Compact with the Devil: A Novel Page 9

  “You don’t have to come,” Nikki said, surprised that they were even contemplating going along and taken aback to hear that a bodyguard was counted among Kit’s inner circle.

  “I’m in,” said Holly. “You’re better than the usual after-party high jinks.”

  Burg scratched his armpit and then shrugged. “What the hell? You only live once.”

  “OK,” said Nikki, nodding, “great. Does anyone know where Duncan actually is?”

  “That guy lives in Kit’s shadow. So penthouse is my guess,” said Holly.

  “OK.” Nikki headed for the elevators. If she could track down the accidents or the link to Cano tonight, she’d be able to backtrack to Cano himself. Problem solved. And then it was back to L.A. Her brain added “and back to Z’ev” before she could stop herself. She’d been doing so well—almost four hours without thinking about him.

  Once in the elevator, Burg attempted to poke the buttons of random floors while Holly smacked at his hands. Nikki wasn’t sure if it was playful or not; they both seemed very serious. Maybe Burg just liked negative attention.

  Arriving at the penthouse level, the elevator doors slipped apart, and the three occupants stared down the hallway. Duncan was in front of them, looking over his shoulder at Kit, who was marching the groupie down the hallway as she tried to scramble back into her clothes.

  “Duncan, perhaps you would be kind enough to escort this young lady out of the hotel,” said Kit icily. His furious disdain suddenly reminded Nikki of Camille.

  “Pig!” spat the girl as Kit shoved her into the elevator.

  Holly, Nikki, and Burg edged into the hallway, out of the way of the groupie, as Kit threw the girl’s jacket into the elevator. As he did, a small plastic bag containing a white substance fell onto the floor.

  “And take your drugs with you!” shouted Kit, throwing the bag after her.

  “You didn’t tell me he was crazy,” the girl hissed at Duncan as the doors closed.

  “So,” said Holly when the silence had become uncomfortable, “it looks like you have a free evening.” Kit threw back his head and laughed.

  “Yes, and now I need to do something with it.”

  “You know,” said Burg, picking up the feather boa that had gotten left behind, “I never find these things sexy. It’s like Big Bird is in the room with me.”

  They all turned to stare at Burg, who looked back seriously.

  “Well, I mean, could you have sex with Big Bird in the room?” he asked defensively.

  “Big Bird? That gives me an idea,” said Kit suddenly. “Come on.”

  Nikki looked back at the closed elevator doors. Her plan was getting hijacked. Holly tugged on her and gave a wide-eyed “hurry up” look. With a sigh, Nikki followed after the two band members. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to find out a little about Kit.

  “So you’re helping Trista?” asked Kit, handing out drinks from the bar.

  “Er, yes,” said Nikki, realizing the question was directed at her.

  “She’s the one that got the platform down,” Holly put in helpfully. “Saved our lives, she did.” Burg nodded in support.

  “Welcome to the family, then,” said Kit, clinking his seltzer water against her glass.

  He disappeared into the bedroom to call room service and was back a moment later.

  “Did you—” He was cut off by the ringing of his phone.

  “Mum!” said Kit, answering his phone cheerfully. There was a pause as he listened to Camille speak. Nikki tensed, wondering if it was about her. Had Trista called Camille? She should have clarified that with Trista.

  “No, Mum, I’m fine. How’d you even hear about that?” Kit paused, listening to Camille’s explanation. How had Camille known about the platform debacle? Had Trista told her? And why was she taking time out of her busy chasing-Cano schedule to call Kit? Nikki considered taking the phone away and talking to Camille herself.

  “Well, the news got it wrong as usual. It was just a mechanical error. Duncan got things under control in a blink.” Nikki could hear the tiny whine of Camille’s voice on the other end. It went up a fraction in tone as if Camille had asked a question. “Duncan’s my bodyguard. I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned him before,” said Kit. “I can’t help it if you haven’t met him.” There was more chatter and Nikki glanced at Holly and Burg; they had the practiced blank stare of subway riders pretending not to eavesdrop.

  “Well, I trust him. Nan’s met him and she likes him. Yes, he had excellent references. What is this, the third degree?” asked Kit. “I am capable of hiring good people, Mum.” There was more chatter and Kit heaved a sigh of frustration. “Well, maybe if you ever came to one of my shows you’d have met him,” said Kit tartly.

  The volume increased from Camille’s end and Kit’s jaw clenched.

  “Yes, I know you’re busy. No, I’m not suggesting you just drop everything and come attend to me. I’m just saying you’ve never come to one of my shows.”

  “She’s never been to one of his shows?” whispered Nikki to Holly, who shook her head.

  “I get the impression that she doesn’t approve.”

  “I think it’s a bit beyond her approval at this point,” said Nikki, and Holly shrugged.

  “From what Kit says, Camille is the type of woman who thinks she has the final say on everything,” Burg said. Nikki grunted in agreement as he continued. “But Kit … he’s got to sing, you know? She’d know that if she ever came around.” He added the last part bitterly and Nikki nodded, feeling a surge of sympathy for Kit.

  “Well, you know absentee parents,” she said, remembering her own father. “Can’t live with them…”

  “Can’t live without them?” asked Holly, trying to complete the phrase.

  “No,” said Nikki, “just can’t live with them. Because they’re not there.”

  “Agh!” said Kit, slamming the phone shut. “She drives me absolutely spare!”

  “Is she in town?” asked Nikki casually.

  “Who knows?” said Kit with a shrug. “She travels a lot. I’m a freaking international rock star, or at least I will be after this tour, and she’s still not happy. Wants me to settle down and get a real job. Does anybody else have this kind of problem with their mother?” he asked, looking around in bewilderment.

  Nikki raised her hand. “Which reminds me. I haven’t called her in two days, which means she’s probably about this far from reporting me as a missing person.”

  “Want to borrow my phone?” asked Kit, holding out his phone and smiling sympathetically.

  “It’s international,” she said, and he shrugged as if that didn’t matter in the least. “Thanks,” said Nikki, taking the phone and dialing. She walked away from the couch, quickly dialing her own mother. “Lanier residence,” said her mother, sounding suspicious. It was her formal greeting for when she didn’t know who was calling.

  “Hey, Mom,” said Nikki, staring out the window at the driving rain. She’d forgotten to calculate time zones. Hopefully, she wasn’t waking her mom up in the middle of the night. There was a sharp knock on the door and Kit rushed to answer it.

  “Oh,” said Nell, the formality dropping from her voice. “I thought you might be your father.” Nell was starting off with a strong serve—bringing up Nikki’s father was a surefire fight starter. Nikki frowned, trying to concentrate on the match with her mother as two bellboys opened large cardboard boxes filled with nothing but red feather boas. Another bellboy was carrying a box of Elmer’s glue. They deposited their burdens, received their tips, and departed with carefully expressionless faces. Kit began tossing boas out left and right until the floor was mounded with heaps of feathers.

  “Why would Dad call?” asked Nikki impatiently. “You’ve been divorced for twenty years.” Nikki volleyed back, trying to push the fight to Nell and ignoring the fact that Kit, Holly, and Burg were divvying up the boas and glue.

  “How would I know?” asked Nell. “He’s the only person I know who travels oversea
s.” Total willful ignorance of Nikki’s life; high lob over the net.

  “Mom, he can’t possibly be the only person you know. Besides, I’ve been at my job for over a year now; you know I travel.” Burg was climbing on the bar and beginning to glue the boas to the woodwork.

  “Which is why I bothered to answer the phone,” retorted Nell, and Nikki sighed. “You’re lucky I answered the phone anyway.” Nell continued, the sound of grievance building in her voice. “Where have you been? I’ve called you four times and it won’t even go to voice mail.” Point to Nell—15 love.

  “I called you on Christmas. I left you a message. I told you; my phone got broken.” Quick return from Nikki. Holly was decorating the lampshades now; Kit seemed to have fixated on the television.

  “Did you leave it on my cell phone?” asked Nell sharply, hitting back.

  “No, you told me not to. I left it on the home phone.”

  “Oh, well, you know I don’t check that every day.” Thirty-love to Nell.

  “Well, I’m calling you now. Do you know how much this phone call is costing?” Blazing return from Nikki.

  “I didn’t ask you to call,” Nell said, attempting a strong tone.

  “No, I’m pretty sure you said, ‘Make sure you call,’ before I left.” Score! 30–15!

  “Well, maybe. How’s Z’ev and Mexico? You know, it’s funny, but the area code on the phone you’re calling from is British.” Nell’s job at an international business development firm had given her an easy familiarity with most of the international calling codes.

  “Er…,” said Nikki. Fault! Advantage Nell; score 40 to 15. “There was a last-minute assignment at work,” Nikki mumbled.

  “You’re missing out on your vacation and Christmas with me for work?” demanded Nell.

  “Vacation kind of got canceled.” Weak return from the challenger!

  “What? Why? Did he cancel it? Didn’t you say he’d canceled twice already?” It’s all over! Winner Nell Lanier. “Nikki! Didn’t I teach you to stand up for yourself? If I were you, I’d tell him to drive straight or hit the road.”

  “Kind of did,” said Nikki, wishing she could change the subject. “We broke up.”

  “Oh,” said Nell, startled into silence. “I’m sorry, honey,” she said at last. “I know you really liked him. I don’t suppose there’s a chance you two could work things out…”

  “I don’t really want to talk about it, Mom.”

  “Okay,” said Nell, lapsing into silence. Emotional moments were not her forte. “Well, so is this new assignment good?” Nell’s cheerfulness sounded a little forced.

  “Uh, yeah,” said Nikki, looking around at Kit, Holly, and Burg. Burg was attempting to swing from the glass rack above the bar. Kit looked up from feathering the remote and made a face; Nikki smiled in response. “It’s got its perks.”

  “Well, if they picked you for an emergency last-minute assignment then they must think you can get the job done.”

  “Mrs. M seemed confident, but I have to admit I’m not as convinced,” said Nikki, eyeing Kit and wondering just how much trouble his mother was going to be.

  “Oh, you can do it,” said Nell with easy confidence. “Don’t be a whiner.”

  “You’re a real confidence booster there, Mom,” said Nikki sarcastically.

  “I’m just saying women can’t be whiners in the workplace. We have to be go-getters if we want to get ahead.”

  “Yeah, you’re right, Mom. And I guess I should probably go get them, so I can get ahead.”

  “That’s the spirit,” said Nell, somehow missing the bitterness in Nikki’s voice. “Make sure to call again soon.”

  “Sure,” replied Nikki, since there wasn’t much else to say. “Talk to you soon. Love you.”

  “Love you too, sweetie! Bye!”

  “Bye,” said Nikki, hanging up. “Thanks,” she said, handing the phone back to Kit.

  “Sounds like our mothers should be in some sort of group,” said Kit, taking the phone back with a grimace.

  “How about an asylum?” suggested Nikki.

  “There’s a plan,” said Kit with a laugh.

  “What’s with the boas?” asked Nikki, looking around. The room was quickly taking on a feathered quality.

  “Kit’s a hotel artist,” explained Holly.

  “You don’t think that maybe it’s a bit juvenile?” asked Nikki, looking around in disbelief. Holly’s eyes widened in horror, as if she couldn’t believe Nikki had just said that.

  “Well … yeah,” said Kit. “Of course. But I have to; it’s in the rock and roll bylaws. Johnny Cash once painted an entire hotel room black. Aerosmith used to get long extension cords so they could leave the TVs plugged in when they threw them into the pool.” Nikki must have looked confused because he added the explanation moments later. “They explode that way. Then there’s Keith Moon’s birthday food fight extravaganza that ended up in an arrest, a car in the pool, a trip to the dentist, and twenty-four thousand dollars in damages. And those were 1967 dollars.”

  “Yes, but”—Nikki frowned, trying to nail down her objection—“I’m pretty sure all those people were high.”

  “I know,” said Kit, nodding. “That’s the problem. When I was using, I was always too high to do anything really artistic. And I don’t see why, just because I’m sober, I should be banned from juvenile and stupid behavior.”

  “Uh,” said Nikki. It was strange and weird, but it did have a certain logic.

  “Now, what do you want to glue?” asked Kit, holding out more boas.

  “I wouldn’t know where to start,” she said.

  “Just pick someplace and start gluing,” he said. “You can’t really get it wrong.” He was smiling at her. It was a lopsided smile, but it seemed as if he was assuring her that everything was all right.

  “Well,” said Nikki tentatively, “I would kind of like to try the fireplace. But that could take a lot of boas.”

  “There’s more where these came from,” he said with a wink. Nikki smiled back and took her boa to the fireplace. It seemed very bad. Some interior decorator had spent a lot of time and energy on this suite. The glue was not going to be easy to remove. She wondered what Z’ev would do in this situation. She was having a hard time picturing Z’ev getting himself into this mess in the first place. Maybe that was the problem with them anyway. She was always in these situations. Her life was one long situation, and where did Z’ev fit into that?

  “I love it!” said Kit, popping up from the other side of the couch a few minutes later.

  “Really?” she asked, concerned he was merely being polite.

  “Yes,” he said, nodding enthusiastically. “It’s like the Vietcong conquered the fireplace.”

  “I would need punji sticks for that,” she said, testing the tautness of one of the trip wires/boas.

  Kit laughed, and she was about to turn the conversation, casually but purposefully, to Duncan when there was a scream and a crash from the other end of the room. Nikki dropped her boa and stood up. Burg was lying, legs up in the air, below the bar.

  “Are you all right?” asked Kit, hurrying to help him up.

  “No, I bloody well am not,” said Burg. “I just fell off the bar!”

  “He was swinging from the glass rack again,” said Holly, not looking the least bit sympathetic.

  “I’m an ape,” said Burg primly. “You can’t expect me not to swing.”

  “Hm, well, aside from that,” said Kit, clearly ignoring Burg, “what do we think? Are we done?”

  “It’s nice?” said Nikki tentatively. “It’s like a bird whorehouse.”

  “Ook, ook! It’s not nice,” exclaimed Burg in some agitation. “It’s like Big Bird exploded. I’m going to need therapy.”

  “You already need therapy,” said Holly.

  “Yes, but now I’ll have something to talk about besides you.”

  “Maybe you ought to talk about your monkey fixation,” said Nikki.

  “What mo
nkey fixation?” replied Burg.

  “I don’t feel quite done,” said Kit, getting up and walking to the doorway. He looked around as if trying to gauge the impact it would have on a first-time visitor. A sudden sparkle leapt into his eye; walking swiftly to the phone he brushed aside the feathers and dialed the front desk.

  “Yes, hello, this is Kit Masters in the penthouse. I need two dozen pink lawn flamingos and a box of lingerie.” He listened for a moment. “No, I don’t care about color. Whatever you can get is fine. Bird whorehouse,” he said to the other three as he hung up. “We’ll get them set up and then we’ll get out the camera.”

  “I think the one over the bar is starting to come down,” said Nikki, pointing.

  “Oh, ook,” said Burg. “I’m not going back up there.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Nikki, laughing and hopping up onto the bar. She was surprised that she actually was having a good time. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Don’t go Burg on us,” said Kit, hovering below her as she affixed the final piece.

  “No worries,” said Nikki, preparing to get down, but Kit reached up and lifted her by the waist, helping her down from the bar. He was surprisingly strong and Nikki landed with a soft jolt and unusual feeling of breathlessness as she looked up at him. He started to speak, but whatever he’d been about to say was interrupted by a knock on the door. Kit ran to crack the door and peer out.

  “We saw them carrying flamingos,” said a voice, “so we figured they had to be coming here.”

  “That’s Hammond, the keyboardist,” whispered Holly to Nikki.

  “Yes, tip them and I’ll let you in,” replied Kit, looking excited but still not opening the door to its full extent. There was the sound of rustling pockets.

  “I’m not sure what we’ve got,” said a second voice.

  “Richie, lead guitar.” Holly identified him as if narrating.

  “What does one tip for flamingos?” asked Richie.

  “Just give it to them,” said Kit impatiently.

  There was a clink of coins and the sound of bellboys departing.

  “Well?” asked Hammond. “They’ve gone. Now what have you done this time?”

  Kit flung open the door and stood back.