Dottie 7.
Even in our modern, digital age, it’s hard to comprehend the amount of paperwork needed to complete the sale of a home, or office building, or plot of land. Signatures, money transfers, court documents, etc.
I squeal with my mouth closed, not wanting to alert or disturb my sisters in their own offices, knowing they will make fun of me, yet again. I LOVE paperwork. Ever since I was a little girl, before I could even write legibly, no matter what we played, I made sure there was paperwork involved. When we decided to move to North Carolina to escape our father’s dirty dealings and open our own real estate agency, I escaped any mental and emotional turmoil by diving into letterheads and stationery and office supplies and anything else needed to set up our own professional offices.
My sisters love me, so they gave me free rein to decorate and coordinate to my heart’s content. And 6 years ago, when I felt like my world had turned upside down and inside out, they sat back and let me redesign everything until I felt in control and centered once more.
I might be a nerd…and I’m not sorry about it at all.
Goldman Girls Realty is our baby and we’ve each nourished it in our own ways over the years. Blanche is kept away from most clients and humans in general by keeping us above board and legal in everything we do. Rose handles the aesthetics, be that marketing, social media presence, client follow-ups and gifts, advertising, logos, website, and more. Sophia, the only sweet one of the bunch, is the face of our agency, helping clients feel like family as she finds them their forever home or prime business location. And then there’s me, I am the money monkey and paperwork junkie. I mostly hide in my office and get the vapors when my spreadsheets balance perfectly or I get to use one of my many, many stamps.
“Dot, I gotta talk to you.” I glance up from my desk and smile at Blanche, standing in my doorway. My smile fades quickly, when I notice her expression. She’s…uncomfortable. Blanche thrives on the discomfort of others. It comes from years of dealing with our father’s bullshit and our mother’s absence. I don’t know that I’ve ever really seen her uncomfortable.
“Sure, come in.” Oh, she’s closing the door. Shit. “Blanche?” She sits woodenly on one of the plush seats in front of my desk, perching on the edge, her hands clasped in her lap, knees together. Her mouth opens…and closes…and opens…and snaps shut making her teeth clack. Standing, I make my way around my desk and sit down in the seat next to her, my hands covering hers, stilling her nervous wringing.
“What was the date of your…elevator rendezvous?” I’m taken aback by her question.
“Uh…” I wrack my brain trying to think of the exact date, “9 days ago. Why?”
“Before you rode his cockevator, did you see where Ezra came from?”
I shake my head, remembering he was just there when I turned around. “No.”
“Was he agitated or flustered? Clothing messed up? Did it look like he’d been in a fight?”
“Blanche!” I say forcefully, gripping her hands tighter. “I’m not a hostile witness in court, one question at a time.”
Her eyes close, her thick lashes dropping against her high cheekbones before fluttering open. I suck in a breath at the anguish I see. “I’m sorry, Dot.” She reverses our hands and now she’s holding mine. “Ben’s neighbor was found dead two days after your date with Ben.”
“Oh.”
“The time of death is during your date.”
“Ok.” I nod, even though I’m not understanding her point. Of course, it’s sad that someone died, but I didn’t know the person.
“Dot.” Her earlier anguish is replaced by irritation. I sit up straighter in defense; I didn’t do anything wrong. What the hell? “There are only three apartments on each floor, and the other apartment is unoccupied, but owned by an 87-year-old man who lives with his daughter in Georgia.”
“I see.” I don’t. Not even a little. Call me Miss Magoo, because I’m not seeing what this has to do with—“You think Ezra killed the neighbor?” My initial reaction is to deny it vehemently. I would never engage with a murderer. However, I don’t normally fuck men I’ve just met. Or in an elevator. Or right after leaving a previous date. “Oh shit!” I clutch my stomach as it flip-flops, my right hand covering my mouth as if that will stop me from puking. “He killed someone?”
“Is this Ezra?” She pulls her phone out of her cleavage, taps on the screen a couple of times, then spins it around to show me. And staring right back at me is a picture of Ezra grinning with a few other equally handsome young men. I can only nod, not trusting my mouth to keep the contents of my stomach on the inside of my body. “I’m sorry, Dot. I truly am.”
A few deep breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth and I feel safe enough to voice, “Who is he?”
“Ezra Kraus. Current CEO of Exodus Freight and rumored to be one of the kapitans of Moshe Holofcener…the head of the Jewish Mafia.”
I grab the garbage can just in time. Blanche rubs soothing circles on my back as I lose my lunch, breakfast, and last night’s snack.
“I fucked him and the body of the man he murdered wasn’t even cold yet.”
“You didn’t know.”
“Of course I didn’t know! I didn’t know HIM! I shouldn’t have opened my mouth let alone my legs. He was a stranger. Oh my God! Stranger Danger! He’s literally Stranger Danger!”
“Dot, you’re a little hysterical.”
“Duh! How calm would you be if you were me right now?” I shake my head and hold up my hand. “Don’t answer that. You’d be fucking fine and dandy.” I take a few breaths, close my eyes, and count to ten in my head. “How did you find out?”
“Well, funny story—”
“It is never funny to the listener.”
“Right. I got Ben’s number from your phone and called him to see if he knew any of his neighbors and after answering a million stupid questions about who I was, where I got his number, and if nipple loss was hereditary, he explained that it was funny I’d ask, because this guy that lives next door to him was found dead last week. I dug into it and…yeah. I mathed and the math equaled murderous fucktoy.”
My head moves up and down on autopilot, but I’m not sure I am processing anything right now. The best sex of my entire life was with a murderer. The more I think about it, the less surprised I am. This is exactly, EXACTLY how my life works. The most random shit happens to me or around me all the time. I just thought Ezra…well, it doesn’t matter what I thought of him, because I will never see him again.
Someone knocks on my office door, followed by Sophia’s excited voice, “Dottie! You have a visitor,” she lowers her voice to whisper, “It’s elevator guy!”
My jaw drops and my eyes widen to the point of pain as I look to Blanche for help. She’s laughing. My sister is laughing at me because a murderer has come to see me at my place of work right after I find out he’s a murderer. “You have to make him leave. Be Blanchey.”
That sobers her up. She leans over me, her lips curling, “What does THAT mean?”
“You know,” I wave my hand up and down her person, “Be bitchy, be mean, send him on his way…be Blanchey.”
“I am not an adjective.”
“You are now.”
“I’m not. And I’m not helping you.”
“What!?!” I grab her hand and try to drag her back to her seat when she stands up. She’s really strong. “You have to!?”
“I don’t. I’m just going to be Blanchey somewhere else.” She finger-waves at me with a smirk and swings my door open startling Sophia. Our sister squeaks and steps out of the way as Blanche crosses the hall into her own office and slams the door shut.
Sophia winces at the sound, but quickly grins and bounces on her feet as she looks back at me. “He’s here! How romantic! He found you because you were amazing and unforgettable—”
“Or I’m a witness and loose end.” I murmur.
“Huh?” I pat Sophia’s face as I walk past her. Just outside the lobby of our office suite, I square my shoulders and gird my loins. Best sex or not, he’s not a man I want anything to do with. With that running on repeat in my mind, I stride confidently into the lobby and paste on a customer service smile.
“How may I help you, sir?” Ezra spins on his shiny heel, running his dark gaze over me slowly, his thumb rubbing against his bottom lip. Dammit, that suit looks good on him. Shit. No, it doesn’t. It looks like a murderer’s suit…with broad shoulders and a trim waist and long legs and—
“Dottie.” He doesn’t say my name, he exhales it like a prayer, the sound of it causing goosebumps to erupt along my arms. I clasp my hands behind my back and tilt my head to the side.
“Sir?” His lips, lips I’ve felt nibble on my neck and suck on my tongue, stretch into a knowing smile. I’m a liar and a bad one at that.
“Dottie.” He closes the space between us quickly and I stand frozen in place as he wraps me in his arms and dips his face to my neck…just like in the elevator. Right after he took someone’s life.
I push him away and take a giant step back. My hands up, not in surrender but defense.
“Don’t touch me.”
“What? Why not?” He’s still so fucking handsome, despite the furrowing of his dark brow and tilt of his head. “You…you remember, don’t you?” I revel in his uncertainty; sure he doesn’t experience that often and definitely not with women.
“I know who you are. I know what you are.” His grin is back, and it infuriates me. Cocky men with black hearts…it was all my sisters, and I knew until we escaped and put hundreds of miles between us and pure evil.
“I’m the man who—”
“Killed someone. And then fucked some woman like it was all in a day’s work.”
“Some days.” I screech in frustration, balling my fists at my sides. He only grins wider. “Adorable.”
“Fuck you! And fuck your Kosher Nostra!” He loses that grin real quick, now he looks mad. Good, join the club! “I don’t know why you’re here. But I can tell you, I learn from my mistakes, and I don’t repeat them.”
He balls his own fists, but I’m not worried. My sisters are here, they’re probably listening, and I know they’ll protect me if needed, but…I know he won’t hurt me physically. Call it intuition, stupidity, whatever, I just know.
Chest heaving, jaw tight, he steps toe-to-toe with me and bends low to meet my eyes. “You a champion for drug-dealers and pedophiles? You think they have a place in our society? In our neighborhoods? Near our children?” He stands up straight and looks down his nose at me in disgust, “Mistake was all mine.”
Before I can even formulate a response, he’s gone. Along with all the oxygen in the room. Dizzy, I fall into the wall behind me and lean against it for support. They don’t make a sound, but I know my sisters are with me. They give me space but silent support. I wish they’d give me a chair. Instead, I just plop down gracelessly on the floor, my legs stretched out, my arms limply at my sides.
“Dottie?” Sophia inches closer to me on the floor, gently placing her hand on my thigh.
“I think…I think…I’m hungry.” Peering up at them, Rose and Sophia worried and Blanche amused, I shrug, “I could go for some Chinese food.”
“Do you want to follow him?” Rose asks. I let her question rattle around my brain for a moment and shake my head.
“No. He may have done the world a service, but he’s still in the mafia. And I don’t want that life…Hiram is a shit stain in human form, but he taught us what we don’t want, and I don’t want everything that comes from being in that world.” I lift a shoulder, “And besides, he could have just been looking for another quick fuck.”
“Dottie, you can pretend all you want, but that man isn’t looking for quick and easy. He tracked you down and the pain on his face…”
I swallow hard, my throat tight, “I know, Rose. I saw it.”
“Chinese or Sushi? Because I could kill a sashimi sampler.” I look up at Blanche and push the tears back down so I can return her smile. I need a full belly to distract from my empty heart.