Blackfoot Affair

by Doreen Owens Malek

  “I’m not.”

  “You must be the only twenty-seven-year-old virgin in captivity,” Tracy said, awed.

  “Twenty-eight,” Marisa said mournfully.

  “I can’t believe it.”

  “He’ll laugh at me,” Marisa said quietly.

  “Oh, honey, no,” Tracy said, putting the menu aside. “Don’t think that way. It just makes you special, that’s all.”

  “Specially odd.”

  “Haven’t you ever been in love?”

  “I was always so busy, with school and then work,” Marisa said lamely.

  “But some men must have tried.”

  “Oh, sure, but they never seemed... I don’t know. Wonderful enough, somehow.”

  “But this one is.”

  “He must be. I can’t stop thinking about him and it’s complicating this case no end.”

  “Well,” Tracy said briskly, “you can’t go on like this. You’d better deal with it, and fast.”

  “Charlie telephoned this morning and asked if I wanted to be recalled. He was worried about the shooting, and I could have taken the opportunity to extricate myself from this mess.”

  “What did you say?”

  “No.”

  “Then you must want to stay.”

  “I can’t bear the thought of not seeing Jack again,” Marisa whispered. “But I’m so scared.”

  “You know,” Tracy said thoughtfully, “Bluewolf is not opposing counsel and he’s not the nominal plaintiff either. He’s just an adviser. Technically there’s no reason you can’t see him socially.”

  “I’m not sure Charlie would view it that way,” Marisa commented dryly.

  “You’re as familiar with the ethical rules as I am. You know I’m right. You’re using all of that bar association mumbo jumbo as an excuse because you’re afraid to deal with your feelings for this guy.”

  “That’s what Jack said. More or less.”

  “He’s right. You should call him.”

  “Perish the thought.”

  “What are you going to do, march back into court in ten days and act like none of this ever happened?”

  “I have no choice.”

  “Boy. I’m going to have a ringside seat for this one.”

  “You, my dear, are going to be up to your ears in Florida reporters at the library.”

  “Oh, come on, you have to let me audit in court sometime.”

  “We’ll see. And in the meantime, we’re driving over to Crystal River today to depose the ex-custodian of the Seminole cemetery. He lives in a mobile home park there with his granddaughter.”

  “Busy, busy,” Tracy said, picking up the menu again.

  * * *

  Marisa did not have to wait for the resumption of court proceedings to see Jack again. She and Tracy were having dinner in the hotel restaurant on Sunday night when he walked in with a statuesque redhead on his arm.

  “Don’t look now,” Tracy confided over her chicken cordon bleu to Marisa, “but himself just arrived with Brenda Starr.”

  “What?” Marisa asked, taking a sip of water.

  “I said, Don’t turn around but Jack is here.”

  Marisa stiffened but kept staring straight ahead. “Where?”

  “Over your let shoulder, heading for a table in the corner. And he has a six-foot, auburn haired Amazon with him.”

  “Tracy,” Marisa said in exasperation.

  “It’s true. Well, five ten anyway, and she’s wearing flats. Who the hell is that?”

  “How should I know?” Marisa said testily.

  “What a coincidence that he brought her here for dinner,” Tracy said cynically.

  “This hotel has one of the few decent restaurants in town,” Marisa pointed out evenly.

  “Oh, and I suppose it has nothing to do with the fact that you’re staying here. Seems like he decided to let you know you had some competition.”

  “How does he look?” Marisa asked.

  “Has he ever looked bad?” Tracy countered. She speared a slice of ham and then dropped her fork on her plate. “I’m going to find out who this new arrival is,” she said decisively, rising.

  “Tracy!” Marisa hissed, but it was already too late. Tracy was halfway across the room. Marisa briefly debated the merits of a flying tackle and then subsided, contemplating murder instead. She pushed pieces of lemon sole around on her plate for an eternity until Tracy returned.

  “I am going to flay you alive,” she said flatly, as Tracy resumed her seat.

  “Tut tut. Don’t you want to know what I found out?” Tracy replied smugly, picking up her napkin.

  “What did you do, get her to fill out a questionnaire?”

  “Certainly not. I went over there and presented myself, expressing my regret about the Jeff Rivertree situation. Mr. Bluewolf, gentleman that he is, of course then had to introduce his companion.”

  “Well, who is she?”

  “Aha. So you are curious.”

  “Tracy, you are close to getting my knife in your nose,” Marisa said in a dangerously calm voice.

  “All right, all right. She’s a reporter from the Miami Herald. He’s doubtless giving her a biased earful on the situation here.”

  “Doubtless.”

  “Anyway, they seemed real chummy. I think he knew her before this, maybe from some of his previous work or something. I wouldn’t worry too much about her. I think she’s had a nose job.”

  Marisa had to laugh. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

  “A nose that perfect never existed in nature.”

  “What about Catherine Deneuve?”

  “Well, there couldn’t be two. And I’m sure she dyes her hair. Lovely Lady #32, Gentle Auburn. I detected roots.”

  “Did you take her blood pressure while you were at it?”

  “And that dress is a knockoff, you can always tell.”

  Marisa stared at her balefully.

  “What’s this?” Tracy said brightly. They looked up to see the maitre d’ bearing down on them with a wine bottle deep in a bucket of ice and a towel draped over his arm.

  “Compliments of the gentleman over there,” he said courteously, gesturing, and then displayed the bottle.

  Marisa couldn’t look, but Tracy waved enthusiastically in the direction of Jack’s table.

  “Stop that,” Marisa said to her in a low tone.

  “Good stuff,” Tracy observed, examining the label.

  “Please tell the gentleman, no, thank you. We don’t drink,” Marisa said primly.

  “I drink,” Tracy said.

  Marisa kicked her under the table.

  “But madame...” the maitre d’ protested.

  “Take it away,” Marisa said firmly.

  The man departed.

  “You’re no fun,” Tracy said.

  “I am not swilling down that man’s liquor after he...” she trailed off into silence.

  “You’re just in a jealous snit because he showed up here with Miss Tallahassee,” Tracy said. “Or Miami.”

  “I am not jealous.”

  “Uh-oh,” Tracy hissed.

  “What now?” Marisa said despairingly.

  “He’s coming over here.”

  “Who?”

  “Who do you think?”

  Before Marisa could gather her wits Jack was at her elbow.

  “Don’t you like Chardonnay?” he inquired mildly. He was wearing a beige raw silk jacket with tailored slacks and an open shirt.

  “I have no intention of drinking your wine,” Marisa said flatly.

  “Why not? It was just a friendly gesture.”

  “We’re not friends.”

  “Some people might say that sending it back was the graceless impulse of a spoiled brat,” Jack said flatly.

  “Some people might say that sending it over here in the first place was the flamboyant gesture of a self satisfied prig,” Marisa replied.

  Tracy was transfixed, her head moving back and forth between Jack and Ma
risa as if she were observing a tennis match.

  “Your assistant here could teach you some manners,” Jack said.

  Tracy sank a little lower in her chair.

  “An ape could teach you some manners,” Marisa observed crisply, shoving her chair back from the table.

  “Where are you going?” Jack inquired.

  “You’ re the mystery writer, you figure it out!” Marisa stalked past him and he followed her out into the lobby. From their respective tables, Tracy and Jack’s erstwhile companion stared after the two of them in amazement.

  Marisa charged into the ladies’ room and Jack was right on her heels. A blue haired matron gasped as Jack appeared in the mirror behind her. She dropped her lipstick into the sink.

  “Relax, madam. I’m harmless,” he said to the woman, holding up his hand.

  “Don’t you believe him!” Marisa snapped.

  The old lady retrieved her lipstick and hurried to the door. “I’m calling security,” she said huffily.

  “You, madam, are perfectly secure,” Jack said dryly.

  The woman departed hastily after favoring Jack with a withering look.

  “You’re making a fool of yourself,” Marisa said to him.

  “Like you did yesterday morning?”

  “I see that you recovered from that episode pretty fast,” Marisa countered.

  “What does that mean?” he demanded.

  “Why did you choose to dine here this evening?”

  “I suppose you think my coming here had something to do with you,” he said.

  “A suspicious woman might come to that conclusion.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “Drop dead.” Marisa swept around him and through the door into the lobby once more. He shot out onto the tiled floor right behind her. Tracy was leaning against the wall outside the rest room and observed their passage with interest.

  “Stop following me,” Marisa said, rounding on Jack furiously. She caught sight of Tracy and added, “I’m going up to my room. Would you take care of the check?”

  They both watched as Marisa rounded the corner for the elevator. A uniformed man wearing a badge labeled “hotel security” approached Jack and looked him over carefully. Since Jack was standing innocently in the hall, the security guard merely hesitated for a moment and then walked over to the desk.

  “May I make a suggestion?” Tracy asked Jack gently.

  Jack turned to face her, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets. He shrugged wearily. “Please do.”

  “You’re handling this all wrong.”

  He surveyed her archly. “No kidding.”

  “Marisa is not giving you the runaround.”

  He sighed. “You could have fooled me.”

  “Have you got a minute?”

  Jack glanced toward the dining room where the redhead was waiting for him. “Sure. Come on, we’ll go inside.”

  Tracy walked along with him and said, “You must have a very understanding date.”

  “She’s not my date. She’s my college roommate’s wife.”

  “You didn’t tell me that earlier,” Tracy said, smiling.

  He saw her glance and smiled slightly himself. “All right, I didn’t tell you everything but I didn’t lie. She does work for the Miami Herald. Just let me explain all this for a moment and then we can talk.”

  Tracy stood aside as Jack held a brief conversation with the woman, who grinned and rose, nodding at Tracy as she passed. When she had left, Jack pulled out a chair for Tracy and then sat down, facing her across the table.

  “Okay, I’m all ears.”

  Tracy folded her hands on the snowy linen tablecloth. “Look, I think there’s something we should get straight from the start. Are you seriously interested in Marisa, or are you just fooling around?”

  “Who are you, her mother?” Jack asked, amused.

  “Answer the question.”

  He looked down for a moment, then up again, his expression now wary. “I’m serious,” he said, as if he didn’t quite want to admit it.

  “And you think she’s leading you on and then backing off at the last minute, playing teenage games with you.”

  He sat back in his chair and folded his arms. “I don’t know if I would put it quite that way.”

  “Any way you put it, that’s why you’re annoyed, isn’t it?”

  He looked away, then nodded.

  “All right. She would kill me if she knew I were telling you this, but she’s not playing hard to get. She’s frightened.”

  “Of me?” Jack said alertly.

  “Of a relationship with you. A physical relationship.”

  He stared at Tracy. “What are you saying? Was she… hurt? Raped?” He said the last word as if he were praying that it wasn’t true.

  “No. It would be her first time.”

  Jack’s mouth opened. “Come on.”

  “It’s true.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  Tracy turned her palms up slowly. “I was surprised, too.”

  “But she’s a lawyer!”

  Tracy made an exasperated gesture. “Do you think there’s some sexual initiation that comes along with a bar association card?”

  “No, but she’s so competent and professional...”

  “She’s good at her job. Maybe too good, maybe that’s why she’s neglected other areas of development, in a manner of speaking.”

  “And she’s so pretty,” he murmured, as if to himself.

  “That has nothing to do with it. The most promiscuous girl in my high school class was also the least attractive. What kind of thinking is that? How old are you, twelve?”

  The sarcasm was lost on Jack, who was still sitting in the same position, as if stunned.

  “Thinking about changing your tactics?” Tracy asked dryly.

  He exhaled heavily. “I guess I’d better do just that.”

  “Wise choice,” Tracy said, shoving back her chair. Jack rose in response. “Now don’t let on that I told you this or I warn you, I will be very close to death,” Tracy added.

  “Not a word.”

  Tracy made a fist. “Good luck.”

  Jack smiled charmingly, and Tracy wondered briefly why she was taking all this trouble to hand Jack to Marisa when she might have been going after him herself. Then she remembered. Friendship. That’s what it was.

  Tracy walked out of the dining room, pausing to pick up her check, as Jack sank back into his chair, his expression thoughtful.

  * * *

  When Marisa came downstairs the next morning on her way to Judge Lasky’s chambers she found Jack sitting in the lobby sipping a cup of coffee. She tried to sail past him but he jumped up and blocked her path.

  “Please let me go. I’m late,” she said frostily.

  “Five minutes,” Jack said.

  Marisa kept moving.

  “Two minutes.”

  She wavered.

  “One minute.”

  “Oh, all right.” As she sat in the chair across from the one he had occupied she noticed the stack of folded newspapers and the paper napkin littered with crumbs.

  “How long have you been sitting here?” she asked.

  “A while.”

  Marisa looked at him.

  “I thought if I came up to your room you would throw a fit, so I chose neutral ground.”

  She crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap. “I’m waiting,” she said.

  Jack took a deep breath as Marisa concentrated on not staring at the breadth of his shoulders in the thin crewneck sweater or the muscular thighs revealed by his tight jeans. She wound up looking stupidly at the floor.

  “Hey,” he said gently. “I’m up here.”

  She raised her eyes to his face.

  “That’s better.” He licked his lips, which made her look away again.

  “Court doesn’t resume until next week,” he said, “and I wondered if in the meantime you would let me take you to dinner.”
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  Marisa shook her head in wonderment.

  “Don’t look like that, I promise to behave,” he said.

  “You know it’s a bad idea.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, how have we been getting along so far?” she asked rhetorically.

  “We got along great when I slept overnight in your room,” he said softly.

  “That was simply an accident. I won’t put myself in that situation again.”

  “Look, I’m talking about dinner, that’s all. You have my word that I will not barge into any rest rooms and will refrain in general from making a nuisance of myself.”

  She smiled thinly.

  “That’s better. What do you say?”

  Marisa hesitated. She had vowed never to fall for his blandishments again, but how could she resist him as he sat there wearing the half smile that melted her so effectively? He was winning, and he knew it.

  “All right,” she said.

  He stood triumphantly. “Eight o’clock tomorrow night. A friend of mine has a boat I can borrow, we can take a sunset cruise up the inland waterway to a restaurant I know on the water. Can you swim?”

  “Yes. Will I have to?”

  He grinned. “Let’s hope not, but it’s best to make sure first.”

  “Is it a fancy place?”

  He shrugged.

  Marisa gazed at him in exasperation. She had never known a man who could answer that question. “Is a jacket required for men?”

  He nodded.

  “Okay, that tells me what I need to know,”

  “I’ll meet you here in the lobby at eight. All right?”

  “Fine.”

  He smiled at her one last time and then strode purposefully across the hotel’s Oriental carpet, a man who had achieved his goal.

  * * *

  “If a jacket is required for men it’s a pretty fancy place,” Tracy said, shoving hangers to the right and left along the rack. “Get something with a little zip.” She selected an azure blue cocktail dress with rhinestone straps and held it up for Marisa to see.

  “That’s entirely too much zip for me,” Marisa said.

  They were in the hotel boutique looking for an outfit for Marisa’s date with Jack. She had brought along only professional clothes and had nothing to wear. Or at least that’s what Tracy was insisting.

  “I could always wear my gray silk suit,” Marisa suggested. “With a fancier blouse it would be all right.”

  “You don’t want to look ‘all right,’ you want to look smashing. Besides, gray is for nuns. How about this?” She held up a coral chemise with a side slit and a deep v neck.