“Three daughters. Bet he has his hands full.”
“I think a couple of them are in college back up north and the third is going in the next year or two. PJ says Tim constantly complains about the cost of college these days.”
Recalling that I’d made the last payment on my college loans only a couple of years ago, “Yeah, I hear you. Not getting any cheaper. That’s for sure.”
“Based on what Tim says to PJ, I don’t think he’s real happy at home. Sounds like his wife thinks he should be more than a detective. Make more money. Have a higher rank. Something.”
I said, “Wives can be that way sometimes.” What I thought was, He’s probably just using the ‘poor me’ approach to try to get PJ into bed. “So tell me, does PJ date, or is she all cop and mom?”
Sissy looked at me with obvious disdain, “Is that what you call what you do . . . dating?”
“Hey, I can do the dinner and a show as well as the next guy. It’s just that most of the women I meet aren’t into that sort of evening.”
“You think! Maybe if you quit trolling the bars of South Beach you might meet someone other than the bimbo wife of some investment banker just looking for a quick roll in the hay.”
I did my best to feign being stabbed in the heart, “Sissy, that was cruel. I admit that not all of my . . . my . . .”
“Your liaisons?”
“My situations. I admit that not all of my situations are the most admirable. That doesn’t mean that I don’t yearn for something more meaningful. Give me a break.”
“You, my friend, are nothing but a womanizer, through and through. The last thing I’m going to do is fix you up with a friend of mine.”
“Who said anything about you fixing me up. I think there was a connection between us. I could feel it.”
Sissy exhaled through her nose in an exaggerated snort, “The only thing you felt was your recurring horny lust. I can tell you that PJ sees nothing in you. I know her well enough to know that. She has taste and you are not it!”
“Come on. Give me a break. I was just wondering.” I hate it when I whine.
“I know that a while ago she was seeing some divorced architect from Miami, but it didn’t seem to work out. I don’t think he understood her erratic hours. In all honesty, I think she’s primarily focused on her job and Angela right now.”
Two guys came in the back door and took up seats near the other end of the bar. Sissy nodded toward them and said, “Got to go Boss. Save your energy. She’s out of your league.”
Sissy was probably right. PJ was probably out of my league. She would be looking for a quality relationship with a quality guy not an occasional roll in the hay with some unpaid gigolo. How in the hell did I let myself get to this point. There was a time years ago when Katharine and I were married that I felt like women looked at me as a good catch. I took a last long pull from my Landshark and tried to think of something meaningful to do in the office. Still, I couldn’t get those penetrating green eyes out of my mind.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I was sitting in my office in a real funk recalling the day back in Michigan when my world first spun out of control. It was during the State Bar Association Annual Meeting in Grand Rapids. Since both Katharine and I attended the Annual Meeting we had always used it as a little romantic “getaway.” We would get a suite at the Amway Grand Plaza Hotel and enjoy long soaks in the Jacuzzi tub and late romantic dinners. We attended the business portions of the conference but the highlights of the week, at least for me, were the times we spent together alone.
It seemed that each year, as our legal careers grew, the business aspects of the Annual Meeting took up an ever increasing portion of the week leaving less and less time to pursue the romantic dinners and long soaks. There was always one more attorney to get a few minutes with to enhance a working relationship or even discuss a pending case. This happened much more often to Katharine than me because her career was growing so much faster than mine.
After five years at the prosecutor’s office while watching Katharine’s career take root with its increasing earning power, I decided that the grass was greener on the other side and did what so many young prosecutors do. I left for private practice. I joined a small firm that focused primarily on the legal needs of tier three auto parts makers supplying the Big Three in the Detroit area auto industry. The work was far from exciting, but I was certain that my career would grow much faster than in the prosecutor’s office. Who knows, it may have.
Katherine and I were staying at the Amway Grand and attending the annual meeting. On the second day, I had to return to Detroit to handle a matter for my firm. The attorney who was to handle it had come down with the flu, and it was too big a deal for us to put off, so I left early Tuesday morning and drove across the state to Detroit. I told Katharine, that since the meeting was expected to run well into the evening, I would stay at our apartment in Troy Tuesday night and drive back over to Grand Rapids early Wednesday morning. I was usually spent after this type of head knocking session and didn’t want to face the three hour drive from downtown Detroit to downtown Grand Rapids. In those days, I felt that the rush hour traffic in Detroit and Grand Rapids was a real mess. This was before I had ever experienced Miami.
As luck would have it, the meeting went much better than anyone expected and we wrapped up shortly after four in the afternoon. I felt great from a combination of the success of the meeting, and the ten cups of coffee I had consumed during it, so I decided to drive back to Grand Rapids. I had done a great job in navigating through the issues for my client and was eager to tell Katharine all about it. While this negotiation had not been as complex as most of the ones she was involved in, it was certainly a major step forward for me. I was excited and I wanted to share my excitement with her.
While I was locked away in a windowless conference room in the Buhl Building in downtown Detroit, severe thunderstorms had blown into Michigan from the West and were now rumbling across much of the lower peninsula. I got out into traffic on the Jeffries Freeway and considered going north and staying in Troy. It was pouring rain, thus traffic was snarled. Yet, the storms were coming from the west, as most weather in Michigan does, and with any luck I would drive out of them as I drove west.
As it turned out I drove in pouring rain, frequently accompanied by thunder and lightening, the entire way to Grand Rapids. It took me over four hours to get to Grand Rapids so it was after eight as I rode up the hotel elevator. I hadn’t called Katharine because I wanted to surprise her. I imagined that she had done the obligatory round of hospitality suites and was probably just now getting back to the room with no prospects for this stormy night. I loved to surprise Katharine with unexpected attention. Besides, she was a beautiful, personable, successful woman. I didn’t want her to think I had gotten boring.
I opened the door with my key card and stepped into the entryway of the living room portion of the suite. The lights were on so I knew that Katharine had already returned. I started to call out to her but for some reason, I will never understand, I didn’t. Maybe it was just a feeling about the room. I don’t remember focusing at the time, but later as I replayed the scene over in my head a thousand times, I remembered seeing an open bottle of wine sitting on the bar along with two glasses. One with the marks of red lipstick and one without. Katharine’s leather portfolio laying on the coffee table, and a briefcase, I had never seen before, sitting on the floor at the end of the couch.
I could hear soft music coming from the partially open door of the bedroom. I took a couple of steps toward the bedroom door, but froze when I heard a man’s voice, “Are you coming out of there or do I need to come in and get you?”
Next, was Katharine’s muffled voice coming from what I guessed to be the bathroom attached to the bedroom, “Right out. Just freshening up. Want to look good when I model my new shoes for you.”
A door opened and he said, “The lady really knows how to model shoes.”
“Thank you sir. How about
from this angle. Do they look as good from behind?”
“Oh God, you look great from all angles. Now, why don’t you come over here?”
“My, my, Your Honor. Are you asking me to approach the bench?”
“If you don’t approach the bench, I’ll be forced to find you in contempt.”
“Oh goodness, I can’t have that now can I?”
I was frozen. I knew that if I took another step I would be able to see through the partially open bedroom door. I wanted to know exactly what was going on in there and who it was going on with. Yet, I was frozen because, really I didn’t want to know any of it. Why the hell didn’t I just stay in Troy tonight. Somehow in the midst of this flood of totally unexpected information I knew that my life had changed forever.
On Sunday evening when we had arrived and checked into the hotel, Katharine and I had walked around the shops on the first floor. Mostly just window shopping. We had come across a very fashionable women’s shoe store and Katharine, having a real weakness for shoes, had wandered in. Me, having a real weakness for Katharine, had followed. Katharine had zeroed in on a pair of Christian Louboutin open toe, platform, heels in black suede. I guess it was something about the red soles that made these special. Of course women’s shoes are one of those commodities where the less utilitarian they are, the more expensive they are. How long can a red sole last before it’s scratched and needs to be replaced with a new pair of shoes? At least they were reasonably priced at the cost of a good used car. Katherine didn’t want to spend the money, but I insisted. She said that she would only wear them on very special occasions with just the perfect outfit. If only I knew!
I took that next step and looked through the open door. The earth shifted and the course of life changed. There was Katharine wearing nothing but those new shoes on her back on the bed with him, equally naked, on top of her. As he thrust himself into her she wrapped her legs around him and those red soles mocked me like neon lights in the night. I was frozen as if hypnotized by those damn red soles. I caught a glimpse of his profile in the mirrored closet doors and recognized Judge William Callaghan. Judge Callaghan was a Circuit Court judge in Oakland County. In my tenure at the Prosecutor’s Office I had never had a case before him but I had met him casually at a couple of Bar Association functions over the years. Obviously, Katharine’s relationship was more than casual.
I took a step back so that I could no longer see into the bedroom. The guttural sounds of passion were loud enough to continue to fuel the images in my mind. I heard Katharine squeal in ecstasy as she writhed on the bed and both shoes hit the floor. I began to feel dizzy and realized I was holding my breath. To this day, I don’t know if I’m proud or ashamed of what I did next. I turned, retraced my steps to the door, paused and returned to the small bar where the bottle of wine and glasses stood. I took my room key and one of my business cards from my pocket and stood them against the wine bottle. I left the room and the hotel without a word. I should have confronted the two of them. Why? Would that have been any more startling than their returning to the bar area after their session was complete, finding my card, knowing I had been there? Who knows. I did what I did.
It was still pouring rain outside and I couldn’t face the drive back to Troy, so I drove out to I-96, found a Holiday Inn Express, a fifth of Johnny Walker Red, and proceeded to drink myself into a complete stupor. I had turned my cell phone off as I left the Amway Grand and when I turned it on the next morning I found six calls from Katharine. I deleted the voicemail messages without even listening to them. With a pounding head I drove back to Troy, went to the apartment and packed two suitcases. I stopped at the office and distributed my cases to the three other attorneys in the firm, parked my car in the long term lot at Detroit Metro and caught a flight to Florida.
The ringing of the phone on my desk broke into my gloom. It was Sissy on the other end asking to take the night off. She said that she and PJ were going out. Sissy is by far the most reliable employee I have and she almost never takes time off. I have always figured that her personal financial situation dictated that she maximize her earning potential.
After telling Sissy that she could certainly have the night off, I looked at the list of waitresses scheduled for tonight. Only Cindy and Allison were scheduled to work tonight. I thought about asking Marge, our usual day bartender to stay over. Marge is in her late fifties, set in her ways, and does not take well to sudden change. She’s about 5 feet tall, just a few pounds past her prime, always wears tailored black slacks and a starched white blouse. Minimal makeup and medium length brown hair contribute to her somewhat out of place professional look. She runs the place like a drill sergeant when I’m not around and has no reservation in telling me how I should run things when I am around.
I decided to ask Allison to come in early and tend bar and hope that Cindy could handle the floor. A Tuesday night in the late summer was not going to be that busy, so if I pitch in we could cover everything just fine. My pitching in seemed easier than asking Marge to make a short notice change in her routine.
It took me a couple of hours to reach Allison, who evidently was frolicking at the beach without any regard for the ringing cell phone in her bag. She told me that she would be glad to tend bar tonight. I knew that she would jump at the chance. Allison is everything you expect in a South Florida babe. Constant deep tan, long blond hair, well rounded breasts, and legs that go on forever. Even a simpleton like me can recognize the undercurrent of competition between Allison and Sissy to be “queen bee.” It’s especially entertaining on busy weekends when both Sissy and Allison work behind the bar.
CHAPTER EIGHT
My phone buzzed as I was just getting back from my third trip of the day running assorted errands. It was Sissy, “Hey Boss, my plans for the night have washed out. Can I work as scheduled?”
“Ah, well I already got Allison to agree to tend bar. I hate to jerk her around again.”
There was a long hesitation before Sissy replied, “Sure, I understand. Allison can be a real bitch sometimes.”
“It’s not so much that, it’s just that she covets her opportunities to tend bar even when it’s just to assist you.”
“Yeah, I know. She seems to think that the area behind the bar is the command module or something like that,” replied Sissy with the irritation in her voice diminishing.
“Whatever the motivation, it’s good to have her around to assist behind the bar on busy nights and to fill in for you when you’re gone.”
“I sure hope that you’re not thinking that she can replace me,” was the reply with a slow and deliberate tone I had seldom heard from Sissy.
“Not for a second Sissy. I just like to know that we have someone in the wings. Maybe you’ll want to take a vacation sometime. We need someone to consistently fill in. It works to get one of the other waitresses to fill in behind the bar now and then, but we need someone experienced in case you want to be gone for a week or two sometime.”
Sissy’s reply was like a bolt of lightening, “Where the hell would I go for a week or two? Are you trying to get rid of me?”
It’s times like these that I really embrace the utterly chauvinistic creed that once you get a woman off her back the negative starts to outweigh the positive. I took a deep breath and started to count to ten, but only got to two when Sissy continued, “If you want to get rid of me just say so.”
“Sissy, Sissy, damn it, you are my right arm. I wouldn’t trade you for a dozen Allisons.”
“Really, not even if she offered you benefits?”
“I do have rules. I don’t sleep with those I work with.”
Her voice, now soft and almost wistful, “I know you do . . . now.”
I wasn’t certain what that meant, but didn’t want to dig any deeper, “Look Sissy, you come on in just like normal. We’ll let Allison tend bar and you and I will help Cindy with the floor. That way if Allison runs into problems you’ll be here to help out. What do you say? Will you help me out?”
<
br /> “Jack, you know that you can count on me. I don’t mean to take it out on you. I’m just disappointed that my plans to go out tonight fell through.”
Grabbing the opportunity to wrap this conversation up before I stepped on another land mine I said, “Tell you what. If it’s a slow night we’ll kick everyone out and close early and you and I will go out on the town. My treat.”
“You know Jack sometimes you show glimmers of being a half-way decent guy. It’s a deal.”
We said goodbye. I snapped my cell phone closed and headed off to find Juan or Moe in hopes of a conversation about something meaningful like the expectations for the Dolphins next season.
CHAPTER NINE
PJ picked up the report on her desk and read it for the third time with rapt attention. She was just finishing when Tim walked up and set a cup of hot water on her desk. He settled into the straight back chair at the end of her desk, took a long drink from his cup of coffee, and said, “Now what’s so important that you had me come in this morning after being on the street so damn late last night?” PJ laid the report in front of Tim and said, “Take a look at this. I think you’ll understand. We need to decide what our theory is before we sit down with the Lieutenant this afternoon.”
Tim set down his coffee, picked up the report and said, “I didn’t know we had a theory.”
PJ shrugged, “Read the report and you tell me.”
Cap's Place: A Jack Nolan Novel (The Cap's Place Series Book 1) Page 4