Life Is A Beach: Life Is A Beach / A Real-Thing Fling. Pamela Browning
darted an anxious look at the front door. No sign of Brenda, or had she already passed by?
The elevator door opened, and Karma tugged Slade into it. “It’s okay. We can cut through my uncle’s apartment to the fire escape. From there we can—”
“I appreciate this,” Slade said. “You don’t know how much.”
Karma stared straight ahead. “Don’t try to weasel your way back into my good graces,” she said. “I can’t place any weirdos with my female clients.”
He looked over at Karma, a slight smile playing across his lips. “I am entirely normal,” he said. “In every way.” Her mouth was unusually full, and her cheeks were flushed. Without knowing why, he bent his head, hesitated and kissed her full on the lips.
He thought she might have gasped beneath his mouth, but he was so intent on lengthening and deepening the kiss that he wasn’t sure. What he was sure about was that her lips were softly pliant, her mouth was warm and willing, and she was one sensuous woman.
The elevator bumped to a stop, and he released her. Without saying a word, she walked out. He followed her, his mouth tingling, his ears ringing. And all from just one kiss.
Looking rattled, Karma led him into her uncle’s apartment and raised a window before turning to face him. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she said.
“It was good for me. Wasn’t it good for you?” He affected an air of studied innocence.
“It was unnecessary and uncalled for. And—”
“—and very nice,” he murmured, gazing deep into her eyes, which dazzled him with their complexity of feeling.
She bit her lip and appeared to collect herself. “Let’s go,” she said, and she stepped out onto the metal fire-escape stairs.
“Now what?”
“We go that way,” she said, pointing toward the next roof.
It was easy, clambering across the roof, and the next one, and the next. Throughout their curious journey, with the city of Miami Beach spread out before them, with the scent of the sea in his nostrils, all he could think was that he wanted to kiss Karma again. And soon.
“This is the Blue Moon,” she said when they had reached a roof where lawn chairs were set along the edge of the building facing the ocean. The chairs on the sun deck were occupied by couples doing—well, who knew what? Slade had an idea, but he doubted the advisability of asking Karma if she would like to indulge. He was pretty sure she’d say no.
Karma marched across the roof and opened a door leading to a narrow hallway inside. “I suppose you want to be invited into my apartment for a drink or something,” she said, squarely facing him under the glare of an unshaded bulb dangling from the ceiling.
“Yes,” he said because he had never wanted anything so much in his life. “Yes, I reckon I would like that just fine.”
Karma sighed and massaged the back of her neck. “I’ll have to think this over,” she said. “I don’t know.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said.
“You might want to come in to the office and look at some of my female clients’ videos,” she said.
“I thought you fired me,” he said. “As a client, I mean.”
“I did. But now I think you’re okay.”
“Because I kissed you?” he said, opting for the bold approach.
“No, because I believe that you didn’t have any psycho reasons for having that bra—”
“Swimsuit top.”
“—swimsuit top in your pocket. I saw your expression when you pulled it out this morning. You looked surprised. That’s enough for me.”
At the moment, screening videos of her other Rent-a-Yenta clients didn’t appeal to him at all. “How about lunch tomorrow? Or dinner?”
“Or yoga? Remember, I said we’d have a class here tomorrow night.”
She must be testing him. He didn’t want to go to a yoga class. He hated anything New Age. But he did want to see Karma again, and desperately.
“I’ll be there,” he said.
She favored him with a decisive nod. “Good. Now I’d better walk you out of the building. Goldy doesn’t take kindly to unescorted men rambling around in here.”
They walked down four flights of stairs and found Goldy in the lobby, sitting behind her desk watching TV.
She looked up briefly, showing absolutely no surprise that the two of them had descended from on high rather than walking in the front door.
“Your aunt Sophie is here,” she said.
Karma’s eyebrows flew up. “My aunt Sophie is dead.”
“Well, she’s here anyway.” Goldy gestured in the direction of a cardboard bucket of the same ilk as the ones that fast-food fried chicken came in.
“What in the world are you talking about, Goldy?”
“Your aunt Sophie. They delivered her ashes. That’s them right there.”
4
THE NEXT DAY WHEN KARMA met her uncle Nate at the neighborhood ice-cream parlor, she informed him about the fried chicken barrel now reposing on top of her refrigerator.
“Okay,” he said, “so I should have ordered an urn. But what difference does it make? Sophie wanted her ashes scattered in the ocean. She loved the ocean.”
Karma took time out from licking her raspberry frozen yogurt on a stick. “And you’re going to scatter them, right?”
Nate looked uncomfortable. “No, not me. You, Karma.”
Karma stopped stock-still in the middle of Ocean Boulevard. “Why me?”
“I pretend like she’s buried. I go to the cemetery every day to see her grave, God rest her.” He pulled her out of the path of a speeding dune buggy. “You should watch where you’re going, Karma. I don’t want to be going to any more funerals for a while.”
They resumed their stroll. “With me out of the way, you could give Rent-a-Yenta to Paulette,” Karma said while thinking that scattering Aunt Sophie’s ashes was something Nate should do.
“I don’t want you out of the way, Karma. Your cousin Paulette was second choice. Anyway, she already has a job counting money for a big Wall Street firm.”
Lucky Paulette, Karma thought glumly. She probably had a boyfriend, too. But not someone as handsome and charming as Slade Braddock, she’d wager. Not that Slade was her boyfriend, but he had kissed her. He was a good kisser, too.
“Anyway, Karma, I like to go to the cemetery and look at Sophie’s grave. I sit there for a while and I talk to her.”
“Aunt Sophie doesn’t have a grave. She’s in that fried chicken barrel.”
“Barrel? Don’t call it a barrel. It’s a fried chicken bucket. Sophie wouldn’t need a barrel. She was as slim on the day she died as she was on the day I married her. And anyway, I picked out a grave that looks like it could be Sophie’s. Sometimes I drive Mrs. Rothstein to the cemetery, too, so she can visit her husband’s grave nearby. There’s a pretty bottle-brush tree, and we like to sit under it on a nice wrought-iron bench. Let me have my fantasy that Sophie is there, bubbeleh. Don’t spoil it for me.”
“But Uncle Nate—”
“Your aunt Sophie was my life. I miss her.” Nate wiped a tear from his eye.
Karma slid an arm around his shoulders. “She’d want