’t a scene, Noah. This is a private conversation between husband and wife, between business partners. Two relationships that should come with an implied trust.”
“Exactly,” he said, raising his voice to match the level of hers. “Which is why I’m amazed, both as your husband and your business partner, by your apparent lack of trust in me.”
“Chalk it up to my reacting emotionally, flying off the handle, and going into orbit!”
“Which are fair analogies, Maris. You came barging in here and practically accused me of treason against Matherly Press.”
“At the very least you consorted with the enemy!”
A knock on the door brought them around. Daniel was standing on the threshold, leaning heavily on his cane. “I’m exercising one privilege of old age, which is to intrude when uninvited.”
Noah shot his cuffs. “Of course you’re welcome, Daniel. Maris has just returned from lunch. We were having a discussion about—”
“I heard. From all the way down the hall.” Daniel came in and closed the door. “Maris is upset about the meeting you had with WorldView.”
She reacted with a start. “You knew about it?”
“Noah told me of his decision to meet with them. I thought it was a sound idea and was glad he was going instead of me. I don’t think I could have stomached it.”
“Why wasn’t I informed?”
She addressed the question to both of them, but Noah answered. “You were leaving for Georgia. Daniel and I could see how excited you were about this project and were afraid that if you knew about WorldView you’d change your plans. There was no reason to bother you with it.”
“I’m not a child.” She glowered at him, then at Daniel.
“We made a mistake in judgment,” Daniel conceded. “It wasn’t our intention to slight you.”
“I don’t feel slighted, I feel babied. I don’t need protection, Dad. Or coddling. Or special favors. When it comes to business, I’m not a daughter or a wife, I’m an officer of this corporation.
“I should have been consulted on something this major, I don’t care how busy I was or what my travel plans were. You were remiss and just plain wrong to exclude me from those discussions. I’m also mad as hell at both of you for letting me be made a fool of in front of Morris Blume and Nadia Schuller.”
“I apologize,” Daniel said.
“So do I,” Noah echoed. “I’m terribly sorry that you were embarrassed today at lunch. I take full responsibility for that.”
She didn’t verbally accept their apologies, but Daniel took her silence as a tacit pardon. “Are we still on for dinner tonight? Maxine’s making pot roast.”
“We’ll see you at seven,” Noah confirmed. Daniel split an uneasy glance between them and then left them alone.
Maris went to the window and turned her back to the room. Noah remained where he was, still perched on the corner of his desk. Several minutes passed before she spoke. “I’m sorry I lost my temper.”
“It hasn’t been that long ago that I told you how beautiful you are when you’re angry.”
She came around quickly and angrily. “Don’t patronize me, Noah.”
“Don’t be so goddamn sensitive,” he snapped.
“I resent belittling, sexist remarks like that.”
“That’s a sexist remark? Can’t I pay you a compliment without your reading something into it?”
“Not when we’re fighting.”
It was upsetting, and a little alarming, that his charm seemed to have lost some of its effectiveness. “What’s with you, Maris? Since you got back yesterday, you’ve been as prickly as a porcupine. If working on this project,” he said, slinging out his hand as though to shake off a contagion, “is going to cause a chronic case of PMS—”
“And that’s not sexist?”
“—then I recommend you—”
“This has nothing to do with that!”
“Then what?”
“Nadia.”
“Nadia?”
“Did she know about your meeting with Blume?”
He covered his discomfiture with a short laugh. “What? You think I called up our local gossip columnist and leaked the story?”
Folding her arms across her middle, Maris turned back to the window. “You’re lying.”
He came off the desk. “I beg your pardon?”
“She knew, Noah. Nadia’s the most conniving woman I’ve ever met, and ordinarily she makes no secret of it. In fact, she takes pride in it. But when Blume mentioned his meeting with you, she blanched, looking as though she’d just been exposed. Then she couldn’t hustle me away from him and out of there fast enough. As we said good-bye, she oozed goodwill, but nervously.” She came around slowly. “She knew.”
The look she gave him was so damned superior, it enraged him. He felt blood rushing to his head. He imagined capillaries bursting behind his eyeballs. Fury pulsated through him. Only by an act of will could he keep his voice from revealing it.
“Why would I tell Nadia, Maris? There was nothing to tell. If Nadia knew, she heard it from Blume. I’ve seen them with their heads together on more than one occasion. They probably stroke each other for inside information.”
“Yes, that’s how it works,” she whispered as though to herself. When she refocused on him, she asked, “If Blume told her, why didn’t she write about it in her column?”
“That’s simple. WorldView owns a chain of newspapers that carry her column. She couldn’t risk inflaming them by blabbing that David had thumbed his nose at Goliath, which is exactly what my meeting with them amounted to. If I’d known it was going to cause this much hullabaloo, I’d have continued avoiding them. I swear to God, I thought that meeting would be the end of their persistence.”
“She confessed.”
His heart knocked against his chest. It was difficult to keep his features impassive. “What? Who? Confessed what?”
“I told Nadia that I was on to her. That I could see through her and knew that she had designs on you.”
“Designs?” he repeated with amusement. “What quaint phraseology.”
“I didn’t use it to be cute, Noah,” she said testily. “Today I had lunch with a woman who told me to my face that she wants to sleep with you.”
He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Maris. For God’s sake. Nadia wants to sleep with every man. She’s made it her life’s quest. She’s one giant, raging hormone. She’s come on to me, sure. Do you think I’m that easily flattered? She also comes on to waiters and doormen and probably to her garbage collector.”
“A lot of men find her attractive.”
“She is. But I didn’t have an affair with her when I was single, and I sure as hell wouldn’t jeopardize my marriage to you by having one with her now.” He sighed and shook his head ruefully. “Is that what all this has been about? You let Nadia upset you?”
“No. I was more upset over the WorldView thing than I was about Nadia. If you want Nadia, then you deserve her.”
He forced himself to smile. “I’m glad you gave me an opportunity to explain both misunderstandings. These things shouldn’t fester. It’s bad for our marriage.”
He gave her a few moments to ruminate on that, then smiled the tentative smile of a scolded puppy. “If that’s the end of the interrogation, I’d like to hug my interrogator.”
Since she didn’t raise any barriers, either real or suggested, he joined her where she stood and placed his arms around her. He pressed his face into her hair. “I was angry when I made that ludicrous statement about chronic PMS, but it has a basis of truth, doesn’t it? You’re not yourself.” He stroked her back. “Was that little island so horrible?”
“I wondered if you were ever going to express any interest in my trip.”
“That’s unfair, Maris. Since your return, you haven’t exactly invited conversation. You’ve been sullen and standoffish. In fact, I’ve considered approaching you with a chair and whip.” Undaunted by her failure to laugh, he kissed her temple. “How was your trip? What’s the island like?”
“Not horrible at all. Different.”
“From what?”
He felt her shrug. “It’s hard to explain. Just different.”
“And the author, was he as difficult to work with as you expected?”
“More difficult than I expected.”
“We’ve got an impressive slate of books to publish next year from our authors under contract. Why bother with this recluse?”
“Because he writes well. Very well.”
“But is he worth the difficulty he puts you through?”
“I won’t give up on this book, Noah.”
“I’m only thinking of you. If working with him makes you edgy and—”
“It doesn’t.”
Luckily she couldn’t see his expression or she would have realized how close she came to being slapped senseless for interrupting him. He took a moment to tamp down his anger before asking in a deceptively pleasant voice, “What is this literary marvel’s name?”
“I’m sworn to secrecy.”
“Isn’t he carrying the anonymity to a ludicrous degree?”
“There’s a reason. He’s disabled.”
“How so?”
“I really can’t talk about it, Noah. I can’t betray his trust.”
“Are you sure your opinion of the writing hasn’t been swayed by his disability?”
“I loved the writing before I knew about his circumstances, which don’t affect his talent. He’d be talented in any form. In spite of all the difficulty working with him imposes, I’m enjoying the work. It’s going to be good for me. I’m getting to flex some editorial muscle. Over the last few years, I’ve become fat and lazy.”
“A little lazy, maybe, but not fat.”
He slid his hands over her butt, a caress he knew she liked and that usually evoked an agreeable response. This time it was less effective. “I was speaking metaphorically, Noah.”
“I realize that. Still…” He bent his head and kissed her, first on the cheek, then her mouth. He wanted to be assured that her outburst wasn’t an indicator of something more serious, specifically that she doubted his loyalty to Matherly Press.
She returned the kiss. Not with the fervor he sought, perhaps, but when he pulled back she smiled up at him, assuaging his concern.
“If these financials didn’t need my attention,” he growled, “I’d be tempted to lock the door and take you right here.”
“Why don’t you say ‘damn the financials’ and do just that? I could be taken.”
He kissed her again, then purposefully set her away from him. “Sorely tempting, darling. But duties call.”
“I understand.”
“Tonight? After dinner with Daniel?”
“You have a date.” She kissed him quickly, then retrieved her raincoat and handbag. “I may stay late and try to clear my desk, so I probably won’t change before dinner.”
“Then we’ll leave straight from here and ride over together. I’ll have a car waiting downstairs at six-forty-five.”
“See you then.”
He blew her a kiss as she went out, then returned to his desk, confident that he had dodged a bullet. As always, Maris had been pacified with a little attention and affection. But her upset over the WorldView meeting was no small matter.
When he considered how close he’d come to being caught today, he wished to watch Morris Blume slowly and agonizingly bleed to death. Telling Maris about that meeting had obviously been Blume’s way of reminding him that the deadline was fast approaching. Blume had seized an unplanned opportunity to make a power play, to remind him that WorldView was ultimately in charge of this transaction.
It had been a close call. It had cost him some valuable time. In the long run, however, the incident had caused no permanent damage. Thank God he’d had the foresight to inform Daniel of that meeting with just this contingency in mind. In the event that he or Maris had gotten wind of it—and the industry grapevine was notorious—he had taken the old man into his confidence, thereby throwing him off track.
The Matherlys weren’t fools. But they were nowhere close to being as clever as he. He left absolutely nothing to chance. He planned meticulously. His schemes were long-range and therefore took a steely patience and perseverance that lesser individuals lacked.
He relied on his instincts and his intelligence, but also on the best possible resource, the one that was virtually unfailing and always in full supply—human nature. Mind control was easy if you knew a person’s likes, dislikes, secrets, weaknesses, fears.
He possessed a gift for getting people to go right where he wanted them to go and to do exactly what he wanted them to do. He was talented that way. He had an uncanny knack for manipulating people, for persuading them to make a decision they mistakenly thought was their own and to act on it. He had done it before. Most recently with Howard Bancroft. But he had honed this particular skill long before he had ever heard of Howard Bancroft.
His desk phone rang. Before he could even speak, Cindy apologized for the interruption. “I’m sorry, Mr. Reed, but Ms. Schuller has called five times and insists on being put through.”
“Fine.” Noah depressed the blinking button. “Hello, Nadia,” he said breezily. “I understand you had quite an exciting lunch.”
“Envy” Ch. 12
Key West, Florida, 1986
Todd Grayson’s first impression of Key West was a crushing disappointment.
Making the move had been nearly all he’d talked about for months. He’d thought of little else and had practically exed off the days of his calendar like a child counting down toward Christmas. He’d resented anything that interfered with his daydreaming and planning, including his final semester’s studies. His heart, mind, and soul had been focused singly on getting to his Floridian mecca.
But now, having arrived, having fulfilled a long-held dream, his first sight of it left him less than spiritually enraptured.
He likened the place to an old whore. It looked used, seedy, a little unhealthy, and a lot tired. Continuing the metaphor in his mind as though he were writing it down, Key West appeared to be more a common streetwalker who advertised her wares on a corner, rather than an exotic courtesan who enticed with whispered promises. Once the tacky and rather pathetic attempts at glamour were stripped away, the town had little to offer and nothing to recommend her. She was cheap and common, and the only promise at which she hinted was one of dissipation.
His and Roark’s plan had been to depart for Florida the afternoon of their college graduation. They had everything packed and ready, their only chore before hitting the road being to return the caps and gowns in which they’d marched to “Pomp and Circumstance” and received their degrees.
They planned to caravan in their respective automobiles and had agreed to stop just before their arrival and toss a coin to determine which of them got to lead the way to Duval Street.
But fate intervened. Their well-laid plans were changed for them. A family obligation prevented Todd from leaving that day. Roark offered to postpone leaving, too, but after a rushed consultation, they agreed that he should go ahead and start looking for housing.
“I’ll be the scout. By the time you get there, I’ll have camp set up,” Roark had said as they exchanged their dejected good-byes. Roark’s Toyota was packed to the gills. Every square inch of interior space had been utilized to transport all that he owned in the world from the fraternity house where he had lived for the past three years to the next phase of his life.
“This sucks,” Todd muttered.
“Big time. But hey, it’s only a minor setback.”
“Easy for you to say. It’s not your setback. While I’m languishing, you’ll be down there writing your ass off.”
“Hardly, man. I’ll be busy scoping out things, finding us a place to live. Getting the telephone hooked up. That kinda shit. I won’t get any serious writing done.”
Todd knew that wasn’t true. Roark always wrote—drunk or sober, tired or wired, sick or well. He wrote when he was happy and when he was sad. He wrote just as much when he was in a good mood as he did when he was pissed over something. He wrote when it was flowing easily and when the phrases simply would not come. He wrote no matter what. Any which way you looked at it, despite all his arguments to the contrary, this was giving him a head start, and Todd resented it like hell.
As Roark wedged himself into the driver’s seat of his packed Toyota, he tried again to lift Todd’s spirits. “I know this seems like a big deal now, but one day we’ll barely remember it. You’ll see.”
As agreed, he had called Todd immediately upon his arrival in Key West. A few days later he phoned again to report that he had rented them an apartment. Todd barraged him with questions about it, but his answers were evasive, his descriptions vague. After hanging up, Todd realized that all he really knew about their new place of residence was that it fit into their budget.
It was six weeks before Todd was able to set out for his relocation to the tip of the continent. The morning of his departure, as he left his childhood home for what would be the last time, he wasted no time on sentiment and never looked back. Instead, he equated it to a release from prison.
He drove almost twenty hours that first day and crossed the state line into Florida before pulling off at a roadside park and napping in the driver’s seat of his car. He arrived in Key West at midafternoon the second day. Although not all his expectations were met upon his arrival, some were.
The air, for instance. It was warm and balmy. No more running to an early class on a bitterly cold and windy morning ever again, thank you very much. The sun was hot. Palms and banana trees grew in abundance. Jimmy Buffett music was pervasive, as though it were secreted through the pores of the city.
As he navigated the tourist-clogged streets, following the rudimentary directions Roark had given him, his initial disappointment began to recede and was replaced by flurries of excitement. His mood was buoyed by the sights and sounds and smells.
But this flicker of encouragement didn’t last. It was snuffed out when he located his newly leased domicile. Dismayed, he checked the address twice, hoping to God he’d made a wrong turn.
Surely this was one of Roark’s practical jokes.
Tall oleander bushes formed a unkempt hedge between the street and the shallow, weedy lawn in front of the building. He expected Roark to leap from between the blooming shrubs, grinning like a jackass and braying, “Man you oughta see your expression. Looks like you’ve been hit in the face with a sack of buzzard shit.”
They would have a good laugh, then Roark would guide him to their actual address. Later they’d go out for a beer and relive the moment, and that would be the first of a thousand times they would retell the story, as they retold all their good stories when they wanted or needed a laugh.
Except the one about the incident with Professor Hadley. That was one story that neither retold. They never talked about it at all.
Todd parked his car at the crumbling curb and got out. He was reluctant even to step between the oleanders—which looked like shrubs on steroids—and follow the cracked sidewalk up to the door of the three-story building. The cinder-block exterior had been painted a flaming flamingo pink, as though the lurid hue would conceal the low-grade building material. Instead, the color accented the lack of quality.
A crack as wide as Todd’s index finger ran through the wall of blocks from eaves to foundation. A wild fern was growing out of it at one spot. Hurricane shutters, the color of pea soup, were missing slats and seemed to be clinging to the building only out of fear of falling into the stagnant water that had collected around the foundation. As wide as a moat, it was a flourishing mosquito hatchery.
The frame of the aluminum screen door probably had once been rectangular, but it had been dented and bent so many times that it was grossly misshapen. A large part of the mesh had been peeled away, making it totally ineffectual against flying insects—or chameleons, Todd discovered when he opened the door and stepped into a dank vestibule with a concrete floor. Two of the green lizards were lounging on the interior wall. One scampered away when Todd entered. The other puffed out his red throat as though in protest of the intrusion.
Six mailboxes, which would usually be found on the outside of a building, had been secured to the wall. Once his eyes had adjusted to the dimness, Todd read, to his distress, his and Roark’s name on one of the boxes.
There were six apartments in all, two on each floor. Theirs was on the third. Stepping over a puddle of unidentifiable fluid, he started upstairs. When he reached the second-floor landing, he could hear The Price Is Right coming from a TV within one of the apartments. Otherwise the building was quiet.
By the time he reached the third floor, he was sweating. He cursed the same balminess he’d been extolling only minutes before as he’d driven through the streets with the car windows rolled down, ogling the bare-shouldered, bare-legged girls strolling the sidewalks.
Surely the individual apartments were air-conditioned, he thought as he tried the door knob on 3A. It was locked. He knocked—three times in all before Roark answered. His suntanned face broke into a wide grin. “Hey, you made it! An hour early.”
“No air-conditioning? Are you fucking kidding me?”
The heat inside the apartment was, if anything, more stifling than the unventilated vestibule and staircase. And that was only one of the many amenities the apartment lacked. As Todd surveyed it, his misgivings were realized. And then some.
It was a rat hole, and that was putting it kindly. Actually, it would need to undergo a major renovation to reach the classification of a rat hole. No self-respecting rat would be caught dead here.
An oscillating fan was blowing hot air around the matching beanbag chairs that served as living room furniture. It was also circulating the stench of leftover pizza that had congealed inside its box on the small table that, along with a two-burner hot plate and a sink, comprised the kitchen.
“I was in the shower.” Indeed, Roark had answered the door sopping wet. His only nod toward modesty was a hand towel clutched around his hips.
“I thought maybe you’d gone homo,” Todd said querulously.
“Come on, you gotta see this.” Roark turned and headed toward an open door that led into another room.
Todd was so angry he could barely suck the stifling oxygen into his lungs. His deposit money had been squandered. If Roark had signed a lease on this place, then he could eat it for all Todd cared. He would flatly refuse to be responsible. Obviously his friend had suffered a mental lapse, or had lost their pooled money along the way, or had gotten it stolen, or something.
No rational person, no one who wasn’t absolutely destitute and desperate, would voluntarily take shelter in this building. Being homeless had more stability than this, because unless the sky fell, a homeless person wouldn’t have to fear being crushed to death by a loose plaster ceiling.
“Roark, damn you!” Todd struck out after him, shouting his name. “Roark! What the fuck?”
The door led into a small cubicle of a room with twin beds. One was groaning under the weight of Roark’s belongings, most of which were still packed. Articles of clothing had been pulled from the crates and were spilling out over the tops of them like entrails.
On the other, Roark had been sleeping. And working, apparently. A computer terminal and keyboard were on the bed itself, the tower and printer were on the floor beside it.
“A computer?” Todd exclaimed. “You got a pc? When?” They had wanted word processors the way most collegiates covet TransAms. Roark had said nothing to him about buying a computer. “Is that what you spent our money on?”
“My uncle gave it to me for graduation,” Roark called in a stage whisper. “Now will you shut up about that and get in here? Hurry.”
Todd turned toward the opening where a door should have been. Instead, the detached door had been propped against the adjacent wall. Todd had a fleeting thought that it might have been placed there to provide the wall with additional support.
Through the opening was a bathroom. What differentiated this one from the communal bathroom in the fraternity house was that the one in the frat house had been cleaner and more sanitary—tobacco spit cups, shower fungi, and unattended fixtures notwithstanding.
But even more appalling than the condition of the sink and toilet was the sight of his friend, who had dropped the towel and reentered the shower. He was standing beneath the spray and staring out an open window.
“What uncle? Why didn’t you tell me your uncle had given you a pc for graduation?”
Roark glanced over his shoulder. “Are you coming, or what?”
“I’m not getting into that filthy shower with you. I’m waiting for you to tell me what the—”
“Just shut up and come here. Quick. Before they go inside.”
Roark’s excitement was contagious and compelling. In spite of everything else, Todd was intrigued. He slipped off his sneakers and stepped into the shower fully clothed. Pushing Roark away from the window, he peered through the rusty screen.
On the second-floor roof of the neighboring building, three naked girls were sunbathing. Naked meaning completely nude. Not just topless, but mother nekkid. All they had on was a glistening layer of suntan oil. In fact, while he stood there stupefied, one of the girls was languidly spreading the oil over her torso.
“That one’s name is Amber,” Roark whispered.
Amber was rubbing her breasts now, smearing the oil over nipples as large and red as strawberries. Todd gulped. “You know them?”
“Hell, yeah. To speak to and call by name. Our buildings share a parking lot. They dance at a strip joint.”
Which explained why they were visions of the most carnal variety. This was no trio of ordinary-looking women. They were spectacular. Their tits probably weren’t the ones they’d been born with, but who the hell cared?
“The one with the shaved crotch is Starlight,” Roark informed him. “For her grand finale it glitters with this sparkly stuff.”
“Her * glitters?”
“Swear to God. They aim the spotlight right at it.”
“Damn.”
“The brunette is Mary Catherine.”
“Doesn’t sound like a stripper’s name.”
“She strips out of a nun’s habit. Then she takes this rosary and—”
“Don’t tell me. Let me be surprised.” The brunette was lying facedown on her towel. Todd kissed the air. “Look at that ass.”
“I have,” Roark said with a chuckle. “Like a valentine, isn’t it? Frankly I’m partial to her. She’s the friendliest, too.”
“They do this every day?”
“Except on Sundays. Saturday nights they do three shows, so they usually sleep all day Sunday.”
Amber capped the bottle of suntan oil, then lay down on her beach towel, spreading her thighs wide enough to make certain the sun could reach the insides of them.
“Oh, man,” Todd groaned.
Laughing, Roark stepped from the shower and retrieved his towel. “I think you need a few minutes of privacy.”
“It won’t take a few minutes, buddy.”
Roark was dressed in a pair of shorts, sitting cross-legged on his bed, his keyboard bridging his knees, when Todd appeared in the doorway and propped himself weakly against the jamb. Roark looked over at him and grinned. “Well, what do you think of the apartment?”
“Fucking fantastic, man. I can’t think of anyplace I’d rather live.”