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Designed Intent

Chapter 9

Sunday Evening

Bobby sat in the dark on the sofa in his apartment. He had just gotten home from working with Eames interviewing book collectors. Two more bogus first editions had surfaced over the weekend. Bobby sat in sweats and his undershirt with bare feet and a beer. He called Gleason's number and closed his eyes in satisfaction as she answered.

"Hi, Baby."

"Hi, Love," Gleason heard his resignation. Bobby had been so disappointed, as had she, when he called her Friday afternoon to tell her he had to work through the weekend.

"Did you enjoy the concert last night?" The Italian tenor, Marco Antonelli, had performed a concert Saturday night and Gleason had gotten tickets for the two of them. Bobby suggested she ask Willow Cheswick, a colleague of Gleason's, to go with her. Gleason had gone to the concert, but not with Willow.

"Oh, Bobby, it was wonderful. I wish you could have gone, though. You would have enjoyed it."

"I know, Sweetheart. I'm sorry I couldn't be there."

"Where are you and Alex on your cases? How are they going?"

"Two more forged first editions turned up. Eames and I interviewed the owners of all of them; one guy owns two of them. That jewelry heist has gone cold. Deakins is really upset about that."

Neither said anything for a long moment. Gleason knew he was going to ask, she knew it; and, he did, "Did Willow enjoy the concert?"

Gleason did not respond. He caught the hesitation. "Honey, did Willow enjoy it as much as you did?"

She still did not respond. "Gleason?"

They listened to each other breathe, and then Bobby knew. Son-of-a-bitch, he thought. He shut his eyes and rubbed his hand across his forehead. "Willow didn't go with you, did she?"

"No," Gleason replied softly.

Bobby knew who went with her. Even so, he asked; he wanted to hear her say it. "Did you use my ticket?"

"Yes."

He waited. She said nothing. Then, "Gleason, who did you go with?"

Gleason sat on the sofa in her bungalow, her feet on the edge of the seat, her green throw around her shoulders. Oh, she did not want to tell him.

He waited and then said, "You went with Malcolm, didn't you?"

"Bobby, it wasn't anything. We just went and listened. The music was wonderful," she said in a rush.

A solid block settled in Bobby's chest. He knew it, goddamn it! That fucking son of a bitch will not leave her alone. And, what is she doing, letting him sniff around? Fuck!

"Bobby? Are, are you upset?" What a stupid thing to ask, she said to herself, of course he is upset. Gleason knew how Bobby felt about Malcolm. Bobby had nothing to worry about; Malcolm was a colleague, nothing more. Nevertheless, Gleason knew Malcolm was interested in her. He had made no bones about it. He was professional in a familiar way, but she knew. Malcolm was always about, he stood a wee bit close; he found reasons for them to discuss things, he always had his hand on her for some reason. And, his interest was increasing.

"Bobby?"

He had to wait until he could speak without losing it. Bobby worked hard to hold reign on his temper. Wait, wait, he told himself. Then, darkly, deeply he asked, "Did you go to dinner?"

"Bobby. . ."

"God damn it! Did you go to dinner?" he shouted into the phone.

Gleason jumped and pulled the phone away from her ear. She slammed shut her eyes and grimaced. Why had she asked Malcolm? Why? "Yes, we got something to eat. Bobby this was nothing but two colleagues –,"

He cut her off with, "Before or after the concert?"

"What?" she wasn't sure she heard him correctly.

"Did-you-go-to-dinner-before-or-after-the-concert?" he shot out the words.

Gleason did not want to continue this conversation. Nothing had happened. They had gone to dinner afterward, Malcolm brought her home, she left him at the door and that was that. He did call this morning wanting to get breakfast, but she had said no.

"Nothing happened. You don't trust me, do you?" Now she was pissed. "What do you think I am?" Gleason was on her feet. "I love you, Bobby, you know that. I love you and am dedicated to you. You have nothing to worry about." She was shaking.

She knew she should have never mentioned the ticket to Malcolm. Why had she done that? Gleason had told Bobby she was going to invite Willow to use the ticket, but had gone ahead and mentioned it to Malcolm. Malcolm said he loved Antonelli's music. They had talked about tenors and operas. It made perfect sense that Malcolm should use the ticket. It had not been a date. Had it?

Bobby sat hundreds of miles away, wanting to believe her. He had to believe her. He said nothing for a long minute. Then, "Honey. I'm, I'm sorry. Gleason, I'm sorry. I miss you; I want to be with you. I'm sorry." His voice was low.

She heard his sadness. "I love you, Bobby. I love you. You have nothing to worry about. Trust me; Malcolm is a colleague. He is a little persistent, like a puppy, but you have nothing to worry about. All right?"

God, he wanted to believe her. That bastard Malcolm was going to continue to sniff around. Bobby trusted Gleason; he did not trust Malcolm.

"Of course I believe you, Gleason. Forgive me. I, I just love you and miss you."

"I know, Love. I miss you, too." They sat quietly for a bit.

"Honey, I want to come up this next weekend. I'll get a ticket and I'll come up. I'll take Friday off; I can come up Thursday night, and come home Monday night. We'll have a nice, long weekend. What do you think?"

"Bobby, it will be too expensive, to get a ticket at this late date. Let's wait. I have a ticket and I'll come home, not this coming weekend, but the next weekend. It will be good to sleep next to you in our bed. Ok?"

"That will mean I won't see you for four weeks." He could not wait that long. "No, Sweetheart, I need to see you. I'm coming up Thursday night. It will be nice." Bobby was getting excited. He really should not be taking the time off; he had neither personal days nor sick days, but he did not care.

"Bobby, be reasonable, this coming weekend is your regular weekend to work. You cannot take off any days, especially on a work weekend; besides, you have no days left to take. Stay home, I'll come home the following weekend when you are off and we'll have time together then."

Bobby sat with his eyes shut tight. He knew it; he knew it! She is not going to come home, she likes living alone in Evanston. He felt the anger begin. He gripped the phone so tightly his knuckles were white. Bobby fought the urge to throw the phone across the room.

"Love? Bobby, please don't be angry. These things are going to happen; you know that. You said we have to make this work if it's going to work. Remember?"

He couldn't respond right away. Gleason heard him breathe through his nose; she knew he was struggling to keep control. She waited silently.

"Gleason, I don't know if I can do this," he whispered, a tremor in his voice. Finally, the tears squeezed between his shut eyelids. She heard him sniff.

"Oh, Bobby, Love, don't, don't do this. Please." It was her turn to comfort him. "Dearheart, I love you. Why are you so upset? Are you worried about me? I know you miss me. I miss you and I know how that feels. But, Bobby, something else is bothering you. What is it, Sweet? What's wrong?"

And then it all poured out, everything. He told her he worried about her health, her heart, what if something happened to her and he wasn't there to save her. He worried about her safety; Bobby was still haunted by the shooting at Brookbine that nearly took her life. How could he be sure she wouldn't be attacked walking to her car at night? That someone wouldn't break into her apartment and hurt her? He wasn't there to keep her safe.

And, he told her about his concern about her and Malcolm. Bobby told Gleason he knew what Malcolm's intentions were. He had known when Malcolm and he were introduced at the dinner in Gleason's honor. Bobby could see the man's desire for his woman. He wasn't there to keep Malcolm away. He told her he felt powerless.

Gleason listened and never felt so loved. "Bobby, Dearheart, you cannot protect me every minute of every day. I will be fine. You will make yourself sick worrying so. Please, Love, trust me that I will be well. I will be safe. I'm not foolish about these things, you know that." She was very glad she had not told him about the spell she had while walking to campus last Tuesday morning.

"I know, I know." He sounded defeated.

"As for Malcolm, Bobby, you have nothing to worry about. Nothing. I am dedicated to you, Love. Malcolm is a colleague, nothing else. You are my one and only. You have nothing to fear. I love you. And will forever." Gleason listened to him breathe and hitch a sob. "Are you ok?"

"Yes. I just love you so much, Gleason."

"I know, Love. I am lucky to have you. Not many couples have what we have." They listened to each other breathe and then Gleason said, "Sweet, we should both go to bed, did you have some dinner?"

"No, I just got home before I called you. I have a beer. Did you get dinner?"

"I'm going to have a salad and some soup. What will you have?"

"I don't know. I'm not hungry."

"You need to eat something, Bobby; you cannot just have beer for God's sake."

He smiled at this, "I will. I'll get a sandwich or something. I love you, Honey. So, so much."

"I love you too, forever. Get something to eat and then rest. Ok? I'll speak with you tomorrow. How about if I call you in the morning, early? We can have morning phone sex?"

He heard the smile in her voice and knew she was trying to lighten him, "You better not be teasing me. I love you, Honey; I'll talk with you in the morning. Bye-bye."

"Bye-bye, Love."

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