29. Excerpt from Gangland Hearts Shadow Dance
E ven with my sunglasses on, the blazing midday sun glows bloody and bright through my closed eyelids. It’s hot down here, maybe hotter than any place I've ever been, but I like it. It’s cleansing.
And it's peaceful. Nothing but the ebb and flow of water over sand where the Caribbean sea kisses the shore, the quiet shush of palm trees, the occasional, distant whine of passing jets miles above. I wish I could stay forever, just like this.
But I can’t.
Even as I think it, a soft chime sounds, my phone informing me that my time is up. If I’m not back where I’m expected in ten minutes or so, I'll be sought out and that's just not necessary. Taking a deep breath, I rise, slipping my feet into sandals and my arm through the straps of my bag.
Back at the villa, things are as I left them. Callum’s still lounging around the patio by the pool, surrounded by hoodlums and sycophants—a little king of his own making. They get shit-faced every day, partying and meeting with local drug lords. Forging connections, making deals.
Hired girls, dressed minimally, sway in and out of the scene, making sure these fools want for nothing: cigars, booze, drugs, physical release. It took one day of relaxing by the pool for me to realize that it wasn't very relaxing at all. I wandered down the beach to the furthest patch of sand I could find, too far away to hear the blaring music and the drunken chortling. It’s become my solace.
Not that it matters. After tomorrow, we'll be back in the States, and this place will be another sun-drenched memory.
A leggy redhead with freckled, light brown skin and the nicest breasts I've ever seen struts by with a drink and a plate of food. I watch her walk straight up to my boyfriend, stopping only when she's practically on top of him. She places the tray carefully on the table, leaning down so that he can whisper in her ear. Her full, red lips curve as she listens.
Callum’s eyes meet mine. It’s anticlimactic—no jealousy on my end or guilt on his. He can do what he wants because in the end, it's me that warms his bed, decorates his arm, and spends his money.
At least, that’s what he tells himself, that his behavior is justified because he provides an amazing lifestyle. It wasn’t always this way. When we were kids, we were passionate and crazy for each other, the yin to one another’s yang. So many years, so many changes, and we stuck together through it all. We’ve been together for so long that even when things started to sour, when we started to argue more and cuddle less, we held on.
I held on even when the drugs, money, and power turned him into another person, when he broke promises and did things he said he’d never do. I held on when his bullshit turned me into a different person, too. I held on when I should have let go.
And now here we are, living in our very own sadly-ever-after. I’ve tried to leave so many times, but Callum always begs me to stay. He didn’t beg three weeks ago, though, when he saw an email confirmation of the plane ticket I’d bought to go home. No, he just rested his hand on my throat, really soft, and promised I’d regret it if I went. He was drunk and coked up at the time, but I believed him. There was something about the look in his eyes. Something feral and mean.
I leave the patio and step inside, grateful for the aggressive air conditioning. It’s a beautiful villa, opulent and spacious, tastefully decorated with local art. A pair of pretty girls in bikini tops and sarongs breeze by with a tray of cocktails, barely acknowledging me. I prefer it that way.
Beneath this opulent paradise is an undercurrent of desperation, and I’ve seen it in every place we’ve been this summer: Mexico, the Bahamas, Miami, LA, the Dominican Republic and now Grand Cayman. Race and culture might differ vastly, but money and vices are universal bottom lines. Callum and his guys always, always hire girls like this to tend to their needs.
Grabbing a banana from a bowl, I trudge upstairs and into the bedroom, exhausted. I do nothing but lay around and keep my dick of a boyfriend company (and sometimes not even that), but I'm never not tired.
I take a long, cool shower and pull on another sundress before noticing the bump of coke on the dresser. Callum must’ve left it while I was in the bathroom … it’s one of his favorite ways of keeping me beneath his thumb lately. I know this, and I know it’s awful for me, but I could use the escape. Holding my hair back, I lean down and snort my sanity without fanfare.
Feeling flushed, I throw open the shutters. The sun is starting to set, and it’s spectacular, painting the sky and the sea beneath it every color. There’s a loud splash down below, drawing my attention to the current situation at the pool. Two girls are making out in the water while Mac and a busty brunette dry hump on a chaise lounge. At least, I hope it’s just dry humping. There’s a towel covering the important bits, but it looks a little NC-17. The redhead is perched primly on Callum’s lap, aglow in the soft lighting that blinked on with dusk. He’ll say it meant nothing, that it was just flirting. Making nice with the locals, whatever that means.
I can’t wait to get out of here. At least back home I feel like I can leave when I want, even if it's just an illusion.
A knock at the door jerks me from my thoughts. Closing the window, I run a hand over my hair. I haven’t had a haircut in ages, and the long, loose curls skim my butt now, split ends and all. “Come in.”
The door opens just a little, and Jaime looks in. Of course, it’s Jaime. I barely look at him before crossing to the bed, haphazardly shoving things into my purse. It’s an act to keep busy, to shed myself of the nervous energy humming through my body courtesy of the coke and this man's gaze.
"What?" I snap, when I can no longer deal with the silence .
He comes in all the way, shutting the door behind him. “Look at you.” He almost sneers, dark eyes fixed on my face.
“Look at you,” I shoot back churlishly, hating how anxious I suddenly feel. That’s the problem with coke. It feels so good until it turns on you.
Shaking his head, Jaime comes around to my side of the bed and gently brushes his thumb beneath my nose. “Why do you do this shit?” he whispers, frowning at the white residue on his fingers.
“Stop it.” I shove away from him, irritated. Jaime’s concern is false, a pretend byproduct of his job.
Callum hired him a few months ago to be my keeper, although that isn’t what either of them would call it. Bodyguard. Driver. Whatever.
His perfect face hardens. “Callum sent me up to check on you.”
“Why? He seems just fine down there.”
“You've been gone for hours.”
Have I? I glance at the window again then at the clock beside the bed. Six o’clock. Guess I lost track of time. Shrugging, I step away, resisting the urge to wipe my nose.
“Let's go down,” Jaime says, touching my arm.
I pull away, not liking the way it feels when he touches me. I’m attracted to him, and I’m pretty sure he's attracted to me, but it doesn’t matter. These men are all the same. They speak only the languages of violence and commodity, leaving little room for things like love and affection.
Jaime’s beauty is irrelevant because the finest faces can hide the most rotten souls.
~
Thanks to delays due to weather not even Callum can control, we get into OAK around midnight. The airport is eerily quiet, and we make our way to baggage claim in silence, the goon squad trailing behind us.
After a small eternity, our luggage drifts lazily by on the carousel. Irrationally irritated by the perceived indignity of waiting, Callum gestures impatiently to Griffin, who easily piles our bags onto a rented cart.
“Hungry?” Callum asks. It's the first thing he's said directly to me since we left Grand Cayman early this morning.
“No,” I murmur .
“We’ll stop somewhere,” he says, as if I haven't spoken at all.
When Callum and I are together, we’re driven around by his bestie and unofficial driver Griffin. I’d prefer Jaime, but he disappeared somewhere between the terminal and the parking garage. He isn't far, though. I glance at the side mirror, confirming that his car is the one right behind us.
We pull into a twenty-four-hour fast-food place and order a ton of garbage I won’t touch. Callum will; he has the appetite and metabolism of a teenager, especially when he’s coming down. The smell of old grease turns my stomach, and I wish more than anything that I was riding with Jaime in his immaculate car.
“You should eat, Mae,” Callum says, thrusting a milkshake my way. I accept it, not wanting to bicker. A milkshake, I can do.
At our house high in the hills, Griffin pulls up to the gate and jabs at the keypad. The gates sweep open, and we glide up the drive, stopping outside the front door. The housekeeper knew we were returning today, so the lights are on. When we step inside everything will be spotless, the temperature just right, the fridge filled with food. The pool will probably be warm, too, and I’m tempted to go for a swim, regardless of the hour. Anything to wash the grime of travel away, the grime of … everything.
Taking advantage of Callum’s disappearance into the bathroom, I change into a swimsuit and slink away to the patio. As expected, the water is like a bathtub. Groaning quietly, I ease in, grateful for small pleasures.
I alternate between swimming laps and floating, desperate to relax. I did more coke this week than I normally do, and my nose and nerves are paying the price. I know I need to stop before it becomes a real habit, because already the urge to do more tears at me from inside.
I never thought I’d be this person. My body was my temple, and I took the utmost care of it. But a part of me died when I stopped dancing full time. Between that and the disintegration of my relationship, my life has become empty and hollow. I miss my family. I miss my city. I find myself yearning for happiness, any way I can get it. Even if it’s chemical.
But that stops now—I’d rather be miserable than miserable and coked up. I can do this. I just need a little help with the comedown .
After a hot shower and a cup of tea, I return to the bedroom I share with Callum. He’s in bed, on his laptop. Now that we’re back in the Bay Area, he’ll resume his frantically busy lifestyle, which is fine with me.
“Do you have any weed?” I ask, sitting.
He snorts indelicately, shaking his head. “You’re trying to smoke now? Go to sleep, Maeve.”
Rich, seeing as he’s indulged in way worse than weed since the moment we got home. “Yeah. So, do you have any?”
“Nope. I’ll get you some tomorrow.”
That doesn't help me now. I stand up, tightening my ponytail. “I can’t sleep if I don’t smoke. I'm going to see if Jaime has any.”
He dismisses me with a shrug, and I know, someday soon, I’ll succeed in leaving.
Even if I have to die to do it.
~
Jaime opens his door a sliver, his eyes glinting in the dark. He’s in nothing but a pair of basketball shorts, and it occurs to me that he was sleeping. Of course he was sleeping; it’s nearly four a.m. He inventories me from the sweater slipping off my shoulder to my bare feet, not noticing that I’m doing the same thing to him. He’s got a beautiful body. Beautiful skin.
“Maeve?”
“Hey,” I whisper, my face prickling with heat.
“What’s up?” He looks past me, at our house across the pool. “You okay?”
“Sorry to bother you … I know it’s late.” I pause, folding my arms, embarrassed at what I’m about to ask. How pathetic . “Do you have anything I can smoke?”
Nodding, he gestures for me to come in. I do, pausing awkwardly in the entryway as he shuts the door.
“You trying to come down?” Jaime asks, adding his gun to the detritus on a little table.
Relief washes over me like warm water, soothing the tension and the ache. “Yeah,” I croak, trying not to cry. My emotions are shot. Any dopamine that was in my body at the beginning of this week has been depleted, leaving me hollow. “I’m done with it. I don’t … I don’t want to do it anymore. ”
“Good,” he murmurs. Unlike us, Jaime won’t touch the hard stuff. He drinks and smokes weed, but that’s where it ends. I think it’s one of the main reasons Callum trusts him, both around me and around his stuff. It certainly makes me trust him more.
I follow Jaime into the living area, my gaze drawn to the large windows. Amidst the soft black of night, the sky glows orange with both Oakland and San Francisco's city lights. The Bay Bridge twinkles between them, a touchable constellation.
“Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”
I drop onto the couch, looking around at the sparse furnishings of the guest house. I’ve only ever been here once or twice before. A door somewhere closes and then he’s back, sparking up a joint, which he hits deeply before relinquishing.
“Thanks,” I whisper, closing my eyes as I inhale.
There isn’t much to say, so we don't speak while we share. When the living room gets too hazy, Jaime cracks open his sliding glass doors, exchanging the smoke for a brisk chill. Times like now I miss Boston’s warm summer nights.
“Callum know you're here?”
“Of course.” I glance over at him in the dimness, my heart skipping a beat when I find his eyes on me. “Why?”
“I wouldn’t want to wake up to find my girl gone.” Coughing, he grabs a bottle of water from the coffee table.
I laugh quietly. “He doesn't care.”
“Oh, he cares.”
“Not in the right way.”
“There’s a right way to care?” He knows I’m right, but he wants me to expound. I know Jaime sees things. He’s sharper than the others, more discerning. I used to hate that, because it felt like he saw past my bullshit, too.
Now it’s a relief to know that someone sees.
“There's caring for the other person and there’s caring about yourself. He cares about me in relation to him. Not about me for me.” My heart lurches. This is the most I’ve said about the state of my relationship in quite some time. Half the time I don’t even bother to acknowledge this stuff to myself, not even in the privacy of my own brain. It hurts too much. “Sometimes I wish he’d just leave me alone. For good. ”
Jaime sits forward, outing the joint on an old plate. “Might wanna be careful what you wish for.”
There is nothing to say to that, so I leave Jaime's words hanging like smoke. After a moment he stands up and pulls on a hoodie that was hanging off the couch. “Feeling better?”
“A bit.” I nod. “Thanks.”
“I’ll walk you back."
"No." I jump to my feet, waving him away. “Stay. Go back to sleep.”
Ignoring me, he walks past me to the front door and opens it. “After you.”