The Monkey Handlers

by G Gordon Liddy

  “All clear,” Stephanie called from the bottom of the stairs, then made for the kitchen down the hall at the rear of the house. Stone rose and walked easily up the stairs to the bathroom. It was large, feminine, and decorated with living green plants that thrived on the warm, moist air generated by bathing. Whatever Stephanie had been concerned he might see was gone. Instead, fresh towels and soap had been laid out invitingly.

  A few minutes later, Stephanie eased her way down the hall from the kitchen and listened intently at the bottom of the stairs. Presently, she heard the shower start in the upstairs bath. Smiling at winning her gamble, she trotted back to the kitchen, confident she had enough time to lay on a decently prepared meal.

  When Michael Stone, now feeling fresh and relaxed, arrived at the top of the stairs to start down, he paused to make a last-minute adjustment to the knot of his necktie and was reminded suddenly of how hungry he was by the delicious combination of cooking odors wafting upward from below. He moved down the stairs eagerly, to find Stephanie waiting for him with a confident smile. “Supper’s ready, Michael,” she said, and led him down the hall.

  An archway on the left, between the living room and the kitchen, opened into a small dining room. The double-hung windows in the opposite wall let the shadowy light of late afternoon slant through the evergreen bushes into the room. It was paneled up to a chair molding on all four walls. Above that, the walls were covered with a wallpaper depicting fox-hunting scenes. One end of the room was dominated by a curved glass antique cabinet that contained a collection of cranberry glass, porcelain figurines, and gold pocket watches. Above the cabinet was a large, ornate, gilt-framed beveled-glass mirror. At the other end of the room, a Sheraton piece contained dining room linen and silver.

  In the center of the room, an oval dining room table was covered with crisp linen. There were place settings at each end, and a floral centerpiece was bracketed by single sterling candlesticks. The candles were alight and their flames reflected in the mirror and the glass. Serving dishes sat on the table and awaited them.

  Stone assisted Stephanie to her chair and took the one at the opposite end of the table. Stephanie’s eyes picked up the candle flames. They crinkled in laughter as Stone held his hand above his eyes as if to shield them from the light and mock-shouted, “Ahoy, passing vessel!”

  Stephanie picked up the filled wineglass before her and raised it to Stone in a toast. He lifted his glass in return. “To ships that pass in the night,” Stephanie said, and sipped her wine. Stone sipped his and found it to be an excellent cabernet sauvignon. “Well done,” he said as Stephanie filled his plate with a broiled sirloin steak, small red-skinned new potatoes, and peas, passed it to him, then filled another plate with a mixed green salad topped with a honey-mustard dressing.

  Stone waited until Stephanie had served herself, then cut into his steak. Stephanie was perfectly still until Stone had placed the first bite into his mouth, chewed it, smiled, and said, “You’ve put me in an awkward position.”

  Stephanie was apprehensive but, reassured by Stone’s smile, said, “Oh?”

  “I’m not sure how to break it to my aunt that there dwells in Mohawk County a woman less than half her age who is her rival in the kitchen.”

  “On the evidence of one bite?” Stephanie replied, obviously pleased. “Save your summation until all the evidence is in, counselor.”

  It seemed to Stephanie all too soon that their plates were empty, the wine bottle down to but an inch remaining, and the candles, now the only light in the room, near guttering. Stone caught her look of wistfulness and said, “I was wrong, and you were right. I should have waited until all the evidence was in. You are not Aunt Mazie’s rival.”

  “Oh?”

  “You are her peer.”

  Stephanie smiled. “Records are made to be broken, counselor.”

  Stephanie excused herself and returned in a moment with a warm apple pie in one hand and a pot of coffee in the other. As he finished his pie and sipped his coffee, Stone said, “Did you hear that?”

  Stephanie, having heard nothing but the increasingly loud beating of her heart, said, “No. What?”

  “That’s funny,” said Stone, “I heard it clearly. The unmistakable sound of a record breaking.”

  Stephanie gave Stone a warm, approving look, rose, and said, “Bring your coffee cup. In the living room, I have a really good Armagnac.”

  “I don’t know,” Stone protested halfheartedly, but he rose and picked up his coffee, nevertheless. “I don’t drink much, and I’ve had half a bottle of wine already.”

  Stephanie led the way back into the living room, now lighted solely by two table lamps at either end of the room, their peach-colored cloth shades causing the room to glow softly. The sofa, and the area between it and the fireplace, were in gold-tinged shadow. It was there that Stephanie chose to sit, on the far end of the sofa. The bottle of Armagnac and two snifter glasses were on the table. Stephanie put her cup and saucer down next to them and turned her attention to the brandy. Stone followed suit and sat on the opposite end of the sofa.

  Stephanie poured Stone a brandy and handed it to him, then did the same for herself. This time, Stone gave the toast. “Thanks for turning what could have been a disaster into something memorable.”

  “Thank you, counselor.”

  “Mike. Please. Remember?”

  “HMmmmmm, as long as you call me Stephanie, I’ll stick with Michael. I’ll call you Mike when you call me what people who … know me well … call me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “HMmmmmmmmmm, I’m not sure I’m ready to tell you that yet. You’re a nice man, Michael. And certainly attractive. But you’re kind of scary, too. It’s not just what you did back there, although if I’d read it in a book, I wouldn’t have believed it. It’s how you did it. I mean, you weren’t angry. You weren’t … anything. It’s like you went away and a machine took your place. Then, after it was all over, you came back. That’s scary.”

  “Yeah, I suppose it was, from your point of view. Funny thing of it is, you didn’t see it the way it really is. Or can be. Fact is, I was scared back there. Not in the way you’d expect or maybe even understand. And I was angry. At myself. Still am. It’s hard to explain. No, that’s not true. I can explain it. But that might scare you more, and I don’t want to do that.”

  Stephanie was silent for a moment. Then she said, “You liked my cooking?”

  “You know I did. It was great.”

  “But you didn’t know that when you sat down at the table, did you? You trusted me. I told you I was a damn good cook, and you trusted me. Remember what else I told you, Michael? I’m a great listener. But you’ll never know unless you trust me.”

  Michael Stone stared into the depths of his glass. He took one more sip, then, very deliberately, he placed it back on the coffee table, leaned back into the sofa, and continued to stare at his glass, averting his eyes from Stephanie as he spoke:

  “I’ve been trained as two things in this world. The first, when I was very young, was as a lawyer. Between my second and third years of law school, I married a classmate. She was in my study group. Smart. Good-looking. Very committed to the law. Within a year, we were fighting over the Vietnam War. I supported it; she was dead set against it. We agreed to disagree. Then she met some professor of journalism at Columbia and ran off with him. Never even told me, just did it. I had to find out from friends. I tried to stop the hurt through study. It worked, and it didn’t. I graduated and passed the bar, but the hurt didn’t stop.”

  Stone faced Stephanie for the first time since he had begun and gave her a mirthless smile. “My first case was my own divorce. Then I joined the navy. I figured if she was doing all she could against the war, I’d do all I could to win it. I was NCAA champion swimmer at fifteen hundred meters and swam water polo for the New York Athletic Club. So it was a natural for me to volunteer for the SEALs—Naval Special Warfare. Stands for Sea, Air, Land. It’s hard even to get a
chance to try out for it. The basic training is six months long. In a class of, say, a hundred and twenty-five, twenty-five might make it through. They give you more pain than a human being is supposed to be able to stand to try to make you quit. I substituted one kind of pain for another and made it.

  “In Nam, I got lucky and fought with Scott Lyon. We both ended up with commissions and stayed on after the war because we loved operating. You didn’t really see me operate in that tavern. What I did was right for a lawyer. I didn’t kill anyone, although I was afraid I would. That’s why I didn’t want any witnesses. That’s why I waited until I was attacked first and then pulled all my punches. I never really ‘clicked on’—what you described as going away and becoming a machine. I was afraid I would. If I had, none of those guys would be alive. I’d have attacked them. I’d have gone for the first thing that moved and killed it. From the point of view of an operating SEAL, my performance sucked.”

  “But,” interjected Stephanie, “you’re not an operating SEAL. You’re a practicing lawyer. You handled it beautifully.”

  “I was lucky.”

  “Why are you so down on yourself? Your performance was correct for who and what you are now.”

  “Because I’m in the wrong culture. And it’s my fault. Look, I’m not a good lawyer. Without your help, I’d still be driving around Mohawk County trying to find my client, for Christ’s sake. In the SEALs, I was an operator’s operator.”

  “What happened?”

  “I blew it. My last physical, they found an insignificant hearing loss. I mean I can hear any sound anyone else can, but I’ll sometimes mix up thigh for sigh. Stuff like that. They said I could keep my Trident—what that guy in the bar called ‘the Budweiser’—but they wanted to make me a support guy. I blew my stack and resigned my commission. Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

  Stone’s vehemence took Stephanie aback. “What choice did you have?”

  “I should have kept my cool and appealed. All the way to Bethesda. I should’ve taken it to a board. Trouble was, it could’ve taken me two years to win. Two years of being a support guy instead of an operator in the teams. I was too proud to do that, so I screwed myself. Now I’m neither fish nor foul, and because I owe a guy a favor from combat, I’m representing his sister when I’m not qualified to. Christ, I don’t know whether I should be representing her even if I was qualified!”

  “Why do you say that?” Stephanie leaned over toward Stone as she spoke, her interest engaged even more.

  “Someone who’s information I respect says the Riegar people knew she was coming and expected her.”

  “What does she say?”

  “I haven’t asked her yet. I didn’t want to confront her while she was a guest in my home. I just don’t know who I can trust in this thing.”

  Stephanie took his hand. “You can trust me.”

  Stone held Stephanie’s hand and squeezed it. “Thanks…”

  “Neffie,” said Stephanie. “My friends call me Neffie … Mike.”

  Maybe, thought Stephanie, it was the wine. Or maybe it was the combination of his scent and that of the roses drifting through the window from the front yard that made her feel dizzy when he kissed her. She held him tightly, then returned his kiss with passion. He put his hand on her breast and, for the briefest moment, her body tightened with indecision. Then Stephanie remembered the time when she was eleven and she finally swung out over the pond on the same rope as the boys, but instead of swinging back to shore, she abandoned fear and let go, splashing into the water for the first time. She had never regretted that moment, and she didn’t think she’d regret this one. Stephanie let go. “Upstairs,” she whispered. “In my room. In my bed.”

  Stone’s hand never lost contact with Stephanie’s body as it slid off her breast, went under her arm, then around her back to grip her securely beneath the opposite arm. His other arm caught her beneath her knees and he rose, cradling her easily. Stephanie felt utterly secure in his strength and, reaching around his neck to hold him around his shoulders, she tucked her head into the side of Stone’s neck, closed her eyes, inhaled his scent, and hung on.

  As Stone climbed the stairs to her room, Stephanie could feel the muscles of his back move under her hands and her mind’s eye saw the sensuous ripple that had fascinated her when he swam beneath her gaze at the pool that morning—a morning that now seemed very long ago. She felt his breath penetrate her hair to warm her scalp, and the warmth flowed down throughout her body.

  At the top of the stairs, Stone paused, unsure of the way to Stephanie’s bedroom. Stephanie lifted her head, kissed his chin, then pointed to the door straight down the hall. Then Stephanie let her head fall back, hair swaying, as she watched the ceiling pass by, then the top of the door frame, and, finally, the light fixture above her bed, which, she hoped, Stone wouldn’t turn on. He didn’t.

  As Stone started to lower Stephanie onto her bed, she eased herself to her feet deftly, said, “Be right back,” then slipped out the door and down the hall. Stone started to undress, folding his clothes neatly and placing them on a skirted, slipcovered chair that went with the feminine decor of the bedroom.

  Stephanie went into a spare bedroom and directly to a closet, where she stored clothing she used infrequently. A quick hunt uncovered what she was looking for, a negligee/peignoir combination purchased impulsively several years ago while accompanying her friend Naomi on a shopping trip. “If it’s your size, Neffie, grab it. Guaranteed hormonal storm in any man you wear it for, even the duds around here.”

  “Naomi! I’ve never met anyone I’d let see me in that!”

  “Hey, kid, the Boy Scouts got it right. And you never know. Besides, it’s forty percent off.”

  Well, thought Stephanie as she donned the filmy outfit, now we’ll find out whether Naomi knows what she’s talking about.

  Stone watched Stephanie enter her bedroom from his position in her bed, half his body under the covers, the other propped up on an elbow. She seemed to glide, and now the faint outside light that made its way in through the hallway behind her outlined her figure through her barely there gowns. Lush, he thought as she crossed the room before him to her bureau. Ready came to mind as she paused to light two candles at opposite ends of the bureau, which quickly became four flames as the mirror above it reflected them back into the room, casting over it a glow reflected more softly by Stephanie’s skin. Nubile, Stone decided as she slid under the covers beside him.

  Stephanie’s hair shone, backlit by the bracketing candle flames. Tentatively, she reached out and brushed her fingertips through the hair of Stone’s chest. He held himself motionless, as if confronted by a beautiful wild animal, lest any movement frighten it away. She leaned toward his chest, inhaling his scent, as if trying to identify this new being in her bed. Finally, Stephanie raised her head and looked at Stone directly. His eyes shone in the direct light of the candles, watching her intently as she stood, removed her peignoir slowly, then the negligee, to stand golden, her secrets in shadow before him.

  Stone’s chest swelled as he tried to control the intake of his breath. His eyes now glowed more brightly than the candle flames. Stephanie Hannigan was a good lawyer, smart enough never to ask a witness in court a question to which she did not already know the answer. “Do I please you, Mike?” she whispered as she came to him.

  Michael Stone’s answer was a primal groan, to which he added the unnecessary translation, “God yes, Neffie.” His strong suit might not have been the law, but Stone shared the SEAL heritage of legendary self-discipline, enabling him to deny lust in favor of love. He took her with a patience and gentleness that demanded all his strength of will.

  “UMMmmmmmmmmmm,” Stephanie responded. Eyes closed, she began to nod her head affirmatively, as if in answer to a series of questions only she could hear. “Uh-huh,” she nodded, wearing a half-smile of pleasure and anticipation. “Uh-huh.” As Stephanie’s affirmations increased in frequency and intensity, Stone’s loving was drawn into and captur
ed by their rhythm. A moist mist shone candlelight gold on her face as Stephanie lifted it to him. He tasted its sweet salt as he kissed her eyes. “Yes!” she said, turning her head to bring his lips on hers. “Yes!” The kiss dissolved what remained of Stone’s self-discipline, and he gave himself to her with uncontrolled strength.

  “Oh, God!” said Stephanie. Her hands balled into fists, and her head rolled violently from side to side until she stopped suddenly, shook both fists, and shouted, “Make me pregnant!”

  The words that had escaped from somewhere deep within her were even more shocking to Stephanie than to Stone. She lay beneath him, wet, exhausted, sobbing. “Oh, God, Mike, please believe me. I have no idea where that came from. I mean … you don’t have to worry. I used pro—”

  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Stone said, easing aside. But from the hint of strain in his voice, Stephanie knew it wasn’t okay. She turned her head away from him, despair on her face.

  Inside Stone, embarrassment and apprehension mingled and fought with compassion and love. The conflict unresolved, he tried to relieve Stephanie’s misery and forced a laugh. “You really know how to crush a guy, kid. I mean, here I thought I had a shot at the anodized aluminum medal for barely adequate performance, and you take all the credit.”

  Stephanie turned her head back to look at him. Whether her look held disgust or contempt or both, Stone couldn’t be sure. Whatever it was, he withered under it. “Bad joke, counselor,” Stephanie said.

  Stone hung his head. “Yeah.”