Chapter 20: Like her (rated T for adult themes); another who could; fire-breathing (rated T for adult themes)
Please note: In the Works Cited portion of Chapter 1 there are suggested music pieces to accompany this and other Chapters to enhance your experience of reading. I hope you enjoy them...
Manhattan, New York, January, 2015
Root was sitting there on a chair across from the bed, watching her. The light had not even come up yet and she was already sitting there, arms hugging her legs drawn up on the chair, with a shawl pulled around her in the chill – watching her sleep.
In the feeble light, she leaned back against the cushion and let her thoughts go to Sameen. Tumbling out, released now, like the dam had broken, Root could only feel the distance, the loss. So hard to be so far from her when someone else had moved in so near. Night after empty night, another try, another try to find food for that hunger inside – but nothing. She looked at her sleeping there, and closed her eyes.
Starving. She was starving for what she'd had with Sameen. And in the emptiness, in the loss, she could only do what she had to do – night after empty night, another try.
This wasn't going to work.
Root tried to think of a better reason, so that when she spoke up later, as they left the hotel, it would be final. She didn't want things to drag on – too much like certain other things in her life right now. Better to be quick and clean, cut the ties. It had been fun in the beginning, she'd say. They'd both had some laughs. But it was time to move on now.
Root got up from the chair, with her shawl wrapped around her, to a low cabinet by the door. The top drawer tipped open to a pull-out shelf. It had a two-person coffee pot inside, and some little baskets stocked with half-and-half, coffee pods wrapped in foil and a few packets of tea. She was shivering a bit, and a cup of tea would warm her.
She flipped through the teas and picked the strongest one. Paper coffee cups wrapped in noisy plastic nested together in a stack, and Root used one in the bathroom for some water. Once she'd poured a cupful into the top and pushed the button, boiling water spurted out into her cup, and soon the aroma of tea filled the room. Root looked back toward the bed to see if the noise or the smell of her tea had wakened her. But no, she was still asleep over there, making this little snoring sound with each breath.
Root was starting to take notice of little things like that – things that she hadn't noticed at first. She really didn't like mousy people – people with mousy brown hair, soft squeaky voices, who always backed down, and always apologized. People who scurried around like they were expecting something to pounce all the time. She looked to the bed.
Like her.
Abuja, Nigeria, January, 2015
"I am happy to hear it," Olawale said, his eyes crinkling into smiles at the thought of doing business with Greer.
"We did well togethah in the past," he said, and Greer agreed. But he'd need to poke Olawale a bit to see what was possible.
"This is something a little different, my friend." Greer watched his reaction. He spoke slowly and softly, as though divulging a secret. This negotiation would need to be a bit delicate.
"We're looking for someone with unique skills," Greer said. Something in his voice – the resonance, the cadence of his speech, the British accent; it was almost mesmerizing. His trademark.
"Tell me," Olawale said, softly, with his hands in front of him, pressing his fingers together like a tent. Greer leaned back, as though considering how to begin.
"We want to access a certain computer system."
"Access?"
"It won't be easy," Greer said, but then pushed on, " – security is at the highest levels."
Greer paused and watched Olawale lean his head to one side, his eyes rolling up to the ceiling as he considered Greer's words.
"Business? Or government?"
Greer smiled with his face, his eyes empty, like the eyes of a shark seeking prey.
"Let's say a business in bed with the government."
"And once the system is accessed? What then?"
"Maintain the access."
"For how long?"
"A few hours should be good enough. The details I leave to the experts."
Greer saw Kara from the corner of his eye, sitting back, but intent, watching Olawale. She gave nothing away with her expression. Her face was blank, unemotional, like his. Olawale looked from one to the other, but neither offered any hint of what to think.
"With all of yah resources, wah come here?" he said softly, opening his hands wide apart.
" – certain technical reasons to move operations off-shore." Greer kept his voice low and unhurried, hypnotic.
Olawale leaned back in his chair, silent for a long minute. Then he slowly leaned forward toward the two.
"We are a small operation here. I don't think we can help you with this." His eyes were resolute. Greer exhaled audibly. This was not what he'd expected. But he rebounded quickly.
"I see. I must take your word for it, of course. You know the capabilities of your people." He stopped for a long moment in the silence and then, as if he'd just thought of it:
"But perhaps you know another who could?" Greer looked up, with his eyes searching Olawale's features, inscrutable now himself.
Something in the room had just changed. It felt suddenly cold, and airless, as though everything human had been sucked from the space. Olawale shook his head.
"No. I do not," Olawale said. Greer stared into his face. Had he seen this coming?
"I'm speaking of – "
"Legend! Fantasy! He does not exist!" Olawale raised his voice, and it shook at the end, his fist high in front of him.
Interesting, thought Greer. Something had upset him. And Greer could see Kara from the corner of his eye, reacting, reaching toward her jacket. He turned to her and met her eyes. She didn't believe him either.
There was a sound behind them at the door, and they turned. The young men from the next room had heard Olawale's voice, and crowded together at the door, peering in. Olawale raised his hand to stop them.
"It tis alright," he said more softly. "Our friends were just leaving." Olawale stood, then waited for Greer and Kara to stand.
Manhattan, New York, January, 2015
The bar was dead tonight. Sunday. Not even the regulars were here tonight. Root looked around. Friday and Saturday the place was packed, so many people it was hard to move at times. And so many bodies on the dance floor, you couldn't help sliding up against someone in the dark. Bodies everywhere. No shortage of choices then.
She was tired. Partying for two nights into the early morning, then out with someone til dawn. Then waking up in someone's bed. A little drink would make things better.
She sat down at her usual seat at the bar, and her bartender nodded to her with a little half-smile.
"Usual?" and Root nodded back. Her usual would be just fine.
On the far side of the bar, she lifted a glass from the stack, flipped it over and reached for the vodka. She dropped ice in first and then poured a generous amount of her favorite vodka over. She smiled, looking up to Root's face, and grabbed a fresh lemon, rolling it on the counter under her palm. Then, she made a show of stripping a wide piece of peel from the lemon, and twisting it over her drink. The smell of the lemon peel made Root smile, anticipating the taste already. Her bartender dropped the peel into her drink and slid it across in front of her.
Root was grateful for the silence. She didn't want to talk about it tonight. She just wanted to sit by herself, and drink. It was fine that the bar was empty tonight. Her drink would keep her company. Root lifted her glass up high, bowed her head to her bartender, then took a sip.
It was after ten when she got up from her seat and wandered over to the stairs that led down to the restrooms. Her bartender watched her go. Root was feeling no pain now. The elixir in her glass had done its work. She leaned on the railing as she made her way down to the lower level. The last two nights, she remembered the crowd in both restrooms, spilling out into the hallway. People pressing up against one another pushing each other against the walls, hands and mouths everywhere, and the music so loud, thumping. Bodies entwined everywhere.
But not tonight.
Root made her way to the Ladies Room and went in. When she caught sight of herself in the mirror, she had to stop for a closer look. That can't be right, she thought. The woman in the mirror looked so old; so tired. Her face was swollen, and there were dark circles under her eyes, like she wasn't sleeping. And little fine lines, little wrinkles in the places where smooth skin had been. What was happening?
She leaned forward toward the mirror, stretching her skin with her fingers to smooth out the lines. While she was leaning, the door opened and in walked two women. They brushed past her and straight back into the nearest stall. Root heard the two struggling together inside, and then a ripping sound and buttons dropping everywhere on the floor. Root turned around. She could see the back of one of them, a tall Asian woman, with long straight black hair. Root could see through her lacy black top, and on her back she could see a long design tattooed on her skin. She couldn't see enough of it to tell what it was, but it started on the back of her arm, ran up her shoulder and down her back, disappearing at her hip under her skirt. Root kept staring at the spot on her skin, where the tattoo disappeared from view. She was wondering how far down it went.
The two women were moaning, oblivious to Root standing there, watching them. After a minute, she turned around and walked out. She wandered down the hall and back up the steps to her seat. Her bartender watched her walk back. She looked sad.
"Bad day, Sugar?" Root didn't answer. She just picked up her glass and drained the rest. Then she slammed it down on the bar.
"Lemme call you a cab, Sugar." Root waved her hand, no, and then reached into her bag for a twenty, throwing it onto the bar near her glass.
"I'm good," she said, turning around. From the corner of her eye she saw someone coming up the stairs from the lower level. Tall, very thin, with long black straight hair and a lacy top, hiding that design on her skin. Their eyes met. Root watched her cross to one of the tables in the darkest part of the bar, and lift her coat. She saw her slide it on, and reach underneath her hair, lifting it from under her coat, to fall like a black waterfall from her hands, down her back. Black hair, long black coat, and tall black boots. She turned to look back over her shoulder at Root. Yes. She was looking back.
Without another glance, she walked to the front door, black boots clacking on the wood floor. Then at the door, she called back to Root, without turning.
"You coming?"
In the quiet of that same hotel room, Root could just make out the design in the darkness. The top curled around to her upper arm, and that part was hidden by the sheets, but the rest swung around the back of her shoulder, onto her back, winding down and down to her hip and then down further still. When her top had come off, and the tall boots, the skirt – falling to the floor, Root had made her show it to her, before anything else. She needed to know. Needed to know what it was.
A dragon. Fire-breathing. Winding the length of her, and around all of her best body parts. Root pressed herself against her in the darkness, both of them spent now, and the fire-breathing dragon resting against her.