Spin

twenty-four.

I paid my cleaning lady extra to make sense of the mess, sweep up the porcelain swan guts, and put everything back. I dressed for work before I called Antonio. No answer.

I texted.

—Call me, please. I want to discuss something with you—

I read it over. It seemed very businesslike. I was a well-mannered person, but that didn’t mean I had to evade everything, did it?

—Specifically, your cock—

I smiled. That should do it.

I practically jumped out of bed the next morning. I layered slacks and a tight button-down shirt over a satin demi and lace panties. Rippable lace, because I was going to find that fucker and tell him what I thought, what I wanted, and how I wanted it. He would learn to trust me if I had to give him a signed affidavit and a blood sample.

I heard Katrina downstairs just as I was deciding to leave my hair down. No, I didn’t hear Katrina—I heard a dish clatter along the concrete floor as if it had been kicked.

“Sorry!” I called as I ran down.

She blew on a dish and returned it to the pile. “What the fuck?” She pointed to my broken swans.

“You don’t like the mess? I spent eight minutes making it.”

She waved and pulled the coffee down then dropped it. “I don’t care about the mess. It’s you breaking things. You’re Tee Dray. You don’t break things.”

As she scooped the coffee, I saw her hand shaking.

“Directrix,” I said, “have some chamomile, please. You’re jacked up.”

“We’re almost done. I’m excited. You coming to the wrap party?”

“I’m springing for an open bar.”

Katrina flicked on the TV. The talking heads talked, and the news ticker ticked.

“You should bring the hot Italian,” she said, reminding me of my text.

I checked my pocket. No response. “I might. The last time I saw him, it was weird.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“You’re busy.”

“So what happened?”

My lips stayed closed. I focused on the way they touched, because I had to shut up. It was just that kind of casual sharing and speculation that worried Antonio, and with good reason. I wanted to earn his trust behind his back.

“I think it’s over,” I said to deflect further questioning.

“Probably for the best. You know southern Europeans. They have a Madonna-whore complex. They either debase you and kick you to the curb, or revere you and never fuck you.”

Again, I pressed my lips together to keep from speaking. He’d fucked me, and fucked me dirty. I felt a familiar tingle between my legs just remembering it. But he didn’t want me to know about his life. It seemed as though he had disappeared long enough to get horny and then relentlessly pursue me when he wanted a whore. I hadn’t noticed the pattern because I’d been so close to it.

I shook it off. I didn’t have time to worry about how I was seen or wonder what he thought. I had to do what I wanted, and I wanted to feel alive again. He was like my drug, and I would either get a hit or go into withdrawal, but I wouldn’t abdicate my right to chase him.

I checked my phone again. Nothing. Just a traffic alert. The 10 was jammed up because of a car-to-car shootout that had resulted in a five-car pileup and police actions across a mile-long stretch. Venice Boulevard was in the red from the overflow.

“Fuck,” Katrina said.

“Yeah, the 10,” I replied, but Katrina was looking at the TV.

“This has been going on for days already.”

I looked over her shoulder. I recognized LaBrea Ave. The shot was daytime, and the tag said yesterday.

Two days of gang violence across the west side. Two shootings, one death in a seemingly unmotivated spree.

Daniel’s face filled the screen. The signage in the background told me the news crew had caught him at a campaign rally. “We’re working closely with the police to make sure justice is served.”

They cut him off there. God help him if that was the meat of the interview.

Could this be Antonio? Somehow? If he was what Daniel said he was, then he certainly could be involved, but there were hundreds of gangs in the city. The victims didn’t seem related, and the violence wasn’t all deadly. There was speculation about Compton gangs, the SGV Angels, and an Armenian outfit in East Hollywood.

“Good thing we’re downtown,” Katrina said, turning away from the TV. “But everyone on the west side’s going to miss call time.”

Daniel appeared again, mouthing the same promises. His hand appeared on the screen. The right ring fingernail was bitten down.