I hate going to Washington. Everything about the place is miserable. I tapped the window impatiently as the cab inched along the Beltway. My phone rang. It took me a few seconds to dig it out of my bag and the taxi driver had the nerve to sigh in irritation. Too bad, my phone conversation would just have to interrupt his Swahili talk-radio show. "This is Cynthia White." I put on my professional voice.
"Cynthia where are you?" It was Craig, the Senior Director. Our meeting was to take place at eleven, with lunch to follow. It was ten-thirty and it looked like I was going to be late.
"I'm directly above the center of the earth. Where do you think I am? I'm stuck in traffic." My annoyance was growing with every minute spent in the cab. At least in New York there was a celebrity recording to tell you to buckle up, something diverting.
"Don't get your knickers in a knot, do I need to change the lunch reservation?" He seemed awfully concerned about lunch.
"Are you on Atkins again? I'll be there. Jeez, I don't know why we couldn't do this on a videoconference, you know I loathe this place." I especially resented having to wake up so darn early to make my plane. Commercial. I hate flying commercial.
"I like to see you in person. Call me when you get to M Street, I'll just meet you in the lobby."
"Fine, it looks like it's clearing about a half mile up. It shouldn't be that much longer. I'll see you in a bit." He was impatient about something.
After every imaginable bad taxi ride cliché, I was deposited in front of the building. As promised Craig was in the lobby, looking longingly at the display of candy bars at the newsstand. "There you are, finally! Is Morton's alright?"
Oh yeah, he was on Atkins. "Sure, I like their salad."
We got to the restaurant before the lunch rush and were escorted to a table in the back of the dining room. We ordered and Craig sent the breadbasket away. I sipped at my drink and waited for him to get around to the purpose of our meeting.
"I wanted to discuss the candidates for director of the New York office." He fidgeted with the saltshaker.
"You got me down here just to talk about that? Come on Craig, give me some credit." I stirred my ice around in my glass.
"You're too sharp for me," he smiled warmly, something he had to practice, "we've extended an offer to John Doubleday." He waited for me to explode.
"You're kidding." I rolled my eyes. John was a nice enough guy, but he had one good idea in 1987, and he hadn't quite recovered from it. Craig launched into a justification of their decision, but the lobster distracted me. At Morton's they don't have a menu, they have a cart with all of the ingredients on it. Among the head of lettuce, the Bermuda onion, the rib eye and the twelve-pound tenderloin, was a lobster. As is the rule at these places, he was alive. Out of the corner of my eye, I spied the lobster making a break for it. Craig extolled the virtues of John Doubleday's scholarship in the area of third-world highway development and I watched the lobster crawl up the aisle towards the maitre d's stand. The other restaurant patrons were oblivious to the crustacean and his escape. Just then a busboy looked down and saw him. He picked him up and was torn between putting him back on the cart or...something. "Why don't you give him a soak in some really hot water, to sterilize him?" I asked. I didn't really care what Craig was saying.
"Cynthia, did you hear what I just said?" Craig had missed the whole thing. As far as I was concerned, that episode made this trip worth it.
"Craig, what I heard is that we're doing business as usual. You've got a mediocre guy who's not ready to settle down to a teaching job at a state university. Fine, whomever you pick, I can deal with." The waiter brought our food and I played around with the lettuce.
"Okay, yes, we are doing business as usual. I just wanted to get someone in place before you left for Buenos Aires." He put a huge hunk of nearly raw meat in his mouth.
"Great, I'll turn him over to Mrs. Connor. So is that it then?" I acted more annoyed than I was. As long as they left me alone to do my work, I didn't care if they hired a monkey as the director.
"There's one other thing. Carson needs you to deliver this to the consulate." He pushed a fat envelope towards me.
I picked it up and put it in my briefcase. "The party?"
"Naturally." He looked like he wanted to lick his plate.
"Did it ever occur to anyone that I might not want to go to a party? What if I just wanted to soak in a bath, eat room service and talk to a guy on the phone?" I gestured with my fork for emphasis.
"Right. You not go to a party. You're a sport. I'll tell you what, I'll spare you the cab ride and I'll drive you to Dulles myself. See? It's not so bad. You know, I did get you out of having to attend the department heads meeting. You gotta love me for that." He smiled in benevolence.
I smiled back. "Sure, Craig." Just for that I flagged the waiter down and ordered chocolate cake for dessert. Then I only ate one bite.
As is usually the case, it took me longer to wrap things up at the office than I expected, so we hit all the rush hour traffic back to the airport. I was in the departure lounge and I had the weirdest feeling that I was being watched. I've been single in the city for too long to not pay attention to my intuition. I scanned the area. It wasn't the cute guy with "Le Monde". It wasn't the elderly couple debating the merits of frozen yogurt. I went through everyone in the area, mentally checking them off my list. My eye rested on a blond reading a novel. I did an experiment. I rummaged through my bag, pretending to look for something. I looked up through the hair that had fallen in my face and sure enough she was staring straight at me.
There are two things you can do in this situation. You can stew and worry about it, or you can beard the lion in his den. I got up and she pretended to read again. I approached her, "Uh, do we know each other? You look familiar to me."
She smiled up at me, "I think we met at a charity event." She was charmingly at a loss, "American Cancer Society? Heart Association?"
"Oh, that must be it then." I smiled and extended my hand, "I'm Cynthia White."
"I'm Elizabeth Haynes." We shook hands. "I was curious about your bag, it seems so handy, where did you get it?"
I looked back at my satchel. It was a Prada messenger bag, a present from a girlfriend. "It was a gift. I think that the Fifth Avenue store might still have it."
"Oh, right, I'll have to check it out." She seemed to want to engage me, but I got the impression that I had thrown her off her game.
It seemed important to keep the conversation going. I saw the book, "Oh hey, I've been meaning to read that, is it any good?" I actually had read it and it was vile.
She glanced down at her copy of "Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife" and smiled. "Well, it did get good reviews...but I don't see how." She said apologetically.
"Oh, then maybe I won't pick it up, there's no thief like a bad book." There was something really familiar about her, the more I spoke to her, the more uncomfortable I felt. For starters, her English accent was strange. Between school and my job, I had spent ten years in Britain, and had never run across anything that sounded like it. It had posh overtones, but it covered up either cockney or even an Australian origin. I surmised that she was trying to put on airs. Probably someone who "married up". I vaguely remember something about her on the news, but naturally I couldn't bring that up to her. I made a mental note to google her. I would have done it there at the airport, but I didn't want to seem obvious.
She shrugged and sheepishly said, "I guess I'll just have to suffer through the flight."
"Anything beats the in-flight magazine." They had started to board the flight and I wanted to get on before the space in the overhead was gone.
"Hey, are you going to the Black and White Ball?" It seemed an odd question, but I guess since we were making small talk about meeting each other at a charity event it wasn't that far out in left field.
"No, I'll be out of town I'm afraid." I smiled, not offering any other explanation, mostly because I didn't have one except that I just didn't feel like it.
"Oh, too bad, I don't know all that many people in New York, except for my husband's friends..." she seemed disappointed, "I don't suppose you'd like to get together for a cup of coffee?" She had a sadness about her that I hadn't noticed before.
"Sure." I smiled and found one of my business cards for her, "Just call my secretary, she'll put it on my schedule."
We both gathered our things and queued up for the flight. I hoped that I wasn't going to have to hurt her feelings but I couldn't spend the flight talking Town and Country with her. I had a report to proofread and if I didn't get it done before I got to La Guardia, I'd have to look it over on my own time. Luckily she took her seat three rows behind me and opened her book.
My friend Cecily had a term for girls like Elizabeth, "broken wing". There are people who collect "broken wings". These are the needy people, the ones you meet on the fringes of parties. So you take them in, nurse them, and one day you expect that they'll fly on their own. In my experience though "broken wings" just become more needy. I figured I could meet her for coffee one day and just become super-busy after that.
The flight home was uneventful and Elizabeth went on her merry way. I didn't see her as I rushed through the airport towards the taxi stand. I wanted to be home and in the tub by seven.
Luckily the traffic on the LIE wasn't that bad heading into the city. I dropped everything on the floor and shed my suit as I made my way to the bathroom. My bare feet slapped on the cool marble and I started the tub. I turned on the sound system and cued up my favorite station. Jasmine perfumed the room and Joy Division played in the background. Later I'd have to check my e-mail and decide what to pack for Argentina, but right now, I was letting Calgon take me away.
The phone rang and I debated about whether or not to answer. There was only one person I was in the mood to talk to and that was Bobby. I checked the caller ID and smiled. It was him. I turned the whirlpool off and the music down.
"Hello, handsome." It was impossible to be coy in the era of technology.
"Cynthia, it's Bobby." I couldn't tell if he was joking or not.
"Yes, I know. " I dropped my loofa and started to fish around for it in the tub.
"Oh. Right. Are you in the kitchen?"
"Tub. So what can I do for you?" I scrubbed my elbows.
"Ah..." he seemed to be at a loss for words.
"So I guess you're not going to ask me what I'm wearing. Good. We got that out of the way. I'll start. My trip to Washington was lovely, I'm very happy to be home. And how was your day?" I reclined and rested my head on the terrycloth pillow.
"Not bad. I was just on my way home and I was thinking, or wondering, if you were hungry." It sounded like he was on the street.
I thought about it, as a matter of fact I was hungry. "I could eat, what did you have in mind?" Frankly if it involved leaving the tub, it would have to be an appealing offer.
"I don't know, Chinese, Italian?"
"How about Brazilian?" Suddenly I had a wicked craving.
"Brazilian?" I could hear the wheels turning in his head, "okay, I'll bite where do we get Brazilian?"
"Is it a problem for you to come uptown?" His job is pretty much at the ass-end of where I live.
"No, that's fine, I was planning on picking you up anyway."
"Good, then let's stay in, I'll order it." I leaned over and turned on the hot water tap.
"The Brazilian place delivers?" It sounded like he was getting in a cab, "just a sec." He gave the driver my address. "Okay, I'm back."
"Yup, they deliver. What do you want?" I looked around the bathroom assessing what needed to be hidden before he arrived.
"I have no idea, surprise me." I heard the Chris Rock recording in the background and smiled to myself. Civilized.
"Okay, bull's testicles it is. Hang up so that I can call the order in. I'll see you when you get here." I called the restaurant and ordered the food. I was stumped as to what to change into and what to do with my face. He knows that I was in the bath, so coming to the door with a full face of make up and in heels and stockings would be ridiculous. I wasn't anywhere near comfortable with a bare face, hair in a ponytail and old sweats. Not by a long shot. I wish I could be like other women, the kind who shop for every contingency and have outfits pressed and ready at a moment's notice.
I put a light moisturizer on my face. It had a sheen to it, giving me a glow. I put a hint of color on my cheeks and dabbed a bit of gloss on my lips. For just a second I wished that I still had the cinnamon roll-on lip-gloss I loved in high school, although it burned a bit when my lips were chapped. Face taken care of, I went into the closet to get something to wear.
I went through every hanger. A peignoir was out of the question. I flipped through again, I knew that there was something...my eye fell on my gym bag, packed and ready, should I take it into my head to go to Pilates. Perfect! I threw my yoga pants and tight T-shirt on. My ass looked toned and my boobs looked perky. A short, cardigan sweater kept me from looking like I was in a fitness video. I had just enough time to fluff my hair before the doorman called up.
If you ever have an occasion to wonder if paying extra for a building with a doorman is worth it, take it from me, it is. The doorman takes in your packages, holds the door for you and gives you a two-minute warning before your guest arrives. Tip him well at Christmas because this is a public service.
I waited at the door. He knew that I knew that he was on the way up, so why pretend? I saw him as he got off the elevator. It looked like he went home to change his clothes; he was in jeans and a long sleeved polo. On a big, tall guy, simple stuff looks the best.
I invited him in and went to the fridge for beverages. "What'll you have?" I called out as he tried to figure out the remote.
"What are my choices?" He held up the module. "Whose is this? Captain Kirk's?"
"Hey, don't mess with that, I've got it programmed. I've got Heineken, soda, tonic, orange juice and a decently stocked bar. Oh, I've got a big can of Guinness, if you want that." I called out to him.
"What's the blue bottle back there?" He pointed into the fridge.
"Oh, a joke, Pocari Sweat." I really didn't want to explain how I came to have a Korean sports beverage in my refrigerator.
"Too bad we're not having bul-go-gi. That might go well. I'll start with a soda for now." I poured him a soda and gave him a lime wedge. I settled for a vodka and soda. I like a little kick in my beverages.
General Public came on the radio and I laughed, "Gosh, I haven't heard this song in ages." I started shaking my ass a bit, mostly just keeping time with the music.
"Wow, that takes me back. I remember exactly where I was when this song was popular." His eyes drifted for a minute and he time traveled.
"Me first, I was in my sophomore year and I was getting ready for a frat party with my sorority sisters, where were you?" I continued to wiggle around to the beat.
He looked like he was stalling for time, "Ah...something very similar."
"Seriously, I know you were in the army, so where were you?" I refilled my glass from the faucet in the fridge door.
"Arizona, I was stationed at a post in Arizona. A big night on the town was going to watch the tumbleweeds blow down Main Street." The doorman called to let us know that our food had arrived. Bobby looked relieved.
I got busy unpacking the containers. Yellow rice, sautéed spinach and the best part, Frango. When I first started ordering food from this place I had no idea what to order, so the lady suggested Frango. I thought that was the name of the dish until I went to Brazil and learned that Frango is just the word for chicken. All I know about the dish is that it has beer, coconut milk, peppers, palm oil, seasonings and probably heroin. I mean, it's hard for me to go a week without this stuff.
I filled our plates and Bobby watched as I arranged it. "That smells good."
We ate dinner quietly. It's easy to take a relationship for granted when you've known someone for a long time. But we were away from each other for ten times longer than we were together. There was no way to feel entirely comfortable. We couldn't pick up where we left off, as much as we might have wanted to.
I think everyone has a friend who is constantly falling love. Every single time she thinks she's finally found her soul mate. It happens on vacation or a business trip, some place where she has an excuse for sleeping with the guy right way. But she wasn't being a slut, no; it was like "Some Enchanted Evening". So she comes home, flushed with hot sex and what she thinks is new love. She calls him at work three or four times a day, just to talk. She moons around the card aisle at the drugstore picking out romantic cards just for him. She makes plans to visit him in whatever city he lives in, since she never does find a guy who is in the same area. Within days the guy isn't returning her phone calls and she's a wreck trying to figure out what went wrong.
What went wrong is that she assumed an intimacy that wasn't there. Bobby and I were in the same boat. We knew each other, we had been lovers, but we didn't know each other. It was like the past didn't matter, we had to reconstruct it all over again. So we made small talk.
I told him about the lobster at lunch. He told some about something funny his partner had done at work. He seemed tired. It was Friday night. "I'm sorry I'm not much fun." He wiped his eyes.
"I wasn't looking for entertainment. I like your company. I do feel that you're not telling me something though." He seemed pre-occupied, worried about something.
"You know how it is, cases." He gestured with his hands.
I nodded, but I didn't know. He couldn't very well discuss cases with me, for all I know I might be a suspect in my previous boss's murder. What I understood was that some things you don't share, not even with your closest family members, and certainly not with old flames. Lord knows we all have secrets.
"Let's watch an old movie, that will take your mind off of your everyday troubles." I jumped up from the sofa and opened the cabinet. "I know that it's a bit of a busman's holiday, but do you want to watch 'The Thin Man'?" I held up the case.
"Sure." I couldn't tell if he was genuinely interested, humoring me or just too tired to care.
I put the disk in and the movie started. Within the first five minutes I was transported. I love old movies where the leading ladies wear beautiful clothes, say smart things and don't let men push them around. You couldn't pick a better role model than Myrna Loy as Nora Charles. After about twenty minutes I remembered something about the story. Nick Charles is a detective who marries an heiress. Oops.
I must have had a look on my face because I heard Bobby laughing at me. "How could you forget that?"
I shoved him with my foot. "I've had a long day."
"So, other than that, what is it that you like about this movie?" He leaned in for my answer.
I pondered it for a minute. "I love the language, the expressions, the accents. I mean listen to William Powell, that's not a California or a New York accent. It's something else. Over-cultured. Then there are the character actors, the way they say things. I like the music, it's incidental, but you hear swing and old standards. The sets, the costumes, even the dinner party at the end." I sighed, it was elegant and something we could never recapture in this millennium.
"I hear what you're saying. Listen, " he leaned in to whisper something in my ear, "I understand why this movie sounds so good to you." Then he touched my arm, to make his point.
"Bobby Goren, are you using schoolboy neuro-linguistic programming on me?" I mean come on, I expected him to be slick.
He sat back, startled with a 'who me?' look on his face. He relaxed and smiled, "caught me."
"Well, Duh."
"Come here," he patted the sofa next to him. I gave him a look. "I promise, no funny stuff."
I scooted over towards him and let him wrap his arms around me. "You always did better with the quiet stuff." I probably shocked him with that one; I think he fancied himself as possessing the gift of gab.
"Hmm." He held me tight and turned his attention to the movie, laughing heartily at Gilbert's pseudo-psychological babble.
It got late and I wanted to sleep but Bobby didn't seem all that interested in going home. I wasn't sure it was such a great idea for him to stay over, but he seemed so wiped out that I hated to send him off into the night.
I figured that if all we did was sleep that it wouldn't be a problem. My only issue is that I think sleeping together can be more romantic than sex. He fell asleep quickly and even asleep he seemed tense. It took me longer. I was distracted by this big man in my bed. His breathing fascinated me. I felt like I was responsible for him, for keeping him safe while he was with me.
As exhausted as I was, I couldn't sleep. I'm used to complete quiet and stillness. I've lived on my own so long that I've become spoiled; I can't sleep with other people. I confirmed that he was well and truly out of it, then I went into the guest room. Here's another life tip, always buy good beds for every room of your house, you may sleep in them some day. As I settled into the bed, I thought about what I wanted from Bobby. I tried to imagine him as something more than a friend. That wigged me out. I couldn't imagine being one of those wives, sitting home, praying for the safe return of their husbands. I wondered if he'd worry about me when I was away for work. All I could think of was that as a couple that we'd spend all of our time worrying about each other. I wanted to think of something light, easy. I could ponder the deeper questions later. I rolled the question around in my mind and then I hit on it, I'd take him out to my parents for the weekend. I wiggled my toes in excitement; Mother would be thrilled to see him.
I woke up to see Bobby sitting at the foot of the bed. "Did I snore?"
I pulled the covers up. "No...I don't know, I just needed some room to move around."
He gave me a look and then he started to tilt his head. Bobby is extremely visual. He takes in information through his eyes. I know why he changes his perception on the job, but I wondered what it was he was trying to see with me.
"Should we go out to breakfast?" He jumped up and clapped his hands, breaking the trance.
"Huh? No. I'll make something. I don't want to get dressed just yet. If that's okay." I yawned and stretched. Then I realized that I needed to brush my teeth. I directed Bobby to the guest bathroom, where a fine assortment of miniature toiletries awaited him and went to my bathroom to shower and dress. I jumped into some jeans and met him in the kitchen. I put on the coffee and popped in the toast. "I have an idea." I beat some eggs for an omelet.
"Oh?" He seemed concerned.
"Want to go out to see my folks?"
He sighed, "Do you want me to?"
"Not if you don't want to...I thought it would be something to do. I've got to pack for Monday, other than that I have no plans for the weekend. My only problem is that I'm blowing off a big party and it would be better if I weren't in town." It didn't matter if he didn't want to come with me; I was going.
"Sure, why not?" He frowned.
"Hey, you don't have to if you don't want to."
He smiled, "No, I'd love it. I was just thinking about something else."
After we ate he sat on the bed while I packed for my business trip.
"So you'll wear all of that within four days?" He fingered the lace hem of one of my party dresses.
"And I'm packing light. It's worse when I go to London, that's a mad social whirl." I started on my weekend case. "It's fun though. I have friends all over the world."
Finally, I was finished. He helped me down to the garage where I kept my car. I shoved everything into the trunk, and we headed over to his place so that he could grab a few things.
I decided to speed up to my parents' house. My latest car is a BMW M3, a souped up coupe. I jammed it into gear and we took off like a rocket. I figured that if I got stopped that Bobby could talk me out of a ticket.
I turned on the satellite radio and tuned in my favorite station. It was a perfect day. Crisp and cool, the air whipped in through the moon roof and I felt totally alive. I nudged the speed up to ninety and glanced over at Bobby, who was hanging on, trying to look nonchalant.
"You okay?" I asked as he gripped the armrest.
"I'll be fine." He smiled at me.
I eased up on the gas; we'd get there soon enough, no need to terrorize the poor man. "Mother is going to freak when she sees you."
"Oh? Why?" He stared straight at me, I felt rude keeping my eyes on the road and not on him.
"She always liked you. If you had stayed in touch, you would have been the extra man at all of her parties. I'll bet that she gets you to tell her all about your cases." It was getting cold in the car and I was debating about closing the roof or putting a sweater on. Let's just say that it was an issue of modesty.
Bobby handed me my cardigan and I blushed, which caused him to blush. "Do you want this?"
I nodded and wrapped it around my shoulders. I reached over and activated the integrated phone. After two rings mother picked up. "Hi Mother, it's Cynthia. I probably should have called before I left, but I'm coming to visit, if it's not too much of a bother."
"Of course not, we'd love to see you. I assume that you're en route?"
"We're about forty minutes away." I winked at Bobby.
"I should be dressed by then." I waited for her to snap at the bait. "We? Who's with you dear?"
"Hello Mrs. White, how are you? It's Bobby Goren." He was too polite to try and make her guess.
"Bobby, how nice! We'll certainly have some catching up to do. Cynthia, drive safely and I'll see you soon." She hung up, probably in a mad dash to make herself "presentable."
"I told you, she's thrilled." I turned the music up.
"Okay, so what do I tell her?" He looked out the window at the scenery. Long Island is very different from the five boroughs of New York. When you think of New York City, you probably think of skyscrapers, brownstones, row houses and store fronts with signs in foreign languages. Long Island is different, considering its proximity to The City, it has a suburban vibe. Fifty years ago, when my parents bought the house, it was considered rural. But a half a century has its effects on real estate.
I took my eyes off the road for a second to see what he saw, and then I remembered that I would never see what he saw, that was his genius. I thought about it, "I guess tell her the truth, or a version of the truth you think she'd enjoy. She likes to hear about interesting characters, I'm sure you meet a few of those in your line of work."
"Just last week I met a globe-trotting economist." He floated that one across.
I let it sit there for a minute, "really? How boring. All those figures."
"Funny thing is that I once tutored this economist in mathematics." He smiled charmingly, and wholly unconvincingly.
"No kidding. You must be a great tutor." Lobbed it right back to him.
"Maybe, but how is it that I learned more than I taught?" He rubbed my hand as it rested on the gear stick.
I didn't know what to make of that statement. "Really? Aside from social smoking and the twist, what did you learn?"
"Don 't discount social smoking, that's a valuable skill."
"What about the twist?" For some reason I did not want to have a deep conversation with him. It would be like admitting that you were in love on the second date. You just don't.
"The twist, not valuable, but fun. So what don't you want to talk about?" He peered into my face, as I assiduously avoided meeting his gaze.
"Politics, religion, money. The usual." I tried to keep it light.
"Oh. What about sex?" He watched as I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, "that's usually on the list, isn't it?"
He was fishing for something, but I wasn't going to play along, "No, I like to talk about sex. What would you like to know?" I smiled. The sweet, innocent smile.
He laughed, "Hoo, I'm glad you're on my side."
"Damn straight, you don't want me as an enemy."
"Your enemies never see it coming, do they?" I was beginning to think that Bobby never wasted a conversation.
I shrugged, "how would I know? I don't have any enemies. Oh hey, I have an idea. Let's play the radio game." I didn't even try to be coy about changing the subject. If he wanted to know something, he could just come right out and ask me.
"Radio game?"
"We battle it out to see who can name the tune and artist first. I'll go first, Buzzcocks, Ever Falling in Love." I sang along with the song.
"You're better than I am at this." He forfeited. What a cheat.
"Probably, but you've got to put up a fight, otherwise it's not fun." Now I couldn't get the image of the two of us wrestling out of my head. I missed having a boyfriend. Until this moment I didn't know how much I missed having him for a boyfriend.
"Don't edit it, tell me, off the top of your head, right now, what are you thinking?" He shifted in the seat 90 degrees to face me as I drove.
I licked my lips and stalled, "I decline to tell you."
"Coward." He seemed disappointed.
"Fine, you go first." I leaned into the curve and accelerated.
"Ah," I glanced over and caught his eye, "okay, I'll admit it. I was just thinking about the two of us in my old apartment. It's a good memory."
"Yeah, I'm glad about that. I'll tell you what, instead of my telling you what I'm thinking about; I'll admit something really humiliating. Oh, and that's The Cure, In Between Days." I worked in the Radio Game.
"So what's humiliating?" He looked at me tenderly; I had the creepy feeling that he was reading my mind.
"Oh nearly everything that I did until I was about twenty-five, but the particular thing I had in mind to tell you was that when I was alone, I would play Spandau Ballet's 'Only When You Leave', over and over and over. Remember that was on tape back then, so I'd rewind and play and rewind and play. Oh, and I'd sing along and weep. How's that?" My exit was about five miles away so I started moving over.
"How much of your life is wrapped up in music?" He was smiling, but I think he understood what I was saying.
"My life has a soundtrack. I prefer the music I listened to when I was happiest, but nearly every song has a memory associated with it, good or bad. Bobby, what music is on your soundtrack?" I got off at the old exit, driving through streets that I've known my whole life.
"Wow, this has changed a lot since the last time I was here." He gawked as we drove past a huge gas station/mini mart. "Music? I like blues and old rock and roll mostly."
"How do you feel listening to all of this old music?" I started down the road towards my house; we were only a few minutes away.
"Happy. Sad. How do you feel?" He rolled down the window and stuck his head out.
I had to think about it. The punk/synth/new wave of the early eighties was the music I preferred. I loved the melodies, the lyrics, and the rhythms. Some of it is so lush and romantic. Why did I love it so much? What did I feel when I listened to it? "When I listen to it, I'm in love with you all over again Bobby Goren. I'm young and the world is full of possibilities. This music makes me feel giddy, empowered, loved and reckless. I lost so much when I lost you that I had to find something big to fill the hole. It could have been drugs or alcohol, I guess I was lucky...We're here!" I parked in the driveway and got out before he could say anything. What could he say? What did I just say?
"Are you going to drop a bomb like that and pretend..." His eyes had widened and he had the look of a child who had pushed something too far and had broken it.
My mother appeared at the door and our conversation was officially over, at least as far as I was concerned. The song in my head was "I Confess" by The English Beat.
We spent the afternoon chatting with my parents. I had forgotten that one summer Bobby had worked with my Dad, so they went off to the library to look at something that was of mutual interest to them. At least Bobby seemed interested. He is as much a social chameleon as I am. Mother took the opportunity for a tête-à-tête.
"Cynthia, what a nice surprise seeing Bobby again. He's such a handsome man, and so bright." She glanced outside at the wind blowing through the garden. "Oh, I think we're getting a cold front coming in. I made reservations at the old Inn for dinner."
"That sounds nice." I liked that place. I could sit at the window close to the fireplace; on a blustery evening they'd have a fire. "Actually that sounds perfect."
"So it's rather a coincidence you're running into him like you did." She picked up one of her thousands of glass paperweights, "come look at this one, it's unusual."
It looked like every other paperweight she owned but I made noises about how beautiful it was. "You know Mother, I feel terrible about Wendell dying, but I am glad that I reconnected with Bobby. I think he understands...us." What I meant was that it was nice to see him again, as a friend.
"Dear, you've been single too long. You've grown set in your ways. At least with Bobby you don't have to explain yourself. You could do worse." She moved over and started picking at the flower arrangement. Trust my mother to misinterpret my meaning.
"I haven't seen him for two decades. I've spent less than twelve hours with him since then. What exactly do you think is going to happen?" I followed her around feeling like I was sixteen again.
She sat down on the divan and patted the cushion next to her; "all I'm saying is to stay open to the possibility."
I wanted a drink. That's the problem with mothers; they constantly look for ways to get you coupled up. I would have thought that my debut was enough of a big party with a white dress for her. Did she really think that I was going to have some society wedding at my age? I think that once I was on the high side of thirty-five that she would have focused her attention on my nieces. Okay, and why was I immediately thinking about weddings? It's a sickness, one I was not usually a casualty of.
I sighed, sometimes you've just got to go with the flow, "Mother, Bobby is a very nice man. How about I let him take me on a second date before you start haunting Tiffany's?"
"Don't be ridiculous Cynthia, all I'm saying is..." she stopped short because the men folk were returning from whatever they were doing on the other side of the house. "Oh, here you are. I think the sun's over the yardarm, David, why don't you make some martinis?"
"Right then." He got up and went to the bar. He handed the ice bucket to Bobby, "you remember where we keep the ice?"
"Sure, the freezer. Right?" he smiled and my father laughed. That was unnerving. My father and Bobby had private jokes.
"I'll come with you. To get the olives." I followed him to the kitchen. He opened the freezer and filled the bucket. "So what did you guys talk about?"
"You." He looked between the icemaker and the bucket, "is this enough?"
"It was just a ruse anyway, he wants to tell Mother something. It's fine." I picked up a small cube and put it in my mouth. "So what did you say about me?"
"It's impolite to talk with your mouth full," he replied. He gave me a smug look, as though he knew a secret and he wasn't letting me in on it.
I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him. I let my cold tongue slide into his hot mouth. For just a second I let myself imagine what it would be like to have him. To feel him near me everyday. What would it be like to be gathered into the safety of his embrace? But then I came to my senses; we were a long way from that. Maybe we could never go there. "Fine, don't tell me then." I took the jar of olives and walked back to help my dad with the drinks.
"Don't go away mad." He called from the kitchen. I heard him fooling with ice. Then he was right behind me. I knew because the hairs on my neck stood up. Oh, I wanted him right then. There are men in this world that wake up every single hormone you have. Bobby was like that. If he was in the room I couldn't ignore him.
"Thanks Kitten," my dad took the olives from me, "you like three olives don't you?"
"I like all of the olives, but three sounds like a good number to start with." I watched him mix the drinks. He was a showman. First icing each glass, then swirling the shaker, finally straining the liquid into the frosty glasses.
My parents and I reached for the cocktails as though we were at a desert oasis. Bobby held his up in a toast. "To old friends."
We stopped long enough to toast back and then took long sips of the elixir. I glanced at Bobby over the rim of my glass, he returned a meaningful look. It was a situation where one of us was going to have to blink first.
Dad drove us to the old Inn. It was an old stone house that had been converted into a restaurant. It was situated near the pier with a view overlooking the water. I had put a wooly sweater on over my turtleneck against the cold that set in after sundown. As an adult its weird sitting in the backseat of your parents' car, especially with a man you plan to do wicked things to. It's nearly impossible to have impure thoughts with Mummy and Daddy driving you to the place you had your debutante tea. I managed it though; most likely they were fueled by Bobby's fingers brushing against mine as we glided through the winding Long Island roads along the water.
The fire flickered and the candles reflected in the windows of the Inn. Bobby entertained my parents with stories about his years as a vice cop. I sipped my cabernet and watched him. His face expressed everything. He impersonated people he had met. I felt removed from everyone else. I didn't pay attention to what he was saying; I was too busy watching him. I didn't know him at all. I knew the Bobby from over twenty years ago. It occurred to me that I hadn't been loving Bobby, but loving my memory of him. Damn, and it was such a good memory.
I tried to come back into the moment, but to be honest, I was a bit tipsy. On the ride home I thought about Bobby. I wondered if he was as stupid as I had been, did he love the memory of me when I was young, innocent and naive? I felt as if I had aged a lifetime since then, in a way I had.
It was late and we all headed to our respective rooms. I was in the room I grew up in. It had been redecorated eons ago but it still felt like my room. I pulled out the book I brought to read and opened the pages. I couldn't concentrate though, I kept thinking about Bobby. I became thirsty and thought about getting a drink of water when I heard a quiet tap at my door.
"I hope you haven't..." he looked at me, still fully clothed.
"No, I couldn't..."
"Me either. Is it too cold to go for a walk?" His eyes were so dark and mysterious.
"It is, but I will anyway." We walked out through the mudroom, grabbing coats from the hooks.
It was dark, with just a sliver of the moon in the sky. I hadn't seen so many stars since I was a little girl. We walked a bit in the garden, Bobby reached for my hand, "I wanted to follow up what you had said this afternoon."
I shivered; it was so cold that the lights had halos around them. "Let's go to my car." He followed me and we got in the back seat. I put the key in the ignition and turned it so that we could have radio and seat warmers. He reached around me and pulled me close to him. "So what exactly did I say that bothered you?"
He nuzzled my hair, "I don't know that it bothered me, I was just curious. You said that you were in love with me and I wanted to know more about it."
"You know, Camus said that if he loved someone that it was his business." I don't know why I said that.
"True. But will you tell me anyway?" His voice was soft, low, seductive and irresistible.
I sighed, "You know it seems that I'm the only one around here admitting things. I'll tell you mine, if you tell me yours."
"Oh." He paused and if he was anything like he was years ago, he was weighing the offer. "So you want the cards on the table do you?"
"There's a better place?"
"Fair enough. Cynthia, I haven't had a long-term relationship in years. Even in the past, the women I've known just don't seem to understand me. I guess I feel comfortable with you." He looked at me, "your turn."
"Bobby, I loved you so much twenty years ago. I knew then that I would always love you. You were my first love and you were my best love, if that makes any sense." He nodded, "I don't know if what I feel for you is the remnants of that or if it's an ember that can be fanned back into a fire. The past week I've had fun feeling like I was eighteen again. I might have doodled your name in my notebook. But I have to accept it, I'm a grown woman and I have built a life without you. I want us to have a chance but I'm scared to death that we'll mess up the loveliest memory I have. What if we blow it and somehow we hate each other? Then this love that I've had for you for all these years will have been a waste..." I had to catch my breath, I felt near tears and where did this all come from? "Did you love me back then? Did you love me over the years?"
He had to think, he was a guy who weighed his words carefully, "I think that I did. I...had so many issues. My mom, taking care of everything, school. I felt like I was holding all of that together. Then you and your family came along and introduced me to things in life I only read about in books. You all took it for granted and I liked that about you. You claimed what was yours in the world. I was so serious and you were like a pixie in my life. You taunted me and teased me and made me laugh. You gave me a piece of myself I didn't even know was missing. When I went into the Army I knew that I had to put everything behind me. I had to think only in the moment. Every time I thought about you, I'd do something to take my mind off of it. Finally I could go days, weeks, months and years and not think of you. I thought that this was a good thing. I could move on. Except that I'm still alone. I don't think that I'm able to..." He didn't finish, but he looked at me, waiting for me to save him.
What a mess, we were both emotional cripples. "So what do you want?"
"What do you want?" He countered.
"You went first the last time. I want to make love to you right here. I want to believe that you and I can be happy together. I want to know that some nights I can slob around the house in sweats and you'll be somewhere with friends and that I don't have to think about you every minute of every day. I still want my own space. I want everything in my life to stay the same forever, but I don't ever want to be bored. I want you today and maybe tomorrow and I'm willing to risk the memories of yesterday." I kissed his hand, and then I licked it.
"Hey." He pulled away from me. I sat up. Suddenly it seemed stifling hot in the car. "No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that. It's a reflex. I have a buffer zone. I know that everyone else loses control, but I can't. I'm feeling like this emotion is taking me somewhere my brain has never been. I naturally fight that. I am in control of everything. I play other people, but I never get played."
"That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. You can't control everything. Bobby, if you want, we'll end this here. We'll go back in the house and tomorrow I'll take you home and that will be the end of it. I'll be sad, but I'll get over it. I've lived this long without you and if that's how it's meant to be then I guess I can accept it. But I'll lose all respect for you if you're turning me down out of fear." I gave him a very cold, steely gaze, the kind that makes weak men squirm.
"I'm afraid, of course I am." He gripped my hand, "I'm afraid for you. You could get hurt because of who I am and what I do. Someone can have power over me because of what they could do to you. If I allowed myself to love you, the way you deserve to be loved, I would be at the mercy of my enemies."
I sat up, I had a few drinks, but it was all starting to make sense. "Has someone threatened me? Is that why you're here? Oh my God, I feel like such a fool." Now I cried, mostly out of anger and frustration.
"Shit. With everyone else I'm so good with words. Yes. No. Stop that." He took his sleeve and dried my cheeks. He might as well have been Sisyphus; once I get started I tend to cry a lot.
The tears flowed and I tried to ignore them while I spoke. "So you're just my bodyguard?"
"No. I'm more than that." He kissed me. Long and deep, like I remembered. "I'm a frightened, confused guy, who doesn't know what to say. Please stop crying."
I was feeling all kinds of things, desire, humiliation and confusion. He was confused? I was beyond confused. "Bobby, cut the crap, do you want to love me or not?"
"Yes, I do." He hugged me close to him and I snuggled in. This felt right.
I was thinking about broaching the subject of handcuffs when it flashed on me. The girl at the airport, Elizabeth something. "Hey Bobby, this menacing figure, it wouldn't be a blond Australian girl trying to pass for British, would it?"
He sat up so fast that he bumped his head on the window. "Nicole."
"She told me her name was Elizabeth. I met her at the airport in Washington. She wanted me to get coffee with her one day."
"She's out on bail. She's been indicted for murder. She threatened..." He held me so tight I couldn't breathe.
"Don't worry, I can take care of myself." I smoothed his hair and patted his cheek, "really, it will be fine. I'm going out of the country for a few days, that will give you time to take care of it. Do you really think that she'll be able to follow me to Argentina? Didn't she have to surrender her passport?"
"Don't underestimate her."
"Worry about her, she's underestimated me." I kissed him gently, sucking his bottom lip into my mouth. "You too have underestimated me. For that you must be punished. Where are your handcuffs?"
The rest of the weekend passed too quickly. He refused to leave me until I was past the security scanners at Kennedy. My flight was uneventful and my work in Buenos Aires went as expected. I met with government officials, I ate too much beef and I thought about Bobby.
Usually I am a model worker. I do what needs to be done; I write the report and I go to whatever party I'm supposed to attend. I found myself thinking about a different kind of life, one that included him. In the past I think he found it easy to crossover into my world. When he was in college, although he didn't have money, he was on the same level as my brothers. Once they all began to make their way in the world though, money mattered. It's easy for me to think about being with Bobby, I don't have to make any sacrifices. I moved in a world where his skills weren't valued. Although I didn't get the impression that his life, as he lived it, included people who admired his intellect.
I learned early that being smart wasn't as important as being liked. Depending on what you want to do in the world, a giant intellect can actually get in your way. Intelligence intimidates people. Bobby's work depended on his being the smartest guy in the room. He had to wear his brain on his lapel, right next to his badge. What would a guy like that want with me?
Don't get me wrong, I'm not stupid, that's not what I'm talking about. I think mixing with New York society would bore him silly. I'm used to it, it doesn't bother me. There are social climbers, people who weren't born into this lifestyle, who are desperate to be accepted into it. Truman Capote springs to mind. He was a brilliant writer and some society ladies took him into their confidence. Suddenly he was a socialite too. Up until he couldn't stand it anymore and wrote a scathing book about all of his friends. One day he looked around and his friends had all abandoned him. He went from the A-list to the shit list faster than you can say 'lunch at Le Cirque'. He never got over it.
Bobby is no social climber. Only someone who wanted something from New York society would ever willingly put up with our nonsense, and Bobby didn't want anything from any of us. Well, he might have wanted something from me, but it doesn't have anything to do with how long my family has been in the Social Register.
I mused on this on the plane when I should have been organizing my notes. I wondered if there was a way that I could make a graceful exit from my social life. How many of my friends would still want to lunch with me if I weren't so popular with society matrons? How many of my friends were really my friends? It makes you think. I felt so tired of my life. There had to be more to my life than meetings and parties. How did I want Bobby to fit in to my life; where did I fit into his?
I had taken an earlier flight home. I left a message for Bobby at his office letting him know to meet me at home when he left work. I fell asleep in the cab and the poor driver had to wake me up when I arrived home.
I got everything up to my apartment and I was about to close the door when I felt something hard in my back. "Get in and turn off your alarm." I hit the buttons on the keypad and turned around. It was her. Maybe the earlier flight had been a mistake.
It was the same girl I met at the airport. "I didn't know you were so anxious to have coffee. I can put on a pot in the kitchen."
She smiled, "you're awfully funny for someone who's going to die."
"We're all going to die," I said philosophically.
She seemed puzzled by my reaction. I think she wanted me whimper and beg. "Shut up. I'll bet you're wondering why I'm here."
Who did she think she was? Goldfinger? If she wanted to give me some long, justified explanation, who was I to argue? After all, she had the gun. "So it's not about coffee?"
I moved across the room to be closer to her. She gripped the gun tightly, it was a 357 Magnum, clearly too big for her to handle. "No, it's about your friend Bobby." She looked around my apartment, a recently renovated Classic 7, "slumming are you? What would a girl like you want with a man like him? Do you like a bit of rough? Does he bother your parents? Is it his big..." she smiled, waiting for me to get angry.
I shrugged, "He fox trots divinely. So what do you have against him anyway?"
My sang froid disconcerted her, I bided my time, "I have against him? He's the one persecuting me, he won't leave me alone," she smiled charmingly, "maybe you can get him to stop." She raised the gun and took aim.
In the news reports it didn't mention that she was so...insane. "So you're jealous."
She faltered, "jealous? Are you mad?" She had her thumb ready to cock the gun and I stepped forward and delivered a kick to her forearm. I heard the crack and the gun dropped to the floor, the crazy bitch, not realizing that her ulna was broken, went to grab it. I had enough, I grabbed her from behind and did what I had been trained to do. She fell like a sack of potatoes. I picked the gun up and set it down on the table.
"Stay right there. Do you take milk and sugar?" She moaned into my parquet floor as I picked up the phone and dialed 911. I let them know that there was an intruder in my house and to send the police and EMS. I had another phone call to make, but I needed to wait until I was alone.
I left her on the floor and waited for the paramedics. They arrived first and began stabilizing her so that they could take her to the hospital. The patrolman arrived but I told him that I wanted to wait for the detectives to arrive before I gave my statement. "What detectives?" he asked, as Bobby and his partner came through the door.
"These detectives." I said. "I believe that I will make a pot of coffee, it looks like we're going to be here for a while." I walked into the kitchen and Bobby and Eames followed me in there.
"What happened?" Bobby asked, "I thought you were coming back later."
"Did you bring my car?" I measured the grounds into the filter.
"You messed her up pretty good," Eames seemed to admire my handiwork, "what did you do?"
"Black belt in Tai Kwan Do. She was going to shoot me, so I disarmed her. I must not have done something right though, is she badly hurt?" I batted my eyelashes.
Eames rolled her eyes, "come on Cindy, you know what you did."
"Cynthia," Bobby corrected her. He took out his notebook and began to take notes. "Start from the top, what happened?"
I opened the freezer where I keep my vodka; I needed a drink. "Can I offer you a drink?" I poured three fingers into a glass and gulped half of it down. "Okay, I was in the hallway and she came up from behind me. She put something hard into my back and told me to go into the apartment and turn off the alarm, which I did. Then she started in on some crap about Bobby." I swallowed some more vodka and turned towards Bobby, "is it true that you're trying to make trouble for her?"
Eames laughed mirthlessly, "Yeah, that's true."
"She acts like she doesn't like you, but I think she's got a crush. Would it be unseemly if I had another?" I wiggled my empty glass at him.
"Yes." He took the tumbler from me and put it in the sink, "so then what happened?"
"She starts waving this cannon of a gun at me and blathering on about you. I mean, what am I supposed to do, let her shoot me?"
Poor Bobby, he probably thought that Elizabeth or Nicole or whoever she is had killed me. She might have too, if she were really intent on doing it properly. On one hand he had been trying to protect me and on the other, I didn't need his protection. "No, but after you disarmed her, why did you...incapacitate her?"
"Can you believe this dizzy broad reached for the gun with a broken arm?" I faced Eames, I thought she could relate better. "I couldn't take the chance."
Eames nodded and asked, "Where did you learn to break someone's neck like that? You don't see that everyday."
"That was a mistake. Using martial arts in a real life situation isn't the same as in the dojo." I needed them to stop asking questions. I wanted everyone to leave, everyone except Bobby.
"A mistake? Is that your story?" Eames shook her head.
"Yes, I went overboard. I was just trying to make sure that she didn't get the gun again." I took off my shoes; "I've been in these clothes for sixteen hours now. May I change?" My stockings were driving me nuts.
Eames looked helplessly at Bobby. He threw up his hands, "Cynthia..."
I responded by shrugging back at him, "It won't take a minute."
"Fine. Go." He waved in my direction.
I changed into my yoga pants and sweater, praying that I wasn't going to have to go downtown or anywhere. I just wanted a bowl of cereal and about twelve hours of sleep. I could hear Bobby and Eames talking quietly in the hall.
"Bobby, she's covering something up and you can't be objective." Eames had a point.
"I accept that, but what could she be covering up? Do you think that she's connected to Nicole in some way?" He paced back and forth.
"Don't tell me you don't suspect..." Eames started, and then she saw me.
"Can we clear the extra folks out of here before you voice that speculation?" I asked. It was time for me to cool the madcap heiress act.
It took a half hour, but everyone went away except for Bobby and Eames, or Alex as she had asked me to call her. We ordered a pizza and sat in the living room waiting for it.
Bobby doodled something on his pad and refused to look at me. Alex broke the tension, "so can you teach me how to do that?"
I smiled; she figured it out before Bobby did. That's why you should never get emotionally involved in cases, it clouds your judgment. "Sure, it won't take long."
Bobby got up and looked up into the corners of the ceiling. "So you admit that you didn't break her neck by mistake."
"Yes, it was intentional, but for the reason I stated, I needed to subdue her." I opened an old cigarette box and fished out a Galouise, I lit it with the old deco lighter on my cocktail table. I inhaled deeply. If he wasn't going to let me drink, then I needed something else.
He reached over and got a cigarette too. He brought my hand up to get a light off the end of mine. He inhaled and then blew the smoke out upwards. Then he trotted into the hallway and pointed to the picture there. "This is a Picasso etching?"
"Yes." I nodded, appreciating how he was putting it together. Alex already had it, but we patiently let him catch up.
"And this is a Miro?" He pointed to the painting on the far wall. I nodded. "Then that is a camera." He indicated something in the bookcase. "You'd need it for insurance purposes."
"Yes...but."
"But you don't want anyone to see the tape". He smiled at me and shook his head. "You especially don't want the NYPD to see the tape."
"That's right, but if it comes down to it, I guess I'll have to." I smiled. I knew he had it.
"Because we'd all know where you learned to break someone's neck." He stopped right in front of me. He got down on his knees and grabbed my free hand.
"And I can't have that." I said simply, "it would blow my cover."
"Your cover..." he took a drag on the cigarette, "now I need a drink."
I jumped up. I was ready for another round, "Alex, what'll you have?"
"Do you have a beer?"
"Yeah, glass or bottle?"
"Bottle is fine."
"Bobby, vodka okay?" He nodded numbly; I still don't think he believed it. I might have to show them the tape after all.
The pizza came shortly thereafter and we all ate. Bobby watched quietly as Alex and I discussed different aspects of the difficulty of subduing subjects without resorting to weaponry. Women are always criticized for going too soon for the gun. I never carried one, but I damn sure knew how to use one if I had to. All things considered, it was a nice evening. I liked Alex, she was tough. Later, Bobby and I put Alex in a cab and we went back up to my apartment.
I walked back to the bathroom. "Come keep me company while I have a bath." I filled the tub and sighed as I got in. I just soaked in the juniper oil. Bobby kept looking at me; it was bugging me. "Are you angry with me for something?"
He gestured in mute frustration, "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Are you kidding? I don't tell anyone. The official story is that I am an economist and I specialize in telecommunications. I work for a think tank and I travel around the world gathering information. Because of who I am socially, I get invited to parties. If I mix and mingle with government officials, and if they tell me interesting things, well...I guess I find stuff out. Besides, did you really want to know? Does it really matter?" What if it did?
"I don't know. It's a lot to take in. I have to think of you differently." He sat down on the stool by the tub. He was still in his suit and tie.
"Look, you don't have to think of me differently. At least you know I can take care of myself." I got up and toweled off.
"When we got the call...and we saw EMS and the patrol car, I had just gotten your message...I was..." He held my damp body against his beautiful suit.
"But it was all okay. We're in professions that are dangerous. I guess that makes us mad, bad and dangerous to know." It was time to lighten the mood, "didn't you find it suspicious that I knew how to use handcuffs so well?"
"I thought..." he smiled, "no, but this time can I show you how I use the handcuffs?"
"I'll wrestle you for it." I offered. After all, fair's fair.