Soul Mate Page 3
“Too many foreigners who don’t know how to tip.”
The bane of any server’s existence. I‘ve heard this one before.
Cyrus observes me in contemplative silence. He senses something is up without me having to say a word. He can be a bit callous but he’s also a people person — probably one of the reasons he cleans up in his chosen profession.
“What's on your mind right now, bro?”
“Lynn asked me to move in with her.” The answer slips out easily and I realize I was hoping we could talk about this.
“And you said yes?”
“I didn’t say no.”
“I guess it’s time to look for a new roommate.” He pauses, having picked up on my hesitation. “Unless you’re having second thoughts?”
“I love Lynn. So what’s my problem?”
“Face it. You’re a guy... that’s your problem.”
I think Cyrus is right.
“Lynn is an amazing girl, but...”
“There are a lot of fish in the sea!”
Cyrus has hit the nail on the head, though I’m ashamed to admit it. Unlike my ladykiller roomie, I’ve had exactly three girlfriends in my life. Somehow I get sucked into relationships that last for years. It’s only natural that part of me isn’t prepared to get super-serious with someone, no matter how much she means to me. I try to explain myself to Cyrus but judging from his knowing expression, no explanation is needed.
“Long story short, I love Lynn but I'm just not sure I'm ready to settle down.”
“That sexy barista wouldn't have anything to do with this, would she?”
My voice becomes defensive as I answer and it gives me away. “Maria and I are just friends.”
“Right. Of course you are.”
Cyrus gets up and grabs himself a beer too. As he toasts my already half-empty can, he says, ”These are the facts of life. This city is full of great girls, you're young and you're going to be a physical therapist one day. You could get laid by a different chick every night of the week.”
I smile despite myself. “Sounds like you don't think I should do it.”
“On the contrary, go for it. I hate to lose you as a roomie, dude, but Lynn is a keeper. If you let her go you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”
I’m not used to hearing him talk like that. There’s heartfelt emotion in his voice. For a second he almost sounds like a mature grownup.
“Truth is, you’re a nice guy and ill-equipped to deal with all the freaks out there.”
“But you are?”
A big smile lights up Cyrus’ face as he says, “Hey, don’t you know I’m one of them?”
It’s my turn to grin. This is why I love my roommate.
* * *
Falling snow sheets past the window. I’m in my bedroom surrounded by a wall of books and cramming for an upcoming quiz. I try to concentrate, but I’m distracted. My eyes wander toward my desk.
To my computer.
Someone else seems to be in control as I get up and head for my MacBook. I turn on the machine and log into Facebook to check Josh’s profile. It takes great effort to avoid lingering on his photos. I can’t let grief overcome me. Staying focused, I scan his friends list and before long, I’ve found her.
AKASHA.
I click on her Facebook profile and fixate on the SEND MESSAGE button. This is a bad idea. If she’s connected to what happened to Josh, she might come after me next. It’s hard to believe that this girl just showed up and torched my brother without him even putting up a fight, or her leaving behind any trace of foul play. She isn’t superhuman. She has a Facebook profile, for God’s sake.
Something else must be going on here.
The whole set-up reminds me of that old Al Pacino flick “Sea of Love.” In the movie Pacino’s character investigates a woman played by Ellen Barkin. She’s meeting men through newspaper personals – this was before Internet dating – and her suitors are being murdered. Pacino suspects that Ellen is the killer but starts to fall for her anyway. Good flick.
Still debating the possibilities, I open Akasha’s message box and type.
Hi Akasha,
My name is Mark Valentine. I believe you met my brother Josh a few days ago. I have some bad news. Josh was in a serious accident the other night.
Okay, this sounds beyond lame, but what else should I write? I hesitate for a moment. My eyes come to rest on the framed picture of Josh and me that I scavenged from his apartment. Emotions well up and threaten to overwhelm me. I forge ahead.
You were one of the last people to see him. It would be great to talk to you. Please get back to me as soon as you can.
Best,
Mark
I read the email. Once. Twice. Change a word here and there. Reread it. Satisfied, I press SEND. The message is now out in cyberspace.
I shake my head. This is crazy. What am I doing?
A ping pulls me out of my thoughts.
It’s a FRIEND REQUEST from none other than Akasha. I pause, still uncertain about what I’m getting myself into. Do I have a plan here? I leave my doubts behind and accept Akasha’s request. I’m now able to view her entire profile.
I review the page and realize it doesn’t provide all that much information. Most boxes were left blank and there aren’t too many “likes.” No favorite movies, music, books. To my surprise, Akasha has only 39 “friends.” The number seems pretty low for a woman as attractive as Akasha. I eye her friends list and my heart skips a beat as I realize that both Josh and Steve Chebatoris are indeed there. I’m still digesting this when my Facebook messenger pings.
Akasha is messaging me.
“Hey Mark... How are you?”
I respond slowly.
Me: “I'm okay. Thanks for getting back.”
Akasha: “I like your pictures... You have a warm smile...”
What is she doing? Is Akasha flirting with me?
Me: “Thanks. I’d like to talk to you about Josh.”
Akasha: “Let’s grab some coffee?”
I hesitate, then type.
“Where would you like to meet?”
Akasha tells me.
A sudden knock on the bedroom door gives me a jolt. Cyrus speaks from outside: “Hey, can I come in?”
I tell him he can and Cyrus enters. ”I can't find my laundry key. Could I borrow yours?” He stops, having spotted Akasha's Facebook page.
“So you’re meeting chicks on Facebook now.”
Here we go. This is what I was afraid of.
“I'm not.”
A sly smile stretches over Cyrus' face. “Lynn asks you to move in with her and your first reaction is to hit the Internet?”
I ignore the comment and hand Cyrus my key.
“Gotta run. Make sure not to lose it unless you want us to start using the laundromat down the street.”
I’m out the door before Cyrus can respond.
5
This is all about Josh. I want to get to the bottom of a mystery that is making it difficult for me to concentrate on anything else and move on with my life.
I pull into the Starbucks parking lot. I own a beaten-up Honda Civic built in the last century. You don’t need a car in New York and it’s pretty much madness to drive into Manhattan. Nowadays I only use the car if I’m going somewhere in Queens. The heavy snowfall makes it a bit risky to take the Honda out for a spin, but I don’t feel like braving the public transportation system this evening.
I park my car but don't turn off the engine. I peer through the windshield at the people milling around outside the coffee shop, chattering away. Happy, smiling folks whose lives must be untouched by any recent tragedy.
I stare at the key still resting in the ignition. I’m tempted to blow the meeting off.
I give myself a push and head into Starbucks. I scan the crowd of bundled-up caffeine junkies and quickly determine that Akasha isn’t among them. I order a coffee and wait with my red holiday-themed cup.
And wait.
I get into the Honda, start the engine and that is when my cell chirps. Incoming Facebook message from Akasha: “Sorry for being late.”
A moment. I check my rearview mirror. No sign of Akasha in the lot.
PING! Another incoming message reads: “How about we skip coffee and go for a ride?”
My confusion deepens, eyes scanning the parking area. I send a reply – “Where are you?”
I receive my answer in the form of another buzzing text. “Behind you.”
I check the rearview mirror again and...
Akasha is staring back at me.
She lurks right behind the car, black mane of hair cascading to frame her alabaster skin. Beautiful in an almost translucent, darkly heroin-chic way. I couldn’t quite put it into words earlier, but she reminds me of a black-haired Lana Del Rey. There’s a vacant quality to her beauty, equal measures of sadness and indifference etched into those forlorn features.
I frown. I could’ve sworn she wasn't there an instant ago...
Akasha pouts and rolls her eyes. Her long red nails drum the keypad of her cellphone.
Her message arrives. “I’m freezing.”
I hesitate. This woman doesn’t look dangerous. She must be around five-four, maybe a hundred-and-ten pounds. The idea that she had something to do with what happened to Josh seems laughable. There is something delicate about her beauty, an intensely vulnerable quality. Nevertheless…
Before I can make up my mind, my new Internet friend appears at the the passenger door and flashes me a tentative smile. After a beat, I open the door and let Akasha into my car and into my life.
* * *
Heavy snowfall erases visibility as my vehicle streaks down a road slick with black ice. The silence inside the moving car is unnerving and only seems to amplify the harsh squeak of the windshield wipers.
Swish, swish…
A grating metronome.
Though I do my best to stay focused on traffic, I keep stealing glances at the striking young woman sitting next to me. Akasha appears lost as she stares into space.
“Let me put on some music...”
A song bursts from the radio. The signal fades in and out, hissing static disrupting the station.
I change the station but get similar results. Strange. Shaking my head, I give up and kill the radio.
What am I doing?
This woman could be connected to two deaths and I’m taking her on a joyride. But Akasha’s fragile demeanor is disarming. She doesn’t strike me as someone who could trigger a car accident or douse a man on fire.
Is her beauty blinding me to her true nature?
Even if she had the psychotic will to commit such terrible crimes, surely she lacks the sheer physicality to pull them off. Despite all this my rationalizing my guard remains up.
“I’m sorry about what happened to your brother,” Akasha says.
“Thank you,” I say, reassured by her words.
“You two were close?” she asks.
“At one point. Our lives were moving in different directions, though.”
“That seems to happen a lot.”
I nod. I would hang with Josh but we both had our own lives. I had only seen him a handful of times since the semester started.
“You seem nervous. This the first time you’ve met someone off the Internet?” Akasha wants to know. Her faraway expression has been replaced by a seductive quality, almost like an unvoiced but implied promise. It makes me nervous.
“It's that obvious, huh?” I say for lack of a better response.
Akasha smiles as she nods. I’m startled by her sudden feral energy. For some reason she makes me think of a wild child who grew up far beyond the confines of modern society. Everything about her says that she doesn’t play by the rules because she doesn’t have to.
“I guess I don't normally give strangers a ride.”
“I'm glad you made an exception in my case.”
Akasha shifts her legs, letting more of her well-formed thighs emerge from her short skirt. My gaze is fixed on this enticing sight. I don’t like where this is going, but another part of me is thrilled. I remind myself that I’m not trying to get into her pants. I have a girlfriend and I’m not a player like Cyrus. This isn’t some Internet hook-up. I’m here to discuss Josh. I cut to the chase. “Listen, you're one of the last people my brother saw before the accident. This is going to sound weird but he mentioned your name before he died.”
“Maybe he felt guilty about the way he dumped me.”
I consider this, slightly thrown.
“How long did you two date?”
“We didn’t date. We fucked,” Akasha says matter-of-factly.
This bit of news shouldn’t surprise me, but her cold assessment of their relationship makes me view Akasha in a new light. Her perfect porcelain exterior is showing a crack or two, and it’s given me a disconcerting glimpse of the emotions churning beneath the calm surface. Now I detect something hidden there.
Resentment.
Suddenly this beautiful woman seems far less seductive. Akasha’s eyes flicker, as if she realizes that she’s losing me.
A horn screeches outside and a tractor-trailer comes barreling towards me. Without knowing it I’ve veered into the wrong lane. I correct my mistake but overcompensate and the car jackknifes, shooting off the road.
I floor the brakes and my car grinds to an abrupt halt. We manage to avoid a head-on collision with the nearest tree, but only by a few feet. The front bumper grazes a snowy embankment.
“Jesus...” My heart hammers in my chest and I’m breathing heavily.
Shit, this could’ve gone a lot worse.
As slushy rain continues to stream down the windows, I remember that I’m not alone and check on my sexy yet mysterious passenger. “Are you okay?”
Akasha nods. She seems completely unfazed by what just happened. Her aloof beauty remains untouched by even the simplest emotion.
For a moment we sit in silence. Finally Akasha speaks.
“I’m sorry for being so blunt,” she says. “It’s just... I thought your brother was different. I thought he was a good guy, that he cared.” Her eyes lock with mine and I’m caught off guard by the scary intensity I see there.
“Do you care, Mark?”
I’m stumped by the question. This whole encounter has gone from odd to bizarre. Before I can reply, Akasha leans in and gives me a quick kiss. It catches me by surprise. Despite all the weirdness, a part of me is turned on by her bold move. I pull away but my efforts are half-hearted.
“Listen, I’m involved.” The words are meant to discourage her, but she interprets them as an invitation.
“How involved?” The playful tone is back in her voice and she comes in for another kiss. Akasha isn’t taking my feeble “no” for an answer. In control, Akasha slides her tongue down my neck. She’s ready to take things further.
Akasha…
I hear Josh’s words in my mind and Lynn’s smiling face invades my thoughts. I stiffen and violently pull away.
“What's wrong?” Akasha asks in a suddenly vulnerable voice.
“I’m sorry, I can't do this...”
I lower my gaze, unable to hold Akasha's unflinching stare. I wipe the sweat off my brow.
My God, it’s hot in here.
My words lack any real force as I respond. “I emailed you because I wanted to talk about Josh. You're beautiful, Akasha, but I have a girlfriend.”
An uncomfortable pause. Akasha turns away and her features disappear behind her dark tresses.
I unzip my jacket, reacting to the rising heat in the vehicle. “Jesus, it's like a sauna in here. Let me turn down the heater...”
I do as promised and roll down my steamed-up window.
Akasha shoots me a final withering glare and opens the door.
“Wait, w
here are you going?”
Her response is to jump out of my Honda and dash off into the snowy night.
I chase after her. As soon as I get out of my vehicle, blowing ice particles lash my face. My eyes try to penetrate the flurry but I can detect no sign of Akasha.
“Akasha?”
I don’t receive an answer. I’m alone on the edge of the icy road. Cars tear past me on a sporadic basis, rubber splashing along the slippery asphalt.
My gaze scans the white surroundings but Akasha is gone and I’m left to wonder about what just transpired.
* * *
I drive in contemplative silence. I keep stealing glances at the passenger seat, almost expecting to find Akasha still sitting next to me.
Thirty minutes later, I park my car on Ditmars Blvd in Astoria and head for my girlfriend’s apartment. Using my set of keys, I let myself in and make my way to the bedroom. Lynn is already asleep. Poor girl hit the books all day while her significant other was up to no good. Shame washes over me for giving in to Akasha’s advances.
Especially for the excitement I felt.
I try to convince myself that I’m just a guy — this is how we’re wired, right? My internal pep talk doesn’t do much to lift my spirits or make me forget the queasy rumble in the pit of my stomach.
I get undressed, brush my teeth and scrub my face and hands, hoping to rid myself of the last traces of Akasha’s intoxicating scent. Strangely enough, I don’t even remember what she smelled like. Her perfume seems to have evaporated on the drive over.
As I slip under the covers, Lynn stirs. She gives me a groggy kiss, more asleep than awake, and plants her head on my chest.
I lie there for a moment with her weight on me, reassured and comforted by the physical contact. I’m wide-awake though, eyes riveted on the ceiling. Sleep won’t come easily tonight, if at all, I think. My mind churns, not sure what to make of what happened tonight. After a restless hour or two, I succumb to sheer exhaustion and fall into a dreamless slumber.
The next thing I remember is sunlight filtering into the room. A voice edges into my consciousness: “Hey sleepyhead, you’re going to be late for class.” My eyes flutter open and I sit up. I perch myself on the edge of the bed, still trying to wake up.