Excuse Me, Miss by Phillip Thomas Duck - HTML preview

PLEASE NOTE: This is an HTML preview only and some elements such as links or page numbers may be incorrect.
Download the book in PDF, ePub, Kindle for a complete version.

A novella

"Thus when we fondly flatter our desires, our
best conceits do prove the greatest liars."
--Michael Drayton-DESIRES



he night it all began to change for me was no different than most. I spent it in the


usual fashion, seducinganother womans husband. The seduction took place at


LOOK, an art gallery in Jersey City, New Jersey. Close enough to New York to


carry some of the same sounds and smells, but a touch less frenetic. The art gallery immediately


drew me in with brick walls painted chocolate, gypsum plaster walls painted a light cream, and a


hint of cinnamon and vanilla in the air. Muted lighting,low key. I almost didnt feel the usual


pangs of guilt for what I was about to do.




I spotted Beverly Marie Kingstons husband by a painting that took up most of a cream-


colored wall. Age forty-five, but he looked a decade younger, the benefits of three days each


week at an LA Fitness. He was cloaked in black slacks and an attention-seeking lime green shirt.


Expensive leather shoes, Piaget timepiece, a diamond-encrusted platinum bracelet on his right


wrist. He sipped at a glass of ginger ale, letting his shirt sleeve snake up his arm with each sip so


all of the attractive ladies in attendance could catch the shimmer of his jewelry and put two and


two together: wealthy and content spending that wealth on a variety of gaudy and unnecessary


items. What many women foolishly considered a good catch.


I headed his way.


When I eased into his personal space he glanced at me briefly but went back to admiring


the art. Thered been a slight hitch in his gestures, though, and so I knew he was in play. I


lingered there beside him, like too much perfume, before moving on. But even afterId stepped


away I wasnt completely gone from his imagination. His mind was fixated, Im certain, on the beautiful stranger in the form-fitting, red dress and three-inch heels. That quicklyId become the


muse in his fantasies. That quickly I had his nose wide open.Im certain of this fact.


I found my way to an admittedly eye-catching sculpture and stopped there contemplating


love at first sight. As I expected, Beverly Maries husband sidled up next to me a moment later


with his lies carefully thought out. A sip of ginger ale made his sleeve slip back once again.


I ignored him and the platinum bracelet on his wrist.


“Natalia trulyoutdid herself this time,” he said.


I didnt respond, but lingered long enough to further infiltrate his thoughts. Then moved


toward another sculpture.


“Excuse me, miss?” he called out for me in a deep baritone. A radio voice.


I kept moving, putting plenty of sway in my hips.


“Miss?” he called again.


I took that perfect moment to go ahead and turn back. Everything I did was calculated.


I eyed him, but still offered no words, just stood there smoking him over. His skin was a


shade darker than nut brown. Hair cut close and absent of any visible gray; his face clean-shaven,


free of razor bumps. Much taller than what Id prepared for. About six-two. Wide-shouldered


with strong hands that belonged wrapped around a womans waist. Beverly Maries preferably.


“I didnt mean to alarm you,” he said.


“You didnt,” I replied.


“But you walked off.”


The first hint of his arrogance. It was beyond the realm of possibility, in his mind, for any


woman to walk away once hed spoken.


“I dont know a Natalia,” I explained. Under different circumstances I wouldnt have explained myself. Id have walked away


for the second time. But I couldnt do that with Beverly Marie Kingstons husband. That


bothered me, my lack of say in the matter.


“Hovhannisyan,” he said, and, no doubt noticing the furrowing of my brows added, “She


was born in Yerevan, the Republic of Armenia. Fascinating woman. She has some stories to


tell.” He smiled as if he expected me to be impressed by the people he knew and their depth.


I said, “And?”


The smile was nudged aside by a frown.“Natalias the director of the gallery.”


I simply nodded and resumed my assessment of the sculpture before me.


“Ceramic and bronze,” he said, undeterred by my rudeness. “By exploring figurative and


narrative subjects, the sculptor raises questions about the human condition with impacts form


rather than confinement to realism. Its without question a thing of beauty. As lovely as art gets.”


I wanted to concur. His analysis sounded intelligent and at least as well thought out as his


lies to come. If I had a stomach for art I wouldve been impressed. Intelligence turned me on.


“A perfect blend of objective reality with mythology and flights of fancy,” he added, to


keep the conversation flowing. “Wouldnt you say?”


I started to say, “Yeah, all of that,” but I heard myself reply, “Comic surrealism at its




Id done my homework.


“Yes. Exactly.” He turned to me. Something as pretty as a flower bloomed in his eyes.


I prepared myself to move on.


He quickly asked, “Youre here alone?”


“Sure am. And thats just how I prefer it,” I said. “Thats a troubling worldview from someone so beautiful.”


“Who said that was my entire worldview?”


“Whats your name?” he asked.


“And why should I tell you?”


“I asked nicely.”


“So did Ted Bundy, Im sure.”




“I have to know about more than just art,” I said. “The world is full of evil, and I have to


be aware of that.”


“Im not evil.”


“So you say.”


“Id just like to have a name to attach to your pretty face. Pardon me.”


I had to know the correct steps for this dance. Id pushed it as far as I could. Time to


waltz some more.


“Vicki,” I said.Id stopped giving out false names a while back because I would


oftentimes forget the name Id given. In my line of work awkward recoveries were anathema.


“Vicki,” Beverly Maries husband said, tasting it on his tongue. “I like that. Very sexy.”


I smirked.“Come on now.Youre definitelyreaching. Theres nothing particularly sexy


about my name.”


“Maybe its your carriage, then,” he said, smiling, his teeth straight and as near to white


as teeth could be.


“My carriage?”


“Can I tell you something, Vicki?” I tsked. “I see how this works. You dont answer questions, you just ask them.


Controlling are we?”


“Most women appreciate a man willing to control some things,” he said, smiling with




Things came out sounding like thangs.


He was getting comfortable with me.


I aided and abetted that comfort, sexymoaned, “Mmm. I cant argue with you there.”


That caused him to clear his throat and swallow, hard. I did my best to keep a shadow


from crossing my face.


“By the way, Vicki, my name is Benjamin Kingsto—” He actually smirked as he caught


himself, and cleared his throat. “Benjamin.”


I frowned in displeasure. “Benjamin. And here I was hoping for something sexy to match




His laugh was a great boom of a thing that had likely broken more than a few womens


hearts. Now that we were deeply engaged in easy conversation not-sexy-named Benjamin had


morphed into a natural born ladykiller. He reached forward and took my willing hand. “Im


certain I could make Benjamin and sexy synonymous in your mind, Vicki. Believe that.”


“That an offer?” I teased. He still held my hand.


“A solid verbal commitment,” he replied.


“Speaking of commitments…” I eased my hand away, finally, and turned his left hand


over. I fingered the knuckle of the naked digit on his matrimonial hand. Thought of my own


naked digit and smiled.


“Thats right, baby. Im single and free to mingle,” he said, biting his lip. He thought my smile was for him. Good.


I continued examining his finger. No mark whatsoever on it. Id always held some


measure of respect for the men with a pale ring of skin where the wedding band shouldve been,


or those that moved to stuff their hand in their pocket when I looked in that vicinity. He was


neither.I cant deny holding that against him.


“Okay,” I said. “Thats good to know. I dont get involved with married men. Thats a


deal breaker right there.” I paused and sexed up my tone. “So tell me about yourself, Benjamin.”


“Im an architect,” he said. “And you?”


I couldnt help but laugh and shake my head. Brevity is the soul of wit? “Quick on the


draw there, Benjamin. Im not sure I appreciate that. I need a man with some staying power.”


Everything I said had a hint of sex behind it.


“Trying to move beyond the preliminaries so we can get to the good part,” Beverly


Maries husband replied. “The good part, youll relish that, Vicki. Trust me when I tell you.”


“Trust.” I let the foul word dangle in the air.


“The key to all happiness in a relationship,” he had the nerve to tell me.


It took the strength of the God I no longer prayed to, that and a desire to see this situation


through completely, to keep me from slapping not-sexynamed Benjamins handsome face.


“Where do you live, Benjamin?”


Pause. “All over. I travel a lot.”


“What address is on your income tax return?” I prodded.


Throat clearing.“Chicago.”


His lies and the ease at which he told them were more impressive than his knowledge of


art. “Chicagos nice?”


“Beautiful city.” His gaze drifted away from me for the first time.


“I dont understand.So how come you dont have a better half to share that beautiful city




His eyes were on me again, narrowed, looking out over a smirk of his own. “As I said,


Vicki, I travel a great deal. That leaves me little time to establish relationships or work on


starting a family. Unfortunately.”


That one word, unfortunately, and the disingenuousness of how Benjamin Kingston used


it, would be the top soil over his grave of lies. I took then to ease into the million-dollar question.


“I guess youve cleared all of my hurdles, Benjamin. You dont seem like a psycho.”


“Im passionate but harmless, Vicki.”


“So what do you want to do tonight?” There it was.


“You mean after we leave here?” he asked without hesitation.




“Yes,” I said, nodding.


I was art on the creamcolored gypsum plaster walls, thats what not-sexy-named


Benjamins eyes spoke to me. “Youre an out-oftowner or you live nearby here, Vicki?”


“I live close by,” I admitted.


“I wont disrespect you by asking you to my hotel room. But maybe we could go to your


place and do our thing?”




“You think getting me is that easy?” I asked. He shook his head. “Quite the opposite. But you do look as if you could use some


company. I want to be that company. Hopefully Ive earned a chance to fill your need.”


“I dont need anything,” I told him.


He wasnt the only one capable of a lie.


“Everybody needs something, Vicki. Especially companionship and love. Theres no


shame in being lonely from time to time.”


“Ive had my fill of players.”


“Only game Im interested in is Love Connection.”


“Mmm,” I sexy-moaned. “Chuck Woolery. Sure youre right.”


“Let me be your Chuck Woolery,” he begged. So deep were his needs and desires hed


probably lie down and bark at the moon and roll over and fetch a rib eye bone if I asked him to.


“So come again,” I said. “Tell me exactly what it is you want from me?”


“You make it sound so selfish, Vicki. Its not what I want. What I want to give.”


“Altruistic are we? Im listening, Robin Hood.”


“Im being serious, Vicki.”


“Youre not being quite clear enough is what youre being, Benjamin.”


“I want to undress you, sex you, and lay next to you,” he said.


I smiled. “You arefrom Chicago. Jesse Jackson wants his Mack returned ASAP.”


“Not nice, Vicki, I was trying to be romantic.”


“Thats right up there with „never trust a big butt and a smile.”


“You can trust me,” he lied.


“Natalia from the Republic of Armenia have a restroom somewhere in here, Benjamin?”


“Turn right by the arrangement of lilies you passed when you first walked in.” His smile belonged to a man without a mortgage and other equally significant


commitments. I noticed the perfect crease of his pants, the high shine of his expensive leather


shoes. His smile belonged to a man that didnt have an attentive wife waiting for him at home.


“Let me go freshen up real quick and we can go to my place,” I said.


Not-sexynamed Benjamins eyes brightened and I wondered if hed ever looked at


Beverly Marie in that manner, and if he had, why he had stopped. Or did he still carry the


pretenses of a truly faithful partner? Did he still kiss his wife in all of her favorite places? Did he


in fact create new favorite places from time to time? Was his wife wondering at that very


moment if she were losing her mind? Makingthings up that didnt exist? Obsessing? Creating


fire where there wasnt even smoke? I myself wondered how a married architect from


Kenilworth, New Jersey became a single architect from Chicago who traveled too much to start a


family. Unfortunately.


“Dont keep me waiting too long,” Benjamin said, breaking my thoughts.


“I wont.”


Harmony bleated a song out of my sexy walk, my movement one of poetry. Id worked


on the walk forever. It had to encourage duplicity. I looked over my shoulder, caught Beverly


Maries husband watching me. He turned away, not quite bashful, gave the sculpture more study.


I slipped past the arrangement of lilies near the front of the gallery, straight through the


lobby, and out into the cooling air of the evening. The heat from earlier in the day would return


tomorrow. Augusts scorching heat is the only faithful thing in this world of liars and cheaters.


I was at my car, keys in hand, when I felt my shoulder jerk back violently.


“What kind of game are you playing, Vicki?” Not-sexynamed Benjamin lurked over me. There was fire in his eyes but he didnt let it


completely inform his tone. He still held out the hope that Id be letting my kitty off the leash.


He didnt want to ruin his chances. I peered over his shoulder, scanned the lot. The backup Id


never needed before was somewhere out there in the shadows. Ready to pounce at a moments


notice if I didnt smooth my way out of this royal mess.


“Whats going on, Vicki?” Benjamin asked.


I realized I hadnt spoken yet. I gathered my wits.


“I started thinking while I was in the ladies room, and even though Im attracted to you,


I cant go through with this. I was just going to slip out and save myself the embarrassment.”


“Bullshit,” he fumed. “I watched you. You didnt even go in the restroom.”


Cardinal sin number one: giving more information than needed. Id messed up.


“This one night stand business isnt for me, Ben.”


He gripped my wristso quickly I couldnt react. “You enjoy playing with peoples




I tried to wrestle my hand free, but his grip shackled my wrist like cuffs. He moved in


close and pressed me up against my car. An indication of his eagerness to proceed with the


evening as planned poked me in the stomach. I said, “You dont want it like this, Ben. Please.


You dont want to have to take it. Youre much too handsome and debonair and suave for that.”


“Dont patronize me, bitch.”


I raised my leg with a plan to whittle away his expectancy with my knee, but not-sexy


named Benjamin grabbed my ankle and lifted it. I was close to toppling backward. I didnt think


my head and the pavement could be friends. My heart hammered in my chest because of that.


“Is everything alright here?” Not-sexy-named Benjamin wheeled around and faced down the masculine voice. It


belonged to a man that looked as though hed jumped out of a Bronco or Jeep advertisement.


Benjamin made a quick decision. My foot touched ground again. “Everything is copasetic,” he


said to my savior. He then turned to me and brushed off my clothes, smirked, quickly stepped


away, disappearing into the night. In another hour hed be shirtless, lounging on the bed in his


boxers while Beverly Marie massaged his worn muscles. Shed rub him with everything she had


even though her thoughts would be on the revelations, good or bad, to come tomorrow. Women


didnt go halfhearted, even when our broken hearts would be forgiven for a diminished output.


My employer, James Boston, walked over. His long blond locks were tucked inside a


turtleneck. I couldnt understand how he wasnt burning up in that thing. He considered our


investigations rugged work and thought it essential that he was always dressed in the appropriate


attire. For him, usually a dark turtleneck, black Calvin Klein jeans, a pair of scuffed boots.


“Are you okay, V?”


Dark aviator shades, another part of the ensemble, hid his ocean-colored eyes. But I could


still envision the concern in them.


You may also like...