A Night to Remember
"Anywhere I want?" I laughed. "That's very trusting on your part. I don't think you really mean it." He didn't strike me as the dancing till two kind of guy, but I was willing to push it.
"I think you'd be surprised at what I'll put up with."
"Let's start with a drink, shall we?" I ran through my mental rolodex of night clubs and bars, searching for one that might be an appropriate first date with a cop. The best ones almost always had some sort of illegal activity going on - drugs, sex, or some combination thereof - and I didn't need to draw any more attention to myself than I already was, walking with this self-assured, silver haired man. I knew I was dressed a little . provocatively, but I was out for a night on the town. Suddenly I remembered that first night, when he and his partner had thought I was a hooker, and I blushed, wondering if I looked like that tonight. All this passed through my mind in an instant on the elevator. "I know a place, down town."
"A place," he repeated. "This place got a name?"
"Maybe," I replied, playfully. "Still in detective mode?"
He nodded, not necessarily in agreement with me. Looking back, I realize that that was as close as he could be to patient. "If I'm driving, I want to know where we're headed."
"Forceful, I like that." I told him the address.
"Michangelo's," he said, immediately. The fact that he was familiar with one of the nicest bars in New York was enough to impress me.
In the car - an interesting old thing, clearly an unmarked squadcar - we talked about work: my research, his time on the force. "Special Victims Unit," I recited from the first night. "What exactly does that mean?"
There was a long pause as John thought about the question. We turned a corner, dodging the Friday night traffic of the big city. Women were dressed in skimpy little halter-tops and platform heels, men in tight sweaters. Most of them were college age: in the silence of that pause, I thought about how young they looked. They were just babies, fresh out of highschool. "Special Victims Unit deals with sex crimes and children."
Now it was my turn to pause. "That must be hard. The things you must have to see ."
"Nobody sees the things we do," John replied succinctly. "Nobody hears these stories."
I nodded, watching a girl hobble along on her high heels to catch up with a boy. "How many years have you been doing it?"
He took his eyes off the road to look at me. I wondered vaguely what he had been expecting me to say. "Thirty-five. Thirty in homicide before this."
"You don't sound very excited about your job."
He laughed sarcastically, roughly. "It's ruined three marriages for me."
I saved that for later. "Why did you switch?"
"I needed a change. My superior officers recommended me to NYPD SVU. Said I was one of the best."
He sounded as if he had thought out this conversation before in his head, as if he had defended his profession countless times before to inquisitive children. "And are you?"
John paused again and I wondered how long it would take him this time. We were almost there. "Nope. And I've just gotten worse. It's one thing to tell a mother her daughter has just been killed, but to tell her that her little girl was raped - tortured - first . You never quite get over that."
"Why do you do it then?"
"Someone has to." He parked the car and unlocked the doors, then got out to get my door. I had it open long before he got there, but appreciated the effort.
I smiled at him and took his hand to climb out. "How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world."
"Shakespeare." He casually held the door to the bar for me. "He also said, 'Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.'" Then he shot me this look of sarcasm over the rims of his glasses. I wasn't quite sure how to take that.
We took spots at the bar and he ordered for us both. There was a bit of silence between us, during which I glanced around the place, taking in the groups of people drinking and laughing. I wondered what Shawn was doing at that particular moment. "What else do you like to do? When you're not at work."
"Besides watching the history channel?" he said without thinking.
"Yeah, besides watching the history channel." I adjusted myself on the barstool, genuinely glad that I had thought of this place. I didn't feel too young, nor did I feel that he was too old.
"Well, I'm not the kind of person to have a lot of free time." A couple walked in the door, a few of the kids I had watched on the drive here. The two of them were clearly in love, and I wondered what that must be like. She was hanging on him, laughing secretively with him. I looked back at my own date, trying to see his eyes behind those dark glasses, to figure out if he were telling the truth or not.
The waitress came with our drinks: two beers. Classy guy, I thought. She asked to see my ID and I blushed with embarrassment, feeling like such a little kid next to this detective. "Amazing how much control the government has over what you can and cannot do," John said.
I don't like beer but I drank it anyway, trying to hide my distaste for its wheaty flavor. "Somebody's got to keep an eye out, no?"
He leaned in toward me, stating matter-of-factly: "it just makes me nervous, that's all."
"What, is that like Skull and Bones owning the entire world?"
That seemed to give him pause. "That's exactly what I'm talking about. So what do you do?"
"Research, mostly." He didn't seem satisfied with that answer. "I work with the metaphysical poets of the 17th century. So, basically we're in the same line of work: figuring out why people die."
He laughed at that and bought us another round.
"Anywhere I want?" I laughed. "That's very trusting on your part. I don't think you really mean it." He didn't strike me as the dancing till two kind of guy, but I was willing to push it.
"I think you'd be surprised at what I'll put up with."
"Let's start with a drink, shall we?" I ran through my mental rolodex of night clubs and bars, searching for one that might be an appropriate first date with a cop. The best ones almost always had some sort of illegal activity going on - drugs, sex, or some combination thereof - and I didn't need to draw any more attention to myself than I already was, walking with this self-assured, silver haired man. I knew I was dressed a little . provocatively, but I was out for a night on the town. Suddenly I remembered that first night, when he and his partner had thought I was a hooker, and I blushed, wondering if I looked like that tonight. All this passed through my mind in an instant on the elevator. "I know a place, down town."
"A place," he repeated. "This place got a name?"
"Maybe," I replied, playfully. "Still in detective mode?"
He nodded, not necessarily in agreement with me. Looking back, I realize that that was as close as he could be to patient. "If I'm driving, I want to know where we're headed."
"Forceful, I like that." I told him the address.
"Michangelo's," he said, immediately. The fact that he was familiar with one of the nicest bars in New York was enough to impress me.
In the car - an interesting old thing, clearly an unmarked squadcar - we talked about work: my research, his time on the force. "Special Victims Unit," I recited from the first night. "What exactly does that mean?"
There was a long pause as John thought about the question. We turned a corner, dodging the Friday night traffic of the big city. Women were dressed in skimpy little halter-tops and platform heels, men in tight sweaters. Most of them were college age: in the silence of that pause, I thought about how young they looked. They were just babies, fresh out of highschool. "Special Victims Unit deals with sex crimes and children."
Now it was my turn to pause. "That must be hard. The things you must have to see ."
"Nobody sees the things we do," John replied succinctly. "Nobody hears these stories."
I nodded, watching a girl hobble along on her high heels to catch up with a boy. "How many years have you been doing it?"
He took his eyes off the road to look at me. I wondered vaguely what he had been expecting me to say. "Thirty-five. Thirty in homicide before this."
"You don't sound very excited about your job."
He laughed sarcastically, roughly. "It's ruined three marriages for me."
I saved that for later. "Why did you switch?"
"I needed a change. My superior officers recommended me to NYPD SVU. Said I was one of the best."
He sounded as if he had thought out this conversation before in his head, as if he had defended his profession countless times before to inquisitive children. "And are you?"
John paused again and I wondered how long it would take him this time. We were almost there. "Nope. And I've just gotten worse. It's one thing to tell a mother her daughter has just been killed, but to tell her that her little girl was raped - tortured - first . You never quite get over that."
"Why do you do it then?"
"Someone has to." He parked the car and unlocked the doors, then got out to get my door. I had it open long before he got there, but appreciated the effort.
I smiled at him and took his hand to climb out. "How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world."
"Shakespeare." He casually held the door to the bar for me. "He also said, 'Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.'" Then he shot me this look of sarcasm over the rims of his glasses. I wasn't quite sure how to take that.
We took spots at the bar and he ordered for us both. There was a bit of silence between us, during which I glanced around the place, taking in the groups of people drinking and laughing. I wondered what Shawn was doing at that particular moment. "What else do you like to do? When you're not at work."
"Besides watching the history channel?" he said without thinking.
"Yeah, besides watching the history channel." I adjusted myself on the barstool, genuinely glad that I had thought of this place. I didn't feel too young, nor did I feel that he was too old.
"Well, I'm not the kind of person to have a lot of free time." A couple walked in the door, a few of the kids I had watched on the drive here. The two of them were clearly in love, and I wondered what that must be like. She was hanging on him, laughing secretively with him. I looked back at my own date, trying to see his eyes behind those dark glasses, to figure out if he were telling the truth or not.
The waitress came with our drinks: two beers. Classy guy, I thought. She asked to see my ID and I blushed with embarrassment, feeling like such a little kid next to this detective. "Amazing how much control the government has over what you can and cannot do," John said.
I don't like beer but I drank it anyway, trying to hide my distaste for its wheaty flavor. "Somebody's got to keep an eye out, no?"
He leaned in toward me, stating matter-of-factly: "it just makes me nervous, that's all."
"What, is that like Skull and Bones owning the entire world?"
That seemed to give him pause. "That's exactly what I'm talking about. So what do you do?"
"Research, mostly." He didn't seem satisfied with that answer. "I work with the metaphysical poets of the 17th century. So, basically we're in the same line of work: figuring out why people die."
He laughed at that and bought us another round.