by Keith Yocum
“I think everyone drank too much,” she said, laughing. “I try not to when I’m with this group, but they’re so much fun.”
“Fun they are,” he said. “Sarah’s a wild one.”
After they got into the car, Dennis leaned back on the headrest.
“You alright over there?” Louise asked.
“Yep,” he said with his eyes closed.
“How do you expect to get to your hotel room?”
“The same way I always do, on my hands and knees,” he said.
While they drove, Dennis looked idly out the window. He wound down the window to get fresh air on his face.
“Nice night,” he said. “Summer nights in our nation’s capital.”
She laughed as she pulled into a parking space.
“Where are we?” he said.
“My place,” she said putting the parking brake on. “Come on, get moving.”
“Louise, I can’t stay at your place.”
“I’m not leaving you in your lobby to meander through the hotel. And I don’t feel like parking, walking you to your room, tucking you in, then leaving to drive back here. If you’re going to drink that much, you’ll have to sacrifice a bit.”
“Christ, I’ll take a cab,” he said getting out.
Louise locked the car, went around and put her arm forcefully under his and pulled him toward the high rise on Connecticut Avenue.
“This is embarrassing,” he said. “I think there’s a cab there. Look.”
“Yipes, I’ll remember not to take you to dinner in the future,” she said.
“Fine. I just want to go to sleep.”
She navigated him through the set of double locked doors and said hello to Morris, the all-night guard in the lobby.
“Miss Nordland, can I help you?”
“No, all set, Morris. Have a good night.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She helped Dennis into her spacious condo, plopping him onto the couch.
“Nice place,” he said.
“Can I get you anything? Coffee, water, soda?”
“Got a beer?”
“No more for you tonight.”
“You really won’t let me go home?”
“Not like this. I’m going to change. There’s a bathroom in the hallway. I’m going to put a new toothbrush on the sink with toothpaste. I also have some of my former husband’s pajamas, and I’ll leave them in there.”
“Why do you have his pajamas?”
“He gets lonely. So do I.”
“OK,” he said. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”
But she had already left to get the pajamas. She dropped off the pajamas and went into her room shutting the door.
Dennis walked around the living room, looking at prints, photographs, books, DVDs, and other items. He finally made it to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and changed into the pajamas. He folded his clothes, left them in the bathroom and wandered into the kitchen, where he opened the refrigerator.
He saw several containers of Greek yogurt, milk, butter, eggs, and the normal things you’d find in an American refrigerator. There was a half-empty bottle of white wine, and he took it out, opened several cabinet doors until he found a wine glass. He poured a full glass, put the bottle back, and made his way to the couch.
He picked up The Washingtonian magazine and flicked through some of the thick, glossy pages, taking a sip of wine now and then. Louise’s bedroom door opened behind him, and he heard her pad out daintily.
“Dennis! More wine?”
“I couldn’t sleep. I’m reading about the high and mighty in Washington society. I haven’t found your picture yet, but I’m sure it’s on one of the society gala pages.”
“I don’t think so,” she said, moving around to stand in front of him. “Not my style nor demographic.”
She wore a short-sleeve, green, satin pajama top, and long pajama bottoms. Her smallish, pointed breasts aimed directly at him, and his eyes veered down at the magazine.
“I hope I’m not keeping you up,” he said. “Really. I can turn off the lights.”
Louise walked into the kitchen and returned with a glass of wine. She sat at the other end of the couch, turned and pulled her legs up, and faced him. Out of the corner of his eye, Dennis could see the flesh-colored prothesis sticking out from below the left cuff.
“Why don’t you like me?” she said suddenly.
He whipped his head around and looked at her. Perhaps it was the late hour, the alcohol, the absurdly confusing Forrester case, or all of the above, but he was completely unprepared for that question.
“Huh?”
“Why don’t you like me? You’ve never liked me.” She took a sip.
Dennis tried, through the late-night haze, to look at her face carefully. The Louise Nordland shell had cracked and there was another woman sitting at the end of the couch, vulnerable and sincere. Her honesty was unnerving, but Dennis had seen her manipulative side as well and was still guarded. Louise was as much a mystery as anyone he had dealt with in his life. Again, for the hundredth time that evening, he was aware of her understated beauty. The small nose, ice-blue eyes, Nordic straight blond hair, muscle-toned arms and shoulders.
He swallowed another sip of wine, stared hard at her with his puffy eyes.
“I can’t believe you’re asking me that question.”
“I am asking you that question. What is it about me that you don’t like?”
“There is nothing about you I don’t like. Stop it. I don’t like this conversation.”
“Do you think I’m mean? You once said I was too ambitious. Is that it? Too self-serving? Unfeeling?”
“You’re not going to trick me into saying something stupid, Louise. I don’t know why you’re doing this, but it’s not making me feel comfortable. I mean, we worked together on that case in London, and you were my boss for a while in OIG. Typically, people’s relationships with their bosses are not the same as those with their friends or peers. It’s not like we were close at work, but I don’t think it’s supposed to be that way, is it?”
She sighed and shook her head.
“I don’t think men like me. I think my ambition scares them.”
“I can’t speak for anyone else, but I respect you, including your ambition. I’m just not that ambitious. And perhaps it is intimidating for others when an extremely competent woman outperforms people around her. I don’t know. But I’m not in management; I’m one of the guys who aren’t always crazy about management.”
“You’re different, Dennis. You’ve always been different. I thought you’d be honest with me.”
“I am being honest. You’re smart, focused, intuitive, hard working—I mean, what can I say?”
She stood up, knocked back the glass of wine in one gulp.
“Whatever,” she said walking into the kitchen. “I’ll get you a blanket.”
She returned from behind the couch and put down a plaid blanket next to him.
“Sleep tight,” she said.
“Louise,” he said standing up to look at her. “Um, I don’t think I was very articulate. I like you, I really do. On a personal level. And I respect you on a professional level. And I appreciate you trying to pull me out of my funk today.”
“Well, goodnight then.” She turned, walked into her room, and shut the door.
Dennis sat back down.
God, what the hell was that about? he thought. I have a feeling I messed something up.
He put down the magazine, finished the wine, and took the glass to the kitchen. He turned off the kitchen light, went into the bathroom, looked at himself in her husband’s pajamas, and felt stupid.
After the last light was turned off, he lay down on the couch and pulled the blanket around himself tightly. Maybe the air-conditioning was on too high,
but he felt cold.
He tried to sleep but was bothered by the conversation with Louise.
The door to her room opened, and light from her bedside lamp cut sharply across the dark living room carpet. She walked around the couch and stood over him.
“You can sleep out here tonight, or you could sleep on my bed with me. If you sleep in my bed, I don’t want any funny stuff. You can probably tell from tonight that I’m feeling a little self-conscious these days. I’m lonely. Maybe I’m even depressed like you. I’d like someone to sleep next to me but that’s all. What do you think?”
“Whatever you want, I’ll do,” he said. “I feel bad about our conversation tonight.”
She turned and walked into her bedroom, leaving the door open. He got up and followed. She sat on the other side of the bed and appeared to do something at her feet, then slipped under the covers.
Dennis jumped into bed and stared at the ceiling.
She turned on her side toward him.
“Is this too strange for you?”
“No.”
She leaned back, reached over to turn off the light and stopped.
“Do you want to see my stump?”
“No.”
“I’d like to show it to you.”
“I don’t think so, Louise. It’s not necessary. I know how you lost it in Beirut. I think we all know that you were trapped in the building when it was hit with that car bomb. I’m sorry that they had to amputate it. You can’t even tell when you walk.”
“I’d feel better if I showed it to you.”
“Why?”
“Are you scared? Do you think I’m disfigured?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying—fine, let’s see it.”
Louise pulled back the sheets and exposed her legs. Her right foot protruded from the right pant leg, but the left cuff was flat and empty about twelve inches from the bottom.
She looked at him and slowly rolled up the cuff of her good right leg, then did the same for her left. Dennis bit the inside of his lip. He was so unnerved by Louise’s intensity and the strange intimacy of her sitting in a bed while showing him a missing part of her body.
About ten inches below her left knee, her leg stopped. The skin was puckered around the stump. There was some redness around the remaining calf muscle that must be caused by the prosthesis, he thought.
“Do you want to touch it?” she said.
“No, I don’t—sure. I’ll touch it. Will it hurt?”
“Not really.”
He put his fingers around her leg several inches above the stump. Her skin felt warm, and the small blond hairs on her leg were soft.
“Sometimes it feels like it’s still there,” she said. “It’s called phantom limb syndrome. Sometimes it hurts, but not often.”
Dennis kept his hand on her leg and gently ran his fingers above the amputation site.
“I’m sorry it happened to you,” he said removing his hand. “You were brave and tough to survive.”
“I was lucky, that’s all.”
“Well, call it what you want,” he said turning back to his side. “But I can call it brave.”
She reached over and turned off the light, and they both stayed perfectly still on their sides facing away from each other, several feet apart.
“Dennis, would it be OK if I put my head on your shoulder? That’s all. It’s nice to have a man in this bed, and as we both know, it’s not a good idea for us to do anything else.”
“Sure, Louise. No problem.”
She shuffled across the bed, and Dennis lay on his back. He lifted his left arm so that she could turn on her side with her head scrunched on his shoulder.
“Don’t try anything,” she said.
“Go to sleep.”
Once during the night, he woke to find he was on his left side facing Louise’s back. His right hand was on her small waist. He slowly pulled his hand away but was startled to feel her hand reach and put it back.
Chapter 13
It sounded like a jet engine was inches from his face, and he sat up, startled and confused. It took a moment to remember he was not in his hotel room.
“Damn,” he said rubbing his eyes, and jumping out of bed. Louise was in the master bathroom blow-drying her hair. The bathroom door was open, and she saw him in the mirror.
She turned off the blower.
“Hey,” she said. “You snore.”
“Yeah, well so do you.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Kept me up all night.”
She laughed. “Mr. Cunningham…”
Louise wore a thick, white terry cloth bathrobe. She put down the hair blower and proceeded into the bedroom, using a single gray metal crutch under her left arm to get to her side of the bed. The front of her robe had fallen open, and he could see one of her breasts as she sat down to put on her prosthesis.
Dennis rushed out of the room and into the spare bathroom. He got dressed, brushed his teeth, and folded the pajamas. He put them on the couch next to the folded blanket. Mercifully, Louise had closed her bedroom door, and Dennis relaxed.
She came out wearing a mauve blouse, tight-fitting jeans, and soft-soled shoes.
“Breakfast?” she said.
“I really should get back to the hotel,” he said.
“Bullshit. You can join me next door for coffee and pastry.”
“Sure.”
They sat in the coffee shop looking at their phones and barely talking to each other. Dennis knew this was the modern way people shared quality time together, physically adjacent to each other but both privately ensconced in their devices.
Dennis ran through his emails on the agency phone. He then went through his burner. There were two texts from Judy: how is the nz project going? and i miss u.
Louise had three phones. She flew through the emails on the first one, her tiny child-like fingers tapping away furiously. The second phone she took more time reviewing and only appeared to answer one email. The final phone, which Dennis took to be a personal phone, she seemed to be texting.
She laughed and looked up at Dennis. “Sarah thought you were the most handsome white guy she’d seen in a while.”
“I thought she was hot if that means anything.”
“I’ll tell her,” and she typed.
His agency phone buzzed on the table and Dennis looked at it.
“Shit,” he said putting it to his ear. “This is Cunningham.”
“I’m commanding you to go to New Zealand and get to the bottom of Forrester’s disappearance,” Simpson said. “You only have three goddamned days left, and poking around Forrester’s patients here is a waste of time. I thought I made it perfectly clear that we have several teams in place right now waiting for the thumbs up. We even have the Ghorbanis under surveillance in Ankara, and they’ve been added to the list. Get your ass over to New Zealand today.”
“Listen, I understand the urgency,” Dennis said. “You’ve made it clear all along. But I don’t think there’s anything to be gained by me spending a full day flying across the world to confirm information I already have. She was murdered in what looks like a professional assassination, was buried, then reburied for some reason. There’s nothing more to learn over there. I’m close to getting some critical information on Forrester’s patients. This could be key to the investigation. You’ll have to trust me.”
Dennis looked up and saw Louise staring at him; her face had taken on a tense, laser-focused demeanor. This was the business Louise; not the insecure, flirty Louise.
“Simpson, are you there?” Dennis said.
“You’re an idiot,” he said hanging up.
He put down the phone and looked idly as a young mother and her toddler ambled by.
“He wants you to go back to New Zealand?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“And you don’t think that’s a good idea?”
“No, I don’t.”
“You really think there’s something about her patients that is more important?”
“Yes.”
“Do you mean her agency patients or her non-agency patients?”
“My guess is that it’s related to her agency patients.”
“I’m one of her five agency patients.”
“Don’t I know,” he said, frowning. “And you still haven’t given me your absence schedule during her trip to New Zealand.”
“Are you serious?”
“Of course I am. Were you at Langley when Forrester went missing?”
“No. I was traveling.”
“Where?”
“I can’t tell you. It’s classified.”
“For God’s sake, Louise. Are you going to make me go to Simpson for this?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me, why do you dislike him so much? Besides being a complete, self-serving jerk, what else do you have on him?”
“I don’t like anything about him,” she said. “I’m not saying he’s not smart, but he has a habit of undermining anyone who works for him or competes with him. He’s a masterful inside ballplayer. And he has a mean streak. Otherwise, he’s a really great guy.”
“Is it because you have sights on his job? First female to be deputy director of operations?”
“Please, that’s just a little too pat, isn’t it? Does that meet your narrative: brassy female feels like her aggressive male competitor plays unfair? Boo hoo.”
“I’m just trying to figure out why you’re not giving me your absence schedule, that’s all.”
“Let’s get you back to your hotel so you can keep sleuthing,” she said in what Dennis took to be a full-on pout.
They drove in silence through Northwest Washington and into Georgetown. The Sunday morning traffic was light.
“I have a confession,” Dennis said, his face turned away at the passenger window.
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Confess then. This should be interesting.”
“I really wanted to have sex with you last night. You were very desirable.”
“If that’s how you felt, why didn’t you start something?”