Chapter 10 Let's Give Them Something to Talk About

We got out of St Mary's as quickly as we could, enjoying the afternoon sun and soft breeze on our faces as we walked towards Ed's car.

"Whew," Ed said, letting out a long breath. "I still don't like hospitals. No matter how much they decorate or update or how pretty the nurses are..." He extracted a cigarette from his pack, tapped it firm, lit it and inhaled, taking the smoke deep into his lungs, a sure sign that Suzanne's accident had bothered him more than he let on. "You sit and wait, and wait, and hope for the best and sometimes… sometimes you don't get what you want."

I knew what he was talking about. "But sometimes there are miracles. You were one."

His smile returned. "So were you. They called Father John in for you. Someone delivered."

"From St Peter's'? Why didn't anyone tell me he came?"

"The Chief didn't want you to know you were given Last Rites."

"Anything else you want to tell me about that hospital stay?" I asked.

"Nope, don't want to, at least not tonight." He stubbed out his cigarette with his heel, coughing slightly. "I need to quit these things."

"Dad said it was the hardest thing he ever did, quitting. Mom saw him do it. It's worth it you know."

"You don't smoke, do you?"

"I did for a time after mamita died. I was pretty angry then and tried a lot of things. I ran around the neighborhood with my cousins Beto and Noni. I don't know how Dad could bear it. He found a way though, or rather the Chief did. One night he put us all in the backseat of his cruiser, threatening to put us in juvie. He actually drove right up to the receiving door with us".

Ed grinned at the image of the Chief treating me like a delinquent; hauling me and my best friends in the back seat of his cruiser to Juvenile Hall. It helped explain in part the special relationship the Chief and I had. It wasn't all about police work between us. He was family.

"Chief must have really put the fear of God into you three."

"Considering that Beto and I are both cops. It might have just a bit."

"What happened to Noni?"

"Sister Veronica Mary Aurelia of the Poor Sisters of Clare, if you please."

"That's toeing the line."

"I quit smoking after a week in the hospital with pneumonia, freshman year of college. It was hard at the Academy; seems like all the rookies smoked. It was tempting to go back and light up."

"I should get the patch that just came out, it's supposed help stop you from smoking. So, are you hungry?" He picked up the butt, and tossed it into a trash can.

"Yes."

"Good. I know exactly where I want to take you."

"Not Giamatti's".

"Nope. Know exactly where we'll go", he said turning the key in the ignition.

Ten minutes later, we drove up in front of the Balboa Café on Fillmore. The exterior was an old cinder block building that had been previously used as a gas station or other store. Its exterior had been just freshly whitewashed. We walked in to an interior that looked casually dressy. The barman greeted Ed as he began to mix a drink.

Ed nodded a greeting back.

We were seated in a more secluded part of the restaurant in a booth with a small table covered with a crisp white tablecloth, almost immediately a server came over.

"Hi Ed, haven't seen you for a while. How you been?"

"Hey Paulette, been good. Busy. This is Fran. "

Paulette smiled as she handed us menus. "Hey Fran, it's nice to meet you. Blake's got your Manhattan just about ready, Ed. What would you like to start with Fran?"

I chose iced tea. I was feeling nervous down to the knot in my stomach and if this was a date, didn't want to compound it by alcohol right off. Paulette went off to the bar, returning momentarily with our drinks, and took our orders.

"So, this is Ed Brown in his native environment?"

"Yup, this is the neighborhood. I moved into the apartment when I came back from service, haven't left since."

I nodded. "How far away is your place from here?" as I sipped.

"It's about three and a half blocks away, as the seagull flies. The old Greenwich Terrace. You've never been inside it all this time, have you? Would you like to see it? Maybe come back for a cup of coffee tonight?"

I knew exactly where his place was, I'd picked him up enough times over the years, but had never been inside, and here I was, acting as if I knew absolutely nothing about the man sitting across the table from me, when I knew almost everything about him, or so I thought."Yes, I'd like that."

We paused and drank. Baby steps.

Ed smiled. It was a great smile, warm, friendly and open. His brown eyes always lit up when he did. Too often though, I'd seen his eyes shine another way, hard and gleaming like cold steel. He could stare down any criminal in the city and there was never a smile on his face when he confronted the bad guys. Nights like this when we were alone and able to talk about things other than cases, were a rarity. He was relaxed and looked as if he was enjoying every moment of this. I watched as he took another appreciative sip of his Manhattan. I would too. The knot in my stomach began to loosen.

"How'd it go today?" He asked.

"I was going to ask you that same question"

"Me first."

It went better than I thought. I have an appointment for tomorrow afternoon."

"That's good. I hope it goes well."

I eased a bit. "I want to get through this."

"Like I said before, if I can help you in any way"

"Thanks, I appreciate it. You can do that by telling me about your day."

He gave me that smile again. It made me feel a little melted inside.

"I've got a great idea. If we really wanted to talk shop or therapy, we would have gone to Giamatti's. Tonight, let's talk about other things. I bet I've never told you about my favorite jazz and blues club down the street. I'd like to take you there after dinner. That is, if you like jazz or blues and you're not too tired."

"Taking me to the land of moonlight and romance are you?"

"Possibly."

We smiled, touching our glasses together, spending the remainder of dinner talking about things we were interested in, for me, it was art. I hadn't really had a chance to talk about what I had been doing in class and spoke of finding new energy to paint and hopefully sculpt again. Ed was passionate about his love of jazz and we both talked sports and our favorite teams. The conversation continued over coffee and dessert. I learned that although he loved a good steak and Mexican food, he had been slow to appreciate the Chief's chili. He did like to slow dance, though Eve had joked he seemed to have two left feet. We both liked sushi and baseball was much better than football. Eve dragged him to the ballet once and he really didn't like that, or opera, which she'd also taken him to. Classical music like Beethoven was ok. He came from East Kentucky and loved the mountains. His "ma" as he called her, taught in the small elementary Ed had gone to. His Pop had been a miner who encouraged his son to get an education so he wouldn't have to be in the coal mines all his life like he, his uncles, or his grandfather had. At 17, he'd lied about his age and enlisted in the Marines before he could be drafted. His love of hunting earned him awards as a marksman and sharpshooter before he got out of basic training. He had a natural affinity for police work and was assigned to the Military Police. He served two tours in Vietnam with distinction but had seen enough of the horrors and effects of war. He turned down the proffered promotion from the Marines. After his discharge from the Marines, he moved to San Francisco, a place he fell in love with after spending leave time from his assignment at nearby Camp Bridgeport.

He'd seen a posting for the SFPD, applied, and raced through the academy, catching the attention of Robert Ironside, the Chief of Detectives. Ironside was noted for the speed with which he ran through his Detective Sergeants. Some described it as eating them up. Ed had been duly warned. After patrolling for three years, the last two working for the Chief, getting credit for his time as a Military Policeman for the remaining two years of service time, and completing his degree in Criminal Justice, he took the Sergeant's test, passing easily. Ironside told him he wanted him to be his new Detective Sergeant. Ed had other opportunities, but knew what he was getting into and stayed with the Chief.

"I don't know how I did it in the beginning Fran. I hated chili, thought Eve was a rich snob, and Mark, well, he was a punk, hoodlum, a wannabe gangster. Then there was you, the woman I said once should never call me if she needed help. Now, you're all my best friends and I couldn't think of working with anyone else in the department. And the Chief, the word impossible, just begins to cover it, and that was before he was shot. You think he's got us burning candles at both ends now, you should have seen it when he was in the field with us. That man kept a pace that was frightening. We were exhausted just trying to keep up with him, with everything we were doing, I still don't know how I finished my bachelor's degree, I was so tired all the time. It was a struggle some days, but I wanted that piece of paper so bad. Ma and Pop were so proud of me when I got it.

From across the table I smiled and took his hand. We sat quietly like that for a while. I knew a lot of things about him from talking to Mark, the Chief, and now Eve, but I had never heard Ed talk so much about himself before. I appreciated the new trust given me.

After dinner, we walked down the street to a small bar called, appropriately enough, the Blues Room. The room was crowded but we found a couple of stools at the bar, sipped wine and listened to music. I could tell Ed really enjoyed the singer, a woman from Detroit named Anita Baker. She sang the standards: Gershwin, Ellington, Mercer, and others with true emotion and respect for the music. A small dance floor opened up. Ed led me out on it. He had said he now liked to dance. I did too, but didn't know how much he liked it or how well he could dance and he was good. He knew how to lead, something many of my dates didn't. He held me close as we danced, his fingers exploring the back of my blouse. I pressed in closer to him, putting my arms around his neck. He slid his hands down to the small of my back, splaying over my hips. It was electric. I could hear him hum softly as Baker sang:

"Somebody loves me, I wonder who?

I wonder who, maybe it's you?"

We returned to our seats. Ed sipped some Bourbon, I fingered my glass of red.

"I asked Diana to give me some lessons. She's a pretty good teacher."

"I can tell. You move like a regular Gene Kelly."

"Why, thank you ma'am. The next time we go out, you can take me to one of those North Shore dance clubs you like to go to."

I laughed. "Who told you about that?"

"Rod Peña tells me you dance a pretty mean bachata."

"Did my cousin Beto tell you that at the weekly Sergeant's poker game?

"I'm a detective. I do my homework, Paquita."

I shook my head, smiling. "So now I'm a case file, am I? Paquita, I outgrew that name long ago. Seems you know everything about me."

"Nope, not everything, you're still a woman of mystery."

"Good, because I want you to be mystified." I replied dropping my voice as low as I could.

Baker began another song, the Gershwin brothers, The Man I Love.

"One more dance?" He asked, taking my hand as we went out on the floor again.

Someday she'll come along, the girl I love." Ed sang in a pleasant light baritone, changing the words as we danced.

"Her smile will be a song, the girl I love, and when she comes my way, the girl I love. I'll do my best to make her stay.

I'll look at her and smile, she'll understand, and in a little while, I'll take her hand, and though it seems absurd,

I know we both won't say a word."

His eyes had a look I hadn't seen before. I thought I knew all his expressions. This one was new, an invitation.

"Yes, I'd love to see to see your place."

"I can show you another night."

"You invited me out for dinner and jazz and extended the invitation to come visit your place for coffee, I believe."

He nodded. "I did".

"You can give me that cup of coffee before I leave, as promised."

We slowly strolled the few blocks from the Blues Room to his place on Green St, holding hands, bodies touching. I felt an energy crackling about me I hadn't felt before. Ed lived on the top floor of an old row house called Greenwich Terrace with narrow flights of steps. My place was similar.

"How'd you get the furniture inside?" I asked as we paused on a landing.

"The freight elevator is in back of the old garage. That's now the coin laundry and storage area."

His apartment reflected his military days. It was neat, comfortable, and a very functional one bedroom apartment. Because he was on the third floor, the landlord had done what mine had done, built a small balcony deck that Ed used to grill and sometimes entertain guests, something he rarely had the time to do, he admitted. Inside, he'd also converted a closet into an office.

"I should have called you the weekend I did this. It needs painting and I had to do it without pizza, had beer though."

"I would have brought you a Benno's thin crust if you'd asked."

"Next project you can. Would you like that coffee now?"

"Yes, please." I sat on the couch and leaned back into it, watching as Ed used a Melitta ceramic cone and filter to brew the promised cup that would wake me up enough to get home tonight. He was trying to impress me if he was making coffee that way. So much had happened today, I was tired. I closed my eyes for a moment. I felt the couch cushion shift.

"Call me a taxi," I mumbled.

"I've called you many things over the years, but never a taxi." Ed joked.

I blinked open my eyes. "I better go. You've got to work tomorrow." I mumbled.

"I called in."

I was shocked awake. "You never call in."

"I have new priorities."

He slid closer to me putting his arm around me. He looked into my eyes. "I have been trying to tell you this for awhile now. Stop pushing me away."

I wasn't ready for that declaration. A missing puzzle piece slid into my foggy brain. I got up from the couch, Ed rising with me.

"It was you... you said that to me that night."

"Yes"

"You bastard! How dare you!" I swung at him.

He rolled with the punch, so that my fist bounced off his shoulder. Grabbing my wrists, he pulled me close to him. "I got a call from one of the beat cops that night. He'd seen you walk into Geary Street Liquors. He was going to bust you for public drunkenness."

"He should have."

"He recognized you from your picture in the write up in the union paper about the assault and thought you needed a friend, not a jail cell. He called me. I came, and he was right. You needed a friend badly and I was it. I got you home and then did the only thing I could do, just be there for you until you could sleep. Then I left."

It was Ed I'd had the argument with that night, not my mother. I felt humiliated, my face flushing.

"I have to go." His hands kept hold of my wrists.

Tears wet my eyes as I tried to remove myself from Ed's grasp.

"Stay" he said, pulling me tighter to him. "Te amo".

'Ed loved me?' He tangled his fingers in my hair, then grasped it as he kissed me hard. I met the kiss with equal force, touching features I'd known from the first day we'd met. I felt him pull my blouse out from my skirt, slipping his hands under it, exploring, my bra somehow magically loosened. I felt the zipper of my skirt slide down, the material pooling on the floor. My head arched back and he kissed my neck repeatedly, lingering as he heard me gasp with pleasure. My fingers found the buttons of his shirt.