The Forsaken

CHAPTER FIVE



D amali gently closed the bedroom door within the new family compound behind her. A sense of weary resignation claimed her. Marlene was right, she had to clean up this mess, and clean it up fast--the Juanita fiasco notwithstanding. It would be a lapse and an episode to take with her to her grave. She loved Carlos. But this dangerous new situation went beyond that. Something was seriously wrong with the very fabric of the universe. She had to address that as much as she had to address her personal dilemma.



She dropped her duffel bag on the floor before the dresser and glanced around the room. They'd put her in the east wing of the house, in a plant-filled sanctuary replete with floor-to-ceiling windows that would allow maximum daylight, and had seduced her to accept her fate of temporarily living with them all again by creating the illusion that she was free. But, once again, she was anything but free.



The sad part of it all was that only when she was creating her music did the problems in her life seem to melt away. Music removed the barriers, lifted the burden of being a Neteru, and stilled her troubled mind. And if her muse had simply remained in the spirit, she could have loved him with her whole heart for all of time. That's how things were supposed to be. But, as usual, she always wound up with the complex end of the bargain.



As Damali slowly put away her clothes, she glanced around at the beautiful teak woods and ebony that Marlene had selected. Patterns from the motherland swathed every surface. Strong mojo was in here with her, she could count on Marlene for that. She smiled sadly as she glimpsed the protective ring of salt around the king-sized sleigh bed that



Marlene had discreetly laid on the floor. No doubt the windows had been anointed, too.



In the quiet of the room, she could feel the fractured nerves and team hysteria beginning to ebb and give way to returned calm. There were so many questions that demanded answers. She wondered if the being that had visited her was one of a kind, or were there more that had accidentally tripped over the invisible line between dimensions? And if every action had an equal and opposite reaction, him becoming flesh meant what in the grand scheme of karma?



It didn't take much to remember how pure inspiration had dragged her out of bed night after night like a jealous lover to answer his desire at three a.m., the bewitching hour, when she was too young to go out alone clubbing. Then as she got older, it would accost her midday, when she went on huntress night shifts, forcing her to contend with the need to create, even when she was half-asleep standing up.



She wondered if Beethoven and Mozart had been driven to near-mad obsession by a female muse that demanded their all. Did Van Gogh finally go insane and cut off his ear for an earthly love or a cosmic one, or did Leonardo Da Vinci give in to the whispers of his muse, risking his life during medieval times to dare challenge the church for her?



Damali's hands lent themselves to the task of putting away clothes by rote, but her mind studied the complexities of the cosmos.



Pure inspiration was divine. It covered one with the very essence of pure love. It stopped time, made the sun come up on you from the dead of night, could keep the inspired at a task without eating or sleeping for hours on end, energized by the sheer explosive drive to complete.



Mad scientists, insane artists, crazed musicians, intense writers... what could make a man hang upside down on scaffolding for years painting the Sistine Chapel but a driving muse? Or what could make an architect envision the pyramids, and then be crazy enough to actually think he could build them--and do it? Or make two brothers jump into a mechanical contraption and believe they could fly--and do it?



Damali closed her eyes. Every creative person knew that this jealous lover was hard enough to deal with as raw ether... but flesh-- incomprehensible. This thing could keep her locked in a studio for hours, had done that in the past, or had kept her sequestered in her bedroom until a song was finished. She thought of the others in the compound, how they'd go off with their muse lover and create in sublime isolation, only to return to the group haggard, worn out, dehydrated, malnourished, but deeply satisfied. A low, knowing chuckle coated her insides as she thought of her early times with Carlos. It wasn't different at all--same thing... coming back to the compound all beat down, raggedy, exhausted from being at it all night, ready to drop where she stood from giving a pint of blood, but oh, so very content.



She left her duffel bag on the floor and closed the drawer, and then crossed the room to flop on the bed. Satisfied... that was the word... and her muse was suffering, hadn't been satisfied in a long time. It was all over his handsome face--need. She wondered if that, along with the rip in time, had caused him to breach the void to come to her... aroused, apexing, breathless, unashamed, and begging her to return to him.



Again, a light tap at her door didn't startle her, but oddly annoyed her. She already knew who it was, but was enjoying the solitude of working the puzzle out in her mind alone. She murmured, "Come in," but didn't really mean it. What she really wanted to do was sit down with this strange being and ask him about inspiration. Where did it come from, what type of light sent it? How did it focus and become manifest from one side of the dimensions to the other? Did everybody get their own muse, and were they all as fine as he?



Carlos's form appeared at her now-opened door, but a thousand distant questions still pummeled her brain, then slipped away quietly and were gone.



"I just came to check on you."



She sat up and ran her fingers through her hair. "Thanks. Listen, about earlier, I'm sorry."



"No apology necessary," he said, coming into her room and quietly shutting the door behind him. "Look, I know you don't wanna be back here any more than I do. But I was worried, baby. Out of respect, like you did for me, I didn't mention the darkening of your aura, and I'm worried that no one else picked it up, either."



"Thanks. I appreciate that. Besides, it was probably just residue left over from before finally purging out of my system. No need to get everybody all hyped." She tried to smile. "See, no fangs, no blood sweats, or anything bizarre."



"That's not the point, D. I'm still worried for a lot of reasons."



She nodded and let out a long, weary sigh. They were dancing around the real issue, the earlier fight. That was fine by her at the moment. She had no energy left for that.



"It was my fault. I freaked out, got everybody upset. So this is the result." She forced another smile and patted the side of the bed for him to sit down.



He hesitated. "You sure you want me in here?" She just looked at him.



"Earlier, it seemed like... I don't know." He leaned against the wall and folded his arms.



"I'm sorry," she whispered, realizing how she must have come off Guilt gnawed at her. She had to let the Juanita thing go if they were ever going to move forward and get beyond it. Now she had a better understanding of how crazy drama could just kick off without it really being one's intent.



Knowing that made her finally stand up and go to him to touch his face. The dejected expression in his eyes made her want to weep. "Baby, listen, I was so wrong to lay that all on you."



His wounded eyes searched hers. "I just don't know what I did wrong by coming when you had an emergency."



Again, the unspoken problem remained like a paralyzed third party in the room. He clearly knew what he'd done wrong with the other unmentionable situation; she had made herself very clear about how that had made her feel. But they'd agreed by verbal omission to squash the impasse, it seemed. The silent truce was that they'd only speak on her most recent SOS call, and nothing further. The whole thing in the alley behind the club still burrowed into his brain. But all apologies and tenderness and making up would be focused on that, and nothing more. To discuss more meant opening Pandora's box, where an emotional tide could shift, a new argument erupt, and anything could leap out of their mouths. "If I had known coming would have pissed you off, I wouldn't have, because the last thing I wanna do, D, is make you go off... but that's a lie, because if I thought you were in trouble, even angry at me, I would still come to make sure you were all right--even if you didn't want me to. Figured--"



She kissed him gently to stop his words. "You didn't do anything wrong. I'm the one who's wrong." She leaned her forehead on the center of his chest, trying to find a way to explain something that had no easy explanation. "I was composing when all this went down. Something I really haven't been able to freely do in almost a year... and that takes a great deal of concentration, being alone, and just vibing to come up with something new. Then drama hit, and it was like everything went poof in a matter of seconds."



"Creative coitus interruptus," he said, chuckling. "Been there, and it'll make you evil as shit."



She tried to laugh, even though his statement made her cringe. "The song that was in my head was gone... I don't expect any of that to make any sense to you, but, trust me on it, when you're working and get interrupted like that, the frustration is beyond words."



That was as much, and the safest thing, she could tell him. She wanted to be honest with him, but there was a thin line between absolute truth and stupidity. Boy oh boy did she know that now. She cherished this man, her partner, her lover, but this part of her would probably always be a mystery to him. She could fully appreciate a black box, right through here.



His hands caressed her back and a soft kiss landed on the crown of her head. "I guess I've always been a little jealous of your time away from me to go hang out with your muse." He chuckled and deepened the kiss against her hair and fully embraced her. "It's like when you're with your muse, no one and nothing else in the world matters. But I can't deny you being with it; it's a part of you, and the music you create once you've gone off and communed with it is awesome."



She hugged him hard. His words carved at her conscience. If he only knew. "Baby," she whispered thickly. "I'm gonna leave my muse alone, okay? Maybe this whole music thing is a bad idea, long run--yeah, it paid the bills, and got us where we are now, but--"



"Are you crazy?" he said, pulling back and making her look at him. "D, from the time we met, you were singing. You would sit on my momma's sofa, scribbling in some old black-and-white-marble school notebook, coming up with the most kick-ass songs. Over the years I've watched you develop your work, seen it get deeper, more complex, sexier .. . just like you. And your performances are at the top of your game. If you stop singing, that would kill you--and if you did it because I was blowing your groove, that would kill me."



The pain in his intense brown eyes and the selfless compassion held within them made tears come to hers. There was nothing to do but love this man, hold him, and tell him without words how sorry she was for almost killing him by breaking his heart. He'd been possessed, she reminded herself of that. She knew a little of what that felt like now, too.



"No matter what happens, don't you ever forget how much I love you," she whispered thickly.



He kissed her slow and long and deep, and when he pulled away from her mouth, he crushed her against him. "I so wish that I could help you do what you do, but there isn't a musical bone in my body. I envy the other brothers in the house that can just sit down with you, pick up on a strand of your songs, add their own inspiration to it, and you all create a fusion that is so powerful... D, I can't even describe it. Sometimes you all are kickin' it so hard it brings sweat to my brow. So, you go on and do whatchu gotta do. I'll manage, will try to stay out of your hair while you're working, and will just enjoy being a spectator."



She almost cringed again as she closed her eyes and nodded. "Baby, listen, sometimes this thing can get out of hand--like an obsession. I'm gonna try to be more balanced, make time for us, cut it off when it's getting too overwhelming, and--"



"No, girl," he said with a sad smile, his hands running down her arms as he spoke. He chuckled and shook his head. "You get this look on your face that says, 'back off, I'm working,' and there have been days I've put my head in the studio or in your room while you were working, and you were gettin' it so good, were working a song down to the bone so hard that even I, the nonmusician, knew better than to interrupt that."



He was laughing, but she couldn't even look at him now. "Girl, for real, about the only time when I get that kinda look on my face is when I'm with you." He nuzzled her neck and nipped it. "That's why I am soooo jealous of that damned muse of yours, you have no idea. And half the time, when I'm looking for you, it's at some wild hour in the morning when I want to roll over and get back to where we'd been, but the muse would have you--"



"Jesus, Carlos, I'm sorry baby," she said fast, breaking his hold and halfway running across the room. "I swear I didn't know it was like that. You've gotta believe me; I never ever meant to hurt you or to do anything messed up. You know it's me and you, baby, just, I... I, lost my damned mind. See, what had happened was--"



"Damali, baby, what's the matter?" He crossed the room and wiped at the tears streaming down her face. "Girl, I was just teasing you. I know this thing drags you out of bed at--"



"Baby, see," she said, trying not to sob. "It's really strong. It's powerful. It's not like something that--"



"I know," he said, smiling. "I'm not an artist and I wouldn't understand."



She just stared at him. Marlene's words slapped her in the back of her head. Take it to your grave, girl. Don't break this man's heart. "Uhm, hmm," she mumbled, nodded, looked down at the floor, and sniffed hard.



"I know, boo," he murmured. "That's cool. I get the best part, though."



She looked up at him and wrapped her arms around herself.



"Pre- and post-songwriting performances." He gave her a long, burning gaze. "So, I ain't mad."



Damali gulped. This was so out of order, there would be no way to ever make this right. Her muse had to stay on the other side of the veil until the end of time. As long as he was spirit, not a physical manifestation, and as long as she'd never seen him and only felt his presence, it was all good. But knowledge stole innocence.



"Why don't you sing the parts of the song that you remember," Carlos said in a low, sensual murmur. "I can't compose, but maybe I can help jog your memory?" His gaze raked her and sent a ripple of heat over her bare arms.



"No, no, no, that's cool; the song is gone--cold. So, you know, baby, I appreciate--"



"Then, maybe I could offer you a little inspiration for something new?"



Panic stripped the air from her lungs as she watched him close the space between them. "Tonight, we don't have to--"



A hard pull and a deep kiss stopped her words and kept her argument in her mouth. Carlos dragged his jaw up the side of her neck and sent a hot whisper into her ear.



"Remember 'In the Dark'?" he said, his voice a rumble in his chest. "Or, 'When You Call'?"



All she could do was nod with her eyes shut.



"Or, 'Remember Baby'?" he whispered, taking her down memory lane. "Those always turned me out. But 'Sweet Transition,' the way you served it in Sydney, that one makes me act ridiculous." His hands had splayed across her back and he had begun to breathe in the fragrance of her hair, allowing his voice to come out in low, hoarse jags. "You used to sing those to me in bed."



Oh, my God... not tonight! "See, baby, that was like over a year ago, and uh . . ."



"They'll always mean something to me, since I know what inspired them." He found the sweet spot on her neck and suckled it, and then left a damp kiss in its wake. "A year is way too long."



Her body tensed. For a second, uncertainty had her in its clutches. Could this thing that had come through the veil shape-shift? Shit! "Baby, what's the matter?" Carlos said, lifting his head from her throat to stare into her eyes.



"Nothing," she squeaked out. "It just hit me that it had been that long, and I was like, 'Oh, wow, a whole year, damn.' That's deep."



He laughed and shook his head. "Did I tell you the other thing I love about you is you're crazy?"



She nodded, forcing herself to laugh. "I really am, honey."



"Good, then your secret's safe with me," he said, chuckling and pulling her to him again. "I'm crazy, too--for ever messing with you, woman."



As she held him and he laughed, there was nothing more she wanted to do than to banish her muse in the flesh. There was too much at stake, her man's happiness and what they had together. A temporary lapse wasn't worth all that. And Carlos had been the salt of the earth, all his mess aside. She wanted to kick herself for even going near a seduction. Carlos's tender kisses across her jaw made her want to seal away any hurt this could bring him. She wondered if Eve had gone through this yang. How in the world did she bring herself to explain some mess like this to Adam?



Then a very bizarre idea formed in her mind. What if the muse, alone, hadn't come up with everything from pure ether? "In the Dark," Carlos owned. The brother' had branded that one into her mind and body, puhlease. Muse had to step off on that one.



Feeling more confident, she returned Carlos's kisses harder, but her mind was also working on a stopgap solution. If she composed in bed with Carlos, what would happen? If that off-the-hook muse was crazy enough to step through the rip and come into her room now, then together, she and Carlos could deal with it. At the very least, her man would know she was being stalked by a very aggressive cosmic fan, whom she hadn't slept with, and maybe the trust in their relationship could be salvaged.



Conversely, if the muse finally saw that he didn't have exclusive rights to her inspiration, then maybe he'd go in grace and take his ass back to where he was supposed to be.



"Wanna do something we haven't done in a long time?" she whispered, flicking her tongue along Carlos's jugular.



"Yeah . . ." he breathed out. "I'm down."



"Let me light a couple candles, the old-fashioned, slow way... we can slip between the sheets, and how about if I compose with you on the fly?"



She watched his lids lower and felt a slight shudder run through him. They needed to make up, repair the rift between them before anything got in the middle of their bond. So many new insights were pouring into her mind that it could barely hold them as she watched his reaction. Silently she swore she'd never travel the uncharted waters of blind, jealous rage again--made sense that one came home and sealed the fissure in a relationship after a lapse. The moment the line got crossed, the spirit registered the breach in the hull; the mind went into panic then damage-control strategy. The body became the solder to take the pressure off and seal the vessel of the relationship from incoming, rushing tides of change so it wouldn't flood with problems and tank. That kinda mess would drown the whole crew. Lord, she understood so much better... and apparently just in the nick of time.



Carlos hadn't answered her verbally, just stripped off his shirt and walked over to the bed, unfastening his jeans and kicking off his unlaced Tims. She smiled, loving him as much as the relaxed intimacy that now cloaked them. It was something to be cherished, so she took her time going around the room, lighting tallows and enjoying the anticipation that made the vibe thicken around them.



Every now and then, she glimpsed over her shoulder to catch the utter appreciation in his expression. His eyelids were heavy, but his eyes burned silver beneath them as they watched her strip away her clothes to join him under the covers. No, nothing was worth risking this.



She slid against him, her skin catching fire as it ignited his, and she leaned down to land soft caresses on his forehead and eyelids with the barest brush of her mouth. "Wounded, lover... I'm sorry," she crooned softly. "I should have been more careful with your love." She stopped her song to find his mouth, and then broke the kiss, sending her gentle apology into it upon a sad melody. "Wounded lover... forgive me. This time I'll make it up to you." Her hands stroked his hair, and glided down his shoulders to gently rake his nipples with her nails, making him close his eyes. "Wounded lover... I love you." The song stopped where his deep kiss began. Her guilt ended where his touch started. Her confusion ceased where he entered her. The muse's lure was lost where her man's rhythm was found. With every ragged breath they drew, she remembered where she was supposed to be. Not even a rip in the universe could come between this, they were one.



But at three o'clock in the morning, she found herself sitting up in bed. Damali looked down at Carlos, his breathing was deep and steady, a man contented and asleep. Her mind was raging with the rest of the song they'd created. She bent and kissed him; he stirred, and reached out a lazy arm to claim her.



"Your muse calling you again?" he murmured with his eyes closed and a slight smile gracing his mouth.



"Yeah," she whispered and kissed his cheek.



"Go to him then," Carlos murmured as he yawned and snuggled deeper into the covers. "I know where to find you."



She hesitated. "I'll be downstairs in the studio, okay? Just for a little while."



"That's what you always say." He chuckled, turning over with a sated smile. He hadn't opened his eyes, and was beginning to drift off to sleep again. "I know you can't fight that call... and you lose track of time."



"I'll just be a little while," she said, so conflicted she'd begun to wring her hands. "We'll have breakfast together, okay? I'll make you something--"



"Damali, go 'head, baby. I ain't got nothin' for you until morning." He chuckled and stretched, not even looking at her. "I don't know how you do it."



She slipped from the bed after kissing him once more and went into the bathroom to splash water on her face. It had to be safe now. She'd made her point, made her choice. But she had to be able to finish what she'd started, had to be able to keep working with the second love of her life--music.



"Wounded Lover" demanded recording now. In her sleep she'd heard the rest of the song, just like she was sure she could complete the other two that had jumped into her brain earlier that night. Three cuts were screaming to get laid. Once she recorded them, all she'd have to do is let Jose hear them and he could score them. Rider's guitar would know what to do, just like Shabazz's bass and J.L.'s keyboards.... Mike would be on it with a second keyboard or drums, Mar would bring the bells and shakers, and they'd have a healthy jump-start to getting back into the groove.



Washing up quickly, she felt so alive she could have skipped back into the room. With guilt gone, Carlos satisfied, and her freedom no longer in question, she was energized. This drama was a fluke.



Damali quickly found a tank top and a pair of sweats and escaped the bedroom, hurrying down the hallways and a wide flight of stairs to the first-floor studio. The moment she entered the soundproof enclosure and turned on the lights, she felt like she was home. All she needed was a couple of takes, and she knew she'd nail it. Dawn would be coming through the windows in a matter of hours, and all would be right with the world.



She dashed over to the mixing board and turned on a stand mic and depressed the record buttons, not bothering to don headphones. She had this. A capella. Yeah, boyie.



Excited by the creation, she went to the mic, closed her eyes, and began "Wounded Lover." The sound of her voice filled the studio, and before long she'd improvised from the earlier melody in her head, had found notes between notes, her voice carrying raw power. Sensuality oozed from the melody that she let hover and falter, like a woman crying, begging to be understood. She sent everything into the lyrical promises, her arms outstretched, head back, feeling the music as it surged up and out of her. It was like being in church, testify. It was like being one with air, have mercy. It was electricity, pure adrenaline, as she belted out her soulful wail.



New words spun, dipped, and added to stanzas. Yeah, wounded lover, I've missed you--would never leave you. 'Cause, you're my wounded lover.... I can never he the one to hurt you. Don't go, not for a little while, baby. Just listen. I can explain and make it all right again. Just... wounded lover, please... hear me.



Perspiration made her white tank top cling to her torso. Energy-



infused body heat made her sweatpants second skin. Trembling, she sang her heart out. The wail of agony she released in soprano sent shivers through her, then she dipped it to a hoarse whisper of remorse, a stuttering repetitive baby that ended in a crooning ooohhh, you know I love you. Wounded lover, don't go.



He materialized right in her arms as she finished the song, welded to her in a desperate embrace. His hard kiss captured her mouth, stole her breath, and sent prisms of new melody through her. Sound became color within her as he moved against her, shuddering. Every color was a pleasure shard between her legs that arched her back and left her limp. His kiss was filled with indecipherable words that she could feel, understood from within, but only heard once he tore his mouth from hers and found her neck.



He held the sides of her face, raining kiss after rapid kiss upon her eyelids, the bridge of her nose, her forehead, then again sought her mouth. Each time he spoke, it was with the voice of a broken man.



"Beloved, you ruin me," he gasped, his hot words touching off another orgasm within her. His caress fused to her back, his burning hands rapidly tracing down it to cover the Sankofa tattoo at the base of her spine, and the acute, erotic sensation made tears fall. "Oh, Damali, I am beyond wounded, I have been slain. Outright slaughtered."



She could barely hold on to his shoulders, the heat emanating from his skin was so intense. All reason had been wiped from her mind as she felt him climax hard in a tidal wave of pure sound, bury his face against her hair, and sob.



She stood there for a few moments, too stunned to move. This wasn't terror, this was outright horror. Her man was upstairs, an entity had released hard and was now sobbing, "I love you, don't leave me," in her arms. She'd just gotten out of bed with one man, was downstairs on the DL with another--in her family's house. She began to hyperventilate. Passing out was very possible. The fact that he hadn't actually entered her would be a moot technicality once Carlos dropped fang.



"Muse, Muse, listen to me!" she said, trying to extract herself from his warm, wonderful hold. "You have got to go--now!"



But he didn't budge. His nude, thick, muscular frame was pressed against her tightly. His body felt like granite had formed beneath his supple skin. His eyes searched hers, holding open desire.



"You don't understand," he said on staccato breaths. "Every time you began a song and let it die in fits and starts, you touched me... you did that for hours, all night long. When you finished, I finished, right here in your arms." His palm trembled as it cupped her cheek, his eyes never leaving hers. "I thought I would go mad from the prolonged wait... and you still have more brimming inside you, as do I." He captured her hand and dragged it down his torso to his pulsing shaft. "Just finish one more for me, lover."



Her eyes almost crossed when she touched him there. The look on his face was untarnished want. She understood where he was at, had been there herself. His body was so hot it felt like it had soaked up the sun. But reality and the cold light of day was an interesting mix. It brought instant sanity. She could not have Carlos come down here and find her standing in the middle of a sound studio holding a huge entity's dick.



She released him and backed up, glancing down the front of her splattered sweatpants. "Oh, shit!"



"Beloved, listen--"



"No, for real, now--"



"I wanted to fill you with all that I have. The fabric got in the way." He pulled her to him again and delivered another hard kiss. "Let me inside you, flow through you, and give you all of me as you sing."



His kiss was intoxicating, but reality was more sobering. "Please, please, please, go home, baby! This ain't the way for my man to find out!" "Tell him, beloved. End the torment with the truth."



Damali closed her eyes. "I can't. Not yet, not now, possibly never--so you have got to go." She looked up at him and touched his face as tears of need shimmered in his eyes. "If you go," she murmured, trying to find a way to temporarily appease him, "I'll finish the other ballads today. But you cannot manifest like this on me again. Promise."



"I cannot promise what is beyond my control." He swept her mouth and released a deep sigh as he hugged her. "But pain was never my purpose, therefore, if you want me to leave you at the moment, I shall."



"Thank you," she squeaked out, and patted his shoulder. "You have got to be cool. We can't roll like this."



He nodded, closed his eyes, turned away, and then walked between the folds of time and space and was gone.



Her hand over her heart, she glanced down at the broad, wet stain on her sweatpants. If a sightline didn't bust her, the nose would. Raw sex was impossible to disguise, and her man knew that scent like a bulldog knew steak. She couldn't go back to her room. Every female in the house was probably in bed with a partner. Marlene would have a heart attack. The only person she could count on was Inez.



Dashing to the phone, she punched in Inez's cell number. It took three tries to get past her friend's voice mail, but 'Nez had a baby and always answered her phone, just in case. As soon as Damali heard her Inez's voice, she didn't bother with formalities.



" 'Nez, it's D, but don't say my name. Mike in there with you?"



"Yeah, girl, where you at, you cool?"



"No, I'm fucked up, can't explain, bring me some sweats--don't say shit to a living soul, just bring me some sweats and a garbage bag, and oh, girl, I done messed up. SOS, pull me outta here on the sneak tip, don't ask no questions, and I swear I'll owe you for life. I need a wet washcloth and some soap. Can you do that?"



"Yeah, but where you at?" Inez hissed.



"Downstairs in the studio."



Momentary silence hung on the line.



"In the house?" Inez said slowly.



"I said don't ask no questions! Mike can hear in his sleep--I hope you knocked him out good, oh, Lawd!" Damali whispered back harshly "Come on, girl, hurry up--before Carlos wakes up!"



The call disconnected. Damali walked in a circle. The studio door opened within minutes and she almost fainted. Inez brandished the requested items, and without fanfare Damali stripped right in front of her friend and shoved her soiled pants into the bag. Tears stung her eyes. Inez's look of pure shock made Damali work faster. She wiped her neck and face off, as well as her hands and thighs, and then inspected herself while turning around like a lunatic.



"Do I look all right? I'm cool? You can't see nothing on me, can't tell nothing, right? Girl, tell me something!" Damali's frantic whisper popped and snapped in short bursts. "Okay, now, we go way back, lean in, give a good whiff, and tell me if I'm cool."



"I don't know what happened in here, and I'm half-scared to ask," Inez said slowly, taking the trash bag from Damali, "but Carlos is gonna kick your ass."



"I know," Damali wailed and closed her eyes.