Montaine (6 page)

“He’s one of the best,”
Oscar agreed. I got the impression from his bouncing knees and fidgeting hands
that he was a bundle of nervous energy.

I tried to see what was
happening in the ring, but the heads of standing spectators blocked my view. I
stood, but the view was not much better. I flopped down anxiously onto the
bench.

“So, how long have you
and Trent been dating?” Esmeralda asked. We both craned our necks. I caught a
glimpse of Trent furiously punching, the muscles in his carved and contoured
back bulging and shifting with each hammer blow. His opponent was tall and
broad-shouldered, bald on top but with a thick red beard like a lumberjack. He
wilted under the barrage of Trent’s punches, doubling over and clutching at his
midsection. The crowd roared and chanted.

“Oh, we’re not dating.
I’m an intern at the magazine.”

“Hmm. I see.” She gave me
a strange look that was half suspicion and half amusement. I briefly wondered
what that look meant.

Trent clearly had the
advantage through several rounds of fighting. His powerful legs kicked and
cartwheeled while his opponent struggled to gain traction. I flinched when the
lumberjack landed a perfectly aimed thrust at Trent’s ribs, sending him into a
stunned back-pedal. He recovered quickly and delivered a walloping punch to the
lumberjack’s large head. They wrestled and grappled mightily. Trent remained in
full control, his opponent pinned to the mat.

When it was over, the
referee raised Trent’s wrist to a thunder of shouts from the thrilled crowd.
The lumberjack hung his head and limped to the edge of the cage.

“Who do I give this to?”

A woman, young but with
skin prematurely aged by sun exposure, stood next to me. Her yellowish hair was
fried at the tips and showed dark roots at her scalp. She wore a thin purple tank
top with the word “Sexy” scrawled across her breasts in glittering rhinestones.
Her fingers, each terminating in a razor-sharp red nail, clutched a rolled-up
wad of money secured with a dirty rubber band.

Esmeralda titled her chin
in my direction. “That’s all her,” she said to the woman.

I tentatively grasped the
wad of warm, sweaty bills. To my surprise, she offered a handshake as well, her
red talons poking my palm and her collection of shiny bangle bracelets clinking.

“Good fight,” she said.
“Lucky girl.” She clomped down the steps in her heavy boots and melted into the
screaming crowd.

“You might want to put
that away,” Esmeralda said with a nod to the money that I foolishly balanced on
my palm like a glass treasure. Her lips twitched with a suppressed smile. She
placed a reassuring hand on my knee.

I hastily stuffed the
roll of money into a side pocket of Trent’s duffel just as he returned from the
ring, breathing heavily and glistening with sweat.

“So, what did you think?”
He wiped down his chest and neck with a towel. He noticeably winced when the
towel skated over the spot on his ribs where the lumberjack had landed a
decisive blow.

“No contest, man.” Oscar
said with a head shake and admiring grin. “You had him the whole time.”

“And you?” Trent slapped
my forearm with the towel. “What did you think?”

My brain cycled through
possible responses.
You’re beautiful. I want to lick that sweat from your
stomach. Please ravish me on this bench in front of all these people.

“Impressive,” was all I
managed to say.

We watched one fight after
another until Oscar’s number was called. He bowed over Esmeralda. They whispered
a brief prayer together. He kissed her tenderly on the forehead before heading
into the ring.

“Did you do your job?”
Trent asked.

“The money is in that
pocket of your bag,” I said, pointing to the zippered compartment.

“Good job, Kitty Kat.”

“So, why do you do this
anyway? The fighting, I mean. Isn’t it dangerous?”

“Danger is not
necessarily a reason to avoid doing something,” he said with a piercing
sideways glance. “Fighting has always been my second passion. Journalism is my
first. That’s why I started the magazine, to combine the two. But watching
isn’t enough for me. I need to feel the thrill and rush of actual hand-to-hand
combat.”

“Aren’t you afraid that
people will recognize you? You are kind of a celebrity. Aren’t you worried that
this will all become public?”

“I’m
kind of
a
celebrity?” He laughed. “No, I’m not worried. This is a good group. They’re
trustworthy. They may look like a bunch of rogues and rascals, but they watch out
for each other. We watch out for each other.”

From what we could see of
Oscar’s fight, it was a much closer contest than Trent’s fight had been.
Esmeralda sat with her hands clasped tightly, her knuckles white with tension.
The outcome was in doubt until the referee raised Oscar’s wrist in victory,
prompting a breathy sigh of relief from Esmeralda. Trent reached behind me and
gave her shoulder a comforting pat. The corners of her eyes were wet with
tears.

“I never can get used to
it,” she said.

Ten minutes later, the
four of us headed toward the improvised parking lot. Esmeralda gave me a warm
hug when we stopped in front of a ‘90s hatchback with a dented fender and
peeling paint. The back window featured a set of decals in the shapes of four
family members – a mother, father, son, and daughter.

“I’ll see you next time,
Kat,” she said as she ducked into the driver’s seat. Oscar held his elbow gingerly,
as if nursing an injury.

Next time? I would be
here again?

Trent and I walked to his
car. He winced as he settled behind the steering wheel and dropped the duffel
bag at my feet. We waited for the garage door to open. The tires crunched over
the pitted driveway, past the overgrown fences, and out onto the dark streets
of the Brooklyn waterfront.

He opened the windows.
Salty sea breezes whipped through the interior, cool and refreshing. I released
the tight ponytail that had begun to squeeze my scalp, allowing my thick hair
to fly long and loose. Wispy tendrils batted against my cheeks in the wind. I
enjoyed the sensations of speed and freedom. I turned to ask Trent a question
and found his eyes fixed on mine. He looked away and gently rubbed his side
with one hand while steering with the other, his eyes now focused on the road
ahead.

“Do your ribs hurt? I saw
the punch he landed.”

“A little. It’s starting
to stiffen up. I can ice it when we get home.”

We? Home? Am I going
home with Trent?

“You know, I didn’t even
count the money. Some bookie, I am.” I laughed. “Let me count it now.”

I zipped open the duffel
and rummaged through the side pocket. It was empty. Panic gripped my stomach. I
had put the money in there. I was sure of it. I checked the other compartments
just to be sure. The money was nowhere to be found.

Trent sensed my anxiety
and softly touched my forearm.

“It’s alright. The money
is gone.”

“Gone? What do you mean
it’s gone? I swear that I put it in here.”

“I mean that I gave it
away” he said calmly. “I gave it to Esmeralda when no one was looking.”

I thought back to a
private moment that I had glimpsed between them in the warehouse. She had
wrapped her arms gratefully around his neck, wiping dabs of moisture from her
eyelashes.

“Oscar doesn’t know.”
Trent sighed heavily. “He would never accept a handout, so I give the money to
Esmeralda on the sly. They have two kids and a mortgage. He was laid off from
his job a year ago. I don’t need money. They do.”

“They seem like good
people.” I tucked a flying tendril behind my ear.

Trent nodded. “If you
look hard enough, you can find a lot of good people in this world. Bad people
too.”

His voice trailed off. We
drove in silence, past the blinking lights of the docks and the smooth sheen of
the midnight river. Manhattan sparkled in the distance like a wonderland of
star-pricked castles.

After crossing the bridge
and winding through a maze of streets on the Lower East Side, Trent stopped the
car in front of a high-rise building with a forbidding iron-gray front.

“Home sweet home,” he
said.

I swallowed nervously.
The car engine purred. The faint city sounds of distant sirens and snatches of
half-heard conversations drifted through the open windows.

“Unless…” he paused and
continued, “you want me to take you back to your dorm?”

“No.” I smiled
sheepishly. “No, I’d like to come in. Just for a bit.” I tried to sound casual,
like this sort of thing happened to me every day. Like I was used to being
invited into the homes of hot, rich, and famous men. This was most definitely
new territory for me.

“Just for a bit then.” He
smiled mysteriously.

“Something to drink? I
have water, milk, orange juice, vodka.”

Trent peered into the
contents of his open refrigerator. I swiveled my head in amazement at the sumptuous
grandeur of his apartment. The floor-to-ceiling windows provided a stunning
view of the Manhattan skyline, the ever-flickering lights of the nighttime city
suggestive of the pulsing life within.

One room flowed smoothly
into another, the spacious kitchen giving way to a living room furnished with plush
rugs and luxurious leather couches. A dark archway gave a hint of an expansive
bedroom at the far end. The color scheme was subdued and tasteful, dominated by
gray, slate blue, and deep indigo hues.

“Water is fine. Your
place is amazing, by the way.”

“Yeah, it’s alright.” He
poured a glass of water and handed it to me.

I perched on one of the
black leather barstools and glanced around at the sprawling and elegant space.
I noticed a curving metal staircase next to the bank of windows.

“Where do those stairs
go?”

“To the roof. Great place
to watch the sunrise. Maybe I’ll show it to you sometime.” He unbuttoned and
removed his shirt, gritting his teeth through the pain. He rummaged in the
freezer and retrieved an ice pack, plopping it with a smack onto the granite
counter.

“Do you need any help?”

“I could use some help
wrapping this, actually. There’s a bandage roll in my duffel. Bring it over
here.”

I did as instructed. He
pressed the ice pack to the sore patch on his ribs. A purplish bruise was
already forming. I stood before him, uncertain where to begin. I unrolled the
bandage and began tentatively winding it around his torso, my arms encircling his
waist as his warm breath skated over the top of my head. My cheek brushed
against the firm skin of his chest. To my surprise, in that brief instant of
contact, I felt his heart pounding as hard and fast as my own.

“Thank you,” he said softly
when I had finished.

He ran his fingertips
along my hairline and caressed the side of my face from my temple to the tip of
my chin. I closed my eyes, relishing the soothing sensation of his touch. Hands
that I’d earlier seen punching with a furious violence now radiated a tender
warmth. I held my breath, unwilling to make any move that might destroy this
perfect moment.

He gently gripped my
shoulders and took a step backwards. He shook his head and cleared his throat.
“Kat, I can’t ---”

His hesitation plunged me
back into reality.
He’s my boss. There are too many complications.

“I know. I understand.”
My voice was raw and trembling.

“It’s just…there are
things that you don’t know about me. There are reasons that I can’t do this…with
you.”

“I get it. You don’t have
to explain.” I steadied my voice, trying for a certainty that I did not feel.
My brain spun through all of the sane and sensible arguments telling me that I
should walk away before things went any further. But the pull of his body on
mine was a magnetic force that I could not resist.

He stepped back and ran a
hand through his tousled black hair.

“Do you, though? Do you
understand?” He tipped his chin downward and crossed his arms over his bare
chest. His ice blue eyes stared at me from under lowered brows. I had no idea
how to respond.
Maybe I don’t understand. What does he mean?

My mouth hung open,
aiming but failing to utter comprehensible words. I leaned on the counter for
support. Every nerve ending in my skin strained toward him. Just one touch and
the barrier would crumble. One touch, and those strong hands would plunge into
my blouse and caress my naked flesh. I wanted to feel his fingers tearing at my
flimsy bra and sliding down into my pants to feel my wet and pulsing center. He
knew it, and I knew it. The image made my cheeks flush hot. The tension between
us crackled like lightning.

“Come on,” he finally
said. His voice was rough and wounded, as if he were struggling to contain a
strong emotion. “Why don’t I go ahead and show you that roof deck.”

I nodded quickly. I
didn’t trust my voice to remain level at the moment.

As I followed him up the
curving metal staircase, I watched the muscles in his back shift and writhe
beneath the skin, creating moving undulations in the tree roots that snaked
down his spine. I suddenly had a revelation. I knew what Trent’s tattoos
signified.

“I get it,” I blurted
once we had emerged onto the flat cement roof. I scanned the canvas of his skin
under the faint moonlight. He raised one eyebrow in a question. “The tattoos,”
I clarified. “I know what they mean.”

“Oh?” He leaned back on
one heel and placed his hands on his hips. The wounded note was gone. His voice
was back to the droll and slightly mocking tone that I found both incredibly infuriating
and impossibly arousing.

“The four elements.
Earth, air, water, and fire. The tree on your back is earth, the winds and
cyclones on your chest are air, the waves and sea creatures are water, and the
flames and dragons are fire. It’s brilliant. It’s beautiful.”

His lips broke into a
pleased smile, but his eyelids squinted in a secretive leer.

“Congratulations, Kat.
You have solved one piece of the puzzle.”

“What do you mean?”

He turned and settled
onto an opened futon that I just now noticed amid a collection of lounge chairs
and potted plants. He lay backwards, briefly grimacing from the pain in his
side, and patted the empty space on the cushion. I slipped out of my shoes and
settled next to him, resting on my side and leaning on one elbow.

“Well,” he said as he
placed one hand behind his head and gazed up into the black sky, where only a
few brave stars managed to outshine the blanket of city lights below. “You know
what the tattoos mean in general. But you don’t know exactly what they mean to
me.”

I considered this. He was
right. Why had he chosen to cover his body in images of the four elements?

“And I suppose you’re not
going to make it easy and just tell me,” I replied with a sarcastic smirk.

“You’re the reporter, my
dear. I’d say it’s your job to figure it out.”

I lay back and joined him
in gazing up at the sky.

“Will you even give me a
hint?”

He paused, breathing
deeply in and out. A full minute passed in silence. You never realize how long
a minute can feel until you’ve spent one locked in quiet anticipation.

“It’s about a girl.” His
voice was low and deep, almost angry. He turned his head toward me. My heart
caught in my throat. His eyes briefly met mine with a searching intensity and
then dropped to the place where his hand rested on the cushion. He smiled, but
it was a closed-lip smile, tight and sad. “It’s always about a girl, isn’t it?”
He chuckled quietly, wistfully.

“Where is she?” I wanted
to ask
who
instead of
where
, but I wasn’t yet ready to face the
answer. I didn’t want to picture the girl who secretly held Trent’s heart. I
wanted to
be
the girl who secretly held Trent’s heart.

“She’s gone,” he answered
simply.

To my great surprise, his
fingers reached toward me and began plucking open the buttons of my blouse. I
held my breath. My heart raced out of control.

“You should get
comfortable.” His voice was low and husky.

I sat up and slipped my
blouse over my shoulders. The fabric puddled at my wrists. I wore a thin peach
camisole that barely covered the swell of my pushed-up cleavage. The cool night
air prickled the skin along my arms. Trent slipped one hand under the border of
my camisole, pulling me to him as his fingertips pressed firmly into the bare
flesh of my back.

“Goodnight, Kat,” he said
softly, his eyes traveling hungrily over my lips and my chest.

Before I had a chance to
respond, his mouth was on mine, kissing me deeply and forcefully. His lips were
strong and supple, his sinuous tongue twisting and winding. My mind reeled with
desire. I returned his kiss with a passionate intensity, biting and sucking his
lower lip. He groaned lustily, pressing his body against mine. I felt the rigid
strength of his erection between my legs. I arched my back as his fingertips
gripped me with a bruising pressure.

Then, just as suddenly,
he pulled away. With a final delicate kiss on my still-throbbing lips and a brief
fingertip caress that skated along the tops of my half-exposed breasts, he lay
back and closed his eyes.

 “Goodnight, Trent,” I
whispered, my pulse still pounding in my temples.
I think I’m falling in
love with you.

At some point between
midnight and sunrise, we both drifted off to sleep under the great dark sky.

***

I awoke to clean morning
sunlight slanting across my body. My sleepy brain, confused and disoriented, tried
to piece together the events of the prior night.

I sat up and scanned the
roof. Much to my surprise, I was completely alone. Trent was nowhere to be
found. I felt chilled in my flimsy camisole and immediately donned the blouse
that was spread neatly on the cushion beside me. I grabbed my shoes by the
heels and picked my way barefoot across the cement roof.

As I descended the
winding staircase, part of me expected the succulent aromas of a fresh-cooked
breakfast to waft in from the kitchen. Instead, the stove stood cold and bare.
The apartment was desolate as a tomb.

“Trent?” I called into
the silence with the shaky and timid voice one might use when summoning a
ghost.

I heard no response. I tiptoed
through the halls and peeked through open doorways. I checked the kitchen counter
for a quickly jotted note that might explain his absence. Maybe he went to the
store to buy milk or to the newsstand to grab a paper.

There was no note. The
duffel bag was gone from the floor. I had the eerie sensation that the previous
night’s events were a mere figment of my imagination and that I was now an
unwelcome intruder. The reality of the situation struck me with a shocking blow
that nearly knocked the air from my lungs and brought hot tears to the corners
of my eyes. How could I have believed, even for a second, that Trent possessed
any kind of feelings for me? My brain spoke a cruel truth that my heart was not
yet willing to accept.
I mean nothing to him. I am just a joke.

I stepped into my shoes
and bolted through the door, hearing it slam shut behind me. A few minutes
later, I hurried toward the uptown subway, the fresh morning breeze swiftly
drying the tears from my dampened cheeks.