Chapter 3
Shortly after two o'clock in the morning Don and Ivy pulled up in front of her apartment. They hadn't been able to keep their hands off each other during the drive. They hardly got out of the car when they pounced on each other like hungry beasts of prey. Ivy thought Don had mutated into an octopus, his hands were everywhere.
When she said "STOP", she didn't mean it. The front-door key slipped from her hand twice.
"Don, please! I can't find the keyhole."
He tenderly nibbled at her earlobe. His hot breath on her skin woke her passion.
"No problem", he murmured into her ear, "I can kick it open, I'm used to it."
"Oh yes, I'll take your word for it but what about the neighbors?"
"I'll flash them my badge."
The damned door was finally open. They stripped off the clothing on their way to the living room.
They targeted the couch but landed on the fleecy, cream-colored carpet instead. The flames of passion burned uncontrolled; melted their bodies and souls until they become one. It didn't look like making love. It was more a kind of wrestling match.
In the end Don had the upper hand and Ivy was pinned under his weight. She owed it to him for raking her long fingernails along his back. That was going to leave a mark he could feel it already. More than once he was close to losing control but he didn't allow it. It was Ivy's turn first. His lips covered every inch of her body. She wanted everything of him and he would give it to her. She called his name again and again, burying her fingers in his dark hair. Finally Don thought the blood would start to boil in his veins and gave in. They climaxed together.
Completely breathless he remained lying on her, supporting himself with his hands. He attentively watched her face, it seemed to glow.
She smiled blissfully, "not bad for the opening act."
"You are mistaken if you think that I'm done with you already," he smirked, "it only takes a minute."
"Pretentious blowhard", she said in a low voice, then gripped his neck with her hand and brought his head down towards her lips.
Amita and Charlie lay cuddled up to each other closely in bed. He could hear from her regular breathing that she was already in a deep sleep. He lay on his back, with his left hand protectively resting on her shoulder. The back of his right one lay on his forehead. He stared holes into the darkened ceiling. He recalled the last few days, especially yesterday evening, over and over again.
"In these small hours, these little wonders, these twists and turns of faith," the song was stuck in his head. His thoughts seemed to assume an independent reality. He knew already now that he wouldn't be able to sleep. He got up as soon as dawn approached. Carefully to not wake Amita he got dressed and went to the university.
On his desk lay a short notice. Milly wanted a small treatise on "prospects for contemporary math teaching" from him; a hard nut to crack as he hated such things. He preferred every mathematical problem - even a tricky one - a thousand times over scribbling words on paper. If he had wanted this, he would have studied English literature and literature and not math. But Milly seemed to ignore that he was faced with a dilemma.
And now he had the pleasure of welcoming her almost every single day at home, too. Why had Alan chosen Milly of all people? There were a lot of other women his age anyway. Charlie had abandoned all attempts at back-seat driving his father in matters of the heart. The university area was ghostly empty. No miracle around that time. One could have almost believed that aliens had kidnapped everyone on campus.
"I should watch less science fiction movies," he muttered.
Since Larry's flight to space he was fascinated by the vastness of the universe. Could something like that be contagious? Charlie shook his head as if he could dispel these absurd thoughts with it. He winced upon the noise his briefcase made when he banged it on the desk. Jesus, slowly he was turning into a bundle of nerves.
Perhaps it was even a good thing if Amita and he separated for some time. Then he could at least concentrate on the essential things in life again. And they were? Absolutely nothing occurred to him except for this silly treatise. Of course it would've been easier to search the internet and to plagiaries but if Milly found out, she would bite his head off for certain.
So he sat down, rested his head in his hand and started to write. He had hardly written a couple of lines when he scrubbed the sheet, crumpled it up and threw it in the direction of the paper basket. Also a way to waste time, he thought.
"White, white, only white!" Charlie heard a muffled voice that sounded quite like Larry Fleinhardt's.
"I would have had to think, but no."
Charlie curiously went to the door, "Larry?"
His friend startled and put his hand on his mouth.
"Are you nuts, Charles? What are you doing here so early?"
Charlie grinned, "I could ask you the same question."
"Me? I am a little older than you; therefore I don't need much sleep," Larry snapped
"You can keep me company if you want ", Charlie said, not quite without ulterior motives.
Perhaps Larry could lend him a helping hand in finding a solution to his problem?
"I think I still have some milk in the refrigerator."
Larry nodded, "that sounds really enticing. You could have stopped me from drinking so much punch yesterday, it was red, RED Charles and I only eat and drink white things."
Charlie shook his head and grinned, "oh no, you can't blame me. I did warn you Larry. You didn't want to hear about it. You and Megan disappeared really fast. How was the rest of your evening?" he wanted to know putting two glasses of milk and a plate with biscuits on the table.
Larry made a dismissive gesture, "Don't ask me. I think it was far after midnight when I have stopped praying to the porcelain God."
Larry bit the biscuit pleasurably and took a sip of milk.
"Megan was a true angel, she held my head at all times and didn't leave me alone for a minute."
"Not my idea of a hot date", Charlie remarked laconically. His evening had not really been that much better.
He then took Milly's mail and pushed it into Larry's hand, "I do not want to be impudent but maybe you could help me with it now you're here? You know I'm really struggling with these things."
Expectantly he looked at his friend while shoving a biscuit into his mouth.
Larry read aloud, "prospects for contemporary math teaching."
"Sounds like a real challenge. When do you need it for?"
"Well you know it's not urgent just today, this afternoon or so?" Charlie did his best to sound apathetic.
"If you expect miracles, you should consult the church", Larry said with a wink.
--
"You look like you've slept in your trunk," Megan stated when Don showed up for work obviously exhausted.
"Thank you and good morning yourself", he mumbled.
He just had enough time to grab a shower and get changed. A broad grin had appeared on his face at the sight of the scratches on his back. This had been the only amusing thing this morning. L.A. was purest horror during the rush hour. Why was there no helicopter at his disposal?
"Dream on", Don thought and went into the kitchen, Megan followed him.
She was bursting with curiosity.
"Who was the lucky lady? Could I've seen her?"
Don took a cup intending to pour in some coffee.
After looking into the can he put it back disgustedly, "you could cover most of the asphalt on our car park with that."
With two steps Megan was beside him, "if you tell me with whom you ... you know what I mean? I'll make you another one. I have even real Brazilian in the box, not the instant stuff out of the supermarket."
"I'll take one, too", Colby said poking his hand into the kitchen, "what do I have to do for it?"
Don seized the chance, "not much, just tell her who you slept with last night."
"What?!" Colby's eyes got big as saucers.
"Doesn't it work that way Megan?" Don said slightly malicious.
This earned him a kick to the shin.
"Ouch."
Megan put the washed can back to its place.
"Make the coffee yourself", she mumbled marching past Don not deign to look at him.
Colby shrugged, "could be her time of the month?"
"365 days in the year?" Don replied doubting, "by the way now it's your turn to make coffee today."
He limped, exaggerating it a little to his desk. The red light on his phone meant somebody had left a message for him. After he had listened to it, he got up cursing. He didn't think his day could have got worse but it just had.
Megan looked up from her files, "what's the matter?"
"That was the director of San Quentin. Adrian Craven is asking for me."
Megan wrinkled her forehead, "the serial killer we ran down not long ago?"
Don nodded and suddenly a heavy stone seemed to settle in his stomach, "exactly!"
"And what does he want?"
"I've no idea. The director has only told me Craven got a knife off somebody in the exercise yard and slashed his wrists with it. His demand: A face-to-face meeting with Special Agent Eppes. He wouldn't let himself be treated first until the director had promised him this."
"You shouldn't go alone", Megan said worriedly.
"You're welcome to come along", Don replied.
She shook the head, "I can't, I must take care of our newbie."
Don breathed deeply, "I completely forgot. I've heard he's the nephew of one of our directors."
Megan twisted her face and nodded, "we must therefore wrap him in cotton wool and keep a close eye on him."
"Fuck, as if we haven't got enough on our plates," he sighed frustrated.
"The coffee is ready", Colby yelled from the kitchen.
Don went over to him, "no time, you're up for an excursion to San Quentin?"