No Cure for Love

by Peter Robinson

  And so he kept on waiting. It was only ten o’clock. Plenty of time. If he remained still and focused his mind completely on the image of Sally hanging from his rearview mirror, he knew that whatever he needed to do would become clear. And how to do it.

  30

  SHORTLY AFTER TEN O’CLOCK ON NEW YEAR’S EVE, Arvo was thinking of going to bed. He was watching Roger Corman’s Attack of the Crab Monsters on video, and it was no insult to the 1957 black-and-white B-movie that he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes open.

  It had been a rough two days, ending with Jack Marillo’s funeral. He had checked the rest of the M’s from the list Stuart had given him and come up with zero. One promising lead—a key grip called Kim Magellan who had once been arrested for stalking her ex-girlfriend—proved to be unconnected after Arvo had spent a couple of hours interviewing her.

  He had also spent an uncomfortable afternoon closeted with the lieutenant and the Chief, laying out every bit of evidence and speculation in the Sarah Broughton case. While the pressure had been intense, the result was satisfactory. He and Joe were to coordinate the investigation, with plenty of resources at their disposal, and the department would try to keep the letters out of the media. Everyone agreed that excessive media attention would make it even more difficult to protect Sarah Broughton and the people around her.

  It was only a matter of time, though, Arvo knew. They would find out. They always did. As the Chief had pointed out, there was already speculation about a member of the TMU being present at the Marillo crime scene. So far, however, the main theory seemed to be that Jack Marillo had been blackmailed or somehow harassed by a gay ex-lover.

  Arvo sat with his feet up, shutters partly open, leaves rustling, traffic whooshing along the freeway, a cool breeze from the window about the only thing keeping him awake. It was the first time he had felt so completely relaxed in a while.

  Then the doorbell rang.

  By instinct, he picked up his nylon holster from the table beside him before he went to the door and grasped the handle of the gun. He wasn’t expecting any visitors, and in LA it was almost unheard of that someone would simply drop by without phoning first. Even under normal circumstances, there were always plenty of people who wanted to do a cop harm, and some of them could even get hold of his address. And these were not normal circumstances.

  Carefully, he opened the front door on its chain, and found Maria Hernandez standing there, a bottle of champagne in her hand.

  “It’s the real stuff,” she said, noticing him look at the bottle. “At least that’s what the guy in the liquor store said.”

  “How did you know where I live?” was all Arvo could manage.

  “Hey, I’m a very resourceful woman. I have a university education and I’m good with computers, too. Can I come in?”

  Arvo stood aside and ushered her in. She was wearing a long black PVC raincoat against the evening chill and the earlier shower. Her black hair tumbled in waves over her shoulders.

  “How did you know I’d be home?” Arvo asked.

  “You told me, the other day. Remember? Said you hated New Year’s parties and always stayed in alone watching a video. Aren’t you pleased to see me?”

  Arvo felt awkward. “Of course. But, look, what . . . I mean is . . . you must have a party or something . . . ?”

  She fluttered her eyelashes and laughed. “Pretty girl like me? Sure I do. But I didn’t feel like going. Then I remembered what you said and I thought you might like some company. So here I am. Did I do wrong?”

  Arvo felt himself grinning like an idiot. “No. No, not at all.”

  “Good.” She smiled and took her coat off. Underneath she wore a black-and-white polka dot dress. Polka dots, Christ. Arvo hadn’t seen them for years. At least he didn’t think he had. But what he knew about fashion wouldn’t fill the back of a postage stamp.

  The dress was cut low, showing a little dark, smooth cleavage, with two black straps over her shoulders. It flared out below her hips and ended about four inches above her knees. Her legs were bare and she wore a pair of black pumps. The way she moved, Arvo was beginning to think she was a little tipsy. Maybe she’d been to the party already.

  “Come in.” He led her through to the living room and cleared the magazines off the sofa and chairs. Other than that, the place was reasonably clean and tidy, no dirty shirts, socks or boxer shorts hanging over chair backs.

  “What is this?” Maria pointed to the television, where a giant crab crawled over the top of a sand dune.

  “Oh, nothing.” Arvo picked up the remote and punched in the buttons to turn the TV and VCR off.

  “Yes, it is. It’s Attack of the Crab Monsters. You like fifties sci-fi movies?”

  “Well, yeah,” said Arvo, feeling as if he’d been caught masturbating or something. “Just sometimes, you know . . .”

  “Why?”

  “Well, I haven’t really analyzed it much. I like lots of different kinds of movies, but I guess with these it’s partly the simplicity, good against evil. And the evil’s always something tangible . . . you know . . .”

  “Like a giant crab?”

  “Yeah. Or a monster from outer space. Or some mutation caused by atomic testing or something.”

  “Not from inner space, like the stuff we deal with?”

  “That’s right. And maybe most important of all, it’s just pure fantasy, escapism, and the good guys usually win. You’re not a fan, too, are you?”

  “Me? Yuck, no. I saw it once on late-night TV when I was a teenager and it scared the shit out of me. I don’t like scary movies, and I get scared even at the old ones, before they could do all the gory special effects. Even when you could see the strings.” She laughed. “I like romantic comedies. Same pure fantasy, though.”

  “Maybe you’re right. Shall I get us some glasses?”

  “Sure.”

  Maria breezed over to the bookshelves that housed Arvo’s video collection and started reading off titles. “You’ve sure got eclectic taste,” she said. “The Maltese Falcon, Doctor Zhivago, Killer Klowns from Outer Space, Bridge over the River Kwai, Bloodsucking Pharaohs in Pittsburgh. Jesus Christ. Is there any order to all this?”

  “Not really,” said Arvo, taking a couple of champagne flutes out of the cabinet. “I just like movies. There aren’t many that are perfect, like maybe Citizen Kane or Chinatown, but they all have something interesting in them—maybe good acting, some great dialogue, camerawork, whatever. Maybe just one good scene.” He shrugged and removed the wire from the neck of the bottle.

  “Even The Incredible 2-Headed Transplant?”

  “Has its moments.” Arvo grinned and eased out the cork. “But I’ve got to admit, that one’s a bit of a turkey. There’s a similar movie with Ray Milland and Rosie Grier in it that’s pretty funny, though. Ray Milland plays this racist and he ends up sharing a body with Rosie Grier’s head. Weird.” The cork made a loud pop and champagne foamed around the mouth of the bottle but didn’t spill over.

  “I can see you’ve done this before,” Maria said.

  “Uh-huh.” Arvo poured the champagne carefully into the flutes. “My mother taught me.”

  “Sounds like an interesting mother to have.”

  “She was.”

  “What did she do?”

  “She was a chef.”

  “What happened to your parents, Arvo? I know they’re dead, but you never told me how. Auto accident? Plane crash? I mean, it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it. I understand.”

  Arvo was silent for a moment. It was true he had never told Maria or anyone else on the unit what had happened to his parents. Why, he didn’t know. Now, it didn’t seem to matter. Or maybe he wanted Maria to know. The only person in LA who had known was Nyreen, and she was gone now; he had no one else to share it with.

  “No, it’s okay,” he said. “They were murdered.”

  “Both of them?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “How? Where?”

&nbs
p; “Windsor, the Canadian side of the border, where my father taught university. Very ironic, seeing as we lived in Detroit, which is a pretty dangerous city.”

  “What happened?”

  “As far as anyone knows, they were on their way home from a faculty party, stopped at a red light on Wyandotte, when some kid came running out of a Mac’s Milk store he’d just robbed, jumped in the car and told them to drive. The Ontario Provincial Police found my parents the next morning about ten miles out of town. Both of them had been robbed and shot in the back of the head.”

  “My God. I . . . I don’t know what to say, Arvo.”

  “Well, maybe that’s why I don’t usually tell people. It embarrasses them. Anyway, it was over four years ago. I guess I’m as over it as I’ll ever be by now.”

  Maria shook her head. “You don’t ever get over something like that.”

  “No. That’s true. It does change you forever.”

  “Were they ever caught? The kids who did it.”

  “Nope. Never. Anyway, I didn’t want to stay in Detroit any more after that—nothing to stay for—so I put in for a transfer. When an opening on this unit came up, I took it like a shot. New life. New world. California, here I came. They were well-insured, and Dad had done pretty well on the stock market, so I inherited enough for the convertible and the down-payment on the house . . . And that’s about it. Story of my life.”

  “And then along came Nyreen,” said Maria.

  “It never rains . . .”

  Arvo put some Billie Holiday on the stereo. It was maybe more suited to bourbon and smoky bars than French champagne in a smoke-free living room, but what the hell. Maria held out her glass. “Here’s to next year,” she said. “And may it be better than the last one.”

  “Amen,” said Arvo and clinked glasses. They drank.

  “Mmm,” said Maria. “This does taste good.” She sat down on the sofa and Arvo sat in the armchair. “Busy day?” she asked.

  “Jack Marillo’s funeral.”

  “Was the actress there?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Have you fallen in love with her yet?”

  Arvo remembered his exchange with Sarah Broughton at the funeral, then he remembered seeing her naked the other morning. He felt himself blush.

  “Hey, I’m sorry,” Maria said. “I didn’t mean anything.”

  Arvo laughed. “No, it’s fine. Really it is. And no, I’m not in love with her. I’m not sure I even like her, and she sure as hell doesn’t seem to like me. She’s scared, so at least she does what I say now, but as for liking . . .” He shrugged. “I don’t think she could ever like someone who’s had to make her reveal so much of herself, give up so much of her privacy.”

  “Hey. Can’t win ’em all.”

  “I’ll drink to that.” For some reason, Arvo didn’t want to tell Maria that he had spent the night at Sarah’s place, albeit alone in an armchair. Or that he had seen her naked. It was crazy, they were colleagues, friends, they’d known each other ever since Maria came to work the unit only a few months after Arvo. Yet there were some things they never talked about.

  Over the past three years, they had shared an occasional drink and a problem or two, patched up a few of one another’s bruises, just the kind of things friends do without even knowing much about one another’s taste, without even knowing exactly where one another lived, or so he had thought. There should be another category, Arvo had always thought, between friends and acquaintances, because that surely was where most people in his life belonged.

  They had drifted apart when Arvo married Nyreen. Maria hadn’t said anything about it, but then she hadn’t needed to; her silence said it all. For a while, he had resented her for that, resented the idea that a friend should not be as happy as he was about his wedding, and their relationship had cooled. But that was when he had been head over heels in love with Nyreen.

  Shortly after he began to realize what a mistake he had made in marrying Nyreen, he heard, through others, that Maria herself was breaking up with the guy she’d lived with for four years, an artist who lived in Venice. Arvo had always thought him a bit of an arrogant asshole on the rare occasions they had met socially. Burdened with his own problems, still pissed at Maria, he hadn’t been there for her. So now there was a lot unsaid, a lot unresolved between them.

  “More champagne?” he asked.

  “Sure. You mind if I put the TV on? Regular network TV. I just like to watch the Times Square celebrations. It’s a family tradition.”

  “Sure.” Arvo flipped on the TV and found the right channel. “My brother lives in New York.”

  “Will he be there?”

  “Michael? No, too afraid of getting mugged.”

  Maria laughed and Arvo went to the fridge to get the champagne. He still felt awkward, on edge.

  When he went back she was perched at the edge of the sofa watching people in tuxedos and evening gowns dance to a big band, with her hands folded in her lap. He handed her the glass, and when she took it she looked up to catch his eyes and the next thing he knew he was kissing her on the lips, gently at first, savoring their softness and the scent of champagne on her breath, and then harder, probing with his tongue, intoxicated by her response.

  The kiss ended and she stood up close to him. She put her arms around him. “That was nice,” she said. “Why don’t we go in the bedroom?”

  “It’s a mess.”

  “Good, we’ll make it even messier.”

  “The champagne . . . ?”

  “We’ll take it with us.”

  “Maria—”

  “Sshh.” She put her finger to his lips. “We’ll talk later. Right now, this is what I want to do, no strings, no explanations, and most of all no bullshit.”

  Arvo took her hand and led her to the bedroom.

  “It’s not a mess,” she said. “At least the bed’s made.”

  Arvo laughed. He left the door slightly ajar so they could make out outlines by the light from the other room. They could still hear the television, but he was in no mood to go back and turn it off. They put their champagne flutes on the bedside tables and sat together on the edge of the bed.

  Maria turned her face up and Arvo kissed her again, this time running his hand over her bare shoulders, feeling one of the straps slip off. Maria kissed his neck, touching it with her soft warm tongue, and began unbuttoning his shirt. When she had finished, he stretched his arms back and she eased it off. Then she put her hands behind her back and unzipped her dress. The second strap slipped off her shoulder, and the material loosened and fell away from her skin. Arvo cupped one of her breasts in his hands and licked the hard nipple with his tongue. Maria moaned and put her hand at the back of his head, pulling him to her. Her breasts were as firm and smooth as he had imagined.

  Soon they were naked and Maria urged him inside her. He felt her muscles tighten against his hardness as they began to move together, slowly at first, then faster.

  As they came toward climax, he raised himself on his arms and looked down at her. She grasped the brass bed-rails with both hands and thrust her hips against him, breasts swaying with the rhythm, eyes closed, moisture glistening on her upper lip. Her lips were open but her white teeth were clenched tight.

  When he felt he could hold on no longer, she sensed it and opened her eyes, then cried out, a shudder passing through her body. She took her hands from the rails and pulled Arvo onto her so his face was buried in her hair on the pillow. It smelled of apples and cinnamon and it muffled the sounds he made as he came and her nails dug into the skin of his back.

  After, they both lay for a while sweating, getting their breath back, then they sat up in bed and reached for the champagne. They toasted in silence. The sound from the TV indicated that the old year was coming to a close.

  “So, do you want to talk now?” Maria asked.

  If truth be told, Arvo was far too content basking in the warm afterglow for talk, but he sensed that Maria needed the communication. “Sure,�
�� he said.

  “If it’s us working together and sleeping together that bothers you,” Maria said, “I can understand that.”

  “You can?”

  “That’s why I said no strings, no explanations, no bullshit. I mean it, Arvo.”

  “But we do work together.”

  “It’s not as if we’re partners or anything.”

  “But—”

  “No, listen up a minute. I’m serious.” She turned on her side and propped her head on her hand. “I came over because I wanted to,” Maria said. “Sure it was a risk. Nobody likes rejection. But I wanted to go to bed with you. Have done for a while. And I thought you might feel the same way.”

  “You saying you were only chasing me because of my body?”

  “Asshole.” She gave him a playful thump on the shoulder. “Let me finish, will you?”

  “Okay.”

  “What I don’t want, Arvo, and what I don’t think you’re ready for yet, is a relationship. What we do need, I think, is a little friendly company just like this from time to time.”

  “You mean this isn’t a relationship?”

  “You know what I mean. We’ve been friends a long time. I know we’ve had some ups and downs, but we’ve still been friends. Sometimes even the best of friends get horny for one another. Acting on that can sometimes ruin a friendship. But you and me, Arvo, we haven’t got anyone else to hurt but ourselves. We’re grown-ups. We can deal with it.”

  “Wait a minute. Are you saying this is a one-night stand? A wham-bam-thank-you-sir.”

  Maria laughed. “No, that’s not what I’m saying, butt-head. But what I am saying is let’s not get hung up on it, okay? I don’t want to live with you or marry you and have your children. I don’t even want to date you. What I do want is for us to go to bed together like this now and then.”

  “Can we negotiate maybe dinner once a month?”

  “I’ll think about it. But do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “And do you agree?”

  “Uh-huh. In principle.”