Montaine (10 page)

“You wanna go into the
ring tonight? I’ll put money on you. Twenty thousand dollars. Just flash those
gorgeous tits. Your opponent will go down without a fight.”

Trent reached over and
squeezed my left breast. I had changed into a tank top and jean shorts before
we left the office. It was Friday night. We drove over the Brooklyn Bridge,
thumping over bumps and swishing over slick pavements. The moon hung high in the
heavens, a pale watcher. A few brave stars winked through distance and time.

“I’m sure those guys have
seen plenty of gorgeous tits.”

“A man can never see
enough gorgeous tits.” Trent’s tone was low and serious, as if he were uttering
a moral law of the universe. His eyebrows knit into a solemn scowl. I couldn’t
help but laugh. He cracked a pleased smile and laughed along with me.

“Seriously, though. I’m glad
you’re here to support me.”

He rubbed his palm over
my bare thigh. The contact with his flesh was unbearably enticing. His fingers
inched in between my thighs, playing with a frayed thread on the hem of my
shorts. I slumped lower in my seat, closed my eyes, and spread my legs slowly
apart. He probed one finger under the edge of my sheer panties. I sighed with
pleasure. He removed his fingers and placed his hand firmly on the wheel.

“That’s no fair, Kat.”
His voice was raspy with desire. He cleared his throat. “I need to stay
focused. There will be plenty of time for that later.”

I opened my eyes,
slightly disappointed but also very much looking forward to everything that
“later” entailed. I straightened up in my seat and gazed out over the midnight
blue of the river. Small whitecaps rose in the moonlight as a swift breeze
ruffled the water and whipped tendrils of hair around my forehead through the
open car window.

“How did you do last
week? You didn’t invite me, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah. Actually, I
didn’t fight last week.” He glanced at me, catching my eye with a glint and a
wink. “My heart wasn’t in it.”

“Such a smooth talker.” I
grinned. We drove in calm silence for several minutes, leaving the bridge and
rattling over pockmarked streets.

“Between you and me, I’m
kind of worried about Oscar. He just barely pulled out a win against last time.
He seems off at the gym, like something is bothering him. Preoccupied, you
know? That’s no way to fight. That’s a sure way to lose.”

“Did you ask him what’s
wrong?”

“Oscar won’t tell me
shit. Always a smile and an ‘everything’s fine, man.’ I think it’s about money.
Esmeralda mentioned calls from creditors. I slipped her some extra cash just in
case.”

“Can’t you give him a job
at the magazine?”

“I tried. He wouldn’t
take it. He’s crazy stubborn. Won’t accept a handout from anyone. He gets
insulted if I even ask, so I don’t. I just pass money to Ezzie on the sly.”

We pulled into the dark,
deserted parking lot. Trent punched a text into his phone. The corrugated steel
garage door creaked gradually open on the same busy scene of crowded cars and
milling spectators. Here and there, a hulking figure with clenched fists paced
on the periphery, his inward gaze focused on the fights to come.

Trent eased into an empty
space between a mint green 1950s pickup with rusted sides and a fire red
Ferrari fresh from the showroom floor. He shouldered the duffel and grasped my
hand. My heart skipped a beat. To the world, we must have looked like a couple.
Were we a couple?

The noise grew in volume
as we approached the stands, the undifferentiated roar resolving into separate
cries and shouts aimed at the two fighters steadily pummeling each other behind
the mesh cage. The lights shone on a casing of back and shoulder muscles so
thick they seemed fitted for an ancient gladiator. The other fighter was small
and wiry, with a spiky mohawk and a tiger print tattoo across his chest.
Despite their tremendous size differential, the smaller fighter seemed to be
winning both the fight and the approval of the chanting crowd.

As we climbed through the
benches, I spotted the red-headed lumberjack and his blond companion. She
glanced at my hand clasped in Trent’s and met my eye with a friendly smile
before she was swallowed behind a line of chattering groupies in bikini tops
and skin-tight short-shorts. They were all shining cascades of hair, glittering
tan skin, and puffy, heavily glossed lips.

We paused to let them pass.
I felt a pang of jealousy as their glistening doe eyes locked on Trent
one-by-one. They flipped their hair with the precision of a chorus line,
revealing a marching army of artificially rounded breasts rising spherically
within red, white and blue triangles of stretched spandex.

“They seem…patriotic,” I
said with an obvious trace of venom.

Trent merely squeezed my
hand in reply. He didn’t give them a second glance.

“You’re back!”
Esmeralda’s cheerful voice reached us from the left. She bounced in her seat
and waved us over with a cupped palm. She wrapped me in a warm hug when we
reached her.

“We missed you last
time!” she gushed, clutching my wrists. She shot a critical squint at Trent,
who grinned sheepishly and bowed his head. I got the definite impression that
they had spent time discussing me. Perhaps Esmeralda was the reason Trent had
relented and called me on Saturday with an apology. If so, I certainly owed
her.

“Hey man, how’s it
going?” Trent and Oscar bumped fists. Oscar again sat with jouncing knees. His
eyes flitted nervously around the arena. Trent was right. Oscar exuded an air
of anxiety. He seemed unfocused and preoccupied. Esmeralda placed a steadying
hand on his jittering knee, which was stilled for a moment. As soon as she drew
her hand away, his knee began bouncing again.

A rousing cheer erupted
and shook the stands as the bout ended in a victory for the wiry fighter with
the mohawk.

Trent pulled his shirt up
over his head. I was stunned anew by the beauty of his form each time I saw it
bared to the light. His stomach muscles rippled in waves and shadows as he bent
over the duffel.

“You’re number fifty-one,
Romeo” Esmeralda slapped a paper with printed black numbers onto his firm
chest. “Oscar is fifty-six.”

“Thanks. What’s your
bet?”

Esmeralda hesitated and
breathed deeply, her chest visibly rising and falling.

“Five thousand,” Oscar
said resolutely.

Trent froze, bent over
the duffel, a roll of tape in his hand.

“Five thousand? Are you
sure?”

Esmeralda nodded. She
kneaded her hands together and spun her wedding band around and around her
finger. Oscar returned his attention to the fighting ring. The girl in the
golden bikini held up placards with the numbers “46” and “47.”

I caught Trent’s eye. He
pursed his lips and shook his head, rapidly winding a roll of tape around his
wrist.

A dark, brooding figure
passed through the benches. His biceps bulged like lumps of iron. His forearms
were etched in pictures of grinning skulls with bleeding eye sockets and roped strands
of barbed wire. He seemed to move within an aura of compressed rage, his fists
clenched at his sides, his elbows slightly bent, his head lowered like a
charging bull.

As Trent stood straight,
the brooding stranger slammed into his shoulder with an impact so forceful that
I shuddered from the mutual smack of flesh, bone and muscle.

“What the fuck, man?”
Trent squared his shoulders and punched a fist into his palm. He stepped
forward to confront the stranger, who stopped and turned in a slow swivel.

The man had a topography
of scars that looked like healed knife marks across his chest. One long, carved
crevice ran the length of his face from the tip of his eyebrow to the curve of
his stubbled jaw. His eyes were more animal than human. A light blue that edged
toward white, they burned with the heat of a gas flame.

Trent stood his ground.
My breath caught in my throat. The moment of suspended tension seemed to last
an eternity. The stranger growled like an angry grizzly.

Then he did something
completely unexpected. He smiled. It was the coldest, most menacing smile that
I had ever seen. It wasn’t so much a smile as a baring of fangs. I got the
impression he might snap and bite any second.

I placed a hand on
Trent’s forearm. He turned to me, a mirror of the stranger’s rage reflected in
his own eyes. The rage dissolved as I rested my fingers on his flexed muscles.
He threw a backwards glance over his shoulder and shook his head.

“Not fucking worth it,”
he muttered.

The stranger spun and
stomped through the crowd, which parted and reassembled in his wide wake.

“There is something familiar
about that guy,” Trent said after a minute. “I feel like I’ve seen him before,
but I can’t place him.” He watched the man’s beastly back, curled like a wolf
on the hunt, until it disappeared from view.

“So, Kat, how is life at
the magazine?” Esmeralda tapped my knee. She was obviously trying to lighten
the mood, but I could tell from the high pitch of her voice and the wary shift
of her focus back and forth to the ring that she was almost as nervous as her
husband.

“Oh, it’s alright. My
boss is kind of a jerk, but you know how it is.” She laughed and fidgeted her
fingers in her lap.

“I heard that, Miss Raney.”
Trent bumped my shoulder lightly with his own. “Don’t make me give you a formal
reprimand.” He leered and winked with exaggeration.

“You two.” Esmeralda
shook her head. “Better keep that romance under wraps before the paparazzi find
you.”

“They haven’t found me
yet. Besides, what is there to find out? I’m just showing my intern the ropes,
introducing her to great source material.”

“Yeah, yeah. Control your
‘source material’ for now. We’re in public.” She drew air quotes around the
words and laughed, slapping my thigh gently with the back of her hand.

“Speaking of material,
though.” Trent leaned toward me and spoke into my ear, his voice cutting
through the roar of the crowd. The last fight had just ended with a walloping
knockout punch. A woozily staggering fighter made his way to the exit with
unsteady steps and outstretched hands. “How is your cover story coming?”

I sighed. “It’s not. I
still don’t have a subject. Nothing seems good enough, meaningful enough, you
know?”

“Well, don’t try to force
it. An idea will come when you least expect it.”

The fights proceeded
without major incident. I jumped in my seat at some particularly vicious hits. Trent
watched me and smiled.

Numbers “50” and “51”
were called to the ring. I craned my neck to catch a glimpse of Trent’s
opponent. The guy looked scrawny and pale, with a mop of hair like a frat boy.
He was completely out of place in this context. He belonged on a country club
golf course, not the fighting mat of a gritty Brooklyn warehouse.

“One of those rich shits
from the Hamptons,” Trent seethed through clenched teeth. “Why do they waste
our time?”

“Aren’t you a rich shit?”
I asked teasingly.

“I made my own money. I
didn’t inherit it from Mummy and Daddy. These kids don’t know anything about
fighting. They don’t respect it either. At least I can take his allowance money
without breaking a sweat.”

“Good luck, Trent,” Oscar
called from the left. “Though you won’t need it.”

“Hey, Oscar. Why don’t we
switch numbers? You take this one. Piece of cake.”

The clock ticked down.
Trent needed to hurry or he would forfeit the fight.

Oscar’s mouth hung open
for a moment. He swiftly closed it and rubbed his palms over his knees.

“Don’t you have any faith
in me?” His eyes registered an unmistakable hurt.

“Of course, I do.” Trent
replied. “It was just a thought. Never mind. You’ll get your turn.” He punched
Oscar good-naturedly in the shoulder and bounced down the steps toward the
ring. The rich kid made punching feints and hopped from foot to foot in a
pathetic imitation of every Hollywood boxing scene.

“Oscar, he was trying to
help.” Esmeralda sighed. I buried my head over the duffel bag, trying to avoid
an impression of eavesdropping.

“Why does everyone think
I need help?” Oscar’s tone did not sound petulant, just slightly sad.

“Honey, don’t be like
this.” Esmeralda’s voice broke with the onset of tears. She cleared her throat
and continued in a more level tone. “
We
need help. It’s for both of us.
You could have taken that kid with one punch and earned a cool five thousand.
It’s not charity.”

“It
is
charity.
Look, I appreciate everything Trent does. I know he passes you money on the
side.”

Esmeralda began to peep
out a feeble protest, but Oscar silenced her with a shake of his head and an
outstretched palm.

“I’m not an idiot, Ezzie.
But there is a limit to what I can accept. I’m responsible for my family, you
and the kids. If I can’t take care of you with my own two hands then…then,
what’s the point? What good am I?”