103
Aligned Design
Ch 18
Bobby found himself standing in the hall outside his bedroom. He was breathing hard. The phone was in his right hand. He looked at it, then put it to his ear. Nothing. Who . . .? Slowly he remembered. Oh. No, no, no, no, no. No, Gleason, no. Honey. Jesus, what did I. . . ? He clicked off, then on and dialed her cell. Please, baby, answer. Please.
Gleason heard the phone from the bathroom. It's him. She looked at herself in the mirror. Answer it, go on. You did this to him. You've pushed him to this point and now you've ladled guilt on top of it. Answer it! He won't be angry now. He'll be repentant. The phone rang four more times, then quit.
I can't even leave her a message. Bobby's pain was physical. No, no, no. He returned to his bed, sat on the edge, dropped the phone on the bed beside him, and tried to remember what had happened. He remembered the sex, he ran his hand down the front of his shirt and felt the cold stickiness; without thinking, he wiped his hand on his thigh. They had talked, and laughed. He remembered that. That was nice. Then . . . what? His hands went to his face, he leaned into them.
Gleason washed her hands and took her heart pill. It was five fifty-eight in Chicago. She was exhausted. She lay down on the bed, pulled her throw over her, tugged the pillow under her head just right, and stared at her phone. She knew there was no message.
Bobby had gotten her this phone when he retuned the special one, the loaner she had had after the police took hers to process the messages from Clive. Jerry, the audio tech at Bobby's work had disabled the message function on her new phone. She remembered Bobby saying how he had to convince Jerry to do it, the tech thought she was nuts to want a phone that did not take messages. She did not want any messages ever again after Clive . . . she put that out of her mind. Bobby had gotten her so many things – a new laptop, a new phone, that necklace. The pain in her chest grew; it wasn't from her heart, it was from far deeper.
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Jenese continued east. He felt terrific. He ran the whole past hour over in his mind. The only thing he would have done differently, he thought, would have been to drag the two bodies into the storage unit. But he couldn't, Navicky had already pulled down the door. Damn, he hadn't checked to see if Navicky had locked it, though. He could have slid it back up, dragged in the bodies, pulled it down, shut the boot. Well, no use crying over spilt milk, eh?
His mind slid to thoughts of Tillman. That man made everything worthwhile. He was good, smart, pretty, lean, and good to lean on – especially from the back. Jenese smiled at that. Tillman had been his lover since the Navy. Don't ask, don't tell – don't worry! He could see them being lovers all the way to the old folks' home.
Oh, there would be diversions along the way, there would always be diversions. Like Canvettelli, prissy whore. And that artist, Peignoir, but he had really been part of the job. Jenese was sure Tillman had his little liaisons as well. Have to take it where you find it, he thought. But they always returned to each other. What Tilley could do with his mouth . . . in so many places . . . Jenese felt himself twitch alive. His hand moved to his joy sick and rubbed through his trousers. Soon!
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Sledge sat watching the movie, and Eames lay on her bed reading. His mind wandered to the woman in the other room. He smiled at the thought of her. He was so happy they were together. God, he loved her. He had loved her ever since he first met her. She was so tiny, one hell of a shot, smart, funny, and she took no shit from him or anyone. She was unbelievable in bed, eager, willing and creative – better than he had ever imagined.
Edward knew Alex had feelings for her partner. He knew she probably always would. He could see it in the way she looked at him. Sledge didn't care, not really. Goren wasn't going to return those feelings. Alex was at the other end of the spectrum from Goren's type. Gleason was exactly what Goren wanted, needed.
Madelyn had been like Gleason – tall, beautiful, slim; maybe not a PhD, but smart enough to know when to shut up. And easy! She would spread 'em for anyone. Goren had been clueless for so long! Jesus, everyone had had a turn with Madelyn, and he still kept thinking she was 'the one.' Goren had been way more than pissed when he caught Sledge with Madelyn in Goren's bed. He had never forgiven Sledge, until today at lunch.
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Bobby hit redial, listened to her phone ring five times. He hit redial, listened to her phone ring five times. He hit redial, listened to her phone ring five times. He hit redial, listened to her phone ring five times. He hit redial, listened to her phone ring five times. He hit redial, listened to her phone ring five times. He hit redial, listened to her phone ring five times. He hit redial, listened to her phone ring five times.
Gleason shut off her phone after his second call and set it on the far night table. She was so tired. She closed her eyes, snuggled as she would against Bobby, and fell asleep.
He hit redial, listened to her phone ring five times. He hit redial, listened to her phone ring five times. He hit redial, listened to her phone ring five times. He hit redial, listened to her phone ring five times. He hit redial, listened to her phone ring five times. He hit redial, listened to her phone ring five times. He hit redial, listened to her phone ring five times.
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Tall, dry corn stalks rustled on her left as she walked along the weedy road. It seemed as though she had been walking forever, she was so tired. Dead brown leaves skittered beside and between her feet as she trudged up the slight rise in the road. She heard the corn, the leaves and . . . there! Hear it? She stood still and listened on the crest of the road. There, that! Was that . . . was that a child? Laughing?
She looked around. The meadow to her right was empty, overgrown. The rail fence had fallen in two places. There's a stonewall at the bottom of the field, isn't there? The tall weeds and the slope of the road hid the bottom of the field. The laughter came again. Happy, full of life.
She wanted to find that little boy. Boy? How did she know that it was a little boy laughing? She walked on, watching the field to her right. Movement up ahead caught her eye. There! On the stonewall – a little boy! He's running on the wall! She tried to hurry, but couldn't. She needed to go to him.
Who is that? That man? She watched the little boy run toward him. She heard him squeal as the man swooped him up and swung him around. The man collected the boy in his arms and settled him safely against his right shoulder, setting the child on his arm, holding him with his left.
Bobby. That's Bobby. With our son.
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Sledge shut off the movie; Christ, it is stupid. He turned off the lights in the living room and kitchen and walked down the hall to her bedroom. Alex looked up when he opened the door. God, she's adorable.
He crossed to her and took the book from her hands. He leaned down and took her mouth in his. His tongue slowly pushed through her lips and she let him in. Alex returned his kiss. Sledge began unbuttoning her blouse with his right hand. She pulled away and looked up at him. She saw something in his eyes she hadn't seen before. His eyes were dark, intense. She saw him look into her soul.
He unbuttoned his own shirt, shed it and then undid his buckle. Alex lay there watching him. He was so big, so fit, and so strong. His eyes never left hers. He stepped out of his trousers and boxers. Alex looked at him there, at his place. He was huge.
Sledge sat on the edge of the bed beside her. He pushed her hair away from her face, bent, and kissed her again. He finished unbuttoning her blouse and pulled her upright. She reached up and pulled his face to hers. He pushed her blouse down from her shoulders and tossed it across the bed; he reached behind her and unhooked her bra. In one move, he pulled it free and put his mouth on her left breast, sucking gently.
He felt her respond. Her mouth went to his shoulder and she bit gently and then laid back. He reached for the waist of her pants, unbuttoned, unzipped and she lifted as he tugged. Sledge kissed her taut stomach, licking her navel. His mouth traveled south, licking, nibbling, sucking. Sledge slid her over and climbed between her open legs. She arched and hissed as his mouth met her opening.
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Bobby finally stopped hitting redial. He dropped back on the bed from the edge where he sat. His hands dropped onto his chest. Yuck! He sat up and pulled his shirt over his head. He tossed it onto the chair in the corner. Then he stood and pulled off his pants. Onto the pile they went. He set the phone on the bedside table and pulled back the coverlet and sheet.
He looked at the expanse before him. He saw her body where she had lain. He saw her turn to face him, her leg stretching, arm pushing upward. Her smile. Those eyes. Hair like clouds at sunset. He pulled a breath as if it was a solid. Carefully, he got in, staying close to his side. He drew her pillow to him and he held it like he had held her. He breathed in her scent. Eventually, he slept.
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Why doesn't he answer his phone? Canvettelli asked himself aloud. Where is he? He flipped shut the phone and tossed it onto the chaise. Well, if he thinks he can just fuck me and then not answer my call, then screw him! Although that's what I want to do, screw him, he whined. Canvettelli paced.
Jenese had always answers my calls; why not tonight? Canvettelli thought back to this afternoon, in his office. Oh, that damn woman detective! What a pest! What did she want? The name of the broker I bought the paintings from. I don't even know who that is! Jenny set up all of that. I wish he had talked to her. He's so strong, so confident. Where is he? Canvettelli dialed the number again.
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Gleason woke slowly. She had to pee. She lay a moment, trying to catch the tatters of a dream. Parts were from other dreams she had had in the past. Corn stalks, a field and something else, someone else. The fringe of the dream blew away and she swung her legs off the bed. She really had to pee.
Walking back into the room drying her hands, Gleason looked at the time – nine-twenty. Oh, soup! Antonio brought that soup. She set the towel on the top of the fridge, bent and pulled open the door. She removed the chicken noodle soup and the mandarin oranges, setting them on top of the fridge. Gleason checked the label of each bottle of juice in the rack on the door. Cranberry it is.
She stood and opened the microwave. Ooooh, the bread! Trading the bowl for the basket, Gleason shut the door and hit the one-minute button. She poked under the napkins and chose a chunky slice of sourdough bread. She set the basket on the fridge top, opened a butter packet, and spread it thickly. Gleason took a huge bite and the microwave dinged. Mmmmmm . . . good, she thought.
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Jenese heard the phone ring for the third time. Christ! He pulled it from his coat pocket and set it on the seat beside him. He knew who it was. His other phone, his Tilley phone, sat clipped securely to his belt. He grabbed up the pesky phone from the seat and considered calling Canvettelli and telling him what was up. Be rid of that little piece of shit.
Naw, don't do that, he cautioned himself. Pansy-ass might get pissed and go to the police. That detective woman is a bitch with a bone. No, just let Canvettelli figure it out on his own. By the time he does that, Tilley and I will be done in Baltimore and living in South Beach. Walk away from Gay-Boy. Leave 'em wanting more, as they say.