The Retirement Plan

Chapter 28

The stocky man threw an eye around the yard, lingering on the sparkling waters of the pool. The pool; a requisite for every rich cocksucker. Anyone outside that socio-economic bracket had to make do with sitting naked in front of a fan if they wanted to stay cool during the torrid heatwave.

She stood by the open door, waiting, wearing an embroidered boho sleeveless blouse. Hands planted in the pockets of her khaki green shorts with the rolled-up hem. Her slender arms, a deep brown. The overall effect was demure and sophisticated, reminding him of a catalog model. A far cry from the vampish party-girl he had known fifteen years ago. Well, people grow up, at least some of them do.

"Leland," she said, turning on the smile. "You look good." Acting like she hadn't noticed his feet in the flip-flops. One day forgoing socks and his pasty skin had turned the color of a sow's hindquarters. So sore, he couldn't wear his sandals, had to pick up a cheap pair of these beach-bum shoes.

"You sure this is a good idea?" Leland said after she had air-kissed both cheeks.

She stood there for a moment, nonplussed, as though she had been expecting a compliment. "Nobody's home," she said, before turning away and walking in. Not extending an invitation, assuming he'd follow. Of course he would, hadn't he always?

"Drink?" she said, seating herself on the leather couch and crossing her long legs.

"I'm good," he said, taking the armchair.

"Oh..." She seemed to pontificate on this for a moment before standing up. "I'll make myself a martini," she said brusquely.

Leland watched her hips wiggle as she walked out of the room. Images of those athletic pins wrapped around his back flooded his thoughts. Intense, thrilling fucks in nameless motels. He squeezed his eyes shut to block them out. Re-opened them, and the first thing he saw was her framed portrait hanging on the back wall. Inescapable. The same way it had been after the incident. Her face imprinted on his brain.

"This isn't going the way you promised it would," she said, returning to the couch.

"I promised nothing," Leland said, jaw tight. "You approached me. Or does your memory fade as quickly as your smile when things don't go your way." She looked at him, a polished smile on her painted lips.

"You want this as badly as I," she said, eyes fixed on his.

"Greed and revenge. It's a story as old as time itself."

"I don't think you're greedy—I offered you an opportunity and you went for it."

"I wasn't referring to myself," Leland said with a blank expression. She smiled again. Only this one was real. She was enjoying herself.

"You ever think how serendipitous our meeting each other was? You, on your way to catch a flight to Arizona, parking slip in one hand, Delta ticket in the other. Me, having to ride the air-train, because my father's dip-shit driver don't know terminal four from his ass. What were the odds? After all those years, and bam, there you are in your gray suit and black brogues."

Leland's blank expression remained unchanged. "Must be the only part of this whole thing you haven't manipulated."

"Manipulated is such an ugly word," she said. "I prefer the term engineered."

"Alcoholics prefer the term heavy-drinkers, don't make it so they got any less of a problem."

"The problem isn't the drink, it's the drinkers. Alcohol doesn't make you go against your true nature, does it? You call me a manipulator, but whom have I manipulated? The goons who kidnapped my husband? That shyster lawyer who contracted them? They chose that path of their own volition."