The Black Rose

Moving towards baggage claim, I searched for the customary sign that would have my last name. I didn’t have to search long as “Brown” in big bold black letters clung to a sleek, shiny headed, ebony smooth-skinned, scrumptious gentleman in a black suit and tie.

“I believe you’re looking for me,” I announced in the fluorescent glow of the Los Angeles airport baggage claim. My monstrous sunglasses tilted so our eyes could connect.

“Right this way, Ms. Brown,” he bowed slightly all business, no smile.

I followed the muscled man disguised in a tailored suit out of baggage claim to a glistening, tinted white Mercedes. He took my bags and opened the back door for me to glide effortlessly into.

Sitting in the back seat, I found it hard to fathom I had murdered the doctor less than twelve hours ago. I sighed. It had been a long day. I couldn’t wait to see my new living space and take a nice hot shower and fall into bed. I felt as if I could sleep for two days straight.

“How long until we reach our destination?” I asked the quiet, poker-faced driver in front.

“We will reach your apartment in about twenty minutes madam,” he robotically responded.

I wondered if he worked for Shadow or if he was just a hired body. Scanning him through the spectacle of my glasses, he was lavish in his crisp suit and perfectly dosed aftershave that smelled of fresh sandalwood. He seemed mysterious, relaxed. His milky black eyes reserved yet alert. I bit my lower lip as I envisioned him thrusting me against the sterile walls of my new pad. No, Alex, you can’t seduce the driver, I reprimanded my insatiable appetite for mischief.

I moved my attention to the outside, watching as the city lights whizzed by in perfect tandem. Bodies ambled along the street marching from one bar to the next. It was a Saturday night after all. Soon I would frequent those bars, looking for a challenging target, a one-night stand, a place holder, a fix for the never-ending cycle of unquenchable boredom.

As we drove through the heart of the city, I could barely make out the Hollywood sign with my unparalleled vision. The white letters signified a land of opportunity or possibility, a place where dreams surely came true. For just a moment, I could understand the lure of why Annie wanted to live here so badly. She wanted to feel seen, to live among the seen.

“We made it, Annie,” I whispered under my breath.

I soaked in the palm tree-lined roadways, the never-ending skyscrapers, the people, the nightlife, all for Annie.

“We are here, madam,” the driver announced as he pulled into a granite circular driveway where the path ended abruptly in front of a blackened glass wall. The ten-story building looked like a glass and metal fortress, blocking out the noise of city lights that danced across its mirrored surface all the way to the top.

“This building is one of the most secure in L.A., you must be an important person,” he added, looking back at me through his rear-view mirror. He’s not Shadow. Mystery solved.

“I just have money,” I shrugged, too exhausted to act out an “avoiding the paparazzi” scene.

He gave a slight grin, his teeth protruding white as snow.

We waited patiently for a few moments until the several ton steel door revved to life. The driver pulled forward along the curved lane. Inside, a rock-walled waterfall bustled to life to my left, with a statue of Apollo front and center. To my right, rose a steroid-riddled security guard who stepped out from behind a steel rectangular podium and made his way to the car. He had a gun by his side. A sleeve of tribal tattoos etched his left arm, which happened to be larger than my thigh. He signaled for the driver to unroll our windows.

“Could I please see your identification?” he asked briskly.

I handed him my fake passport, and he stepped back to the podium. The talkative driver received my carryon and handbag and placed them at the curb. I handed him a hundred-dollar bill, and he smiled wider than I deemed capable. “Thanks for the ride,” I grinned, still debating if I should give him my number. No, he knows where I live, too risky.

I turned just in time for the massive guard to tromp over. “Everything checks out,” he rasped. “You can follow me.”

I moved to grab my bags, but a young, chipper bellman appeared out of nowhere.

“Allow me Ms. Brown,” he smiled warmly. Even though I only had a carry-on and a handbag, who was I to turn down this service.

“I will have them waiting at your door,” he nodded.

“Will you also be waiting at my door?” I wanted to add with a wink, but thought better of it.

“Thanks,” I muttered with an air of disdain and followed the guard through the thick glass sliding door to a wide reception desk. A beautiful young woman with long, shiny black hair and heather blue eyes stood behind it.

“Good evening, Ms. Brown, my name is Chanel and I will be handling your security processing. It should only take about ten minutes, and then we can get you on your way.”

“Sure,” I mumbled with a slight air of disdain for being required to wait at all.

“We have used your passport photo as your photo on file, hope that’s okay?” she glanced at me through cute ombre glasses. I nodded, what did I care if they had a terrible photo of me.

“I just need you to place your thumb here, the screen should light up green if it accepts, then your whole hand.” I swallowed slightly. I wasn’t sure how this would work since I didn’t have any fingerprints to scan. I placed my thumb first and stood uncomfortably in front of the modelesque woman debating if I could talk my way out of this one, or if I would have to shed a little blood. After several long painstaking seconds, the green flash finally appeared. I hastily moved to my whole hand, not allowing the machine to take any second thoughts.

“Good, so you can either use your thumb or your hand to enter the elevator as well as your loft. You will also have to use your prints to use the gym or the pool, basically any of the facilities, which are all located on the fifth floor. If you follow me, I can escort you to your new home,” she smiled wide, stepping from behind the armored fortress they called a desk. Who else lived here?

As she moved in front of me, I noticed she was about my height, skinny, and one hundred thousand percent my type. Why would the world do this to me? I was good with the driver, but now I couldn’t contain myself. I would be getting her number or better yet, naked in my bed.

“Where are you coming from?” she asked politely with the faintest hint of a southern drawl.

“I have just moved from New York,” I smiled warmly.

“Oh, the big apple, I have never been but always wanted to move. I’m an aspiring model,” she beamed bashfully.

“I could tell,” I smiled, “I mean if I was a modeling agent I would hire you, no questions asked.”

We exchanged a furtive glance as we approached the elevator. “Just place your hand here on this screen,” she motioned with her hand. I placed my hand on the screen and it scanned my fingerprint-less fingers. Green.

We entered the elevator, and she hit “PH” for the penthouse. I couldn’t imagine how much this loft cost. This would be by far the nicest place I have lived since working as an “analyst”.

“What do you do?” The gorgeous Chanel asked as we ascended floor by floor.

“I’m an analyst,” I smiled with confidence, betting she wasn’t expecting that. No one seemed to ask any further questions after I said “analyst”. Either they didn’t care to know, or they wouldn’t understand, either way, it worked perfectly for me.

“Oh wow, you must be a very successful one to live here,” our eyes locking again.

“I do pretty well,” I shrugged. “Do you work here full time?” I quizzed. I needed background on this one.

“I do,” she confessed. “I also bartend two nights at one of the local bars around here, and I’m still canvassing to be a model and actress.”

“Wow, so you must live close?” I pressed.

“Yes, a couple of buildings down actually. I wish I could afford to live here,” she trailed as the elevator glided to a halt and the vault opened. Chanel turned sideways, allowing me to exit.

“I’ve heard the staff are irresistible and the security top-notch,” I winked, moving dangerously close to her arm.

The sweet girl’s face flushed slightly as she followed me into the grand foyer, the uneasy silence palpable. Maybe she wasn’t gay?

“Well, here is your new loft,” she continued awkwardly diverting my attention to the massive red door before us. I was the only one on the penthouse floor.

“Here is the screen to access your home,” she motioned touching a flat glassy surface to the left of my door. “You can also set a numerical password and an eye scanner if you are that paranoid. Your parking stall is number twenty-four and I believe your car keys are in the loft. Also, amenities are on the fifth floor if I haven’t said that already,” she regurgitated.

The green light on my scanner ignited and the door lock clicked open. “Well, this is where we part, ” she grinned, her taut skin pulling back, exposing her perfectly straight teeth.

“Thank you,” I smiled. “I’m Olivia by the way,” holding out my hand for her to shake.

“I’m Chanel,” she uttered formally grasping my hand. Her skin felt cool and electric. I swallowed, our hands lingering for longer than normal.

“Well, thanks for the introduction,” I aired, handing her an envelope that I had received unknowingly from Nadine. She stashed it in my purse without my knowledge. Inside was two grand, (well now nineteen big ones thanks to tipping the driver). I didn’t need it. I had more money than I ever knew what to do with.

“Consider it a down payment on an apartment in New York.” Chanel opened the envelope slightly and her eyes widened.

“I can’t accept this much,” she muttered in disbelief.

“Sure, you can,” I nodded. “It was my extra moving expenses budget I clearly don’t need anymore. It’s yours,” I finalized.

“Thank you so much,” she gasped.

“Don’t worry about it,” I shrugged. “I’m sure I will be seeing you around soon.”

She gave a wide smile, still toiling on whether to actually take the money. I stepped into the door and made her decision easier.

“See you around?” I asked, our eyes locking again. Her heart fluttered, causing the bold neon sign between my thighs to ignite.

“I would like that,” she beamed before turning back towards the elevator. “Let me know if there is anything you need, ever,” she added before stepping onto the lift.

“I will,” I called just as the doors closed.

Turning, I walked the short hallway fumbling for the first light switch I could find. The hallway light illuminated the narrow corridor. The walls were stark white with high ceilings. As my eyes gazed upward, a rose gold chandelier, the size of smart car rest above my head. The crystal balls shimmered from the amber light. A small vintage navy side table rested against the left wall with a bowl that held a pair of keys in it. Above the teak wood table was a giant mirror embroidered with a copper frame. Removing my shoes, I kept walking.

Past the hall, the vaulted walls gave way to a larger than life living room to which I had already seen pictures of, but in person, it was something to behold. The caramel walls blended perfectly with the weathered brick expanse. The lengthy window on the brick wall and the oval window were much larger than I expected. They spanned two floors. I had a perfect view of the cityscape. In the center of the living room above the white marbled coffee table was another giant two-tiered rose gold chandelier. I couldn’t believe this was my place.

Without ogling too much, I ascended the wide wooden planks and wrought iron railing to the second floor. The beautiful wooden restored floors gave way to the extravagant bedroom. A giant king platform bed held up the right wall in the center of the room. Hung above the bed, was a black and white painting. I paused, moving towards it. The painting looked so familiar, yet foreign. I studied the girls face. Her arms draped over a stick. Her eyes piercing. “The Sheppardess,” I murmured, visions of a museum clouding my vision. Annie and I gazing at the real painting, not a modern upgrade. Did they know? I gulped, my anxiety rising. Surely, they were watching me in the many hidden cameras around the apartment. I decided to continue on.

At the far end near the ceiling to floor windows, there were two swanky rust-orange lounge chairs and a small coffee table facing out towards the city. On the wall next to me, opposite the bed, was a cool, modern dresser made of refurbished antique wood, and above that was a colossal flat-screen TV. I opened one of the top drawers and rows and rows of laced underwear were neatly folded. I opened the one below which was full of bras, leggings, and socks.

I strolled across the coarse yet smooth white animal skin rug trying desperately not to eye the paining to the closet. The closet was almost as big as my last apartment’s bathroom and closet combined. The closet was of course stocked with only the latest fashion as well as some room for expansion. I left my carryon in there.

Moving to the bathroom, I immediately turned on the rain shower and undressed. The bathroom’s cool, earthy stones felt soothing to my feet. Heels were not gracious to me ever. I loathed them with a passion.

Turning to the wall-length vanity mirror, I gazed at my naked body. My pale, milky skin wrapped tight around my intrusive hip bones. I could make out the bulges of my ab muscles, my triceps, and my shoulders. I moved closer as steam billowed from the walk-in shower.

My face looked smooth as a pearl, my green eyes electric, the faint circles under my eyes reminded me of what little sleep I had had over the last few days. Satisfied with my reflection, I stepped into the steaming shower and bathed blissfully in lavender and jasmine. My eyes closed, I let the visions of Annie and I at the museum overwhelm me. The painting. The paper. The dead stare of the girl in the painting. I was that girl now. The girl who had seen things. Done things, unspeakable things. This couldn’t have been a coincidence that the painting was chosen. For now, I would have to bide my time and add this to the laundry list of puzzle pieces I had yet to solve.

Refreshed and satisfied, I pulled the black silk robe that hung beside the shower, the expensive hand-sewn silk threads swaddled my bare skin, caressing every inch. Toweling off my long wavy hair, I couldn’t help but stare into the mirror with an unrivaled sense of vanity. I didn’t think there was anyone, any man or woman on this planet with fewer imperfections. I puckered my lips as a model would, tilting my chin upwards, I shook my head, the last vestiges of sanity and humility were gone.

“Enough of that,” I muttered, blowing myself a kiss, and striding out of the bathroom. I took the vial from my handbag and ceremoniously swallowed three pills. I dare not skip a dose. Sitting the precious pills on the nightstand, I fell into the bed, allowing the cloud-like comforter to swallow me whole.