“Shit. Bastards,” I interjected.
“Now I look at people and wonder when they’re going to die on me. I don’t want it to happen again. So I made my choice. Thoreau’s decent and kind. We’re friends and there are no major surprises hidden in him.”
“Damned with faint praise,” I remarked.
“He allows me to live the kind of life I want. No Roman candles during sex, but it’s adequate. I like him. And he’ll never rip my heart out. He’s safe.”
“What does this have to do with tonight?” I asked.
“I…” she started, then looked at the fire before looking back at me. “I like you, Micky. A lot. And that scares the hell out of me.”
“Why? What could I do to you?” I asked.
“You could die. Next time the bullet could be in your head. Or the knife wound a little deeper and closer to a major artery. I’m not getting involved with that. I don’t want to be the one they call at four in the morning to come down to the morgue and identify you. You live too close to the edge for me.”
“Let my Aunt Greta do it. She loves hospitals, but a trip to the morgue would be the high point of her life.”
“It’s not funny,” she cut in. “You laugh to keep your distance. Then there is, as you noted, your lack of prizes for constancy. What is the longest you’ve stayed in anyone’s bed but your own?”
“I see you’ve been exposed to the Danielle Clayton version of my love life.”
“Prove her wrong,” she challenged.
I couldn’t. “I’ve made some mistakes…” I fumbled.
“That’s not what I’m saying. You have a right to live your life. We’re just not right for each other.”
I couldn’t prove that wrong either. We sat for a moment watching the fire.
“Where does that leave us?” I asked.
“You can say no. It’s not much of an offer,” she said.
“The best one I’ve had today,” I answered.
“I’m sorry. I can’t offer anything more. Not now,” she replied. “I’ve…made my choice.”
I tightened my grasp on her hand. With my other hand I gently touched her cheek.
“And I’ve made mine,” I answered.
I kissed her. We rolled off the couch onto the floor in front of the fireplace. I spread out the sleeping bag. Then Cordelia was on top of me, kissing and exploring my body. I felt the warmth of the fire on my bare skin as she took my sweatshirt off. Then the heat of her hands along my shoulders, down my back, covering my breasts. Her large hands spanned easily from nipple to nipple.
She took off her shirt, then lowered herself back onto me, a sheen of sweat starting to form where our skin touched. I kissed her cheek, running my tongue across her jawline, then down her neck, her collarbone, searching. She lifted herself up, letting my tongue find her breast.
She slid down me and took off my pants. Kneeling between my spread legs, she slowly unzipped her pants, stripping for me as I watched her. I sat up and pulled off her underpants, letting my fingers brush against her hair. Once she was naked, I put my arms around her, holding her tightly, burying my face between her breasts. I started to pull her over and get on top, but she wouldn’t let me, instead pushing me back down. I felt her fingers enter me and she was on top of me, encircling me with one arm, the other one deftly exploring inside me. I was very wet, almost embarrassingly so.
We made love quickly, in a fever, caught between the warmth of the fire and the heat of our bodies. Her fingers brought me to a climax, a long shudder that spread through my whole body. It left me gasping and unable to focus for a moment. She held me, held me tightly, until the fire inside me subsided. Then she rolled off me, letting some of the night air between us, cooling us down. But I didn’t want the cold. I climbed on top of her, kissing her until I had to stop and take a breath. Her gasp sent a shiver down my spine.
We sometimes forget the power of sex, or rather we avoid acknowledging it. But her gasp and tremble as I put my hand over the mound between her legs reminded me. At the most basic level, the power to give pleasure, heady sensual rapture. The reassurance of a physical touch. Until now, all I had ever looked for in sex was distraction and the fleeting thrill of the physical. That seemed hollow now, the machinations of a body with no soul. Someone, Cordelia, had gotten beyond the merely physical. I had finally let her in. In return I wanted to give her all that I was capable of, to, somehow, touch her as deeply as she had touched me.
I paused for a brief moment, my head resting on her breasts, her arms about my shoulders. She was letting me touch her, if only for comfort and forgiveness, not the passion and joy that moved me. But she was letting me touch her.
Then I went down on her, tracing a line from her breasts to the V of her legs with my tongue. She spread herself very wide, letting me in. I kissed her, gently at first, then harder as she moved under me. I felt her hands in my hair, holding me where she wanted me while she came. I stayed between her legs, gently kissing her until she gave a slight tug on my hair, pulling me up to lie next to her. I held her tightly, still not wanting to let the cool night air in. We didn’t say anything, just lay together in the warmth of the fire, watching it die down to glowing embers.
“It’s getting chilly in here,” I finally said, feeling goose bumps on her arm as I ran my hand along it.
“Yes, it is,” she agreed.
“It’ll be warmer if we share the same bed.”
“Yes, it would.” She kissed me noisily on the cheek, then jumped up. “Brr,” she said, extending me a hand. I took it and she pulled me up.
“I’ll make the bed,” I volunteered.
“Okay, I’ll clean up in here,” she answered.
I went into my room and hurriedly threw some sheets and a blanket on my bed. When I came back into the living room, Cordelia had folded up the sleeping bag and neatly draped our clothes over the couch. She was in the kitchen putting away the dishes and blowing out the candles.
The fire gave out a dull red glow, the last feeble warmth from the embers.
“Let’s get to bed. You’re shivering,” she said as she left the kitchen. I took the candle and led her into my room.
We got into bed, lying close to each other on my small, single bed. She shivered and moved closer to me, pressing against me for warmth. I tentatively put my arms around her, not wanting to seem too insistent. She had only offered me this night; perhaps she only needed, or wanted, to make love once. I couldn’t imagine ever wanting to stop touching her.
She wrapped her arms around me, burying one hand in my hair. “Damn, Micky,” she said. “Michele. Middle name?”
“You’ll laugh,” I answered.
“No, I won’t.”
“Antigone. The Greek influence, I guess.”
“Michele Antigone Robedeaux,” she whispered softly in my ear.
I almost started crying, but caught myself. The last person that had ever used my full name had been my dad. “Knight. It’s Knight now,” I said to get the memory of my father’s voice out of my head.
“Shh, I know,” she answered, stroking my cheek. She kissed me lightly. Then again. I responded, no longer caring if she knew how much I wanted this.
“Are we going to do this again?” she said with a slight laugh.
“Only to keep warm,” I replied to keep her laughing, to hide my need.
“Good idea.” She kissed me again.
I wanted to make love slowly, but my desire for her flared. My embrace tightened, one arm around her shoulders pushing her breasts against mine, the other down around her waist, then her hips, pulling her to me. My hand moved to go between her legs. I stopped myself, my hand on her thigh.
“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to slow myself down.
“Micky, for what?”
“Too fast, too rough. I’ll…”
“No, you won’t,” she responded. She laughed, pulling me on top of her and wrapping her legs around me. “Come on,” she said, still laughing. “Faster. Rougher.�
�� She guided my hand between her legs. “Go in me.” I did. “Oh, yes,” she rewarded me. “Can you spread your legs enough for me to enter you?”
“Yes, I can.”
Somehow she got her hand between our bodies and put a finger up in me. I gasped as she started moving in and out. I started losing my concentration because of what she was doing to me. I wasn’t sure if I was still moving my fingers in her, or just lying still, letting her do me.
“Stop. Or at least slow down,” I said. “I can’t pay attention to what I’m doing.”
“Let me go down on you.”
“I’m about to come,” I replied.
She took her fingers out.
“Not yet. I’ve still got some exploring to do.”
“I’m not sure I can move.”
“Then don’t. I’ll move. You can sit on my face.”
I laughed. The thought delighted me. Because she wasn’t just looking for a physical release, but she wanted to touch me, too. If only for a night. I rolled off her. If she hadn’t caught me, I would’ve fallen off the edge of the bed.
“Thanks,” I said.
“On your back. And spread your legs.”
I did. She didn’t have to stay down very long. I had closed my eyes for a moment, then opened them to look at her. Cordelia making love by candlelight, I thought as I watched her. Making love to me. The thought made me come.
I lay exhausted, holding her and kissing her wet face.
“I’ll be down in a second. Let me catch my breath,” I said.
“I can’t wait,” she said, emphasizing each word. She spread her legs over my thigh and started moving against me.
“Not yet,” I said. “A hand, a tongue, let me.”
“Just hold me. Hold me very tight,” she said in short breaths.
I held her as she let out a long gasp, arched for a second, then pushed herself into me. I held her until her shudders subsided, until she lay still, until her breath resumed a soft, steady cadence.
“God, that’s good,” she said, smiling at me in the candlelight. “I think I could fall asleep right here on top of you.”
“I don’t think I would mind.” I wouldn’t mind if you stayed forever. I wanted to hold on to Cordelia as best I could. In the morning I would have to let her go and wish her well.
“Thank you, Michele Antigone,” she said as she slipped off me.
“You’re most welcome, Cordelia. Cordelia?”
“Katherine. Pretty boring.”
“Cordelia Katherine James,” I said for the sound of it. “Pretty, not boring.”
“Good night, Micky.”
“Good night.”
I blew out the candle. She propped herself up on one elbow and looked at me.
“I haven’t used you too badly, have I?” she asked, a dim shadow in the darkness.
“No more than I deserve,” I answered. Since that wasn’t satisfactory, I continued, “No, you haven’t. It was my choice.”
“All right. I hope that’s the truth.”
“It is,” I assured her. It was close enough.
I put my head on her shoulder and we fell asleep that way.
Chapter 22
When I woke up, bright sunlight was streaming into the room and I was alone in my bed.
I looked around the room. Cordelia was standing next to a window, looking out. I watched her, the play of the clear rays of sunshine on her body. A bright patch on one breast, the other in shadow. One thigh was in the light, her dark pubic hair made even darker by the shade, making it seem both hidden and exposed, an enticing combination. I watched her, knowing that soon she would be leaving.
“Good morning,” she said, catching sight of me.
“Good morning,” I replied. “Cordelia by morning. You are a sight to wake up to.”
“Good, bad, or indifferent?” she questioned, with a self-deprecating laugh.
“Wondrous.”
She turned to face me, the sunlight falling on her shoulder, catching the peak of her breast.
“You’re a very kind person, Micky,” she said, shifting back to face the sun.
I swung my legs off the bed and stood up. Cordelia was still looking out the window. Suddenly she shuddered and then hugged herself, as if she were cold.
“No,” she said, looking at me. “I’ve seen too many young women in emergency rooms. You were one of them. Next time you might not walk out.”
“I’m doing my best to stay out of hospitals.”
“Any guarantee?”
“No,” I answered, because there were none.
“I’ve got to get going,” she said, turning away from the sunlight.
“Not yet. Half an hour more,” I asked, going over to her. I stood very close to her, almost touching.
She nodded and smiled. “Or forty-five minutes,” she agreed.
I put my arms around her, holding her in the sunlight. We kissed softly, morning kisses.
We made love again. This time we did it slowly, gently, as if savoring the last strawberries of the season.
When we finished, we lay next to each other for a long time, embracing in the radiance of dawn.
I was glad we made love by the light of day. I wanted the possibilities of the morning, not to have our touching confined by the dark boundaries of night. I wanted the sight of her caught in our morning embrace etched in my memory long after she was gone.
The sun reached for us where we lay on the bed, catching an auburn strand of Cordelia’s hair, polishing it a rich umber. I knew it was time to go. Time for me to let her go and wish her well. I shifted, breaking the line of the sunshine.
“Reality awaits, dear Doctor,” I said.
She laughed. Her eyes glinted blue, like a deep clear lake with the bright sun reflected off its gentle waters.
“Reality’s here, too,” she answered. She kissed me one more time. We got up, went into the living room, and put on the clothes we had discarded last night.
“Let’s go,” I said, not wanting to prolong the ache that was starting to build up inside me.
She nodded.
We left, making good time back to the city in the light traffic of late morning. All too soon she was pulling in front of my apartment.
“End of the road,” I said, striving for a banal cliché and picking the wrong one.
“Don’t say that. We’ll still see each other. Too many friends in common.”
“Do I get an invitation to the wedding?”
“Do you want one?”
“No,” I answered honestly. “I think not.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Why? I have nothing to wear. That’s the real reason.”
“I’m sorry,” she began again. “I seem to have entangled you in my emotional mess. And I think I’ve been unfair to you.”
“You made your choice. I made mine. Let’s stop apologizing for the way things are,” I replied brusquely. I remembered to grab my jacket from the back seat where I had left it to dry, then got my duffel bag and opened the door.
“Goodbye, Micky. Take care of yourself.”
“Fare thee well, Dr. James.” I got out and made it to my door without turning back to look. When I did she was gone.
I let myself in and ran up the stairs. Going nowhere in a hurry, I thought as I opened the door to my apartment. All that greeted me was a pseudo-hungry cat. There was a heap of food in her bowl, she just wanted a newer, fresher variety. I ignored her and she lay down to take a nap.
I sat down, enjoying the comfort of the familiar. I tried to sort through my mail, even glance at a magazine, but my thoughts keep churning.
I could have told Cordelia that I loved her, not let her off easy. Though it was true, it would still have been manipulation. She carried considerable guilt about her father killing my father and it would have been easy to have used that.
The kindest thing I could do was to let her go. She didn’t love me and wasn’t going to, so all that was left was for us to be kind to
each other. Too bad, all this kindness hurt like hell. For me, at least. Congratulations, Micky, now you know exactly how Danny felt. King Lear. How appropriate. That was the line. “The wheel is come full circle; I am here.”
I jumped when I heard the key in the lock.
“I could shake you until your teeth fall out of your head. Cordelia had to call me and tell me you were here.”
It was Danny. I remained where I was, still staring out the window.
“Where the hell do you get off,” she continued, “letting us worry about you all this time. You’ve got some pretty nasty people out after your ass and it’s not stretching the realm of the possible to picture you floating out to the Gulf face down. Do you hear me?”
“Danny,” I said, finally turning to face her, “It’s too little and way too late, but I love you.”
“Micky,” she said, her tone changing. She came over to me and brushed a tear off my cheek. “I know that.”
“You still deserve to hear it.”
She put her arms around me, stroking my hair while she talked. “I can’t tell you how furious I am that you didn’t tell me the truth about what happened to your parents,” she said, but her voice wasn’t angry.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t.”
“Yeah, sugar, I know.” She held me while I cried.
“Damn it, Danny, I keep ruining your clothes,” I said, pulling away and wiping my eyes. There was a large wet spot where my head had rested. “How pissed is Ranson?”
“Well, yesterday she was madder than an eel on a fishhook. She calmed down a wee tad after Cordelia called last night and said you were all right.”
From the grocery store, of course.
She continued, “But the sooner you convince her that you’re alive and well and ready to testify, the better it will be for you.”
“Right. I can see Joanne Ranson twisted into a knot like an eel.”
“Shall we go?”
“Let me wash my face. What are you doing here in the middle of the day, anyway?”
“Stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, dear El Micko, and you end up being my official business. One way or another.”
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