Sexy Girls Page 3

  ***

  Cyndie walked in five minutes later. Over our delicious lunch, I asked Cyn, “Is there anything else you haven't told me about you and Andi and the blackmail? Anything at all?”

  Again, she hesitated. “Stevie, it's all about the girl sex. How much do you want to know?”

  “Anything that might help.”

  “Okay. But, nothing comes to mind right now.”

  I asked, “How about other men? Did Andi have any other affairs? She was alone and apart from Robert many times. In fact, Andi lived alone, really.”

  Cyn paused and looked at me for a long time. “You're good, Garrett. You must know something. Did Andi tell you?”

  “No. What do you mean?”

  I guess the way I asked that question sprung an old memory. “Holy shit! Maybe it was Fred,” Cyn said with a gasp.

  “Who is Fred?”

  Cyndie spent the next ten minutes describing Andi's old boyfriend, Fred Conarto. Andi and Cyndie met Fred at Shampoo, a night club in Philadelphia in the summer of 2003 when Robert was traveling. Cyn didn't like the guy from the first minute and described Fred as a big-time user. But, he turned on Andi. Cyn told me about their relationship and how he was into rough sex and put Andi down, verbally and physically. Andi liked Fred as she's into submission. Then, it got worse; the guy started criticizing Andi about getting old and called her a slut and a bitch. Cyn was glad that Andi broke up with the creep after ten dates.

  Fred was very unhappy that Andi, and not he, ended their relationship. Fred was also pissed off that Andi wouldn't have sex with him during their last date. He slapped Andi so hard that night that she had a bruise on her cheek for two weeks. That stuck in Cyn's mind, and always scared her.

  “When was their last date?”

  “Mid-October. In fact, we celebrated their breakup at Bleu, that night you saw us.”

  “Did she ever see him again?”

  “No, I don't think so. I'm sure Andi would've told me as he freaked her bad.”

  I paused a moment. “I had no idea Andi still did these kind of things.”

  “What do you mean ‘still?’”

  “Well, I found out about her weird times when she lived in L.A., but I thought things were different since she moved here and married Robert.”

  Cyndie coughed and said, “No, well, she really went crazy sometimes and the fact that Robert was an abuser, too, didn't help. Andi had time and money on her hands and used them when she had the chance.”

  “That kind of reckless behavior can get you in big trouble.”

  Cyn said, “You're right, it's crazy and frightening.”

  We ate in silence for a few minutes. It hit me again; there was a lot about Andi I didn't know. I let my thoughts go along with the bass line in a Flock of Seagulls hit. I finished and threw out my trash.

  “Cyn, I’d like to read these journals for a while. Maybe, I should take them to my office and do it.”

  Cyn then said, “Let’s do something else.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Shut up and get over here. I know you got turned on by the video. I’m hot now, too.”

  Cyndie stood and walked to the front door and locked it. She spun around and went to her stereo, put in two new CDs, pressed play and, then, turned up the volume. Cyndie faced me and kicked off her sandals. I wasn’t expecting this. It had been years.

  I said softly, “You know, we’re really good together.”

  She smiled.

  I added, “Sometimes I wish it was on a permanent basis.”

  Without meaning to, I had hit a nerve with Cyndie. “Don’t make me regret this!”

  “Regret what?”

  “You really know how to spoil a moment.”

  I didn't know what to say.

  Cyndie said, “Look Stevie, we’ve been over this before! I'm not into marriage or kids. You know that. That’s what you want and I respect that. But, respect me, too.”

  “I do respect you, Cyndie.”

  “You do, mostly. But, I'm different and you forget that sometimes. I’m bisexual and…”

  She stopped in frustration. I began to speak, but Cyndie put her hand up and said, “Look, I love you, you jerk.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “Stevie, you're cool in your own weird way, but you’re too conservative for me. We are good lovers, but you want and need a wife.”

  “I know what you’re saying.”

  “I don’t think you do, not really, not all the way.”

  I asked, “What don’t I know?”

  “You’re important to me, Stevie Garrett. You're the only mellow person I know. You never get on my shit or bug me. You're the best kisser, especially for a guy, and you're always great in bed. And, you’re my best friend.”

  “Thanks, for the compliments.”

  Cyn continued, “Listen to me. This whole thing with Andi is really weird. It’s freaking me out. Until now, I guess I didn't know how much I need you. You make me feel safe.”

  I nodded, smiled and put my hand on her behind.

  Cyn slapped my hand off. “No, Stevie.”

  I took my hand away; I know what ‘No’ means.

  “You missed your opportunity. Go ahead and read Andi's diaries while I do some photo work.”

  She turned, unlocked her front door and walked into her second bedroom. I sat down on the couch and started to read Andi's journals. The pink-colored one held the oldest memories. The entries started about two years ago and was all about her modeling days, with stories going back more than fifteen years.

  Andi wrote in large neat print and I noticed my name appeared a few times, including the first time I met her and Cyndie twelve years earlier. It was an interesting read.

  Three hours later, I had just finished the pink journal, when Cyndie broke my concentration and said, “Let's go.”

  the penthouse

  Cyndie and I were walking to her office through the narrow streets lined with row houses. We had changed back into our business clothes. We entered Rittenhouse Square and Cyn had us sit for a moment on our favorite bench so we could look at the Grayson Agency. We were shaded from the late day sun by the fully-grown leaves of the big oak and sycamore trees.

  We had a clear view of the modeling agency. The five-storey building sits on the north side of Rittenhouse Square. 1811 Walnut Street is the third building in from the northeast corner and has an impressive turn-of-the-nineteenth-century style. The entrance has a five-step granite staircase that leads to the raised first floor. The first floor has two grand windows on each side of the double front doors. The second through fourth floors have matching bay windows on the right and left sides, with smaller windows in the middle. The building has a hallway that runs from the front to the back with suites off to the left, the right, and the rear on all four floors. The two elevators are on the right or east side of each floor, halfway down the hall. The first floor has twelve-foot ceilings, while ceilings on the next three floors are ten feet high. The front third of the first floor is dominated by the lobby, all the way back to the elevators. To the right side is a waiting area, and the security desk and office is to the left.

  Our park bench provided Cyn and I with a clear vantage point to see the fifth floor, which is hidden from view closer to the building. The penthouse was added later, after the original building was completed, and is very different architecture. It looked to me like it dated from the 1960s with its brick siding and window style. It reminded me of a school. The penthouse occupies the back two-thirds of the roof. A deck fills the front of the roof surrounded by a four-foot wall, set back five feet from the edge of the fourth floor.

  We could see two doors onto the deck; one on the right from the elevator lobby and the French doors on the left leading into the penthouse. There were also two windows farther to the left of the French doors. From five stories up the deck provided a million-dollar view of Rittenhouse Square.

  I'm glad Cyn stopped us here to get familiar wit
h our destination. Cyn explained that her office didn't have any windows and was next to what was Andi's office. That office had a window that faced north, away from Rittenhouse Square toward the skyscrapers of Center City. Cyn told me that she could see the top of my building from Andi's old office. Cyn's office was in the rear suite on the fourth floor, just inside the hall door. Right outside her suite in the hall was the door to the fire escape.

  We were about to get up when Cyn held my forearm and said, “I feel a cold draft.”

  Cyn was looking east toward the right side of the square. I followed her eyes and there was my ex-girlfriend, Eve Simmons, walking up 18th Street, focused on the sidewalk in front of her. Eve wore her uniform, a woman's dark brown suit with jacket and skirt and low heels. She carried her briefcase in her left hand. Her hair was cut collar length; a little shorter than the last time I saw her, and my mind wandered and I realized I couldn't remember when that was; maybe sometime during the winter. Eve was walking quickly. She looked older, unhappier and smaller than I remembered.

  Cyn said, “I hope she saw us sitting here, together.”

  “She may have as Eve always looks around taking in everything in sight. Of course, she'd never come by and say hello.”

  “That bitch!”

  “OK, Cyn, but it looks like she's finished work and is walking to her condo. Let's give her a minute. I don't want to meet her now.”

  ***

  At the security desk Cyn signed us in to the fourth floor. She chatted for a minute with Joe, the friendly, seventy-something guard. Joe turned on his charm for Cyn. He called Cyn his favorite and his sweetheart.

  Cyn said, “You're working too much, Joe.”

  “Honey, we've been down a man for a few months and HQ is slow to replace him.”

  She told Mr. Verticelli that we would be only about twenty minutes.

  Joe said, “Take your time, honey,” and took a sip of coffee.

  We got off the elevator and entered her dark suite. Her boss, Sandy Miller, was gone for the weekend and the other assistant set designer, Stephanie Prince, was traveling with Robert on location. In that first minute, while I sat on one of the drawing table stools, Cyn turned on the ceiling lights, opened her office, and pressed on her computer. I took in her workplace and it revealed a part of Cyndie I seldom see; The Artist. Then, she went out to one of the drawing tables, turned on the desk lamp and pulled out two portfolios and opened them up.

  Then, she looked at me and said, “Let's go.”

  Cyn was three steps ahead of me before I stood up.

  She put her keys into her suit coat pocket, quietly closed the suite's door and made sure it was locked. Just as quietly, she opened the fire escape door and made sure it closed silently.

  As we walked up the metal and concrete steps, Cyn whispered, “Our cover is that you wanted to see the view from the deck, got it?”

  “Yes,” I whispered back.

  We exited the fire escape into the fifth floor elevator lobby. To our left were the two elevator doors. In front of us was the hall that ended with the door that led out on the deck. Sunlight poured through the glass window in the top half of the door. To our right, across from the elevators, was the main entrance to the penthouse.

  The hallway was carpeted and muffled the sound of Cyn's high heels. We walked down the hall, opened the door and went out onto the deck into an outdoor, city paradise. What a view! We were above the tree line, looking down on Rittenhouse Square and its solid block of green leaves and grassy lawns. About half of the surrounding buildings towered over our heads; some of them were over twenty stories high. The deck gave me the sensation of being on display, seen by hundreds of invisible eyes in those offices, apartments and hotels, while at the same time we had that same advantage over the crowds on the streets below.

  It was a truly lovely evening. For late May, the weather was perfect; temperature in the high seventies, low humidity, with the sun behind the tall apartment buildings on the west side of the square. The deck was made of pressure-treated six-inch-wide planks, laid at a diagonal from northeast to southwest. There were ten planters with palm trees and other tropical plants. Cyn told me the trees are moved off the roof in the fall. There were two outdoor glass-top, metal tables with matching chairs. Also, there were two chaise lounges and Cyn explained that Andi used these for topless sunbathing when Robert wasn't around. She smiled when she said the Grayson's have never received a complaint.

  “Isn't this nice up here, Stevie?”

  “It really is. What a great place for a party!”

  “Yeah, but the company doesn't really use it very much. Robert is too damn cheap!”

  After another minute of taking in the view, Cyn walked to the French doors. Two large rectangular planters flanked the doors with dwarf boxwood hedges in back and annual flowers in the front of each. Cyn went to the left planter, bent her knees and reached behind this wooden box and pulled out a silver key. Without looking around, Cyn stood, inserted the key in the lock in the left French door and entered the penthouse.

  I paused until she said, “Get in here, Stevie.”

  I entered a world of fine, modern furniture. Cyn walked ahead of me toward a back room, while I stood and admired the visual experience of this upscale city home.

  The living room sofas and chairs were the softest black leather I ever touched. The tables were stainless steel with lightly-smoked glass inlays, and the carpet was deep, soft and off-white. The sofa was draped with pink women's clothes; short silky dress, large-cup under wire bra, tiny g-string, thigh-high stockings and spiked heels. They looked like Andi's size and style.

  I lifted the little panty and marveled at its sheerness and lightness; the triangular patch of fabric and thin strings weighed less than a feather. In my mind's eye I pictured Andi slipping out of this lingerie, standing right here, letting me look at and pet her excited body. As I held the panty I picked up a scent of Andi; her perfume, her sex. It stayed with me. I slipped the panty into my pants pocket.

  There were seven opened and empty boxes from various Philadelphia clothing stores, tossed on the furniture and tables with tissue paper spilling onto the floor.

  I looked to my right and was drawn like a tiny sliver of iron to a powerful magnet. A wall-mounted flat-screen TV dominated the wall across from the couch. A space-age-looking stereo system sat on the side table below the TV. In the corners of that same wall were two circular tubes that stood six-feet tall. The matching pair was on the left side of the room behind the couch. They were the speakers and my mouth was watering imagining the sound they produced. A very impressive collection of CDs and DVDs filled a black storage shelf under the side table. I guessed correctly; this was Bang & Olufsen equipment; the ultimate stuff. It was my favorite stereo system; but, for me, this gear remained a dream. I almost lost myself and picked up the remote, but thought better of it at the last moment.

  The dining room was at the far left of the front of the penthouse. It’s black lacquered table, six chairs and china cabinet gleamed in the reflected light from the late day sun. Behind the dining room, the kitchen had near-new, stainless steel appliances and white Corian countertops that sparkled from, what looked like, glitter embedded in the cool surface. The cabinets had a pearl-colored finish, and some of the doors had opaque glass inserts. An island cabinet with an extended shelf and two stools underneath dominated the open wall to the kitchen. Hanging over the island were at least ten gleaming copper-finished pots and pans.

  I had just checked the milk in the refrigerator and noticed it was stale-dated, when Cyn came back to the living room.

  “Cyn, this place is great. Man, what a shock. I had no idea. The Grayson’s really put money into this hideaway.”

  “It's nice to be rich. But, Stevie, come see this.”

  She spun and walked back to the bedrooms. I followed her and passed the smaller second bedroom on the right, decorated in royal blue, with a full-sized bed, computer table and side cabinet. Cyn turned left into the
master bedroom and I followed.

  I've never seen so many clothes out of drawers and the closet and tossed everywhere. This large red room was dominated by a king-sized metal bed. On top were two pieces of luggage with some clothes inside.

  I blurted out, “What a mess.”

  Cyn responded, “God, Andi's manic, big-time!”

  “Manic?”

  “You know, Andi suffers from manic depression. We'll talk about it later. Why don't you look around in the office, that blue bedroom down the hall, and I'll look around in here?”

  “Okay.”

  “We need to get out of here in fifteen minutes.”

  I turned around and walked back to the little bed room. I turned on the desktop computer. While it warmed up I looked around the room and through the paperwork on the table top. I saw a stack of credit card, bank and other billing statements. I'd look at them later.

  After one look at the personal computer's wallpaper and software I knew this was Andi's PC. I was able to access her automated checking account software, as Andi didn't have the computer password protected. That was typical for Andi; trusting and open. This was Andi's own bank account.

  The automated checkbook showed Andi had about $5,000 in her checking account. Her bank statement revealed no savings account. Andi made monthly payments to her cellphone company, a credit card company, two clothing store accounts, and Beach Property Management. I guessed that last one was for the beach home in Rehoboth that she inherited last year when her mother died. These recurring payments totaled $2,500 per month. I closed that software and quickly scanned the other software programs.

  The computer also had software for estate planning. I opened it and the only file was a will dated seven months earlier, in October, 2003. It defined Walter Hines as her attorney. That was Andi's lawyer and it confirmed what Cyn told me earlier. I printed out a fifteen-page copy.