Native Affairs

by Doreen Owens Malek

  He glanced around at the floor-to-ceiling stacks nervously, as if viewing a lineup of his enemies. “Looks like you’ve got a few books here,” he said, raising his eyebrows. Cindy thought he looked out of place in this arena of higher learning—his tough, lean exterior bespeaking knowledge of a very different kind.

  “A few,” she replied, making a note in the margin of her pad and putting her pen away. “I like to work here, where I have all the information I need at my fingertips.”

  “How’s the paper coming?” he asked.

  “Fine. Right on schedule.”

  He fell silent and studied her face, while she looked back at him. He was wearing a gray T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, exposing his muscular arms. His jeans and moccasins might have passed for student wear, but despite his clothing he looked about as much like a student as she looked like a fan dancer. He wore his aura of danger like an ornament, and like an ornament, it drew attention. Out of the corner of her eye Cindy saw a couple of girls at the next table staring at him and conversing in hushed whispers. She could guess the subject of their conversation without trying very hard.

  “I wasn’t going to come here,” he said suddenly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “When I called the apartment Paula told me you were here, but I was going to wait until you got home.” He shifted restlessly in his chair. “These places make me jumpy.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “Schools, churches, libraries. I was always getting thrown out of them.”

  The reference librarian chose that moment to advance on them and glare at Fox.

  “You’ll have to keep your voices down or go outside,” she said sternly. “People are trying to work here.”

  “See what I mean?” Fox asked Cindy as the woman walked away. “They see me and freak. You’d think I was going to set fire to the joint.” He stood, shoving his chair back into place with a loud scraping noise and staring defiantly at the librarian when she looked up.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he concluded, lifting her back pack and shouldering it.

  Cindy gathered the rest of her things and followed him down the narrow aisle, then out through the double doors to the hall. Once out of the room Fox expelled a breath, as if he’d been under some tension that had just been released.

  “The last time I was in a library was ten years ago,” he said, glancing at her. “I was looking up some deeds for my uncle.” He smiled and tugged on a strand of her hair. “What were you doing ten years ago?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Studying geometry, probably. Or algebra. Math was never my strong point. What were you doing besides looking up deeds?”

  He thought about it for a second. “Raising hell, I guess. Making a fool of myself. That was my usual occupation in those days.” He pushed open the outer door and they stepped into a flood of sunshine. “Have you got Paula’s car?”

  Cindy nodded. “It’s in the row next to the concrete abutment,” she said, pointing.

  “I have to go back to my place and check the mail. I’m expecting some legal papers that can’t wait.” He eyed her speculatively. “Do you want to come along?”

  “To your house?”

  “Yes.”

  Cindy hesitated.

  “You’ll be safe with me,” he said quietly.

  “I know that,” she replied, making her decision. “Should I leave Paula’s car here?”

  Fox shook his head. “Better follow me. The car will be okay in the lot at my building.”

  Cindy did as he said, trailing him out of the university lot and following his sports car along the boulevard lined with palm trees that ran parallel to the school. He drove for about two miles and then pulled into a condo complex with its buildings scattered along the edge of the water. He parked behind a sparkling white highrise, and Cindy pulled into the space next to his. When he got out of his car to meet her he said, “I’m on the fourth floor.”

  Cindy walked at his side, observing the scenery, which was gorgeous. Rich plantings abounded, with many palms and flowering shrubs contributing a riot of color.

  “Did you think I would call you while I was gone?” Fox asked suddenly, and Cindy looked at him. He was watching her with that alert expression she had already come to know. It meant that the casual question carried more import than the listener could guess from his offhand tone. Was this a test?

  “I know you were busy,” she said carefully. He looked away and dropped the subject. Cindy couldn’t tell anything from his demeanor. She was getting mixed signals from him; on the one hand, he seemed to want her attention very much, but on the other, he acted as if any sign of possessiveness would cause him to bolt. He was a complex man and she knew that he would always defy easy categorizations.

  Fox pushed open the outer door for her, and they entered the lobby. It was lush, with pearl gray carpeting interspersed with walkways of rich terrazzo tile. Vivid contemporary paintings were mounted on a background of beige grass cloth walls, and hanging baskets of ferns were everywhere.

  “Drew, this place is something else,” Cindy said, staring unabashedly.

  He flashed her a delighted grin. “Yeah, I know. Everybody who lives here is blue chip, except for me. You should have seen the looks on the faces of the other happy home owners when I moved in with my three duffel bags of T-shirts and jeans.”

  Cindy got a sample of what he meant as a middle aged couple passed by on their way out. They were extremely well dressed, and the woman wore so much gold jewelry that it was amazing she was able to move at all. They both nodded stiffly at Fox, their expressions glacial.

  “My next door neighbors,” Fox said out of the corner of his mouth to Cindy. He waited until they were out of earshot and added, chuckling, “They haven’t decided whether I’m a hit man or a white slaver.”

  Smiling, unable to resist his relishing their confusion, Cindy said, “Why don’t you just tell them what you do?”

  “And ruin all the fun? No way,” Fox replied, pressing the button for the elevator. “Besides, they would hardly regard my real line of work as any better than their imaginings. The fact that they inherited all their money and don’t work at all doesn’t prevent them from looking down on those who do.”

  “Are you going to tell me how you wound up in this place?” Cindy asked archly, as the elevator arrived and they got into it.

  “Dying of curiosity, aren’t you?” Fox asked, shooting her a sidelong glance.

  “Yes,” she admitted, and he laughed, throwing his head back in a boyish gesture that made her want to kiss him.

  “I’ll tell you,” he replied, pointing to his door as they got off the elevator. “About nine months ago I got a call from an oil company representative. The suite in this building was being used by one of their vice presidents, who had just absconded with one-and-a-half million of the company’s funds. They were understandably anxious to locate him, and they offered me a percentage of that figure if I could bring him back.”

  He shrugged as he unlocked the door. “It wasn’t my usual thing, more a missing persons case than anything else. The guy hadn’t jumped bail; he’d just left. But I was intrigued and went after him. I finally found him a few months later in Rio, with a phony name, a phony passport, and a Brazilian mistress. When I turned him in the company offered me this place in lieu of the fee. The crook wasn’t going to be using it anymore, and it was worth about what they owed me, give or take a few grand. At first I thought I’d sell it, but I decided to stay when—”

  “When you saw the effect your presence was having on the uptight tenants,” Cindy finished for him, and he smiled at her.

  “Smart girl,” he said, and bowed her inside.

  The apartment ran from front to back, with the entry hall leading straight ahead into the living room, and the kitchen and dining area on the left. To the right, off the living room, were the two bedrooms. The kitchen was galley-style, gleaming with space-age appliances, and had a counter that bordered the dining
room directly next to it. The living room featured polished hardwood floors and a brick fireplace with an oak mantel. Through the sheer drapes Cindy could see a balcony that ran along one end of the suite, with access from both the living room and the master bedroom.

  Fox was standing next to her, waiting for her reaction.

  “What can I say, Drew? It’s spectacular.”

  “Notice anything unusual?” he asked, teasing.

  “You mean the unusual lack of furniture?” she answered, and he nodded.

  Aside from a metal card table in the dining area and a mattress visible through the door of the master bedroom, there wasn’t a stick of furniture in the whole place.

  “Looks like a bus stop, doesn’t it?” he said cheerfully, waving her toward the single folding chair.

  Cindy sat in it and looked around. “Why don’t you have any furniture?”

  He went to the refrigerator and got himself a beer, holding one up for her. She shook her head.

  “Didn’t think so,” he said, smiling, and then answered her question. “My stuff from the old place was too worn out and beat up to bring here, so I decided I would get some new furniture. I gave the old junk away, except for what you see, but so far I haven’t gotten around to buying anything.” He saluted her with his can of beer. “Think how disappointed any potential burglar would be, going through all the trouble of breaking in just to find this ghost town.” He grinned hugely, savoring the image.

  “What’s that?” Cindy asked, as a switch was thrown somewhere in the apartment, followed by a low, steady hum.

  He shrugged. “Beats me. It’s either the air conditioning, the air purification system, or the humidifier. This place has them all, not to mention a dozen switches on the stove that defy explanation. You need a pilot’s license to operate it. You should see the owner’s manual; it looks like the Manhattan phone directory.”

  Cindy laughed. She loved him in this mood: open, expansive, amusing. She watched as he took a deep swallow of his drink and then turned to look at her, his expression brightening.

  “Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t you help me buy some stuff for this place? We could shop for it together; it would be a kick.”

  “Me?” Cindy said.

  “Sure, why not. You’re a classy lady; you’ve got a lot of style. I’m sure you could pick out things that would fit. There’s a place over on Del Rey Avenue that carries everything.”

  “Drew, Paula ordered her bed from there; it’s very expensive.”

  “I’ve got money. It’s taste I haven’t got.”

  “Oh, Drew, don’t be ridiculous,” she said, shaking her head.

  “I mean it. I’m no interior decorator; I have no idea what to buy. What do you say, will you help me?”

  “Now?”

  “No time like the present. Are you through for the day at the library?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let’s go.” He crushed the empty can and threw it in the trash as he headed for the door. Cindy had no choice but to follow. He locked the door after them and put his arm around her, hugging her to his side. It was the first time since he’d been back that he had touched her, and she felt a thrill of warmth from the contact.

  “Do you charge a commission for your services?” he asked softly, as they headed for the elevator.

  “My services are always free to a friend,” she replied simply.

  “Am I your friend?” he asked, looking down at her.

  “I hope so.”

  “Count on it,” he said firmly, and punched the button for the elevator.

  * * * *

  Furniture Gallery was the sort of place where hordes of anxious clerks hovered over every customer, eager to boost their sales commissions. Cindy quickly saw that they would not be able to browse undisturbed, and so enlisted the aid of an elderly lady who didn’t look too aggressive.

  “What did you have in mind?” the clerk asked, looking from one to the other expectantly.

  “Well, we’re furnishing an oceanfront condo,” Cindy explained.

  “I have just the thing,” the lady answered, leading them to a set of flowered chintz sofas with a matching armchair. “Perfect for a vacation home.”

  Cindy glanced at Fox, who rolled his eyes. In an undertone he said, “That stuff would be okay if I were planning on giving a lot of pajama parties.”

  Trying to keep a straight face, Cindy said, “Maybe we’d better be more specific. It’s not a vacation place; it’s a year-round home that happens to be on the water. And it’s for him,” she added, nodding at Fox.

  “Oh, for the gentleman,” the clerk said, beaming. “Something a little more masculine.”

  “That might help,” Fox said evenly, and Cindy stepped on his foot. Hard.

  The saleslady led them through a morass of various styles, trying to get a feel for what he liked. He seemed to express a preference for plain, functional furniture in quality woods, and they settled on a modern looking dining room set in bleached oak, with twin leather sofas and glass topped tables for the living room. When the clerk began to wander aimlessly through the aisles, obviously exhausted, they decided to leave the bedroom set for another day. Fox went with her to the office to arrange a delivery date, and Cindy saw him slip her a folded bill when he thought no one was looking.

  During the following week they had a hilarious time picking out the rest of the furniture, as well as pictures, lamps and knickknacks to complete the apartment. Cindy arranged her schedule to accommodate their shopping trips, and they became well known at the Gallery in short order. Cindy had to correct several people who assumed they were married or engaged, and Fox looked on solemnly as she selected items with amazing rapidity. She had always worked on a budget and it was fun to pick things just because she liked them, without worrying about the cost.

  They spent a lot of time together, and by the end of it Cindy was so in love with Drew that she had forgotten what it was like not to know him. She hated to see the project end, but short of wallpapering the ceiling there was nothing left to do. And something was bothering her. Since the day he’d met her at the library, Fox hadn’t pressed her for anything more than a goodnight kiss. Although the atmosphere was rife with sexual tension, he did nothing about it, and Cindy didn’t understand his restraint. Though he was affectionate in a general sense, stroking her hair, touching her face, he avoided more intimate contact with the same deliberate concentration with which he had once sought it. Cindy was relieved in one sense but disappointed in another. She wanted Fox badly and wanted him to feel the same way. She needed his desire, and found that she missed the affirmation of it.

  One night they were scheduled to go back to his apartment to accept delivery on the coffee tables. On the way Fox suggested they stop in Council Rock at a place that sponsored a happy hour every day for tired workers. It wasn’t exactly Cindy’s sort of thing, but she was willing to do anything he wanted. Once there it became clear that he had some business with the proprietor, because the man took him aside and they conducted a hushed conversation that Cindy couldn’t hear. She strongly suspected that there was something about this venture that Fox didn’t want her to know, and so she refrained from questioning him when he returned to their table with her glass of wine. He was silent as she drank it, staring into space and looking at her only when she spoke to him. She was about to ask him what was wrong when a disturbance at the bar caused them both to look up.

  An Indian man was being forcibly restrained by the bartender. He was obviously drunk and quarrelsome, trying to break free and get at one of the patrons. He must have come in after them, because Cindy could see that Fox knew him and had probably been looking for him. Fox told her to wait for him and got up immediately, taking charge of the situation and helping the bartender usher the troublemaker toward the door. Cindy followed after him, worried, and as they passed her the drunk caught sight of her anxious eyes on Fox, who was dragging him toward the exit.

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute,”
he said, eyeing her dazedly. “Is this your shankree girlfriend, Foxman? Walter told me all about her.”

  “Shut up, Evan; you’re drunk,” Fox said tightly. He turned to Cindy, his eyes furious. “I told you to stay put,” he bit off between clenched teeth. “Go back to the table.”

  “This is the researcher, right?” Evan went on, ignoring Fox. He let out a loud guffaw. “I can imagine what research you’re doing with my stud cousin here.”

  Fox turned pale. He took hold of Evan by the collar and hauled him through the entrance and into the street. Cindy stood rooted to the spot as the other patrons returned to their places, some of them glancing at her curiously. She was still motionless when Fox returned. He passed her and left money on their table, saying to her on his return trip,“We’re leaving.”

  The owner stopped them on the way out to thank Fox for evicting Evan.

  “Why didn’t you tell me he would be like that?” Fox asked him angrily. “I would never have brought the lady if I had known.”

  “I didn’t know either, Drew,” the owner replied. “I just wanted you to talk to him. I thought he would be all right until closing time. But he’s just been getting worse; you saw for yourself.”

  Fox nodded curtly, taking hold of Cindy’s arm and guiding her outside. Once on the street he put his hands on his hips and took a deep breath, looking at her directly.

  “What happened to your cousin?” Cindy asked gently.

  “I got one of the other waiters to take him home,” Fox replied. “I came here to try to save his job. The manager complained about him getting loaded at the end of the evening, before locking up the place. I thought I would be early enough to catch him sober, but I was wrong.” He tensed visibly. “There’s no excuse for what he said to you. I’m sorry.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Yes, it was. I should never have taken you with me. I just didn’t want to...”

  “What?”

  “Leave you,” he said simply, and Cindy’s fingers closed around his arm.

  “Is that Walter’s brother?” she asked quietly, treading gently on sensitive ground.