“Okay,” he said. “Beep me afterwards and I’ll meet you at Cassidy’s for lunch.” I told him I would and handed the phone back to Marsha. The two uniformed cops were just coming through the front doors.
CHAPTER 2
I waved and the two cops sauntered over to the front desk.
“What’ve you got, Ron?” the older one asked. Most of them were familiar with me from my work at the hotel, and they all knew and looked up to George.
I gave a brief summary and they asked Paula if she knew who the guy was. She gave them a wide-eyed innocent act with an exaggerated, “Huhun.” But I wondered. I thought I’d detected some sort of familiarity between her and Red. Both of the bellmen came back and told me that Red wasn’t in either of the bars.
“We checked all the washrooms and everyplace,” one of them said.
I nodded.
“Probably had enough of you, Ron,” the younger copper said. “Maybe he seen one of your kick-boxing matches on ESPN.”
The other officer considered his partner’s comment and asked if I wanted to sign complaints.
“At this point I’m willing to let it go if he is,” I said. “If he even shows up, that is.”
The cop glanced at Paula.
“You want to make out a report, Miss?” he asked.
She shook her head and muttered something. The cop looked at her a moment longer and then back to me.
“You ain’t gonna let her drive, are you?”
“I’ll make sure she doesn’t.”
He nodded and they left, assuring me they’d check the parking lots for Red. I turned and asked Paula again if she was sure she didn’t know who Red was.
“He’s just some creep that followed me out here on the bus,” she said, shrugging. “I mean, I had a couple of drinks with him at the airport, and he tried to pick me up.”
Her tone sounded matter-of-fact. Like getting pushed around and almost beaten up was no big deal. It didn’t sound right to me, but I decided not to push the issue. Still, the underlying violence of the incident was disturbing as I went to the desk and asked Marsha to call a taxi for Paula.
“You think that’s a good idea with that guy looking for her?” she asked. “I mean, what if he’s a stalker or something?”
“Well, she’s in no shape to drive, and we’re booked up, right?”
“Let me check with the Hampton and the Bud getel,” she said, picking up the phone.
I turned back to check on Paula, but found her wandering toward the piano bar, the tight dark skirt hugging the tapering sweep of her hips. She managed to make it to a stool and was talking to Sue, the bartender, when I got there. Sue glanced up at me questioningly.
“Can you see that she gets a cup of coffee?” I said. Sue smiled at me and nodded. Paula grabbed for my arm and said, “Ronnie, come ’ere and sit with me. Let’s have a drink.”
“I’ll be back in a couple,” I said. Then added, “Ah, your blouse is unbuttoned.”
“Oh,” she said. “Thanks.” Her clumsy fingers began fumbling with the buttons.
“Coffee,” I mouthed to Sue. She nodded.
When I got back to the desk, Marsha shook her head.
“They’re both full, too,” she said. “You don’t want me to call some of the no-tell-motels, do you?”
I rubbed my temples with my thumb and forefinger and tried to think, wondering, how much do you owe a past love?
“Why don’t you just drive her home?” Marsha asked.
“What if Red’s lurking nearby?” I said.
“So take her to your place then,” Marsha said. She grinned at me suggestively. “I know I would.”
“Yeah, right.”
I went back down the steps toward the piano bar. The singer, Kathy Daniels, was closing up her equipment.
“You okay?” she asked. “That was quite a per for mance.”
“I needed to get in some extra sparring anyway.”
“So who is she?” Kathy asked, nodding toward the bar. “I got the impression you two knew each other.”
I sighed. “Just somebody I used to know.”
“That’s a line from a song,” she said, smiling. “Next time you’re here I’ll sing it for you.”
I glanced over and saw that Paula was drinking a glass of dark wine. I strolled over and saw the full cup of coffee sitting in front of her on the bar. She smiled at me over the rim of a wine glass. I looked at Sue, who shrugged and pointed to a middle-aged businessman-type in a brown suit who was sitting next to Paula trying to keep a one-sided conversation going. I sat down next to her and glowered rather sardonically at him. She immediately turned toward me and smiled.
“Ron, it’s so neat to see you again, after so long,” she said, reaching up and touching my cheek. “How are you?”
The guy’s face stiffened, and he got up and left.
“Oh, getting along,” I said. “Say, they’re ready to close up here. Why don’t you let me drive you home?”
She ran her tongue over her lips, and those green eyes that I used to love so much did a slow scan of the room, then settled back on me.
“Okaaay,” she said, slowly. “But I’ve got to go visit the ladies’ room first.”
I escorted her to the ladies’ washroom and stood outside. Big Doug Percy, George’s partner, was standing over by the desk talking to Marsha. He smiled and gave me a small wave, then ambled over, holding out one of his huge hands. We shook, and he said, “Marsha was telling me you had to deck some guy, huh?”
“Just a minor disagreement,” I said. “You my relief to night?”
“Yeah, George couldn’t get nobody else.”
I nodded and told him that I hadn’t had time to lock all the perimeter doors.
“That’s okay,” Doug said. “It’ll give me something to do. Go ahead and take the babe home.” He smiled.
About that time Paula came out of the washroom and moved up against me. She put her mouth close to my ear and said in a husky whisper, “I’m ready, Ron.”
Doug grinned broadly, and I could feel myself blushing. After thanking him I walked out to the parking lot with Paula. It was always a habit of mine to scan the lot, especially after I’d had a run-in with somebody. But it looked tranquil. Just piles of snow and unoccupied cars. At least in this section of the lot anyway, which was reserved for employees. My old ’79 Pontiac Catalina, which I affectionately referred to as “The Beater,” was parked pretty close to the doors.
“There’s my car,” I said.
“That’s yours?” she said.
“Yeah, my Rolls is in the garage.”
“Over there, that’s my baby. The red one,” she said, pointing to a new Pontiac Firebird a few aisles over. The windows looked completely frosted over, like it had been sitting there for a while.
“I can still leave it there, right?” she asked. “I got some suitcases in the trunk.”
“Sure. I’m sure the night crew will keep an eye on it.”
I opened the door for Paula, and she slid into the seat. As soon as I got in, I fired up the motor and turned the heater to high.
“It’ll be a few minutes before it warms up,” I said.
“Brrrr, I’m cold,” Paula said, sliding over to curl up next to me. I put my arm around her and asked her where she lived. I wondered if the tentativeness of my movements transmitted the reluctance that I felt.
“Oh, Ron, I don’t want to go home,” she said. “I just want you to hold me for a while, okay?”
She buried her head in my shoulder, and I thought she was going to fall asleep. As gently as I could, I extricated myself and got out with the scraper. By the time I’d finished the windows and got back inside, the car had warmed up a little. Paula sat in the passenger side now, her head back against the headrest, her breathing slow and sonorous. I shifted into drive.
Ah, what the hell, I thought. Might as well head for Shade Central.
Paula didn’t wake up as we got on the expressway. Under the flashing glow of t
he overhead lights, I caught a glimpse of her thigh where her skirt had ridden up. It looked opalescent in the momentary light. Her face had changed, but her hair had sort of spilled over the seat, looking darker somehow in the dimness of the shadows. More like the color of the Paula that I remembered. Back, way back…
I glanced again at her profile, trying to judge exactly how much it had changed in the intervening twelve or thirteen years since I’d last seen her. Back when she had been “my Paula.” But despite the years, and some obvious mileage, she still looked beautiful. Or was it just that the face was tinged with memories? Too many memories of that first summer after high school…
Paula had been the homecoming queen, and I’d been a successful, but rather shy, jock. A football, wrestling, and track star headed for the University of Illinois on an athletic scholarship. We’d been in some of the same classes the spring semester, and sort of hit it off. She came to a few of the meets, and I went to see her in a couple of school plays. When I asked her to the prom I never thought she’d accept, but she did. And when we made love in the back of my dad’s station wagon a week later at the forest preserve, it had been my first time. She led me through it. It hadn’t been hers, but I didn’t care, thinking that whoever had gone before me just didn’t matter. It was what we had then, at that moment, that counted.
I practically lived at her house that summer, eating dinner with her family on Sundays, and teasing her cousin Laurie, who lived with them. Mr. Kittermann seemed to like me initially, but that cooled quickly as he sensed how Paula and I felt. The feelings ran deep, but there’s a lot of wisdom in that old saying about how nobody’s first love ever works out.
We grew careless and bold, but we were in love. I still remembered being with her at a cheap motel, watching Casablanca together, naked and entwined in each other’s arms. At the end of the movie when Bogey says to Ingrid, “We’ll always have Paris,” we made love again, not even concerned anymore about taking precautions. It had seemed so beautiful that I didn’t feel the incipient panic until a few weeks later when she told me she was late. Then reality set in, cruel and hard, with the anger of our parents for our stupid recklessness. And the pressure to “do the right thing.” But nobody could agree on exactly what that was. Her parents had always planned for her to go away to college, and I had my full-grant athletic scholarship to think about. But Paula and I just wanted to get married.
The debate dragged on endlessly, causing a lot of strain at her house and mine. Then, in August, her father, who was a teacher, took the whole family up to their summer place in Michigan. I found out later that they made her get an abortion up there at some hospital, and then they wouldn’t let her see me. I kept hoping they’d change their minds, that they’d allow us to be together when they came back. I didn’t even have an address to write her a letter. Crushed, I kept my summer job and, after a major fight with my parents, let the scholarship slip through my fingers as September came and went. It was the first time in my life that things had totally fallen apart. George, who’d been in the Marines in Vietnam with my older half-brother Tom, was just a regular uniformed patrolman back then. He sort of took me under his wing.
“You need to get away,” George told me. “Have time to think.”
A week later we were talking to an Army recruiter, and four days after that I was on a plane down to Fort Polk, Louisiana, to “be all that I could be.” Six months or so later, when I finally got back on leave from Basic Training/AIT, I found out that Paula’s family had sold their house and moved up to some place called Ludington, Michigan. Paula, people told me, was engaged to some rich bastard up there.
I applied for jump school and ranger training when my leave was up.
The exit popped up on the expressway and I moved over to the right. About ten minutes later we pulled up in front of my house. She snapped awake.
“Ron, where are we?” she asked with surprising alarm.
“We’re at my place,” I said slowly. “You can sleep on the couch, unless you want me to take you someplace else.”
“No,” she said, turning to look at me. “This is cool.”
We got out and went up the walk, with her hanging on my arm for balance. I had my lights set on timers, so the house was bright when we entered. My two cats, Georgio and Shasha, were curled up on the sofa, sleeping. Paula asked where the bathroom was and I showed her. She set her big, black leather purse on the floor by the couch. Her walk seemed a little steadier now. I took both cats and transplanted their protesting bodies to their baskets in the bedroom. The baskets rest against the heating vent and they both love it there. Then I quickly pulled out a pillow and two blankets for the couch. I’d transformed my one guest room into a makeshift office, which contained the tools of my trade, my computer and file cabinets. Since the upstairs section was unused and full of dust motes, I usually kept it closed off.
One of the benefits about living alone is that you can leave your rooms any way you damn well please. But it catches up to you whenever you get an unexpected guest. The living room was strewn with clothes, old newspapers, and magazines. I glanced around and realized it was futile to even attempt to clean up, but what the hell, I wasn’t exactly entertaining the Duchess of York, was I?
I heard a rhythmic ripping sound and turned in time to see Georgio’s big paws dancing on Paula’s purse. I grabbed his outstretched little arms and carefully extricated his claws from the dark leather. The purse spilled open, revealing her wallet, keys, and two pairs of matching airline luggage tags. The two larger tags had plastic loops attached indicating they’d been sliced off the suitcase handles. I stuffed everything back in and set the purse on the coffee table away from the cats. At least temporarily.
In the bedroom I hung up my coat and sport jacket. As I was stripping off my tie, I heard the toilet flush. Paula came out, and I asked her if she needed anything.
“No, I guess not,” she said, smoothing back her hair and looking around. “So this is your place, huh? Kinda messy, but kinda cool too.”
“I guess it does have that lived-in look,” I said. “But that’s one of the problems of living by yourself. There’s no one to pick up after you.”
“You’re single, huh?” she said, licking her lips. “Funny, I always pictured you with a wife and ten kids. So what have you been doing with yourself all this time?”
“I’m a private detective,” I said. “And part-time hotel security,” I added with a smile. “How about you?”
“Modeling,” she said, smiling alluringly. She seemed to have sobered up slightly. Her tongue traced over her lips again as she stared at me. “You look good, Ron.”
“You too,” I said, not wanting to say I didn’t recognize her at first.
She seemed to sense it anyway.
“I know,” she said. “I look different, right?”
I smiled and nodded.
“It’s probably my hair,” she said, then added somewhat defensively, “You don’t have to be nice. Everybody knows it’s dyed, but I figured Madonna used to get away with it, and that girl from Chicago that was Playmate of the Year and went to MTV—Jenny McCarthy. She wasn’t a natural blonde either, and it didn’t hurt her. She’s doing movies now.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen a couple of them.”
She stared at me for a moment, then let her eyes drift away.
“Well, in any case, it’s great seeing you again,” I said, thinking that it was more than just the hair. She looked different facially, like she’d had some cosmetic surgery or something. But that wasn’t any of my business. In fact, none of it was. “Look, I’ve got a job interview early in the morning, so…”
She looked around.
“Oh, okay,” she said.
“I’d offer you the guest room, but there ain’t one,” I said. “I been meaning to remodel, but…”
She dropped her jacket on one of the chairs and sat down on the couch.
“This is fine.”
“Okay. Good night. Just call me if you
need anything.”
I went into my bedroom and stripped off my shirt and T-shirt, throwing them into my already full laundry basket, then took off my shoes and socks. When I stood to undo my belt I glanced in the mirror. It reflected Paula standing in the doorway, her blouse open down the front, the tails brushing against her bare thighs.
She had on white pan ties, and I could see the darkness of her pubic hair through the thin sheen of material. Her body was tan and firm; better than I’d imagined it so many of those lonely nights, a lifetime ago in an Army bunk down in Louisiana. I looked at her, and she moved toward me, her hands feeling almost electric as they brushed over my skin.
“Oh, Ron, I don’t remember you having so many big muscles,” she said, pressing against my back. I felt the softness of her breasts push against me.
“Yeah, well, Santa was good to me this year,” I said. “Last year all I got was coal in my stockings.”
“Did you miss me, Ronnie?”
When she asked me, something flipped in my mind, and it was like I was transported back all those years ago.
“Hold me, baby,” she said, encircling me with her arms. “Please.”
As if signaling some sort of divine complicity, the timer snapped the living room lights off. I turned around and put my arms around her, letting my hands creep under the fine silkiness of her blouse. My fingers worked their way up to the snap of her bra, and, as our mouths met, I undid the hooks.
“Ohhh, baby,” Paula whispered. “It’s so good to feel you close again.”
CHAPTER 3
Does the body respond to dormant stimuli from a long-ago lover? I wondered as we lay there, Paula’s cheek pressing onto my shoulder, the slow, steady rhythm of her breathing indicating to me that she’d fallen asleep almost immediately afterward. Or did she just pass out? I could smell the booze on her breath. When I finally did doze off, it was fitful. I kept waking up throughout the night with Paula on one side, and the two cats curled up on the other. Finally, I woke up again at five a.m., just scant minutes before the alarm was set to go off, and reached over to deactivate it. Her breathing sounded heavy, so I assumed she was still asleep. Picking up Shasha, who was up closer to my chest, I moved her down near the slumbering golden boy, Georgio, then extricated my legs from under the covers.
Windy City Knights Page 2