Bea stared at him. “No, it doesn’t.” She clinked her bottle against his. “Congratulations.” She took in his crestfallen face. “You can’t tell me that you’re upset about this.”
“I’m not,” he said, not too convincingly. “I just thought…”
“You just thought what? That she was letting you go out of some unselfish desire to see you happy? Who are you kidding, Bobby?” Bea finished off the pie and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Listen, Bobby. It really doesn’t matter why it’s over now instead of before. It’s over. You can move on. That’s all that matters.” She tipped her second beer to her lips. “Bobby, let’s remember one thing: you liked that girl, loved her like a sister, but you were never really in love with her.”
Crawford looked at his aunt.
“You took that girl out of a dreadful situation. That father of hers was no good, and neither were the brothers. You saved her.” She finished off her beer. “And that was a good thing to do, Bobby. But you can’t tell me that you were ever in love with her.”
He hung his head. She was right.
“So, get moving. Start living the life you were meant to live.”
Chapter 26
I didn’t realize how much I had missed Max until she came to my office after returning home from what seemed like the longest honeymoon on record.
I was surprised when she came straight to my office the day after she arrived home, late on a Friday afternoon. Her beautiful tan was highlighted by a crisp white shirt, open at the neck, and a flowered skirt under which she wore no pantyhose. Manolo Blahnik slingbacks on her feet, she strode into my office, bypassing Dottie in the reception area, her shoes making a rhythmic click-clack on the wood floor. She threw open the door and flew into my arms, grabbing me in a giant bear hug.
“I missed you!” she screamed, throwing her purse onto one of my guest chairs. She kissed my cheek.
I was as happy to see her as I had ever been in my life. I held her close. “Max.” I felt tears spring to my eyes; the absence of any close family relations in my life made her dearer to me than anyone. “I’m so happy you’re back.”
She flung herself into a chair and threw her legs over the side, the posture she always assumed when she visited me in my office. “Sounds like you’ve had a hell of a time since the wedding. How’s the gunshot wound?” she asked.
“Healed,” I said. “I’ve got a scar but the doctor said it would fade.”
“So much for sleeveless blouses,” she said, smiling sadly. “Fred’s downstairs. Do you want to have dinner?” she asked. “We’re going over to City Island for oysters.” She smiled slyly. “You have to admit. A man who eats raw oysters shows a lot of promise as a lover, don’t you think?” She let out a throaty chortle.
“If you say so,” I said. I started to make the connection in my head but stopped. “Sure. I’d love to have dinner,” I said, pushing a file of papers to the side of my desk. “These can wait.” I stood, pulling my briefcase off the floor. I looked out the tall windows that faced the back courtyard of the building and spied Crawford jogging down the steep steps that led to the back door. He looked like he had just come from work, wearing his usual uniform of dress pants, shirt, tie, and blazer.
Max saw him, too. “Let’s take a rain check.” She stood and grabbed her purse. “Seems our friend, the trusty Detective Hot Pants, might have had the same idea.” She hugged me again and gave me another kiss, whispering in my ear, “Remember what I said about raw oysters.” She left my office and, judging from the muffled voices out in the main office area, ran into Crawford on the way out. I heard her tell him that they would get together the following week to have dinner, if he was free. I couldn’t hear his answer.
The sight of him in my office door was even better than the sight of Max, but several days had passed since the head-kiss incident and it seemed like we had to reacquaint ourselves with each other. He shuffled a little awkwardly from one foot to the other, his hands in his pockets, looking at me. Finally, he stepped all the way in and gave me a tentative kiss on the cheek. Better than a head kiss, but not much.
“Hiya, Crawford,” I said.
“How are you?” he asked.
I nodded. “I’m good.”
“I have that information on the license plate number,” he said. RoboCop was back.
I kicked the door to my office closed with my foot and decided to take matters into my own hands. I grabbed his belt and pulled him close, planting a long, wet kiss on his lips. “Don’t ever kiss my head again,” I whispered.
He laughed. “Oh, that.”
“You can explain later,” I said, kissing him again.
He took my hand and interlaced my fingers in his. “Let’s start over, okay?”
He wouldn’t get any argument from me.
“Hi, I’m Jerry.” He reached over and shook my free hand.
“Candy.”
“What do you do, Candy?”
“I’m a stripper.”
“Perfect,” he said. “I’m a buffer.” He laughed. “I think that makes us perfectly compatible.” His hands found my bare skin beneath my blouse; suffice it to say that I had never been felt up in my office. I was hoping that Sister Calista didn’t take this opportunity to drop off her syllabi. “Are you free for dinner?” he asked.
“I am,” I said. “What did you have in mind?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “How do you feel about oysters?”
I feel very good about oysters.
We set out for City Island, a quaint village in the Bronx situated on the Long Island Sound, arriving just as the sun was setting.
At this time of the year, most of the restaurants, which closed after the high season, were still open, and Crawford knew of a small place on the water that he said was one of his favorites. He pulled his car into a spot in the front and turned to me.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been around,” he said.
“Any breaks in Ray’s case? In my case?” I liked to think of my shooting as a “case;” the word itself provided a little distance from what had really happened, which was too gruesome to think about.
“No,” he said. “The slug we found in your shooting didn’t match any known weapon from in the system, so we’re at a loss. The license plate number came up from a car stolen in the Soundview section of the Bronx. We questioned the owners and they check out. Just unlucky. And the Ray thing…” he said, pausing. “Well, there’s nothing. I’ve checked with your local police and they’ve got less than nothing. There’s nothing on Terri, either. But Hardin told me that they’ve got the Feds involved looking for Jackson. He probably won’t get very far.”
I turned to him. “They’d better find him.”
He put his hand to my face. “Come here,” he whispered. I scooted closer and he wrapped his arms around me, burying his face in my hair. I put my head on his shoulder and breathed in deeply.
“Just so you know, I don’t kiss on the first date,” I whispered to him.
He put his lips to mine and kissed me. “But I do,” he said, taking his mouth off mine for a few seconds and studying my face before kissing me again.
I groaned slightly when he slid his tongue into my mouth and ran his hands down my back. He moved to my neck. “I thought you promised me some oysters?” I said, giggling.
He pulled away. “Are you one of those women who prefer food and sleep to sex?”
“Is there any other kind?”
He thought for a moment. “Well, there’s Max.”
“Touché,” I said, laughing. “But you’re going to have to buy me dinner if you want to get to second base.” Even Jack McManus had had to obey that rule when I had dated him but I left that part out.
He sighed and hoisted himself out of the car, going around to open my door. When he arrived, I was already out of the car and standing on the sidewalk. We walked to a small bar and restaurant and went inside; the atmosphere was dark and intimate. We took a table in a corner near the fireplace
.
Crawford ordered a bottle of German Riesling from the young waitress who approached our table; before she walked away he also asked for two dozen oysters.
I raised my eyebrows at him. “White wine? Won’t you be fired from the police department for ordering such a sissy drink? Aren’t you guys supposed to drink straight bourbon or something like that?”
“I’m six foot five and carry a gun. Who’s going to call me a sissy?” he asked. “Besides you, of course.”
The oysters arrived within minutes, artfully arranged on a large plate. The waitress explained each different type on the plate, and left them with lemon wedges, hot sauce, and horseradish. Crawford immediately set about doctoring up a few on his side of the plate and noisily slurped the first one down. He had another six eaten in a few minutes’ time.
“God, I love oysters,” he said. He leaned in close to me. “They’re one of my favorite things.”
I ate one and put the empty shell on the plate. “Are we still talking about seafood?”
He didn’t have time to reply; the waitress arrived with the wine. He tasted it and gave it his approval. He waited until she left to resume our conversation. “I have something to tell you,” he said.
I hate it when conversations start with that sentence. They usually end with “I don’t love you anymore” or something equally disturbing. I braced myself.
“No, no, it’s good,” he said. He reached across the table and took my hand. “My divorce is final.”
“What?”
He told me how Christine had come to his apartment after the wedding and then how she told him about her re-marriage. She had since signed their divorce papers and everything was legal and official. “So, that night I came to your house, I was…” He searched for the right phrase.
“Out of sorts?” I filled in.
“That’ll work.”
“I’m happy for you,” I said. “How do you feel about it?”
He closed his eyes for a minute and thought. After some moments of silence, he opened his eyes again. “I’m relieved. Happy.” He took another sip of wine. “This has been going on for too long and it was time for it to come to an end.” He loosened his tie. “The funny thing is that I think you and Christine would really like each other. She’s a wonderful person.” He looked closely at me. “For somebody else,” he amended, careful not to make it sound like he had any regrets over their split.
“So,” I said, “this is the beginning.”
“That’s what I’m hoping.” He leaned across the table and kissed me lightly on the lips. “Do you want to see my apartment?” he whispered.
“I don’t know. Do I?”
He nodded. “You do.” He kissed me again. “Do you want to sleep over?”
I thought for a moment even though I knew what my answer would be. “As long as you promise me one thing.”
“Anything.”
“No sleeping.”
Chapter 27
I haven’t had sex in about three years.
Well, that’s not exactly true.
I haven’t had sex with anyone else in about three years.
My stomach was a mass of knots, slimy raw seafood, and acid as I climbed out of Crawford’s car and waited for him on the sidewalk. Every nerve ending I had felt exposed and tingly and I looked at the people passing by wondering if I appeared as tense to them as I felt. If any of them were to look at me, I was sure the look on my face would scream “I’m going to have sex!” and they would run off scared. We were two blocks from his house, and his big hand wrapped around mine was the only thing preventing me from falling to the ground in a mess of nerves and paranoia. I hadn’t started the day thinking that it would end like this; I tried to recall what underwear I had donned at six that morning and whether or not my legs were shaved. After doing mental gymnastics for most of the ride to the city, my silence bizarre and certainly not encouraging, I’m sure, I finally let it go. The man loved me, for God’s sake, and probably hadn’t had sex in at least as long; by the time we got around to the nitty-gritty, he wouldn’t care if he found an extra leg or a nest of squirrels under my skirt.
I thought the “no sleeping” comeback to Crawford’s proposition was inspired and conveyed a bit more confidence than I had. Ray was a pretty slick lover (tons of practice) and I guess I knew a thing or two about the goings-on of the bedroom. Crawford was the kind of guy who made me feel safe and I tried to focus on that as we approached Ninety-seventh Street and his apartment.
He opened the door to a brownstone tucked back from the street. He ushered me inside, holding a finger to his lips. “Don’t make a sound,” he whispered, pointing to a door at the bottom of the stairs. “My aunt—I’ll explain later.”
We tiptoed up the stairs and he opened the door at the top. When the door opened and I got a peek at what lay beyond the small foyer, I was a little stunned but pleasantly surprised. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but since he had lived alone for so long, I didn’t expect a beautifully decorated, impeccably clean interior that smelled of potpourri. He took my hand and led me into the living room, offering me a seat on a leather couch. He took my coat and draped it over a chair. He took his blazer off, draped it over my coat, and removed his tie. He opened the first few buttons of his shirt, offering me a view of the ubiquitous undershirt that I loved so much.
“Do you want something to drink?” he asked.
“Ummm…sure,” I said, not exactly knowing what I should have.
He stood, looking at me. “Do you want me to guess?”
“Wine?” I offered.
“Red or white?” he asked.
I shrugged. “You pick.”
I heard him rustling around in the kitchen; he came back a few minutes later with a couple of glasses and an open bottle of cabernet. He poured me a glass, and sat down on the couch next to me, holding his glass. He took a sip and waited while I sipped mine.
I put my glass down on the coffee table and took his from his hands, pushing him back on the couch. His face was a mixture of surprise and amusement. My nervousness left me and I felt empowered enough to take charge of the situation. “Enough of the small talk,” I said, kicking off my shoes and getting on top of him. “I don’t think I can wait any longer,” I said, laughing. I pulled off my turtleneck sweater and looked down at the white cotton bra that I had put on that morning. “Sorry about this…I didn’t know what today would bring in terms of nudity.”
He reached up and unhooked my bra. “There’s only one way to solve that,” he said, and threw the bra across the room. “Get rid of it.” He reached up and touched my breasts. “Where’s Trixie?”
“You see breasts and you think ‘Trixie’? I’m going to have to change that.” It took me a minute to think of where she was. “Bagpipe Kid. I’ll call him later and tell him to walk her tonight and in the morning.”
“You really are sleeping over?” he asked, surprised.
“Can I?”
He kissed me, his tongue tickling my lips. “Of course you can.” His fingers slipped inside the waistband of my skirt. “I just can’t believe my luck.”
I leaned down and unbuttoned his shirt. “Go easy, Crawford. It’s been a while.” I tried to sound lighthearted but in reality I was terrified. I’d been thinking about this man for the last several months, but now that everything I had dreamt and fantasized about was here, I was a wreck. Figured.
He put his hands on either side of my face and looked at me. “For me, too.”
I sat up. “Really?”
He nodded, a little embarrassed.
“How have you made it through all these years?” I asked. “Because, frankly, I’ve been going a little insane. I think that’s why I’m so cranky all the time.” Or maybe not. Maybe I’m just a bitch.
“I fantasize. A lot,” he said, and burst out laughing. “It’s the only way to survive sitting in a car with Fred for hours at a time.”
“You don’t fantasize about Fred, I hope?”
> He reached around, unzipped my skirt, and pulled it down, getting more serious. “I think about you all the time.”
I managed to get my skirt off without having to get off him. All that was left were my panty hose and panties; the lights were on and I felt a little exposed. “Do you think we could dim the lights?” I asked.
He reached up and clapped loudly and all of the lights went out instantaneously. I started laughing and couldn’t stop. “You have a Clapper?” I said, dropping my head onto his chest.
“A gift. From my aunt Bea,” he said, choking out the words between guffaws. “Sexy, huh?”
We got up off the couch, and I took off his shirt. I fumbled with his belt buckle, got it open and put my hand on his zipper, thinking that if we didn’t consummate this relationship soon, his pants would rip apart by the force of what was underneath. If that happened, it would be like having sex with the Incredible Hulk. He shook his pants off, leaving them somewhere between the living room and bedroom. We made our way into the bedroom, and I sat on the bed, taking off my panty hose. The room was dark, but I could see his outline as he made his way over to the bed, his boxer shorts hanging off his slim hips. He pushed me back and lay on top of me, his body covering mine. He put his hand to my breast and his other hand behind my head, bringing my face as close to his as he could. “I love you,” he whispered. “I’ve loved you since I first laid eyes on you.”
I opened my mouth to speak but he covered it with his own. “Crawford, go slow,” I said, wrapping my arms around him and holding him close.
He stopped for a second or two and answered me. “I will,” he said, his voice deep and husky. He kissed me, his lips soft on mine.
I opened my mouth to speak but the trill of the phone on his nightstand cut me off. It rang six or seven times before the sound of it registered in our lust-filled brains. The machine clicked on and he dropped his head to my breast and moaned. “No,” he said, rolling off me. “No.”
“Detective?” the voice on the machine inquired.
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