An Accidental Affair Read Online Free Page A

attack. Mr. Holder helped me unload one of the bookcases. Moving up the concrete stairs made enough noise to cause insults to fly out of the windows at the midnight hour. We were being rained on by profanity from men, women, and children, yells that sounded like the outcries from a many-headed beast, roars and bellows and rudeness and ignorance that Mr. Holder told me to ignore.
    I said, “I have a mattress that I can sleep on.”
    “That’s a nice mattress too. I bet it cost a mint.”
    “ Overstock.com had a sale.”
    “Must’ve been some sale.”
    “The people upstairs are still screaming at us.”
    “Ignore them.”
    “You sure about that?”
    He said, “The wolf attacks with its fang, the bull with its horn, the asshole with curses.”
    When we made it back down to the truck, a woman with a very nice figure was standing in the darkness, stationed at the rear of the rental, peeping inside at my belongings, her back to us. She had on a light blue Nike tracksuit. Her hair was long, hung to the middle of her back and was colored as bright as the noonday sun.
    Mr. Holder said, “Sweet Isabel, you looking for something to steal?”
    “This is lovely furniture. I should steal the entire lorry and make a mint.”
    Her accent told me that she was British. She turned and faced us,her smile broad and welcoming, her physical build as delicious as her mild California tan. She was a mature, beautiful woman. Just like a woman I had dated and fallen in love with before I married.
    Isabel said, “You have all of this nice stuff and you’re going to just leave it unguarded while you march up and down the stairs in this crummy place? What kind of berk are you?”
    Mr. Holder said, “Isabel, this is Varg Veum. Varg, that is the lovely Isabel Beaupierre.”
    I said, “Nice to meet you, Isabel Beaupierre. I’m the berk in question.”
    She possessed cobalt eyes and a face that reminded me of blue-blooded Helena Bonham Carter. Isabel made strong eye contact and gave me a firm handshake.
    She said, “Varg Veum?”
    I nodded and felt a combination of guilt and frustration taking control of my expression. She looked me up and down, as if she had come from a long line of barons and baronesses, diplomats and people in power. She, like me, didn’t fit in with the surroundings.
    She hesitated. “Varg Veum, where are you moving all of this lovely furniture?”
    “E-213.”
    “Well, Varg, if you and Chet don’t mind, I’m going to keep my eyes on the lorry. There are a lot of sticky fingers around here and they’ll burgle you without a moment’s notice. I’ve lost more things than I care to remember here, my sweet virginity not being one of them.”
    She was curious about my furniture and regarded me with undisguised suspicion.
    Cars passed. Neighbors walked by speaking in vulgar slang.
    From the third floor, a television screamed loud and clear. I heard Regina Baptiste’s name and I looked up, my heart beating fast, and was bombarded by what I was avoiding. A neighbor was in her window, entertaining a man in an intimate way, her radio obnoxious.
    Sex tapes are important these days, and she has one. Thirty years ago they shut down an actor’s career and they’d be lucky to get a job working at a Dairy Queen along a barren stretch of I-10 in the middle of Texas. Now they are goldmines. Sex tapes are profitable for those who want exposure but have no real talent, other than spitting or swallowing. But Baptiste has talent and now we will see that in more ways than one. Make that money and congrats to Baptiste. And in the meantime, will somebody please find us a Scarlett Johansson or Halle Berry sex tape? Beckinsale, Alba, Lopez, Natalie Portman, Keira Knightley, Camilla Belle, time to up your games.
    A horn blew and pulled me away from that broadcast. A new black Lincoln Town Car crept down the side of the building and pulled over. The man at the wheel turned his lights off and eased out. He was six foot two and dark as an