Between Chelsea and Elizabeth, I was in proposition-central station. Jesus, they were really coming out of the woodwork.
But I'd dealt with Chelsea. Maybe it was finally time to deal with Elizabeth.
"That sounds… that sounds naughty, Elizabeth. Really naughty." My tone was encouraging.
"You know I like it naughty. I promise I won't disappoint you. I never did before, did I?"
"Never," I lied agreeably. "I'd love to meet. Let's plan on this afternoon at the Four Seasons. I'll check in under a fake name—I'll text it to you later. In the meantime, to get primed, I want you to send me some pictures of you. Some nasty ones. You sound riled up right now. Go to your bed and take your clothes off. Pleasure yourself and take pictures. Send them to me. I want you to think of me while you're taking those pictures, baby, because I'll be thinking of you. I'm going to give it to you good and hard this afternoon. It's been too long."
"I can't wait." Her voice was breathy.
Me neither, you douche. "See you later."
I called Ian as soon as I hung up with Elizabeth. "I need you to take me to South Boston. I'll be down in ten minutes. And this afternoon, I need you to do me another favor."
Elena almost refused to give me Blake's home address. True to form, I offered her an outrageous sum of money so that she would break her own confidentiality agreement and tell me where Blake lived.
Blake wouldn't approve, but also true to form, I was doing this for her own good.
And mine. Since I didn't know what she was thinking, maybe it was just mine.
Ian pulled up outside of a seedy-looking row house in a crumbling neighborhood. Christ. My wife and her mother couldn't live like this. Why didn't she tell me things were this bad?
I hit the buzzer, but there was no answer. Then I heard a voice from a window on the second floor. "What do you want?"
I looked up and saw an older, pretty woman who must have been Blake's mom. "I'm looking for Blake. It's Lucas Ford. Can I come up?"
"Hold on," she said. "I'll buzz you in."
The buzzer rang, and I went up the stairs, ignoring the stuffiness and the lingering smell of kimchi, which seemed incongruous at this hour of the morning. Blake's mother opened the door, tightening her lavender bathrobe around her. "Mrs. Maxwell. It's a pleasure. I'm sorry to come barging in first thing this morning."
"It's okay." She smiled at me and motioned me inside. "Have a seat. Would you like some coffee?"
"Sure." I sat down on the sagging couch, which was dotted with threadbare pillows.
"I'm sure our place isn't what you're used to," she called from the tiny kitchen.
Three potted violets sat on the windowsill, cutting through the dankness with some cheer.
"Your house is a lot cozier than mine. More personal touches." I accepted the coffee from her. "Is your daughter here? I need to speak with her."
She nodded and adjusted her robe again. "She's here, but I think she's pretty upset."
I set down the coffee. "I'm sure she is. I've been sort of a jerk."
Mrs. Maxwell crossed her arms against her chest. "Are you here for business?" She studied my face.
"Not if your daughter forgives me."
She smiled at me a little, looking pleased. "In that case, I will get her. And then I'll give you two some privacy. It was nice to meet you, though."
"The pleasure was mine." I bounced my knee nervously as I waited for Blake. I didn't know what I was going to say, but whatever it was, it had to be right, and it had to be fast.
Like Herman had said, a woman like Blake wasn't going to wait around forever.
She came out a minute later, wearing a T-shirt and sweats, and her hair was up in a messy bun. Her eyes were red and puffy, a fact that I registered physically as a sucker punch to the gut. Christ. I'd made her cry, and by the looks of it, I'd made her cry a lot.
"Babe." I stood up, but she warily kept her distance, circling me and standing near the kitchen.