C.A.K.E novel Chapter 4

"Close your mouth, Casper. You're drooling." Karma rolls her eyes, and breezes away from the front door toward their bedroom.

They just walked Arden and Elliott out of their home. Casper has to admit, he did a horrible job at hiding his affinity for Arden. Touching her felt like shoplifting, a rush of guilt, and intoxicating adrenaline. Given the opportunity, he would make Arden his next five-finger discount. He stares at the door a moment longer, before going after the one woman who should have his concern.

"I was telling her goodnight. I have to look at her to do that."

"You were looking at her breasts." Karma glares at him.

"I was saying goodnight to a friend."

She kicks off her heels and shoves them into their assigned space in the walk-in.

"Here's a word of advice, women's eyes are above the chest area. Remember that, next time you're touching another man's wife."

Casper shrugs. "All I did was dance with her."

"But that's not all you wanted to do. I've seen the way you look at her." A hint of wounded jealousy sparks in her expression.

"Then you shouldn't have invited her over here."

"You're not even going to deny being attracted to her?"

"That is not what I ... " He drags his hands over the trimmed hairs of his goatee. "What was this—some sort of test?"

"If it was, you failed with flying colors." She turns her back to him, while she removes her earrings.

"Because you set me up."

A flash of clarity that comes with several years of marriage strikes him. No, that's not right. Be apologetic. Don't make any more excuses.

He grabs Karma's elbow and asks her to look at him. "I was wrong."

"Yes, you were." She lets him pull her into his arms.

He kisses the crown of her head. "If she makes you that uncomfortable, we don't have to see them again."

"I didn't say that." She lifts her head from his chest. "The Stones are the type of well-heeled people we need as friends."

A revelation dawns on Casper, and he looks down into Karma's brown eyes with a knowing smirk. "Her father ... You knew she was Senator Mitchell's daughter."

Karma moves away from his incredulous stare.

"Former senator," she corrects. "But still very connected. And yes, I thought I recognized her at the culinary school. I wasn't sure until Elliott confirmed it tonight."

"You can't just use people to get what you want."

"Get off the damn high horse, Casper." She stabs his chest with her finger. "The only reason you want Elliott around is to lust after his wife. Can you honestly tell me you want to be his friend?"

She's right. Casper knows seeing Arden means seeing Elliott as well. He makes polite conversation with Eli because he's trying to ignore how much he wants to take a long stroll through the forbidden garden of Arden.

"Elliott is a genuine guy, and Arden is a charming woman. Friendship is as far as my interest in either of them goes."

Karma turns her nose up like she can smell the bullshit on him.

"You're not attracted to Arden?"

"Not in the least." He leans against the chest of drawers and crosses his right leg over the left.

"Casper, I'm paid to know when a man is lying." She sighs. "And you're terrible at it."

Her quick hands lift his shirt over his head and undo his belt. Karma kisses him the way she used to when they were still in high school, and their Motel 6 was the backseat of his '71 Dodge Demon.

Shocked by her gentle show of affection, he forgets his train of thought. All he can concentrate on are the doe eyes looking up into his. What he says next is the truth, at least at this moment.

"I can't think of anyone but you."

He holds the nape of her neck, letting his fingers get lost in the thickness of her hair. Karma smiles and an impish giggle leaves her parted lips. Seeing the laugh lines crease her cinnamon complexion, makes him feel like the sun just decided to shine on the dreary parade of their marriage.

He kisses her again, biting and sucking the blush pucker that is her greeting card for the world. She relaxes, lets him lead. Casper lifts her and lays her body on their bed with a feather-light touch. After some unzipping and unbuttoning, they're both naked as the day they were introduced to the world.

Casper showers her in kisses, starting at her toes and working his way up her dewy skin. She squirms, as he nears her warm, sugary center. He goes slow, tasting her. How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop? ... a one ... a two ... a three ... He intends to find out. Karma places an encouraging hand on his head, applauding his work with her low moans.

Casper's research is interrupted by the bombastic thundering of an orchestra from the next room. Beethoven's Fifth Symphony in C Minor shocks the air with a power and presence that demands the undivided attention of the senses. Having lost his concentration, he lifts his head. Karma flies from the bed like she's fleeing the Titanic.

The first movement of one of the most significant contributions to classical music is cut short with Karma's whispered "hello." Her voice moves farther from the open door of the bedroom, its tone quiet and happy. Casper chases her vocal vibrations to the front of the house.

Still naked as a jaybird, she stands with her weight resting on her left leg and her right foot arched like she's ready to transition to en pointe. That dancer's poise from her fifteen years of ballet training still lives in her limbs. Old habits die hard.

Karma bites one of her black-lacquered nails and laughs with a clandestine gleam in her eye.

"Give me twenty minutes ... Yeah, he's here ... No, I'm on my way . . . I'll make up something ... " Another sinful giggle. "All right, bye."

She smiles down at her cell and begins to saunter back to the master bedroom. Her seductive simper disappears and her graceful gait halts, when their eyes meet in the hallway.

"Who was that?"

She slides past him. "Work."

He sucks his teeth and eyeballs her. "At this hour?"

Karma slips back into her flowy dress. Casper notices that she neglects to put on underwear. There's nothing preserving her modesty, but the thin crepe garment. She answers without looking at him.

"A new witness came forward. I have to get his deposition."

"Can't Frome do that?"

"It wouldn't sting as much if my brother would hang out with me. How about tomorrow?"

"I love you, but some of us have to work for a living. We can't all be Rain Man like you, and just have things fall into place on their own."

"You're a marketing exec." Casper scoffs. "You do five minutes of work a week. The ignorant nature of the general public does the rest."

"Any other day, insulting my career would make me want to do your bidding." Casper hears him suck in air through his teeth and groan. "But I've got a lot lined up this week. Can't spare a second."

"I'mma remember that."

"Remember it—write it down, take a picture, I don't give a fuck," Cain says.

"Okay, Smokey." Casper cracks up, dropping his tablet. "Get off my phone, and make some money."

"I make money in my sleep," Cain promises they'll get together when work slows down, then leaves Casper to the silence of his corner office.

Casper retrieves his device from the floor and goes back to staring at the same few lines that refuse to lend themselves to any further elaboration. His earlier spark of inspiration disintegrated with his brother's phone call.

He spends several minutes in a fog of writer's block until a potential solution to one of his problems surfaces. Though this idea won't add to his word count, it will give him more material for the nights when Karma jets off to rid the world of injustice.

He relegates his script to the background, and types "Arden" into Google's Omnibox. His fingers begin to input, "Stone," then decide to hit delete and form the surname, "Mitchell."

Casper taps enter and waits the approximate 1.3 seconds it takes the search engine to cull every public record on his new obsession.

Articles praising her impressive achievements in high school scroll like a digital trophy case. Arden won math tournaments, excelled at chemistry, and dominated on the volleyball and tennis courts—all during her freshman year. Casper smiles at a fourteen-year-old Arden captured midair as she goes up for a spike. The power in her body is indisputable, even in a photo.

He reads on about school plays, national honors, and rumors of qualification for the Olympic tennis team. Casper is enraptured with Arden Elizabeth Mitchell, so much so that he begins to wish he had met her during his days of acne and varsity football. Then he stumbles upon a headline on The Birmingham News' website, al.com, that makes him sit as erect as a ruler in his seat.

"Fatal crash on 18th Street South leaves 1 dead, 3 in critical condition." He clicks on the article, curious as to what this could have to do with Arden. He reads the deceased's name, and the article's relevance becomes clear. The murky details of Arden's behavior the other night at dinner are also illuminated.

"The lone casualty of the accident was an African-American woman in her early forties, Lillian Dane Mitchell." Arden's mother.

The report lists Arden and her brother, Adam, as the two surviving victims. "Mrs. Mitchell's son and daughter were lucky to escape the gruesome collision with their lives, but are still said to be in grave condition." The intoxicated driver also survived, but his name was withheld for obvious reasons.

Casper expands the image of the crash and grimaces. A sharp pain shocks his constitution. He can't even tell the make and model of the vehicles from their soot-tinged frames. No one should have made it out of that.

He selects a link to a related article at the bottom of the first archived story. It reads, "Drunk driver of the fatal crash that claimed the life of local woman, convicted of voluntary manslaughter." A quote from the Mitchell family attorney cites the testimony of Arden, then sixteen, and Adam, eighteen, as the turning point in the trial that led to a guilty verdict.

A photo of Arden on the witness stand with a pair of forearm crutches beside her appears on the page. Her hair is pulled back, and she's dressed in a somber navy jacket with a simple white blouse. A tear hangs frozen in time on its descent down her face. The scar on her right cheek is more noticeable. Her visage is an amalgam of emotion and incredible poise.

Another link below the picture of an anguished Arden states, "Olympic dreams of Homewood teenager dashed after a tragic accident."

He stops his quest for all things, Arden, there and puts away his tablet. Knowing what he does now, there's just one thing left for him to do.

Casper picks up his phone again. "Arden? ... It's Casper ... Are you free tomorrow?"