by Julie Vail
You said ‘no’ to dad?
Yes. And it wasn’t the last time, either. Well, it seemed the more I said no, the more he chased me.
Why? You said no.
Ah, but I really meant yes.
Then why didn’t ya just say so?
It’s complicated, Johnny. But I did finally say yes. And once we went out that first time, that was it. She paused to sip her coffee. You’ll know someday. You will have that love someday. She stared at the ceiling. He had my heart from the moment I saw him.
And the boy wondered how his father managed to keep and break two hearts in one lifetime.
I generally clock out at about five, but it was nine p.m. now, and I hadn’t eaten yet. Once we returned to the station, after reviewing the remains of David Crane at the morgue, I was sent home to change. With everyone complaining about the smell, I had no choice. When I returned to the station an hour later, Alex and I worked on trying to locate David Crane’s next of kin. His Michigan driver’s license showed an address in Lansing, and according to the university ID, also in the wallet, David was a student last year. The university records office was able to get us an address in Lansing, which matched the address on the license, and a phone number. They also told us that David was enrolled again this year as a sophomore, and they gave us an address in Westchester where he would be living. Had he been living.
††††
I hadn’t stopped thinking about Doctor Gennaro since I left the hospital yesterday. Even as I was viewing body parts and fluids at the morgue, she never left my mind. She was nice, and suddenly I was wondering if she had eaten yet. After Patterson was released from the hospital, my excuse to hang around there was gone. But seeing her yesterday at the hospital renewed my determination to get to know her better. It was time to be a man, go to her and . . . what? Ask her out, I guess.
Did I even know where she was tonight? You’d think, with the line of work I was in, it would have occurred to me to do a little investigative work prior to leaving the station. I took a chance and called County. I got the switchboard and asked if Doctor Gennaro was working tonight. The operator put me on hold, and Stevie Wonder informed me that his Cherie Amour was as lovely as a summer’s day. Good. Excellent. Thanks. Finally she came back to me.
“Hello, sir?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry but Doctor Gennaro is in surgery right now. Is there a message I can give her?”
“No, that’s fine. Thank you.” Great. Now I didn’t have to get her number through illegal channels and call her at home. I could just show up like a stalker.
I jumped on the freeway and headed out to County. In the time it took me to fight the traffic, park, get a visitors pass, and find out where the hell she was, she could have eloped with George Clooney and had ten children already. I exited the elevator on the surgical wing and went up to the receptionist. In answer to my inquiry, she simply pointed to a small waiting room across the hall. Not interested in much chitchat myself, I walked away without even thanking her, and stood to the side of the open door so she couldn’t see me. I just wanted to look at her a moment. The longer I stood there the more I thought what a truly bad idea this was. I mean, what was I thinking? What would she think?
She sat on an oversized club chair with her bare foot up on the arm of another chair. Her shoe—a clog that looked like it came from the old country and didn’t look comfortable in the least—sat on the floor. Her toes were teal and sexy as hell. She was doing some paperwork and humming softly to herself in a tone I found quite pleasant. She raised a foot off the floor and scratched her ankle with her big toe. A black beaded anklet with a tiny black and silver yin/yang charm hung loosely over the top of her foot.
“Is there a doctor in the house? I feel faint.” I leaned against the doorjamb with my arms folded, like I did this kind of thing all the time.
She looked up, startled. “Detective. Back so soon?”
“You still working?”
“Getting some paperwork out of the way. I just got out of surgery.” She set the papers down in the chair in front of her. She sat back in her chair. “Two days in a row. A girl just doesn’t get this lucky.”
“Luck’s all mine.” I swallowed, hoping she didn’t hear the very audible click in my throat. “Have you eaten yet?”
“I was just about to.” She pulled a super-sized Snickers bar out of her lab coat pocket and waved it in the air.
“Oh, lady . . . I don’t think so.”
“No?”
“No. Why don’t you give me that and let me buy you a scotch, maybe a couple of eggs.”
She stared at me.
“Look, I know you get this a lot. It’s only dinner, but I can take no for an answer. I’ll survive.”
“You look like a survivor. And what makes you think I get this a lot?”
“An uptown girl like you, Gennaro? Come on.” She blushed. I continued. “How about you hand over the bar nice and slow . . . and let me buy you dinner.”
One side of her mouth curled into a smile, and it stopped my heart. “Oh, I don’t know . . .” She clutched the bar against her chest.
“I’ll give it back as soon as you’ve had something decent to eat.”
She looked at me sideways. “Uh huh. How do I know I can trust you?”
“I am a dedicated and highly trained member of the Los Angeles Police Department, and I am sworn to protect and serve. I am protecting you from cavities and a diabetic coma.”
“Uh huh,” she smiled. “And who are you serving?”
“Oh, I think both of us will benefit.”
“Really? Confidence. I like that.”
“Good.” I came into the room and sat on the arm of the chair opposite her, invading her space.
“How’s the blood pressure?” she asked.
“Rising.”
I held out my hand and she slapped the bar into my open palm with a smirk on her face.
“Good girl. You won’t regret this.”
“You’re the hard-nosed, by-the-book type, aren’t you?”
“When I see the need, yes. I happen to care about your health.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
“Because I plan to see more of you.”
“Really? You haven’t seen any of me yet.”
“Yeah, but I’ve read the tea leaves on you, lady. It’s all good.”
“We’ll see.”
“I’m counting on that.” I stood and walked back over to the doorway, perfecting my lean.
“You came all this way just to ask lil’ ol’ me to dinner?” She batted her eyes.
“Through mountains of traffic.”
“I’m flattered.”
“And I’m starving. We gonna chat all night, Gennaro, or are you gonna let me feed you?”
“Can you give me ten minutes to change? Can you hold out that long”
“I’ll give you fifteen, and I’ll see you in thirty.”
Now she leaned forward, confident. “What would you like to bet?”
“Dinner. You’re not out in fifteen minutes, you’re buying.”
“What if I’m out in ten?”
“Reserve a room for me in ICU and get the oxygen out. And once I’ve recovered we’ll alert the Times, because that will be a first—for any woman.”
She rose and came to the doorway. I stared at her a moment and then I moved just enough so that she could just squeeze past. She sashayed to the elevator and once she entered, she turned to me.
“Lobby where you entered the hospital. Ten minutes.”
I laughed. “I’ll be there.”
“And I want that candy bar back by the end of the evening. You do not know who you are dealing with here.” As soon as the door closed, I tore open the bar and broke it in half. I hated chocolate—especially this kind. But I was starving, so I popped the smaller half into my mouth.
“Neither do you, babe,” I said. “Neither do you.”
††††
I walk
ed through the ER waiting room on my way to finding the lobby. I remembered the fainting spell I had here yesterday, as well as the conversation with the lady I’d be waiting a good long while for.
The waiting room was large, and almost every chair was filled with someone either waiting to be helped, or waiting for someone who was already being helped. An older Mexican man sat along the far wall holding a moaning three year old in his arms. I thought of the sweet girl with the clotted cream in her hair, and what she was doing right now—missing her mommy, no doubt. A pregnant woman lay stretched out on the couch under a dirty window. A teenage boy held a bloody rag to his head. Most of the others read or stared off into space, ignoring the dull roar of moans and low conversation going on around them. They only come out at night, I thought wearily.
I walked out the swinging doors and into the lobby. It was fairly quiet. A security guard sat behind a large counter focused, hopefully, on security monitors, and not pussy.com.
I sat down, grabbed up a Sports Illustrated, and prepared for a long wait. This was a no-brainer. One, she was a woman, and two, she was having dinner with a man, and I was of the opinion, shared by thousands of other men, that women kept us waiting out of spite.
In exactly ten minutes, she walked through the swinging doors of the ER. She had been freshly laundered and she wore a black pull-over sweater and a pair of old, faded Levi 501’s. She wore the same old-country clogs on her feet. She was on time, and made no effort to get dolled up for me. The woman was fantastic. No other word for it.
She twirled. “Acceptable?”
“Very.”
“If it wasn’t so late, and I was more suitably attired, you’d be taking me somewhere sinfully expensive for your insolence.”
“That could still happen, you play your cards right.”
“We’ll see how you feel by the end of the evening.”
“If it’s anything close to how I’m feeling now, you’ve got yourself a date.” I gave her another quick look-over. “You look great.”
“You’re very charming, aren’t you?”
“Yes, unless I’m hungry.”
“Alright. Well, we can walk for menudo and a shot of tequila, or drive somewhere else.”
“Let’s take a walk.”
“Good.” She led the way out the door. I took that opportunity to adjust myself. It was going to be one of those nights, I could tell.
We walked across the parking lot and ended up on Soto Street. I was walking on the street side and quickly switched places with her so I could walk next to the bushes and dark buildings we were passing. This was a bad area, and two streetlights were out, making it particularly dark.
“Gennaro, please tell me you don’t walk out here alone at night.”
“I don’t walk out here alone at night.”
“I’m not joking, doctor.”
“I’m not, either. Are you nervous, detective?”
“This is not the best area, you know.”
“Would you like me to hold your hand?”
“That was subtle.” I took her hand.
“Just watching out for you. You seem nervous.”
“I am.”
“Is it me?”
I smiled. “What makes you think that?”
“That’s adorable.”
We walked in silence for a minute, then she said, “You have big hands, detective.” I looked at her, waiting to see if she had more to say. She did. “Big hands, big gun. And you’re the one who’s nervous?”
We had stopped at a light and I pressed the button. I laughed. My face felt hot. The red hand disappeared and the walking white guy appeared, only to change quickly to the flashing hand again, and we stepped off the curb and crossed the street.
“You’re blushing,” she said finally.
“And I think you’re playing with fire, lady”
She laughed a deep, honest laugh. It was like hearing a fine piece of music. “Oh, I’m not through with you yet,” she said coolly.
She led me up to the door of a little place I hadn’t even seen until we were on top of it. It didn’t even have a name, at least not one that I could see. But I could smell fresh tortillas and chilies. This was going to be an adventure. And with her, it felt right.
We walked through the door and into a small room that contained no more than ten tables and a long bar that stretched almost the full length of the room. Every table was full and it was 10:30 in the evening. The tiny place was lit with paper lanterns suspended from the ceiling. The lanterns combined with the small colored candles on the tables gave the place a calm feel. I liked how the place made me feel, but maybe it was just being with her.
A man walked over and greeted Karen in lilting Spanish and she spoke back to him, her accent flawless. He led us outside onto a patio, which was lit in the same fashion as the inside. The paper lanterns hung from barely noticeable wires that were strung above our heads, and they swayed gently in the breeze. The air was warm, but suddenly I was too warm. I blamed her. I took off my jacket and laid it over the chair next to me. I caught both Karen and the waiter staring at the gun I wore on my hip. I sat, and the gun disappeared under the table.
The waiter cleared his throat. “Tonight we have menudo and a wonderful machaca the chef is pushing. And I think we have a few chile rellenos left, if you are interested.”
“The relleno is really good, John,” Karen informed me. Then she turned to the gentleman and said, “Paco, do you have any decent scotch left?”
“Si. I will bring what I have.”
“Okay. And I’ll have the chilaquiles, and can you have Don add some chorizo?”
“Of course. And for you, sir?”
I said I’d try the relleno. After he walked away she said, “This is about the time they close the kitchen, push whatever’s left over from dinner, and do their big business at the bar for the busboys and waiters who work in the area and are just getting off work. You’re going to love it, John.”
Our waiter returned a few moments later with half a fifth of Glenfiddich and two old-fashioned glasses filled with ice. He set it all down and informed us that our food would be up shortly. I opened the bottle and poured, then we raised our glasses.
“Salute,” I said
“Salute,” she answered with a smile. “Big gun.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you wear it all the time?”
“No.”
She smiled. “Would you care to elaborate?”
“No. Would you?”
“Not right away.”
We talked, mostly about what we did for a living. Then she said, “Testarossa. That’s a joke, right?”
“I’m afraid not.” And I told her the story about my grandfather, and about how the hair skipped a generation.
“What about your parents?”
“My dad is Napolitan and my mom is Sicilian and something else farther north. Both dark-haired.”
“First generation?”
“Yes.”
“What did they do for a living?”
“Mom stayed at home until I was in school, then she went to work in her brother’s dry cleaning business which she eventually took over after my father was killed.”
“Your father was killed?”
I took a sip of scotch and swallowed it too quickly. I winced as it burned my throat. I blamed nerves, since I was pretty good at drinking scotch. “He was a New York City cop.”
“How old were you?”
“Ten.”
“Oh, John. I’m so sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“Not by the look in your eyes, it wasn’t. It never goes away, does it?”
“No, I guess it doesn’t.”
“Did your mother remarry?”
“No. My dad was the only one for her. She raised us, but she had a lot of family around to help her out, and so did my dad.”
“‘Us’?”
“Two older sisters.”
“Ah, spoiled by the wome
n of the house,” she smiled. “I bet you were everyone’s boy.”
“Not really. I kind of took care of myself.”
“Did you become the ‘man of the house’?”
“I guess I did.”
“And that ‘take charge’ demeanor lives on today.”
“You got a problem with that?”
“Not yet.” She sipped her scotch. “Did you ever get a chance to be a kid?”
“Sure. I was fine. Everything was surprisingly . . . fine.”
“Uh huh. So the grandfather was the redhead. He’s not still around, is he?”
“No. He passed away right after I moved out here.”
“When was that?”
“Late 80’s.”
“Why did you leave New York?”
I hesitated before answering. “A woman.”
“Were you with the force in New York?”
“Yes. Patrol, then detective.”
“And the thing with the woman?”
I chuckled. “No chance you were letting that go, huh?”
“Now, what fun would that be?”
“Didn’t last.”
“Everything happens for a reason, because she got you here.”
“Yeah? And that’s a good thing in your mind?”
“Ask me in twenty years.”
“Only twenty?” I teased.
“Ten, then.” She sipped her scotch. “I don’t care what you say, Testarossa. An Irishman, or woman, slipped into someone’s bed.”
“Honest to God, Gennaro, there’s no Irish here, at least none that my family’s admitting to.”
She looked me over carefully and said, “You’d find it if you went back a ways. You know, you have the dark, heavy eyes, the full mouth, the Roman nose . . . I don’t see a freckle on you. It’s the hair that keeps me from completely buying into your story.” After a moment more of scrutiny she said, “You look Italian, so I’ll buy it . . . for now.”
“Thank you. And what about you?”
“My father is Sicilian and my mother is English, with the accent and everything.” And then she added, “And the hair is natural.”
“That’s a relief.” And then she blushed. “You got most of the English, though, it looks like.”