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CHAPTERONE
New York City
East 93rd Street
Tuesday morning
“Spike. Here kitty, kitty.” Vivian Holte leaned out the window, beckoning to her housemate’s cat. There were times when having the fire escape located at the front of your apartment was a godsend. Those hot August nights when you just needed to sit outside and try to catch a breeze rather than attempt to sleep in your sweat soaked sheets was one. She’d given up counting the number of times the building’s superintendent had sworn he had ordered them a new AC unit. But like the sparkly unicorn she had been promised on her ninth birthday, the air conditioner was yet to materialize.
At five am, on a chilly October morning, Vivian fervently wished her apartment didn’t have any form of balcony, because if it didn’t then the gray tabby which belonged to her friend Grace wouldn’t be happily sitting outside. The cat slowly blinked at Vivian, taunting her.
“Come on Spike, you precious girl. I have a plane to catch,” she pleaded.
Spike sniffed her disinterest at hearing Vivian’s predicament. Vivian couldn’t blame her. The pampered kitty wasn’t the one with travel plans. Nor would she be going into the office to meet with her boss before enduring a hair raising taxi ride to JFK airport, not to mention the joy of the soul-sucking check-in queue. The prize for making it through to the departure gate was a six hour flight to LA, seated in coach while sharing stale air with several hundred other passengers.
No, Spike could sit out here all day long and please herself. The life of a cat was one Vivian envied.
Rising up on her toes, Vivian swung a leg out the open window, ducking her head as she hoisted herself onto the ledge. Her left foot hovered above the wrought iron grate. She didn’t want to climb out as it would mean having to climb back in. She had a horrible habit of misjudging the gap between the floor and the bottom of her foot. Falling, and ending up a tangled mess on the carpet wasn’t in her morning plans.
Reaching into her jean pocket, Vivian produced her secret weapon. The one which no cat could ever resist. A sachet of adult tender tuna dinner.
She ripped the top open and held out the pack, waving it in Spike’s direction. “Look what Vivian has got for you, Spiky girl. Yummy. Come on. Come and eat.”
When it came to this princess of a feline, Vivian had learned long ago that all human pride must be set aside, and the cat worshipped as a god.
The window of the room next door slid up and a familiar face appeared. Grace was Spike’s human mother. A twenty-five-year-old Black woman who dominated the investment banking scene by day and enjoyed hot and heavy dates on the other side of their shared bedroom wall by night. Grace leaned out, took one look at Vivian’s offering, and huffed. “You are not giving her the fancy wet stuff, are you? I told you she was on a diet until she saw the vet at the end of the week.”
Vivian glared at her friend. “I am giving her whatever it takes to get her back inside before I have to leave. I’m meant to be at the office in less than an hour. Feel free to come and wrangle your fur baby yourself. That’s if you can spare the time.”
Grace had had a date last night, and if the noises which had drifted through the wall from her housemate’s bedroom had been any sort of indication, it had been a very successful one.
“What about your date? Don’t tell me he fled before the sun rose. You have to stop hooking up with vampires.”
Grace grinned. “It was fabulous. And it’s still going.”
A second head now appeared. This one male; and from the look of his dark cloud-like hair which sat in a halo around his ebony face, he was thoroughly sex and sleep messed. Vivian privately envied her friend the hook up.
“Let me get dressed and come in to help you. I am very good with cats,” offered Grace’s date.
The second he disappeared, Grace shot Vivian another wicked grin. “Believe me, Marlon is a master of pussy.”
That remark sent a provocative image of a man burying his face between Vivian’s legs straight to her half-awake brain. The sachet of cat food crushed between her fingers, and gravy squirted all over her hand.
I need to get back on the dating scene and soon.
Her housemate’s raucous laughter was still ringing in her ears when the door of her bedroom opened. She turned to see Grace’s date of last evening enter the room. He was wearing boxers, but they did little to hide his assets.
Oh great. Now what I am supposed to say to him without it coming out as super creepy. Thanks, Grace.
He held his hand out. “Here, let me. I’m Marlon. You must be Vivian.”
A relieved Vivian immediately took him up on his offer and climbed carefully back inside. She had just handed Marlon the cat food when a robe clad Grace wandered into the room. Was there nothing more awkward than making polite conversation with the two people who had kept you awake for most of the previous night while they went hard at it in the room next door?
I’m not a prude, I’m just a bit jealous.
Catching a glimpse of her bright red cheeks in the mirror, Vivian died a little.
Grace confiscated the pouch from Marlon. “You will have to rely on your charm, honey. Spike is not meant to be having any sort of fatty food this week. Knowing her, she’s already been out begging the neighbors for secret snacks.”
