Blind Man's Alley by Justin Peacock Read Free Book Online

little popping sound that he suspected Alena could hear, and splashed in another finger.
    Alena, dressed only in a thin bathrobe that clung to her still-damp frame, was sitting on the couch combing her hair. Jeremy kissed her hello, settling in beside her, taking another sip of the scotch before putting it down on the Noguchi coffee table.
    Jeremy picked up an antique silver cigarette case off the coffee table, pulled out a joint and a lighter. He inhaled deeply before offering it to Alena, who leaned forward to take a drag without reaching for it. The humming in Jeremy’s brain was fast fading, the propulsive beat in his body finally lulled. Jeremy took another hit off the joint, ashed it before it spilled onto the white couch, then washed it down with a proper, civilized sip of scotch.
    Alena put down her comb, looking at him. She was tall, thin, and tan, her complexion practically matching the brown of her slightly highlighted hair. “Why so tense?” she asked.
    “Dinner with my family’s bad enough without throwing in these fucking Muslim royals. They come over to New York now the same way you go to the Barneys warehouse sale.”
    “I’ve never been to Barneys.”
    “They’re bargain hunting, scooping up the city because the dollar’s too weak to defend it,” Jeremy continued, feeling on a roll, the pressure of the evening coming out in his contempt. “And we’ve got to go hat in hand to these motherfuckers. Play by their rules, even though we’re in the middle of Manhattan.”
    “Their rules? Oh, meaning you had to stay sober?”
    Cleverness wasn’t an asset in a kept woman, something Jeremy had mentioned to Alena on more than one occasion. It inevitably led to more of a fight than he had the energy to deal with at the moment, so he hit the joint instead. Alena took it from him, had another drag.
    “What about the other thing?” Alena asked. Jeremy looked over at her, hoping he’d misunderstood what she was getting at, but seeing that he hadn’t. He didn’t remember telling her about his recent problems, had no recollection of any such conversation. He could only hope he hadn’t gone into too much detail.
    “That’s being taken care of,” he said flatly, making clear that the subject was a dead end.
    “Why do you need the Arabs anyway?” Alena asked. “Why don’t you just borrow the money from one of the big banks? Isn’t that what you usually do?”
    Jeremy hadn’t made up his mind how he felt about Alena’s occasional displays of the rudiments of business acumen. He needed to vent about work sometimes, so it was occasionally useful, but at the same time he wasn’t sure how much he really wanted Alena privy to that side of his life. “The credit market’s gone dry,” Jeremy said. “The banks don’t have a spare three hundred million to lend, especially not for real estate. Plus this project is already so leveraged—we’ve only got fifty million of our own money in, which makes them more nervous.”
    Alena had clearly grown bored with the topic; she crossed her legs, the robe opening to midthigh as she did so. Jeremy burned his thumb a little hitting the dregs of the joint. He stubbed out the roach in the ashtray, then finished off the scotch in his glass, his gaze lingering on Alena’s exposed inner thigh.
    “You find peace over there?” she asked him, her smile more taunting than welcoming.
    “I’m actually going to freshen this up,” Jeremy said, reaching for his glass. “But why don’t you meet me in the bedroom?”
    “I can do that,” Alena said evenly, her voice lacking either anticipation or hesitation. She stretched as she stood, the nipples of her small breasts visible against the thin fabric. Jeremy reached out and ran his index finger down the middle of her robe, parting it. Alena stood as though posed, looking back at him, her expression unchanged. “You know where to find me,” she said after a moment, moving past him toward the bedroom.
    Jeremy watched her