Dirty Blonde

The man climbed onto the bar stool next to hers, and Cate felt a tingle she couldn’t deny.

“If you’re Elvis, you can.”

“If you’re Priscilla, I will,” the man said, and they laughed.

It turned out Elvis knew a motel near the airport with a sign that read CABLE TV-AIR CONDITION. It was three stories tall, with concrete stairs and hallways on the outside, in front of numbered doors painted dark pink. The walls were paved with matching stucco, as if the place was in South Beach and not behind Terminal C. Cate parked the Mercedes in the lot and waited in it while Elvis checked them in, and when he left the tiny office with its plastic window, he gave her a wave, and she got out of the car, chirped it locked, and fell into step behind him.

“Done got us the honeymoon suite, Priscilla,” he said in a terrible Memphis accent. He reached back for Cate’s hand and led her down the concrete walkway, past a busted vending machine, and up the concrete stairs.

“Second floor?”

“Third, sweetie, but I’ll make it worth your while.” He laughed again, and the sound echoed in the cold night. Airplanes hung suspended in the flight path overhead, their red lights twinkling in a perfect line, like a strand of precious rubies.

They reached the top floor and Cate followed, permitting herself to be led as they took a right at the head of the stairs. Elvis withdrew something from his jeans pocket, an old-fashioned key hanging from a plastic diamond scored with 325, and he had no trouble finding the room.

“You’ve done this before,” she said, her heart starting to race as he opened the door and flicked on the light.

“The hell I have, darlin.’ I been savin’ myself for you.”

Cate laughed, standing on the metal threshold, thrilled and nervous. A long hallway led into a small room, containing only a double bed covered with a brown-patterned quilt and a metal TV cart next to a louvered closet.

“Come on in,” he said, and before she had time to think about it, he pulled her gently inside and shut the door behind her, and she found herself suddenly wanting him when he wrapped strong arms around her and kissed her once, tasting of beer.

“Against the door,” Cate heard herself say.

“Whatever,” he murmured, easing her back against the door in the dark hallway. She was on fire, and his hands grabbed at her skirt, pushing it up. He moaned when he felt bare skin.

“Watch out,” Cate said, giggling. He kissed her deeply, and she reached up around his shoulder, feeling his leather jacket under her hands, which was when she saw a flash of gold, darkly. The bracelet. Cate still had it on. She couldn’t wear it here. She turned her head from the kiss, pressing him back, saying, “Wait, wait.”

“What?” he asked, his hair mussed in front, his expression bewildered. He reached for her, but she was trying to undo the bracelet. He reached again. “Come here. Come back here!”

“Wait a minute,” Cate said firmly, holding up her hand, and he stopped, then eased down the hall and flopped backward on the bed, waiting.

“Women!” Elvis laughed, throwing up his arms. “What is it? A weddin’ band? Wear it or don’t, I don’t give a damn.”

But the bracelet wouldn’t come off. Cate couldn’t undo the clasp link, and Elvis was too drunk to help. It made her stop. And think. What am I doing? Graham. Marz. Sherman. She couldn’t keep this up. It was wrong. Inappropriate, not only because she was a judge. Because she was a woman. She wouldn’t do this again. Never, ever.

“Hurry!” Elvis hollered, sitting upright, but Cate had already pulled her skirt down and gone partway down the hall.

“Listen, wait, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to do this. I can’t.”

“What?”

“I have to go, I’m sorry.”

“Now, you want to leave?” Elvis sat up, his dark eyes wide with disbelief. “You can’t do that! You got me up here, bitch!”

“I know, I’m sorry. Here.” Cate reached reflexively into her purse, grabbed her wallet, and handed him cash, trying vainly to make it right. “Here, this is for your trouble. I’m sorry.”

“You can’t pay me!” he shouted, batting her hand away. Cash scattered in the air.

Cate hurried to the door but Elvis launched himself off the bed, rushed down the hall, and reached her just in time to straight-arm the door shut with a loud bang.

“No!” Cate cried, but he smashed his mouth against hers and pinned her against the door with his body. She tried to scream but his mouth was covering hers, his beery tongue thrusting inside. She tried to push him off but he shoved his hand crudely up her skirt.

“Hel-,” she screamed, but he mashed his hand over her mouth and started to pull up her skirt in front. He wedged her legs open against the door and plunged his hand between them. His fingers probed cruelly, hurting her, and he grunted in satisfaction.

Cate gave way to panic. He was going to rape her. He was enjoying her pain. No one knew she was here. He could even kill her. She must have been crazy to come here. She torqued her head this way and that. Trying to get free. To scream. To think. Cate trounced with all her might on his foot, driving her stiletto into his instep.

“Owwhh!” he shouted, releasing her and bending over, and in that split second Cate opened the door, bolted out, and half-ran, half-stumbled down the stairs to the second floor.

“You bitch! You bitch!” he yelled, running onto the balcony after her. It was raining hard again, but she kept pounding down the stairs, almost slipping on the last flight, streaking to her car, and chirping it unlocked on the run. She jumped inside while he kept screaming at her from the balcony.

Cate wasn’t a block away when her cell phone started ringing.

CHAPTER 8

Cate slammed on the gas, ignoring the cell phone. Probably Graham, again. She gripped the wheel and sped away from the motel like a madwoman. Rain pounded the car and bounced off the white hood. Her heart stuck in her throat, every muscle tensed.

She sped past the row houses lining the street, and teenagers crowded into a hoagie shop with a glass storefront. The counter was full at an open Dunkin’ Donuts, and the signs of normal life let her breathe easier. Had she gotten away? Was she safe?

The traffic light turned red, and Cate pulled up, checking for Elvis’s van in the rearview mirror. No van. Her heartbeat slowed. He wouldn’t come after her. She waited, calming, at the traffic light.

Ring ring! She looked over, and her cell phone had slid out of her purse onto the seat. GINA, read the green letters glowing in the dark. Huh? Gina never called at this hour. It could be some emergency with Warren. Cate flipped the phone open. “Geen?”

“I saw on the news that-wait, did I wake you?” Gina said, and Cate felt sudden tears come to her eyes at the sound of her friend’s voice. Everything was falling apart, and she finally felt safe enough to cry. “Cate? What’s the matter?”

“I’m fine.” Cate tried to hold it together. “I really am-”

“What happened? Did you see Graham tonight? Where are you?”

“God knows, by the airport.” Cate looked out the car window, but between the waterworks and the rain, she could barely read the sign. “Ellsworth Avenue? A stupid pink motel? Can you believe this?”

“What are you doing there?”

“Screwing up my life.” Cate wiped her eyes but they kept welling up. “This man I went with…he attacked me at the motel. I was almost raped.”

Gina gasped. “Graham?”

Oh, the irony. “No, someone else.”