3. Mixing work with pleasure

The secretary that was Della Street was seated on the couch, taking dictation, the paperwork on Sheila Carlin's case covered the coffee table and part of the surrounding carpet. The turmoil didn't bother her otherwise organized nature, that organized nature knowing that he sometimes needed the dynamics of the mess he made to think more clearly. Chaostheory, even at its smallest in this office had resulted in the largest, most creative solutions earlier. Why would this be an exception?

So, she just sat still, watching him put his thoughts together. He used his cane, paced through the office, circled the couch, and thus her, and every now and then he sank down on an armrest, looked at her thoughtfully, searched her face for clues. And she let him do so patiently. Then he scratched his neck or his hair, thought of something and stood up again to proceed his ellipses.

Now, he struggled to stand up, leaning on his cane heavily. Seemingly about to start dictating again, he opened his mouth, but didn't say anything that she expected. Her pen waited above her paper to startwriting.

" Just a minute, Della, I need the … uhm ... " He gestured to the bathroom.

" Again? "

" Yes, again. "

" You just went a few minutes ago. Are you okay, Perry? "

" Yessss, I am. " He answered gruffly.

" You must be getting old, Perry. It's what happens to older men, you know. They uhm … "

He cut her off. " It's not my age, Della. It is your tea. "

" No. " She shook her head. " It's not. "

" Yes, it is. "

" Whatever you say, Perry. " She smiled at him with pursed lips, and he made a dismissive gesture.

" What's the name of this tea blend anyway ? Veni vidi urinati ?"

Quickly translating it, she laughed out loud. " Oh, don't you latinize me, Perry Mason … "

" I did like it myself … " He grinned around the doorframe, and left.

She glanced at him curiously and cautiously when he came back, and recognized the state of absolute absent-mindedness. It was one of his most common rituals, one that needed her upmost attention, for he could seriously forget his personal and private self when he was like this, his habits eaten up by his own thoughts, consumed by the confusion that was needed before fully understanding the process and unwinding his thoughts.

The ritual itself was usually characterized, embellished even, by his most endearing features. She tilted her head, and took them in, enjoyed them as always. The beard was all ruffled up, his thin grey hair mussed in the best possible way. He was half dressed, shirt tails hanging loosely along his thighs, his zipper still undone, his belt still open as if he had been rushed out of the privacy of the bathroom. And he probably was, rushed out by a thought, a hunch, something that he hadn't thought of before, something that would be of incredible importance to the case. For now.

Something that needed immediate attention.

The cane was an unneeded supporting item at this point, since he walked easily and even kind of lightly, his hands thrust deep in his pockets.

She waited patiently, smiled softly. He started talking, using her name first as if it was necessary to catch her attention that way. As if he wasn't already the center of her undivided concentration. All day. Every day.

" Della. I was thinking about this Winslow Keene … You know I'd been on his radio show before he died … " he groaned low, in deep thought, scratching his neck in upwards movements, fuzzing his hair even more, then stroking one hand down over his face, grasping at his beard. " … something is not fitting in … why would anyone … " He grabbed a pen and made a quick note. " … it's just not making sense … " He noticed the silence, interpreted it as a token of her fond amusement, stared at her, and changed his tone of voice to match his puzzled look. " What ? "

" Look at you. " She said it softly, in a not very convincing accusing tone. He was, after all, still in the fragile thinking modus.

" What ? "

" Look at you. " She just replied.

He did look down at himself and snorted. It was him, but different. " So? "

" Well, you're not really completely dressed are you ? "

He shrugged. " No. But it's just you and me in here right now … and … I do have some loose ends there … " He pointed at his temple, then the coffee table, grinned, " … and so I'm having some loose ends here … " then tucked his shirttails into his trousers, pulled the zipper up and buckled his belt. " Were you offended by the way I wasn't dressed? " He looked at her, from under his thick lashes, over deep dimples. The same dimples defined the line above which he shaved, they had to be visible, just in case they had to be used to get away with any kind of misbehaviour.

" No, I wasn't offended. I don't think you can do anything to offend me. Not anymore. " She shook her head. " But what do you think people will say if they knew you buckle and unbuckle everything right in front of me, as if there's nothing to it ? "

" There is nothing to it, Della. And nobody knows it's happening, now. " He mumbled. " But, everybody does know about us, and I couldn't care less. "

She laughed again. " You look like a mad scientist. Anyone walking in here now would seriously think you've lost your mind. "

" Lost my mind? "

" Either that or that you have just been in a very … uh … "

" Yes … "

She looked up at him, lovingly, playfully, the Della Street way. " Uh … compromising uh … "

" … compromising … " He repeated, as playfully.

" Situation. "

" A very compromising situation, hmmm? " He turned his eyes to the ceiling and grinned. Then looked back at her, his eyes gleaming. " Wouldn't that be the same? Me having lost my mind or having been in a compromising situation? Two ways to describe the same state ? "

" Maybe. " She shrugged, and fluttered her lashes.

" No, not maybe, Della Street. It is the same. Two sides of the same coin. " He leaned forward a little, with one hand in his pocket. " Both would involve you. " He tapped her chin lightly.

" Me ? "

" There is only one woman who can make me lose my mind, and there is only one woman who I would want to be in a very … uhm …. " he sniffed " … compromising situation with. "

" Two sides of the same coin ? " She rolled her eyes. " Really, Perry ? "

" Yes, really Perry … " In a semi-threatening move, he bent forward some more, placing his left knee on the couch next to her, gently holding her shoulders, and pushing her backwards onto the soft cushions. It took all his effort to do it gracefully, this excercise, using his heftiness as a tool. Not an obstacle.

She gasped and laughed out loud. " No, no, Perry, no. " Her back pressed into the notepad that she left on the couch earlier. She dropped her pen and chuckled, pushed her hands against his chest, which was of no use at all. " Nooooo … " Laughing out loud herself, she felt his cheek smiling against the elongated column of her elegant throat, his kiss there as inevitable as it was enticing. " Perry … Ken. He's in his office, he's still around. "

" I know. " Perry maneuvered himself into the other corner of the couch and sat down, pulled out his own note pad from underneath him and threw it on the floor. One hand reached out for her.

" Come sit with me, baby, please. " He sighed. " I need to think. I need you here with me. You make me think more clear. "

" I can do that. " She shook off her heels in the way she had done it in the dream he had enjoyed earlier that day. He watched her fold her legs underneath her, waited patiently until she had installed herself against him completely, and brought his arm around her, his hand caressing her shoulder. She looked up at him.

He kissed her lips lightly, then looked into her eyes. " I love you. " The faraway look in his eyes now focussed as he continued watching her watching him, as in a full circle. The world could easily vanish without their notice, and maybe it already had. The demons could easily vanish without their notice too, and maybe they already had as well.

He rest his head against the backrest, and pulled her closer, then leaned his head sidewards on her curls. " This is good. "

Dawdling, her opulent fingers caressed his dimples and the small strip above his all day beard, smooth and trim now. The muscles of her inner thighs tightened involuntarily, the skin still sensitive, memories and feelings of last night twirling, craving for her attention.

" What's this? " Just near the right dimple there was a small scratch, a little abrasion that hadn't been there before.

" Mmm ? " His eyes were closed, he inhaled and exhaled deeply.

" Did you cut yourself shaving ? "

" This morning, yes. " He mumbled.

" Old razor ? "

" No. Old skin. " He opened one eye, smiled, and closed it again. She kissed the little wound.

" Well, I'm just glad you shaved. "

" Why ? " But he rest one hand on her thigh momentarily.

" Just saying. " She gave her head a tilt, and lay back against him.

" Sure. " He chuckled low, cherishing her, bringing both his arms around her. It was silent for a few moments, and she was about to doze off when a rumble started in his chest again.

" Della? " He said low, lazily, not really pronouncing her name, merely humming it.

" Hmmm? "

" I'm glad you shave too … "

" Perry Mason … " Fully awake again, she gasped, sat up and looked at him, incredulous. His eyes were closed, his nostrils flared, but the rest of the stone-faced mask remained stoic in the most charismatic way.

" You did have oysters for lunch, didn't you ? Not mussels ? "

" No. Oysters of course. It's an oyster bar. " He smiled. " Come here. " He pulled her closer.

" What did you have? Rockefeller ? " She closed her eyes and smiled, relaxed against his chest.

" No. Too much salt. Someone, I'm not mentioning any names here, is forcing me to change my diet. "

" Uh. So what did you have? Angels on Horseback ? "

" No. Though it would have been appropriate to have some angels around to fight your demons with… No, I had them with a special mignonette sauce, prepared with soya. Pretty good actually. Good combination. "

" Sounds nice. "

" Yes. Sweet and a little bit salty … Like you. " He kissed her curls, then her forehead, tasted her skin, sweet of course, and a little bit salty. " Did you know, Della, that oysters are hermaphrodite? Male and female … but not at the same time … " He rumbled lazily.

" That's why it's said oysters are an aphrodisiac, I believe. " She said, equally lazy.

" I know. It's what they say isn't it? But there is no effect of that sort right now. " Perry sighed.

" No ? "

" Right now, they just relax me. I could fall asleep right here, right now. Maybe I should have taken mussels instead, as Ken suggested. "

" Mmm-mmm. " She was about to doze off again.

" But mussels are an aphrodisiac too … "

" Mmm-mmm … "

" Do you know what they call that part of the mussel, that little piece it attaches itself to its habitat with? "

Her eyes were closed, but she felt her lashes flutter against the fabric of his shirt. " Uhm … beard ? "

" Yes. Mussels have beards, oysters don't. But they do filter water the same way for food. And, they both live in fresh water and salty water. And brackish water. "

" Now, that is information. Why are you telling me this? "

" Just saying … " His lips curled up into a smile. She didn't see it, but felt it, knew it was happening, and she shook lightly against his body.

She understood. Nobody overhearing this conversation would ever understand what it was about really, fully, but she did, and enjoyed it, enjoyed him, enjoyed her life with him this way. The double, triple meanings of their words, sharing secrets and fighting demons amongst others, metaphorically.

Her right hand had come to rest on his thigh, the other lingered underneath his tie, detaching the two buttons that could be left open without it being seen, and she coiled three fingers underneath the stiff expanse of his white shirt. There was no undershirt today. She had free rein and made use of it, tickled his chest, provoking an enticing little tremor, and a small, enticing, but very deep groan. He placed his hand upon hers, and patted it softly. " I need to rest a little, baby, please rest with me. "

" I love you too. "

" But we have to wake up in time. "

" I'll make sure we will. " She eased against him.

" You've set your internal alarm? "

" I have. " She'd surely wake up in time for the next appointment.

" You're an angel. " He stated it. " My angel. "

The sound of him breathing was slowly lulling her to sleep again, like it had the night before. His soft snore, his solid heartbeat. The demons disappeared completely.

She made a decision.

He'd wake up. Because she'd wake up. In time of course.

And then she'd make him coffee.

- TBC -