“Enough control?” Dix said.
Jesse thought about it.
“No,” he said. “Not yet.”
“But some,” Dix said.
“Yes.”
Dix was still.
“If I can control it,” Jesse said, “life is better with alcohol. Couple of drinks before dinner. Glass of wine with dinner. Civilized.”
“And without it?” Dix said.
“A lot of days with nothing to look forward to,” Jesse said.
“Behavior can be modified,” Dix said.
“In terms of drunks,” Jesse said, “I’m not sure that’s politically correct.”
“It’s not,” Dix said. “But it’s been my experience.”
“So I’m not fooling myself.”
“You may or may not be,” Dix said. “It’s possible that you’re not.”
“Day at a time,” Jesse said.
Dix smiled.
“Now,” Jesse said, “to my other problem.”
Dix waited.
“I’ve met a woman,” Jesse said.
Dix was still.
“Like the perfect woman,” Jesse said.
1 2
H I G H P R O F I L E
Dix nodded slightly.
“She’s good-looking, smart, very sexual. Even professionally—she’s a private detective. Used to be a cop.”
Dix nodded. It seemed to Jesse almost as if he were approving.
“She’s tough. She can shoot. She’s not afraid. And she’s a painter, too. Oils and watercolors, not houses.”
“Anyone else in her life?” Dix said.
“She’s divorced, like me, and she might still be a little hung up on her ex.”
“Gee,” Dix said.
Jesse grinned at him.
“Like me,” Jesse said.
