turned and started back along the
beach. The Jack Russell had left too, joining his owner in a silver Audi coupe, just pulling out of the parking lot. The dog had his head out the window, and though it was far away, Jesse could faintly hear him yapping. The cold air was clean off the ocean, and he liked the way it felt as it went into his lungs. I wonder if
they are going to try to kill me. When he got to the aimless little pavilion Jesse paused again and looked out at the ocean again. Nothing alive was in sight. He was alone. He breathed in, and stood listening to the quiet sound of the ocean, and the soft sound of his breathing. I wonder if they will succeed.
51
Jenn was always late. Most of the women Jesse knew were late.
Rita was there at seven. She carried her purse over her shoulder, a small bag that might have been a briefcase over the other shoulder, and in her arms a large paper bag. She handed him the bag when he opened the door.
“I am beautiful and dangerous,” Rita said.
“But I don’t carry
things very well.”
Jesse took the bag and backed away from the door.
“I’m glad to see you,” he said.
“And I you,” she said. “The plea
bargaining was
interminable.”
“Four lawyers in a room,” Jesse said.
Rita put her purse and her shoulder bag on the living room floor
next to the coffee table.
“No wonder they hate lawyers,” Rita said.
“For crissake, I hate
lawyers … except me.”
Jesse smiled. He took the paper bag to the kitchen and set it on
the counter.
“Shall I unload?” he said.
“Sure. I like domesticity in a man,” Rita said.
Jesse took out a bottle of Riesling, two kinds of cheese, a big
sausage, two loaves of French bread, some red grapes, some green grapes, and four green apples.
“Would you like some of this wine?” Jesse said.
“I brought it in case,” Rita said.
“What I’d actually like, if
you have it, is a very large, very dry martini.”
“Sure,” Jesse said. “Gin or
vodka?”
“You have Ketel One?”
“I do.”
“Yes,” she said.
Jesse made the martini in a silver shaker, plopped two big olives in a wide martini glass, and poured Rita a drink.
“Aren’t you having something?”
she said.
Jesse shook his head.
“I don’t drink,” he said.
“Didn’t you used to,” Rita said.
“I did,” Jesse said. “Now I
don’t.”
He was a little startled at the firmness with which he said it.
“Get something,” Rita said, “a
glass of water, anything. I hate
to drink alone.”
Jesse went to the refrigerator and poured himself a glass of orange juice. He brought it into the living room and sat opposite Rita, who was on the sofa.
“That a boy,” Rita said. “Get
