Barbie Beckman heard the phone ringing in her dreams. Finally, she surrendered to the incessant noise, rolled over in her bed, and picked up the receiver. “Haalo…”
“Barbie?”
“Yeah…”
“It’s Sue. Baby, you sound different. Have you seen the paper?”
“Huh?”
“The newspaper, sweetie, as in Miami Herald?”
“No, why?”
“Because your beautiful face is plastered on the front page and online, too.”
“Ohmygod!”
“And you’re running with some cute guy…looks like the actor Clive Owen. The paper says his name is Sean O’Brien.”
“So he really isn’t Ken.”
“What?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Barbie, you gonna turn your self in, or grab that guy and run like Bonnie and Clyde? I like it…Barbie and Clyde.”
“What do you mean…turn myself in?”
“Baby, you’re my favorite first cousin. I want to see you get famous, okay? Like in Playboy, or a Miami Heat cheerleader, or something, but sending a man to the hospital, wreckin’ a club. Wow!”
“What?”
“The TV news said ya’ll run off with a two-thousand dollar bottle of champagne, too. You know that expensive brand the hip-hop singers drink in the clubs? Hey, did you and cutie pass the bottle to each other in the back of the cab makin’ your getaway?”
“Sue, look, I just woke up. I’ll call you back. Has Mama seen any of this?”
“Don’t know. Want me to call her for you…sort of ease her into it?”
“No! No, I’ll talk to her. Bye.”
Barbie pulled the sheet over her body and sat at the edge of her bed to think.
The phone rang again.
She looked at the caller ID. Club Paradise. She picked up the phone. “Hi.”
“Barbie, it’s Jude. Had two cops in the club and a detective asking me questions about you. I’ve seen that shit on the news that you pulled in Club Oz with that ex cop. What the hell were you thinkin’, huh?”
“Jude, look, I didn’t do anything. The whole thing at Oz was a kinda like a date, that’s all. I was just there.”
“You and ex cop picked the wrong club to start crashin’ and the wrong guy to be bashin’. Russo’s got connections. Lot’s of people owe him lots of favors; you know what I’m sayin’? Do you, huh, stupid-”
“Okay! I know.”
“Take a couple of days off to let the heat die down some. Come back then.”
“I need the money. I have rent and-”
“But I don’t need this kind of headache, not to mention the unwanted publicity.”
He hung up.
Barbie pulled on a pair of jeans, T-shirt, and flip-flops. She ran her fingers through her hair and stepped out her apartment door, leaving the door unlocked. She walked downstairs to the first floor and bought a paper out of the machine. Looking at her picture with O’Brien made her blush. She read a few lines and held the paper to her breasts, glancing around her before walking up the steps to her apartment.
Barbie entered, locked the door, and sat on the couch to read the story. She pulled her feet up under her. After a few minutes she mumbled, “This is bullshit…that’s not how it happened…”
There was a sound. The creak of the simulated wood floor. Barbie stood. Listening. She sat the paper on the couch, picked up a knife from her kitchen, and slowly walked down the hall toward her bedroom. She wished her roommate were home. But she knew Jan was still at work. Barbie gently pushed opened Jan’s bedroom door, her heart racing. Nothing. Only an unmade bed and a pair of Jan’s jeans draped on a chair.
There was a knock at the door.
Barbie lowered the knife to her side and tiptoed into the living room. She raised one blind a quarter inch and looked out the front window.
The police. An officer and a man in a shirt and tie. Probably a detective.
They knocked again. Louder. “Miss Beckman,” said one of them through the door. “This is Miami Beach Police. Please open up the door. We need to talk with you.”
Silence.
Barbie tried to control her breathing. She thought her heart was going to leap out of her chest. Her mouth was dry, and she couldn’t swallow.
“Okay, Miss Beckman, next time we come, it’ll be with a search warrant and a warrant for your arrest. Rather than talk in your apartment, we’ll take you downtown for questioning.”
She waited a full minute before tiptoeing to the door. She looked though the peephole. Gone. Barbie let out a pent-up chest full of air and turned to enter her bedroom.
She placed the kitchen knife on the bathroom counter, slipped out of her clothes, and got under a hot shower, letting the water run over her head a long while before opening her eyes. When she did open her eyes, she turned to reach for the soap.
The shower door was open. Barbie screamed.
A man stood there-watching-holding the butcher knife. His eyes absorbing her naked body like a cat watches a bird in a cage. The eyes were primal. His thin lips bright red and wet from licking them. His jaw muscles popped, causing his short beard to move like something crawling under a rug.
“Hello, Barbie,” said Carlos Salazar. “My, what a sharp knife you have.”