Blaze - the Sandstone Affair Part 4 Page 4

  I purposely turn, pretending to look for someone, just to see who the rude old cows are and make a plan to write them a very pointed thank you note. As the service starts I realize attendance is small, and the majority of mourners are friends of Dad’s from work and bowling. Very few in the journalism world even bothered to show up. Word must be out that I’m washed up or they would be here. If Valerie James’ father passed away, this chapel would be full.

  Frantically I try to focus on someone, something, anything, to get my mind off her and then I see the last person I need to see: Greg. He looks happy. The woman with him is dressed in a modest blue skirt and blazer. However, unless she’s developed midlife spread about twenty years too early, her attire is hiding a definite baby bump. My focus narrows to their fingers. Rings, matching ones, are all I see. Good for you, Greg.

  I imagine strangling both him and his pregnant bride with a Calla Lily from Janice’s bouquet.

  The music plays and the chaplain speaks, inviting many of Dad’s friends to stand up and share memories of times they spent with Dad. Many of them gesture toward me talking about how I was the apple of his eye. I wonder what he would see now. A song begins and we all stand, listening to the soloist sing of how Dad is “with the Lord.” Bitterness floods me. Even in death he has someone and I am here alone. Utterly, totally alone. No parents, no children, no friends, no lover – hell, I don’t even have a goldfish. I’m just alone.

  I dry a tear with a tissue only to have it replaced with three more. Then, I feel it. A warm presence, a comfort, a hand holding mine. At first I think my great aunt must have seen me standing here by myself and decided to join me. But the hand is stronger and surer than the prune-like fingers of an eighty year old with paper-thin skin. I turn to acknowledge this comfort and gasp aloud when I see that it’s Mark.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” he whispers loud enough for the women behind me who were so concerned about my prospects to hear. When he sees my gratitude flowing from my smile, he wraps his arm around me and I bury my head against his chest. He leans down and kisses my head and once we are seated for the end of the memorial I have a permanent resting spot in his embrace.

  The wall, the final wall, breaks. I get it. Mark loves me. He isn’t just using me. He isn’t just interested in Lynx, or beating his brother, or replacing Valerie or making a point. This isn’t about business, ambition or sex. He simply loves me in a tangible, enduring, beautiful way. Dad is with Mom now, but finally I have someone by my side too.

  “I love you, Mark Stone.” I say as we rise to walk to the front of the chapel where he will stand beside me and receive the condolences.

  “I know,” he says softly squeezing my hand and offering me the most reassuring smile on the planet. “I love you too.”

  Chapter 4

  Funerals are a bit barbaric for the family. Not only have I just lost my dad, but now I have to be hugged, shake hands and graciously listen to friends and strangers all talk about him, then tell me they’re sorry as they head to the cars for a nice dinner out. Even with Mark standing beside me, the process brings me face to face with folks I’d rather forget.

  “Julia, I’m so sorry for your loss,” Greg says, sizing up Mark even as he pretends to be speaking to me.

  “Thanks, Greg. It was nice of you to come.” I manage to behave courteously.

  “You remember Sylvia,” he gestures to his wife as she reaches out to shake my hand, her baby bump beaming a bright light in contrast to my black dress.

  “No, not really.” I deadpan. Mark’s hand around my waist gives me a little squeeze. I manage to choke a well wish upon them. “Good luck to you both.”

  When the last goodbye is said, Mark tells me he took a cab and he intends to drive me home. Gratefully, I hand him the keys, kicking off my shoes in the car, ready for the day to end. He offers to carry me to my apartment, but I manage to walk just far enough to get in the door and collapse on the couch. He sits on the end, rubbing my feet and listening to me ramble about thank you cards, and a trip to the ocean.

  “Julia, we really need to talk about Lynx. After today you only have two days left. If we are going to make one last play to keep your magazine from oblivion, it’s now or never.”

  “I can’t, I can’t think about that now,” I say melodramatically. His nurturing feels so good and the idea of losing Lynx hurts so bad. “Haven’t I had enough loss today?”

  “Yes, you have had enough loss in your life for many days, and I’m trying to keep you from losing any more,” he answers gently, but insistently.

  “So, Greg’s married,” I say, changing the subject and sitting up beside Mark. “Nice to know his affair at least turned into something more valuable than a six month fling. I sacrificed my chance at that ring on the altar of Lynx along with any real hope of having a life or friends or—”

  His lips lock on mine, stopping my rambling self-pity and enticing me as they continue to press against me and I begin to kiss him back, feeling the tension of the day ebb away in the warmth of his kiss and embrace. His lips move to my neck, kissing and nuzzling me as they make their way to that tender spot right below my ear that drives me wild. I melt into him, holding on for dear life. He rises and takes my hand walking me to the bedroom. He doesn’t ask if it’s okay, too soon, or any other question. He doesn’t speak at all.

  Slowly he undresses me, his kisses following his hands, covering my body in his passion for me. I feel as if I am floating on a magic carpet. He turns me on my stomach for a moment, hastily undresses, then straddles me – massaging my back. It is a luscious feeling as he gently works my stiff muscles until they are loose. He then turns me over, positioning himself between my legs and begins sucking on my breasts.

  My back arches for him. I want to say something – give some silly remark or even tell him how much I need his love at this moment – but I can’t seem to get my mouth to function. Mark licks and laps at my nipples, taking time to enjoy himself while his hand reaches between my legs, rubbing and entering me. I curl around it as if I am drawing myself into a cocoon.

  He enters me slowly, pushing his shaft into my body with one long stroke. I feel my flesh open for him and embrace him. He leans up to my ear his kisses making their way up my neck until he arrives again at the spot, this time accompanied by the luxurious feeling of him surging inside me.

  “You’re so beautiful, Julia,” he says. “So beautiful.”

  I reach down and drape my arms around his hips, pulling him further into me, thrusting to meet him and feel the full power of his movement inside my core. He takes me gently, in long steady strokes, delaying the moment for both of us until it can be denied no more. I come while he impales me, my body clutching with his steady rhythm, pulsing softly and releasing all the pressure of the day into a long steady pulse. I float beneath him, letting myself go – letting everything go – as tears fall in orgasmic response. He kisses my cheek, gathering my tears on his tongue and presses himself in me for one last thrust, his seed emptying into my body.

  He holds me while I cry. I’m not sure who or what the tears are for – me, Dad, Greg, Lynx, - I just know I am safe in his arms and I can let all of it go.

  ~~~

  I wake up to an empty bed. At first I feel panicky, and then the soreness and fulfillment of my body let me know that it was not a dream. I shower and throw some sweats on, walking around the apartment to look for a note or evidence of his presence. He walks through the door holding up my spare key and a pizza.

  “You’re up,” he says. “I was hoping to be back by then, but I don’t know this area well and got a little lost finding something to eat. Hope you’re hungry.”

  “Ravenous,” I exclaim, practically pulling the pizza box out of his hand. “This is just what the doctor ordered.”

  We eat mostly in silence, both of us too hungry to let conversation keep us from downing the pizza. He sifts through the papers I have stacked on the table, sorting out the ones related to the closure of Lynx from the o
thers.

  “What did your lawyer mean by ‘irregular accounting procedures’?”

  “I don’t know and I can’t ask. My retainer for Paul is up and I don’t have the money to rehire him. This analysis was all I got.”

  “We’ve got to get the file in Blake’s office,” he says yet again.

  “Yes. Yes. Yes!” I snap at him. “I agree. But no matter how many times you put that thought on the replay list we still have no idea how to get that file.”

  “I tried the last two days,” Mark confesses. But Blake’s playing pretty close to the chest. Anytime he left, his assistant would be in there. There’s no opening.”

  “You work there. You have the keys and the alarm code. Can’t you just sneak in at night?”

  “I hate to ruin your view of me as an outlaw rebel, or Mission Impossible type spy, but I don’t have the key to Blake’s office and I don’t know how to pick locks. The only way to get in there is when the door is open.”

  “Maybe we are overthinking this. Why can’t you just walk in, grab the file and run?”

  “Because I don’t want to be the warden’s accountant when I’m doing 15 to 20 for theft. Didn’t you ever watch Shawshank Redemption?”

  “Okay, let’s think. Can’t steal it. Can’t talk him out of it. Can’t sneak it out. Can’t sneak us in. Can’t exchange it.”

  “Wait,” Mark puts his finger up to stop the momentum. “We can exchange it. We can make a replica – it won’t be exact but it will look enough like it that he won’t know unless he looks closely.”

  “So you go in, trade them out, he thinks it’s still there and we have the smoking gun,” I say. The light in his eyes grows bright. He has a plan, and I can see it working through the system of his analytical mind.

  “Not me,” he says with a slight smile. “You.”

  “Me?” I laugh out loud. “That would be great except there’s this little matter of a restraining order, an assault charge and the fact he hates my guts. Maybe you should re-watch Shawshank Redemption.”

  “Look, he will never leave me alone in his office long enough for the switch, but he’d let you in and he’d leave you alone.”

  “Are you insane? The last time I visited his office I left in a zip tie between two cops! I’m hardly on the Ten Most Trusted list!”

  “You would be,” Mark’s voice curled around the phrase. “If he let you in.”

  “And why on earth would Blake Stone let me into his office?”

  “This is the gross part,” he squints, giving me a warning.

  “Oh, god. You don’t seriously want...”

  “You told me he propositioned you. That’s why you attacked him in the office, right?”

  “I would rather spend eternity in hell with nothing but a CB Radio and an old TV Guide.”

  “Follow,” Mark holds up his hands as if he is showing me the plan on an imaginary presentation board. I cross my arms over my chest and look skeptical as he lays out the idea.

  “Before you spend a lot of breath on this, the answer is ‘no’.” I warn. How could Mark even think I would do something so absurd?

  “Wait, look. Blake knows about me and you and he gave you evidence about me. So he will believe you are desperate to get your company back, and now because of the pictures you no longer trust me. In fact, you can tell him that if one of us is going to use you for sex, it might was well be the brother who can actually give you Lynx back. Tell him you will do anything he requires to do in order to stop the transfer. Don’t act like you want it – he won’t believe you. But act like you have no choice.”

  “Not wanting to have sex with Blake won’t require much acting,” I say dryly. This is crazy.

  “The only thing Blake likes better than sex is humiliating someone. So he will egg you on, say rude things, try to shock you with profanity. But when he’s done with that he will agree to the sex. He’s not going to just want it – he is going to want to remember it. Our offices have security cameras everywhere but we keep most of them turned off because it’s a lot of tape and storage. So when he is ready for it, he will leave his office to go to the control room to turn on his cameras. At that point you’ll be totally alone in his office. You can make the switch and run out the door shouting you just couldn’t go through with it. He will be mad but we will have the folder and he won’t suspect a thing. Easy as pie.”

  “Disgusting as cow pies,” I remark. I don’t want to be on the same planet with that man, let alone offering him my body. “He’s grotesque and repugnant. How am I supposed to pretend I’m willing to give him sex when I can barely look at him without throwing up?”

  “You’re an investigative journalist, Julia. You’ll find a way. Besides, you don’t have to do it, you just have to get him to believe you’re willing. Then you make the getaway. Do you have one of those large purses? The kind that’s more like a magazine bag than fashion bag? You can hide the fake folder in it. Sit it close to the bookshelf when you go in.”

  “Yes, but what if he doesn’t leave the room? What if he decides he doesn’t want it recorded? Then what happens?”

  “Improvise. Tell him you feel dizzy or to wait a second. Stand up and leave. You are younger, smarter and far more athletic.” Mark reached out and put his warm hand on my cheek directing my eyes to his. “Your safety comes first. If you think he will hurt or touch you in any way – get out of there. Losing Lynx would make me mad; losing you would kill me.”

  I nod. I can’t believe I’m going along with this nutso scheme, but Mark is right. It really is the only way to get alone in his office. Mark draws a picture of the office on a napkin, as if I hadn’t been arrested there already, and shows me all the exits. He prepares himself to call Blake and warns me that I won’t like what I hear. He instructs me repeatedly to remember it’s all a ruse and says he has to talk to Blake “in his own language” which means crude and gross.

  “I have been an investigative reporter for my whole career,” I scoff. “I know how undercover works.”

  “Hey Blake,” Mark says into his cell with a cynical tone. He’s a good actor; that I’ll give him. “You aren’t going to believe this. I’ve got the deal of a lifetime for you. You know Julia, from Lynx. Yeah. Well, the night you fired her she came storming into my office – just like she did yours. Yeah, I know. I should have called the cops like you and I shoulda told you. But I did something I think you would want to know about. I fucked her.”

  Mark puts his hand over the phone while Blake drones and mouths the words “I’m sorry” to me. They help the sting, but it still disturbs. He was right, this is harder to hear than I imagined. I should leave but I don’t. If I’m going to face Blake I’m going to hear worse than this – but it’s all for a good cause.

  “Afterward, I started this thing with her – you know – telling her I could help her if she gave me what I wanted. Yeah, it was pretty sweet. Then she blew a gasket or something. She came over to my place‒yeah‒I know‒never at my own place, you’re right about that, anyway she had these pictures. I don’t even know. She must have heard I dated Val so she had someone make pics of us like we were doing it. She was all pissed off. I think she was trying to blackmail me or Val or whatever. I know! That is ancient history. She’s a psycho.”

  Blake rambled off another string of something and laughed. It’s too bad Mark couldn’t use the speakerphone, but he said it would scare Blake off. I end up sitting down because all of this is making me sick.

  “So, I tell her we’re done. But today she came crying saying she wants to meet with you. She said you made her some kind of offer and she’s ready to take you up on it, but she can’t because of the cops. Did you offer her a job? Oh. Ha ha, yea – that kind of offer. Well, if you want it – sounds like me you can have it, brother. A little after-hours conference sounds right. When is that contract up? Yep, better hurry, don’t want to pass the expiration date, keep it fresh.”

  Mark talks with the same nasty chuckle I remember from Blake’s office.
He tells Blake he will give me the message about what time to come and congratulates him on “making the best of the situation.”

  He gets off the phone and shrugs.

  “You’re in,” he says. I can see he has mixed feelings about the whole thing.

  “I don’t know who raised you two, but he must have been a piece of work,” I respond bitterly, still re-living that misogynistic laugh they share.

  “That’s his world, Julia. Not mine. If we get this right, neither one of us will ever have to be near it again.”

  Chapter 5

  My heels click loudly on the tile floor of the main lobby. The guard looks up and I nod at him, pointing to my shoes and giving him a cheesy grin so he knows I’m not trying to break the sound barrier on my way to the elevator. I wobble for a moment then gratefully find my feet on solid ground as I hit the carpet in the elevator car. The shoes were Mark’s idea. The whole outfit was put together by him, actually. A white blouse buttoned down the front with an accentuated waist, conservative black skirt, hose with garter belts and three inch pumps at a steep enough angle to give me a nosebleed. My hair is down, falling softly on my shoulders. A scarf completes the package.