Eileen Slovak

Chapter Forty-seven: Spicy with a Side of True Confessions

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and locales are products of the author’s imagination. They are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is coincidental. Copyright © 2024 by Eileen Slovak.

Scarlet

On Sunday I call Maggie. I’m having second thoughts about having dinner with Scott.

      “You little Minx. I knew you’d do the deed with him. Give me the blow by blow.”

      I give her a shorter version of the story I related to Catherine.

      “How is he going to cook for you in a hotel? What’s the name of the place?”

      “He’s at the Providence Residence Inn. Maybe he’s luring me over there to murder me, leave my dead body in the closet, then skip town. He is a drifter. No real ties. What if he made up his whole story? How would I know? He’s a little too good to be true.”

      Maggie ignores my paranoia.

      “Residence Inn means it has a little mini kitchen, but it can’t be much of one. So, he’s hot and he cooks…hmm…interesting. I wouldn’t need to know any more. Isn’t that in the hotel chain Sean’s parents own?”

      “You know, I think you’re right. That’s a bad omen. I shouldn’t go, should I?”

      “Or maybe it’s a sign from Sean saying it’s alright to move on.”

      “I’m not so sure.”

      “What else do you know about him besides his eternal burning hotness?”

      “He’s been on his own since after high school, in the Navy.”

      “Your dad will be happy about that. If he’s been in the service, then I doubt he has a criminal record.”

      “I don’t see my dad meeting him any time soon, if at all. I never discuss my love life with him. It only gets his hopes up that I might actually get married someday. Maybe I’ll ask Gary to check Scott out.”

      “Don’t you want to get married eventually?”

      “Maybe not. You should hear the stories I hear from Catherine. I like having my freedom.”

      “Scarlet, give him half a chance before you run him off, will you?”

      “What is that supposed to mean? I’ve got to go. I’m late, I still need to stop for wine. I’ll call you later.”

      When I arrive, Scott is waiting in the lobby to meet me. When he kisses me hello, along with his cologne, there is a spicy smell I can’t quite place. He’s in his usual jeans and T-shirt. I feel overdressed in my long-printed skirt, blue sweater, and burgundy riding boots. We take the elevator up one flight. In the room, he takes my coat, hanging it in the closet. When our arms touch, it stirs something inside me again. I wonder if we will even bother with dinner.

      “It smells amazing, what are you making?”

      “You’ll see. What’s in your little bag there?”

      I hand him the bag. “I brought some wine, red and white. Which one will go best with dinner?”

      “Either one, I think. But I’m not the wine expert, you are. You don’t like surprises, do you?”

      “What makes you say that?”

      Entering the room, I went immediately to the kitchenette. Drawn in by the wonderful spicy fragrance emanating from the covered pan on the stove, I’m looking forward to dinner. He comes over, lifting the lid.

      “A friend of mine taught me how to cook a few of his mother’s specialty dishes. Its Lamb Korma.”

      “Oh, wow, that smells wonderful.”

      I forget all about his body for the time being. Now I want his food.

      “It’s almost ready. We have time for a drink first. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll open the wine.”

      “Maybe the Sauvignon Blanc?” I offer.

      The room is comfortable, larger than I expected. The kitchenette is bigger than the one in my apartment. It may be even better outfitted. With it’s full-sized refrigerator, small stove, dishwasher and glass front cabinets filled with dishes and glassware, I’m jealous. The raised counter with bar stools facing the kitchen is set for dinner for two. A votive candle flickers between the place settings. Nice detail.

The living room is well appointed. There’s new looking, but comfortable furniture in gray tones: a couch, chair, coffee table, end tables, a flat screen TV. He has one of the pre-programmed music stations on the TV on low playing soft country ballads. Scott hands me a glass of wine, joining me on the couch.

      “I hope you’re hungry. When I cook, I usually make enough for a whole crew.”

      “I’m famished. I’m sorry I was running late.”

      “No worries.” He tastes the wine. “For a minute, I was afraid maybe you’d changed your mind about coming.”

      “I was conflicted. But come on now, it isn’t every day that a man offers to cook for me.”

      Corky’s sculpture sits in the middle of the coffee table. I lean in to get a closer look. It’s quite good. I understand now why he purchased it. The sculpture is one of the few personal items in the otherwise characterless room. One of my least favorite things about traveling for work is the lonely utilitarian feeling of hotel rooms.

      “She’s gifted, I’m glad I bought it before she makes it to the big time. Be right back.”

      He gets up, moving to the kitchen area. Removing flat bread from a package, he lays it on a plate. Stirring the mixture on the stove, sends the delicious aromas floating my way. I follow the zesty trail.

      “How can I help?” I ask, rolling up my sweater sleeves.

      “Everything is done ma’am. Please, take a seat.” He pulls out a counter stool for me. “It’s pretty spicy.”

      He pulls a large bottle of water out of the refrigerator, filling two glasses. He removes a bowl of jasmine rice from the microwave, picks up the bread plate and sets both on the counter. Next, he brings the hot pan over, laying it down on an oven mitt.   

      “Sorry, it’s informal. I’ve got limited resources here.”

      “I’m excited. I like things spicy.”

       As we eat, I can’t help but rave about how delicious everything tastes. The naan and rice are the perfect complements to the meal helping soak up the savory sauce. I tell Scott about the new inventors I’m working with and about my absentee boss. He talks about his supervisor, Slumansky, how well they don’t get along. I help myself to seconds, considering thirds when Scott asks a question that catches me off guard.

      “So why aren’t you seeing anyone?”

      “I thought I was.”

      “I mean before.”

      “I was dating a guy last year.” I move a piece of lamb korma around with my fork.

      “And…,” he prods.

      “He got a great job offer and moved away. We tried the long-distance thing for awhile, but it didn’t work out.”

      “Are you still in touch?”

      “He passed away recently.”

      “I shouldn’t have asked.”

      “It’s fine. I miss him though. He was a good friend.”

      “Was he sick?”

      “No, that was the freak thing. He was in a terrible car accident. It was strange because he was speeding, which he never did. He prided himself on never having received a ticket. I used to tease him about it.”

      “That’s weird. How about road rage?”

      “I don’t think so. Supposedly no other cars involved.”

      “Alcohol maybe? We’ve all been guilty of that once or twice.”

      “No, he wasn’t much of a drinker. His car hit a construction paver. How do you not see something that big? It bothers me, you know, like something’s not right about the whole thing. I guess we’ll never know. I wondered if maybe…he did it on purpose. I don’t know. Maybe he had problems I didn’t know about. He always seemed so happy. But people hide their demons. He put everyone else before himself. That would have been really out of character for him. I can’t imagine him doing that to his family.”

      “It’s devastating.”

      “You say that like you know something about it. Did you lose someone in your unit?”

      “That’s a constant concern in the military. Especially after a tour. Not so much with the guys in my unit. They were all pretty hardcore.”

      I listen, drinking my wine. I can tell he has something he needs to say.

      “When I was eleven, I came home after school one day, thinking about my bike. I thought no one was home. My mom had a job working at the local drugstore. I was like a latch key kid, until my dad lost his job at the telephone company. He was having a hard time finding a new one. But I thought it was great because it meant I got to see him more. Before that, he was always at work. He worked nights sometimes. When he was home, he was sleeping or fixing things around the house. I was such an idiot, thinking it was good my dad got laid off. I went into the garage to get my bike. There he was, hanging there. I was in shock, I guess, because looking back, it didn’t register to me at first what I was seeing. I just stood there. Then it was like someone slapped me awake. I started screaming. I couldn’t stop. The neighbors came running in. They dragged me out of there. Mom and I moved to another town after that. It was just easier not to be there.”

      “Scott, I’m so sorry. That must have been awful for you. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

      We sit at the table over empty plates in silent commiseration.

      “I have to apologize; it’s turned into a heavy night,” he says. “So much for impressing you with my culinary skills. I’ll walk you down to your car.”

      “Scott, that meal was unbelievable.” I give him a long hug, followed by a gentle kiss. “Thank you,” I say, holding his gaze, losing myself in his dark chocolate eyes.

      As we approach my car, I can see something is odd about it. It becomes clearer as we approach. On the passenger side panel, scrawled in bright red paint is the word “Slut!”

      “What the…”

      “Come back inside Scarlet, we need to call the police.”

      I call Gary from the hotel room. When he arrives, I can tell he’s surprised to see me with Scott. He shakes Scott’s hand without comment. He takes the report, plus photographs the vehicle and speaks with the hotel security. There are security cameras in the parking lot. But, when I arrived the lot was so full, I parked way in the back. Gary isn’t sure if the range of cameras extends that far. He says he will let me know. Gary adds that when he checked on Curt Walsh, he wasn’t able to talk to him. Curt has checked into a rehabilitation center in Massachusetts. I guess he wasn’t the one lurking in the parking lot this time. Which leaves us back to the starting point on suspects. After Gary leaves, Scott insists I spend the night. As we lay in bed, I tell him the rest of the story…about Curt Walsh, about Darren Duhamel and about Trish.

      “I can’t think of anyone else who wants to hurt me. Up until this point, I was fairly certain I was simply being harmlessly annoyed. Now I’m truly frightened. Lucky, I know a good private detective, right?”

      “I feel better about you staying here tonight.”

      In bed, I rest my head on Scott’s chest while he slowly strokes my arm.

      “My dad retired when my mother died. He said she liked being an officer’s wife more than he liked being an officer; too much politics for him. We thought he wanted to give up living after she passed.”

      “He’s right about politics. But to give up his career, he must have been…”

      “Destroyed inside. I went through a crazy stage. I was only eighteen. Thank goodness for my sister, Catherine. She’s the level headed one. I know it was a burden for her though.”

      We start kissing and can’t stop. I want to forget about my problems and focus only on his amazing body. Straddling him, I’m making slow circles on his chest with my fingertips. I slip off the t-shirt I borrowed to sleep in. He lays there looking up at me, caressing my thighs, letting me set the pace. It’s unhurried and gentle, unlike our first near collision.

When we finish, I fall into a tranquil sleep. I don’t even remember dreaming.