A story about a woman who, like many of us, knows how to give love to everyone but herself.
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Start at the Beginning…
They drop Angelo off in South Beach around 4 a.m., escorting him the final two miles back to his hotel on foot.
Leela watches from out of earshot as he and Natalia say their goodbyes.
He’s adorable.
She’s adorable.
They look like two high schoolers parting ways after a first date at the movies, parents waiting in the car.
After what appears to be a genuine kiss, they exchange Telegrams, and Natalia rejoins Leela, giddy and smiling.
Leela eyes Natalia with playful suspicion.
“What!?!?” Natalia throws her hands up, half-offended, half-glowing. “Can’t a girl have a good day at work?”
Leela laughs. “No dije ni una maldita palabra.”
“Estaba written en toda tu perfecta face,” Natalia says, grabbing Leela’s face for emphasis.
Natalia kicks off her heels, deciding to carry them the rest of the night.
“Whoa, prostitute. I thought I paid for the entire night…”
She looks at Natalia, eyes full of mischief.
Leela looks ahead, then marches forward innocently, offering her arm.
“La noche está still young…”
Natalia takes Leela’s arm in hers, enjoying the closeness.
“I’d never allow you to pay a penny.”
Leela winks. “Easy to say after I’ve already paid.”
Natalia takes her hand and leads her into the lobby of the next hotel they cross: Esme.
“Then I’ll pay for the room.”
***
Leela’s eyes open with a start.
A dream?
A premonition?
Something is wrong.
She checks her phone, studying its position.
Then scans the room.
Methodically stitching together observations with memories.
She takes a deep breath, paying attention to her body, perhaps to the invisible, the unseen.
She leans over and kisses Natalia softly on her sleeping forehead before slipping her feet silently to the cool concrete floor.
Leela checks her phone again as she stealthily gathers her clothes.
8 a.m.
As she quietly closes the room door behind her and steps out into the hall, she sends a text to Tanvi.
Leela: Call me crazy…
Leela: But we’re under attack.
***
Addy and Tatum walk through the beach house for a final sweep.
The stage is set for magic.
Tatum takes a big whiff.
Addy is surprised by how pleased he seems.
“It smells like the garden at the Bellagio.”
Addy frowns. “I’ve never been to the Bellagio…I’ve never even been to Vegas.”
“Really?” His eyes drift, as if he’s remembering. “I got married there once…”
Addy is shocked.
“No way. You’re kidding!”
He winks at her. “Yeah, probably…”
***
Tanvi is freaking out.
Her fingers tap away like dancers in an Irving Berlin production.
Her voice is enthusiastic.
“What the fuck do you mean we’re under attack?”
Leela is calm as she walks down Ocean Drive.
“Call it my sixth sense. Someone is trying to breach our security.”
Tanvi combs through the security logs of their network.
Leela continues, “I’m not sure what vulnerability they’re trying to exploit. Maybe my phone?”
Tanvi has the skeptical faith developed over years of learning the hard way not to dismiss Leela’s gut.
“I don’t have to tell you how impossible that is…”
She takes a breath, talking to herself.
“Okay, girl, don’t fight it. Act like it is possible. Think like a fucking spy movie.”
Then to Leela.
“Let’s start with every outsider you met over the past week and any instance in which your phone wasn’t fully accounted for.”
Leela answers without hesitation, heading into her memory.
“Taylor, Natalia, Angelo, Sophie, Barry, Heidi, Steven, Salvador. My phone was off my person at the Tavern while dancing, in Barry’s office, for a short period of time at the birthday party, upon entrance into El Conejo Rojo, and last night…”
“Last night?” Tanvi’s attention sharpens.
“After dropping off Angelo, Natalia and I spent the rest of the night at the Esme hotel.”
Leela says it calmly, but her face gives her away.
“You spent the—are you fucking kidding me? I hate you,” Tanvi says, voice dripping with jealousy.
“Never mind, I’m on it. Get your ass in here so I can start going through your phone.”
Tanvi has a thought.
“Did Angelo text you anything strange last night? A link? An address? His location? Anything at all?”
Leela has no hesitation. “No, all communication was routed through Big Alex. No direct line.”
“Any indirect lines?”
Leela offers up a long shot. “He and Natalia exchanged Telegrams last night…”
Tanvi exhales, frustrated. “What a shit show. Marcus’s pickup is in twelve hours, and I’m chasing down the visions of the witch of Konotop…”
Tanvi is aware that it isn’t really a Miami reference, but she dated a Ukrainian girl just out of college and is proud of the reference all the same.
***
Maya was the first member of her family to set foot in a college, let alone graduate.
She conquered a foreign world and vanquished the dragon of imposter syndrome and self-doubt.
And for what?
To write a seven-hundred-and-fifty-word community event piece on Bonnie Solveski, winner of the Senior South Florida Bingo Tournament.
“I mean, is this really what it’s all about?” she vents to Eric Kingsley, her mentor.
“Trust me, I get it, but you don’t get to be Lois Lane overnight.”
Maya rolls her eyes, already knowing where this is going.
“…I’m going to give you two pieces of advice that are both conflicting and true at the same time.”
Something about the way that statement is phrased makes her ears perk up.
“One: stop crying, get the work done, and for God’s sake, sprinkle some charm on it. People will go out of their way to sabotage a person they don’t like and bend over backward to help someone they do like. This job is one hundred percent about relationships. Be fucking likable.”
Maya can’t hide her amusement. She enjoys his candor.
“Fuck you,” she says. “What’s number two?”
Eric thinks about how much time has changed, but deep down, he’s amused, not offended.
“Number two is that you can’t sit around and wait for your big break to fall into your lap. Like any decent reporter, you’ve got to hunt it down, breathe life into it, and pitch it until your throat bleeds.”
“Listen, why did I pick you as a mentor if you’re going to talk down to me and give me terrible advice?” Maya smiles and winks at him.
Eric doesn’t miss a beat. “Because nothing can sabotage a rookie like success, and I want you to be successful.”
Maya switches to sincerity. “How do I know when I’ve found the right story?”
“The right story is like falling in love and hate at the same time. It’s something you can’t shake, something both fascinating and infuriating, and something you can’t help sharing with the world.”
***
Two of the guys on the plane whisper to each other as they glance in Marcus’s direction.
Each is trying to goad the other into making a move.
Marcus talks to his wife on the phone.
“C’mon, baby, you already know what it is…”
Kendra.
Mrs. Hayes.
Is a queen.
A beautiful Black woman in the mold of Michelle Obama.
Striking enough to be a model, savvy enough to know exactly how the world works, and just street enough to deliver an ass-whooping when he needs it.
“I know that whenever you go to Miami, you come back with an extra pep in your step. I know that.”
Her tone is firm.
Marcus pivots into sweet talk.
“Baby, Miami’s where I got drafted. This place is like a second home to me…”
Kendra cuts him off.
“Uh, uh…I do not want to hear about no second-home bullshit. You got one home, and that’s with the kids and me…”
She tightens her grip on the phone, looking forward like she’s staring through space and time and speaking directly to him.
“We have always had an understanding. You got no reason to lie. Just as long as you keep it strapped down, don’t end up creatin’ no lil’ kids…”
Marcus has heard it so many times that he can mouth the words as she says them.
“And you stick to professionals whose livelihoods depend on keepin’ their mouths shut. You pay upfront and have an understanding, or you run the risk of paying later.”
He got a real one when he found her.
“Yeah, yeah…I know, baby.”
She exhales in relief but is also convinced he needs to hear it one last time.
“I’m not playing, De-Marcus. You seen what happened to Kobe. The bitches out here will say anything. Keep it professional. We got a legacy to protect.”
Marcus reassures her.
“Yes, ma’am. Understood. Have I ever told you how much I love you?”
He means it.
“HA! You better. I’m the one out makin’ sure we protect what we got.”
Marcus smiles and shakes his head.
“You know, if you want to fly back this way, I can clear all previously scheduled events.”
Kendra cracks up.
“Nah, if it were any other city, maybe I would, but…”
She pauses, searching for words.
“…I don’t know what kind of voodoo that little Cuban bitch be pulling over there, but I’ll be damned if you don’t come back giving me more attention when you return.”
He almost spits out his drink.
“C’mon now!”
“You can’t get nuthin’ past me, boy. I notice every damn thing. Have your little fun, and you better be givin’ me that good head when you get back.”
He loses it, and they share the laughter.
“Love you, Mrs. Hayes,” he replies.
“Love you more, Mr. Hayes,” she answers.
***
One of the guys, the rookie, seizes the opportunity to speak up.
“Hey, Ironman, whatchu doing tonight?”
Marcus puts on his sunglasses and stares straight ahead like he doesn’t have the time.
“Same thing yo’ ass should be doing...”
He pauses, ever the master of suspense.
“…thinking about winning championships.”
***
Tanvi and Leela sit in front of a wall of three screens.
Tanvi scans pages full of code like Neo in The Matrix.
“Okay, as you can clearly see…”
Leela studies her.
Then the screen.
Clearly? Right.
“There have been multiple attempts to breach our network. Thirteen thousand, to be exact.”
Concern flashes in Leela’s eyes, which Tanvi reads and addresses immediately.
“They haven’t gotten in, and they won’t. Without boring you to death, our security protocols are astonishing. Unless they’re using a quantum computer, which is at least five to ten years out for even the most covertly advanced players, they can knock all they want. There is no way in without keys. Very secure and sophisticated keys.”
It might as well be French, but Leela grasps the basics.
Tanvi catches the trust in her eyes.
“They’re not brute-forcing the network randomly. They knew where to look. Somehow, they got a breadcrumb…or someone gave them one.”
Tanvi glances at the code again.
“That alone should be enough to have us standing at attention like meerkats at a hyena convention.”
She turns back to Leela.
“How did they find our network? Why are they taking an interest in it? And what exactly are they looking for?”
Tanvi studies Leela suspiciously.
“And you put this together with nothing but a ‘premonition,’ a vague dream you can’t even remember?”
Yes, of course, there were air quotes.
Leela doesn’t explain.
She simply nods.
“Well.” Tanvi exhales. “As usual, your instincts check out. We’re definitely on someone’s radar, and we should all be on high alert.”
Behind her dark brown eyes, thoughts are crackling like new galaxies in time-lapse.
“I wish I could brainstorm with Clarence.”
They both know it’s a big day.
“Let’s cross our fingers that we can get through the next twenty-four hours until we have the opportunity to give this the attention it deserves.”
***
Clarence…err, Tatum, lowers the walkie from his mouth.
He seems satisfied but alert.
The team of contractors he works with on high-risk missions is made up of some of the very best: former Secret Service, CIA, Army Special Forces, those types.
The vehicles are prepped and in position.
The Brain, the team’s hub on wheels, is alive and receiving signals.
The beach house is secure and clear of suspicious activity.
***
Leela puts the final pins of her wig in place.
Makeup and costume have aged her into her eighties.
She’s definitely more grandma than Abuela.
At least not her Abuela.
She stares into the mirror, smiling.
Lucy would’ve never been caught dead in this dress.
She resembles Lucy’s grandmother.
“Is this really necessary?” Tanvi asks, shaking her head.
“Not even a little,” Leela says.
“But one can never be too careful.”
They both know it’s just for pure pleasure.
***
In the transport, Addy puts the finishing touches on prep and waits to escort the guest of honor.
Her body suddenly lurches forward, and she turns to sit.
She looks competent.
Classy.
They’re on the move.
***
Marcus walks through the lobby of the InterContinental Miami Hotel at 9:29 p.m.
His suit is casual, stylish, and urban.
Eyes concealed behind shades he doesn’t need at this time of day.
At six feet seven inches, he stands out as he moves gracefully and unhurried.
Shoulder taps, whispers, and craning necks follow him.
He pushes through the revolving doors at the precise moment the wheels of the Suburban stop spinning and the beast of a vehicle shifts its weight back to a stop.
A large man in a suit and sunglasses opens the door at precisely 9:30 p.m.
Marcus disappears into the vehicle, and the door is pressed shut behind him.
A bellboy discreetly sends a text message.
People appear at the glass of the hotel lobby, peering out.
The vehicle is already gone.
***
Tanvi and Tatum sit in a van watching feeds.
A full panorama of visual footage.
Tatum speaks, hands-free, all business.
“Three blocks, then a left.”
***
Marcus sits back and turns to Addy.
Her stomach is in knots, but she’s playing it cool.
Each waits for the other to speak.
She breaks the silence.
“You know I’m a Warriors fan, right?”
Then she winks.
He doesn’t laugh, but the squint in his eyes says he’s amused.
“Is that so?”
Just then, an elderly woman moves awkwardly from the front seat onto the bench seat beside him.
He turns to Addy, eyes wide in shock, then back to the old lady.
She mirrors his expression, feigning bewilderment.
The old lady turns to him.
Her voice familiar.
“You didn’t think I was going to miss the opportunity to pick you up myself, did you?”
He studies her like he’s trying to decode a 2-3 zone.
“The fuck…” he asks in wonder.
The light goes on, and Leela smiles back.
All he can do is laugh.
Hard.
They all laugh.
The car is filled with it.
***
The ride is exactly as it should be.
Relaxed.
Fun.
Uneventful.
No tails.
No incidents.
Just three people sharing drinks, telling stories, and having a blast in the back of a luxurious, cutting-edge Uber.
Five miles from the beach house, Tatum releases the drones.
They move in formation, one sentry forward and one backward, confirming the coast is clear.
The security gate opens and closes behind them.
The drones hover silently in surveillance mode until Addy, the world’s most popular basketball star, and an adorable old lady enter the sanctuary of the house.
Then they dock themselves effortlessly.
***
Tanvi turns to Tatum.
“Pretty cool, huh?”
“Very cool,” he replies.
Then he exits the Brain to check the perimeter.
Tanvi tweaks in his earpiece. “That’s it? C’mon…”
No reply.
“It’s fucking awesome!”
***
The evening is spent with music, dancing, and a delectable spread of artistic Latin fusion cuisine.
Marcus sits at the stone table on the patio.
Under the stars, with the flame of candles and string lights fracturing in his eyes.
Addy and Leela glance at each other, glasses of half-empty Ace of Spades champagne in their hands.
He seems light.
He always makes it seem effortless.
But tonight, it’s like the expectations of ownership, sponsors, fans, and a rapidly growing fan base have dissipated into a cloud of gas.
His smile is unrehearsed.
His charm uncensored.
Addy takes a sip of her champagne.
“I remember watching your workouts as a kid, and I’ll be damned if I didn’t spend hours trying to bounce tennis balls off the walls and dribble at the same time!”
Her words flow loosely, like the bubbles are eating away at the enamel of her inhibitions.
“I would get so frustrated that I would just cry and cry. I’m pretty sure my mom HATED you.”
That gets them all going.
Leela takes her turn.
“How have you been, Marcus? You holding up okay? I’ve been meaning to light a candle for you, but I keep forgetting…”
Her voice trails off, and he regards her tenderly.
“Please say it’s all good, or I’ll feel guilty for not remembering.”
“You know? It’s all good. On most days, I don’t even notice it at all.
I’m focused. Locked in. Like winning is all that matters.”
Then a thought hits him, as if he’s realizing it in real time.
“It’s not until nights like this, when the world slows down, that I realize how fucking hard it really is. Or how much it’s all costing me.
You know?”
He turns to Leela, her hand on her chin, empathy in her eyes, like there’s nothing else going on in the world save for this very moment.
“The Mamba used to say that you rest when the job is done. But damn, this shit is relentless.
Like you have fifteen years to take everything you can, to be everything you ever dreamed of being.”
He takes a drink, the smell of dry grapes and alcohol drifting into his nostrils.
“It’s scary how short that window is…it’s TERRIFYING how long that window is.”
Leela nods subtly.
She isn’t judging.
She isn’t agreeing.
She isn’t predicting his next sentence.
She is simply listening.
“I don’t know.
I don’t know if I got it in me.
The recitals, the parties, the memories, the family barbecues, and the intimate moments.
It’s like I can be great and have it all, or I can try to be the best and have nothing.”
He studies Leela’s face intensely.
“Maybe I’m crazy, but…somehow I feel like you understand that.
How lonely it feels chasing transcendence.”
He catches her off guard, and they all see it.
She finishes her glass and sets it on the table before turning to Addy.
“Addy, thank you for a wonderful evening…”
Rising to her feet, she walks toward Marcus slowly, extending her hand to him in invitation.
“I think it’s time for the grown-ups to excuse themselves and have some adult time.”
Marcus grabs her hand and stands.
Butterflies move through his stomach as she leads him to the bedroom.
Addy watches them walk away.
Astounded to have shared in that moment.
In that place.
Like witnessing Oscar Wilde and Jane Austen somehow stumbling across each other at the same dinner party.
Two giants recognizing that they’re not the only members of their kind.
Her chest aches with it.
The fullness.
The admiration.
The pity.
***
Leela’s back is in an elegantly perfect arch.
As she sits on the edge of an old Spanish dresser crafted over a century ago.
Her red sundress hiked up above her waist.
Her toned, tan thighs spread wide.
Her perky tits exposed and shuddering with each gasp of breath.
Kneeling before her with his arms wrapped around her legs, Marcus relishes the softness of her skin and the sweetness of her taste.
They give, and they take.
They dance, and they tumble.
And they fuck…
Like everything outside never existed.
Like they are the world’s only spectators.
(The End)
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New written episodes drop every Saturday at 10 AM EST on Substack.
With episodes going Audible the following Wednesday.
LEELA follows a brilliant high-end escort in Miami who treats intimacy like art, therapy, and a little bit of trouble. It’s erotic, funny, emotional, dangerous, and not the story you think it is.
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