Chapter 2
Hunter and Rachel arrive at McCall's home Saturday evening at exactly seven o'clock. His hands begin to sweat as they walk up to the front door, with his right hand resting lightly on Rachel's shoulder and a bottle of wine in his left. He is always nervous being with McCall and a date at the same time, and he has never understood McCall's insistence on knowing his girlfriends. It's as if she feels it necessary to their relationship - his and McCall's. He has no desire to know her boyfriends, although he wants her boyfriends to know him. McCall has a way of making you feel special, like you are the most important person in her life, or at least in that moment that she is with you. This trait makes her one hell of an interrogator. But he does not like being reminded that he is not the only man she makes coffee for in the morning.
"We're going to the back door?" Rachel asks him, slightly confused, as he steers her through the gate into McCall's back yard instead of to the front door.
"She's going to be in the kitchen, anyway," responds Hunter.
She continues to look confused until she sees McCall standing in the kitchen through the glass door. He taps on the glass lightly before reaching for the doorknob.
McCall smiles when she them and waves for them to come in, although Hunter already has the door half open. Aromas of sautéed onions and oregano, and the unmistakable voice of Peter Cetera singing You're the Inspiration, greet them as they walk into McCall's neatly appointed den.
Mitch looks up from the stereo system, and walks toward them. Mitch is tall by normal standards, being six-foot-one, but next to Hunter he looks miniature; his thin runner's frame does him no favors, either. He looks every bit the part of the nerdy professor with his gold wire-rimmed glasses, thick wavy brown hair showing a hint of gray around the temples, and tan button-down shirt tucked into black corduroy slacks. But his charming smile and expressive nature makes him a legend among the UCLA co-eds, according to the stories McCall tells. "Hey, Rick, good to see you." Reaching his hand toward the bottle of wine, he says, "Let me take that for you. And you must be Rachel!"
They greet each other, making quick introductions, as McCall makes her way over to them. Hunter has told her very little about Rachel, beyond how they met and that she is a gymnastics instructor. She's pretty, McCall notes, with long strawberry blond hair and a big genuine smile, but she is not Hunter's usual gorgeous blond type. Her fitted kelly green sweater compliments her complexion perfectly, and her shorter-than-perhaps-appropriate skirt shows off her muscular, tan legs. McCall often turns heads with her slim figure, but Rachel has curves she can only dream about.
Hunter leans down to give McCall a quick hello peck on the check when she approaches them. Holding out her hand to Rachel, "Hi, I'm Dee Dee. It is so nice to finally meet you!"
"Oh, thank you. It's nice to meet you, too."
"I hope you two came hungry; Dee Dee is cooking enough food to feed all of LA," Mitch calls from the kitchen, searching a drawer for a corkscrew.
"Yes, but it is eatable?" Hunter teases.
"Don't listen to him, Rachel, she's an excellent cook," Mitch retorts.
"Let me just ask one question — did any of the ingredients bite when they were pulled out of the back of the refrigerator?"
"He finds molded cheese in my fridge one time and he won't let me forget it." McCall laughs, rolling her eyes.
"And expired orange juice," Hunter adds.
"Ok, and expired orange juice."
"And a rotten tomato."
"Stop! You're going to scare the poor woman," McCall retorts and turns toward Rachel. "I work a lot of hours, I don't always have time to clean out my refrigerator every time he comes over."
As a timer dings in the kitchen she address Hunter directly, "I bought everything fresh this morning. Happy? Now I better go get the stuffed mushrooms out of the oven. Rachel, can I get you a drink? A glass of wine?"
"Wine would be great," Rachel replies.
"Hunter, wine? Juice?"
"No, thanks, I'll pour myself something," Hunter responds, following McCall into the kitchen and taking a bottle of scotch out of the cabinet over the oven, reaching over McCall as he does. As far he knows, she does not like scotch, but she always has a bottle of his favorite in her cabinet.
"Your house is lovely, Dee Dee," says Rachel as she looks around the den and focuses on the framed pictures on the fireplace mantle.
"Thank you so much. I just moved in about two months ago — I'm still working on getting things just right," replies Dee Dee.
"She better stay here for longer than two years this time. When she moved in I warned her this is the last time I'm helping. Three moves in five years. I'm done," jokes Hunter, joining Rachel near the fireplace.
"Oh, please," McCall laughs as she hands Rachel a glass of wine. "I didn't even ask him to help this time, he just showed up."
Hunter starts to respond, a slight tinge of red creeping up his neck from embarrassment. This is exactly why he does not like McCall and his dates to intersect. His last girlfriend dumped him, claiming that he cared more for McCall than her. She was probably right.
"And I, for one, was grateful," Mitch says as he puts an arm around McCall's back, lightly kissing her temple, and saving Hunter from trying to explain. "You have a lot of heavy stuff, my dear."
"So how did you guys meet?" Rachel asks, smiling at the two of them.
McCall and Mitch look at each other, grinning, for several seconds in a silent argument over who is going to tell the story. McCall is the first one to start the tale, laughing as she does so. "I get this out-of-the-blue phone call one day from some professor wanting to buy me coffee so that he can get some information on a case."
"The Black Dahlia murder - have you ever heard of it?" Mitch asks Rachel directly.
"Sure! Of course! Wasn't that in the news recently? Like it was solved or something?"
The other three all laugh, and Rachel looks up at Hunter waiting for an explanation.
He softly explains it to her. "McCall and I solved the case." She continues looking at him not understanding. "It was our case. Nearly a year ago, we solved it."
"Really? Wow! That murder is famous. I remember hearing about it even when I was a kid," Rachel exclaims.
McCall watches as Rachel's expression turns from confusion to admiration. It warms her heart that Hunter gets to look like a hero in front of his new girlfriend.
Mitch continues with the story. "We all heard about it when we were kids, she was killed in 1947. Anyway, I teach a senior-level course on local history and every year I do a fun lecture on urban legends. It's all ghost stories and unsolved mysteries — and a large part of my lecture has always been centered on the Black Dahlia murder. So when I was preparing for this year's lecture, I called up police headquarters and asked for the detective on the case, hoping I could get more information than what had been in the newspapers. I was directed to Dee Dee, and she was so kind to meet me for coffee. And, well, here we are. Five months later. And I thank God every day that the desk sergeant directed my call to Dee Dee instead of Rick."
"Otherwise, I'd be here with Mitch as my date," Hunter deadpans, and McCall wrinkles her nose at the mental image.
"Sorry, man, you're not my type." Mitch is laughing so hard his words are barely comprehensible.
"Oh, too bad. Then I guess it's best it worked out how it did," Hunter says, pulling Rachel into his side.
"So how about you two?" Mitch asks the happy couple in front of him. "Dee Dee said you guys met at a bar?"
"Oh, yeah, well, I was there on surveillance," Hunter responds. "I was following a suspect, trying to lay low."
"As low as he can anyway," McCall interjects with a giggle.
Hunter sneers at her before getting back to his story. "And this really pretty, but really annoying woman keeps trying to come on to me. She's asking me all these questions and buys me a drink, then gets mad because I'm not drinking it. I'm trying to be as nice as I can, but I'm on duty, right?"
"I cannot figure out why this guy is being so rude!" Rachel cuts in. With a big smile on her face she begins her side of the story. "I'm there with a few friends and suddenly realize this gorgeous man is sitting next to me, but no matter what I do he just won't loosen up. So it became my mission to get this guy to relax a little."
"But I'm trying earnestly to figure out who my suspect is talking to in the back of the bar. I look away to say something to her, and when I look back the suspect is gone. I'd lost him. I run out the back trying to find him, but it's useless and I am pissed as hell. I march back into that bar to tell her off. I really just want to yell at someone, you know. But when I get there, she has a Coke waiting for me and apologizes for buying me whisky when I clearly don't drink." Hunter turns his head to look down at Rachel. "It was just so nice, and she was just so damn cute I couldn't stay mad."
"He asked for my number and took me out to dinner the next night."
Dinner progresses with wine, chicken marsala and chocolate chip cheesecake for dessert. It is rare for Hunter to watch McCall in full hostess mode. The ultra-feminine, sophisticated lady across the table from him is a far cry from the hardened, detached woman he had asked to be his partner many years ago. Back then she seemed fearless with a string of love-sick men in her wake, and he believed he had found the female version of himself. He had known her by reputation alone and had no idea at the time that all of this was nothing more than a defense mechanism — she was still struggling with her husband's death just a few years before. As time passed, or maybe as he got to know her better, she slowly softened. Her laughs became more genuine; her smile grew heartwarming; her demeanor became more engaging, her heart got bigger. By all accounts from her huge array of friends, today's McCall is the real McCall. Men are few and far between these days, and Mitch has latest the longest of any of them.
Mitch is just polishing off the last of the wine as McCall serves each of them slices of cheesecake and cups of coffee. "So Mitch just heard that his most recent manuscript is going to be published," McCall announces to the dinner guests with a proud smile.
He blushes as he elaborates. "I wrote a fiction piece about the history of the US-Mexico relationship along the California border. It's being published," He says with a shrug, as if it's no big deal.
"Congratulations!" Hunter exclaims, holding his coffee cup up in cheers.
"Wow, that's so exciting!" exclaims Rachel. "Do you just love history? Is that why you decided to teach it?"
"I never really had a desire to teach, per se. Academia was an excuse to read and write and discuss history and get paid while doing it. Teaching was the penance. But it turns out I really love the teaching part, and the writing has become more like a hobby." He takes a bite of cheesecake, before asking Rachel, "How did you get into gymnastics?"
"I grew up in the gym, I've always been a gymnast — my dream in high school was to go to the Olympics and be the next Nadia Comaneci." Rachel laughs at herself for the naiveté of the thought. "Instead, I got a spot on the cheerleading squad at UC Davis. But it turns out college is, like, not for me, so I dropped out and talked my gym into hiring me to coach a few classes. Now I'm one of the managers."
McCall watches Hunter as he's watching Rachel. His facial expressions are all happiness, he's smiling and laughing, teasing and talkative. But his body language is rigid and controlled, and she wonders if it's an attempt to hide a buzz or something else altogether. His smile does not quite meet his eyes - there's a sadness in the them that she cannot figure out.
"Do you compete?" McCall asks Rachel.
"I did until about a year ago. I have a wrist injury that doesn't want to go away. So I decided to focus on coaching my kids. It is so much fun to coach these young girls and then watch them excel at the meets. They are so proud of themselves, and I had something to do with that." A tiny squeak escapes as her face lights up talking about her pupils.
"She's still really good," Hunter says.
McCall laughs to herself. Oh I'm sure she is….and not just in the gym.
Hunter excuses himself from the table and replenishes his scotch; the rest start clearing the table and putting away the food, deep in conversation as they do. That's why it takes a few minutes before McCall realizes that Hunter has wondered off.
"Hey, everything okay?" she asks, placing her hand lightly on his arm as she walks up behind him.
"I don't remember ever seeing this picture before," he responds.
She follows his gaze to a framed photograph of the two of them on a bookshelf. They had been partners about a year and a half when it was taken at his sister's wedding. His date had come down with the flu that morning, and he had called McCall desperately asking her to accompany him. It was the first time she had met his immediate family, and despite her not being a real "date," they had welcomed her with open arms.
"I found it while unpacking. Your sister mailed it to me a long time ago. It's a good picture."
"We are so young," Hunter says wistfully.
"Mmm, a lot has happened since then."
He laughs and looks down at her. "Yeah. It sure has."
"Hey, are you sure you're okay? I can drive you and Rachel home if…"
"No, I'm fine. Really."
"You've had a little bit to drink…"
"I said I'm fine."
McCall studies his face for a second, making sure she believes him, before letting the subject rest. "I like her. I like her a lot."
"Me, too," he says with a smile and glances over at Rachel helping Mitch carry more dishes to the kitchen.
After the goodbyes have been said, and Hunter and Rachel have gone, McCall sets about washing the dishes.
"Holy crap that Rachel is young," Mitch says, walking in the door after taking out the trash.
"Hmmm?" McCall stops mid-scrubbing and looks up at him. "Oh, yeah, she's younger than I expected, too. But, you know, the older we get the smaller the pool of single attractive women gets."
"You're making excuses for him."
"I'm not making excuses. She's young, but she is a grown adult woman. If she wants to date a forty-two-year-old man that is her business. Personally, I think she's great. And she seems to really like him. Hey…did Hunter seem strange to you tonight?"
"Stranger than normal?"
She closes her eyes and audibly sighs in aggravation. "Mitch."
"Sorry," he replies, holding his hands up in surrender. "No, I thought he seemed relaxed. In a good mood."
"That's the thing. He refilled his glass twice."
"You counted?"
"Yes, I counted."
"You have that bottle specifically for him. And he drank some of it tonight. I don't understand what the problem is."
"I have had that bottle of scotch for three years…and it's still more than two-thirds full. I have never seen him have more than one drink, but tonight he had three scotches and a glass of wine."
Mitch looks straight at her, visibly frustrated. McCall is frustrated in return. "Look, we are both still alive today because we are able to notice the nuances, to read each other's simplest gestures. It's not something I can just turn off at the end of the day."
He walks over to McCall and stands beside her, wrapping his arm around her waist and hugging her to his side. "You're obviously concerned. Why don't you just talk to him?"
Turning to face him and wrapping her arms around him return, she replies with a frown, "I tried."
"Then that's all you can do." He kisses her forehead. "Now I think it's time we stop talking about him." He kisses her cheek. "Besides, he has a hot twenty-something to worry about him. And I'm sure she's worrying plenty by now." McCall makes a sound of objection. Mitch shushes her by brushing his lips against hers. "But I have an even hotter thirty-something and I could use a little worrying myself."
"Mmmm, yes, I think you could," she replies, and all thoughts of Hunter leave her head.
"Yes…so how about you leave these dishes…" But before Mitch can finish, McCall takes his hand and leads him out of the kitchen.
...to be continued...