The Crimes of Jordan Wise

Perry's that night, she'd said she knew me and I didn't know her at all, and now the reverse was true. In some ways I knew her better than she knew herself.

So I let her come on board. She walked around topside, exclaiming over this and that. Then, as I knew she would, she asked if she could see the cabin. I said all right to that, too. There was something I needed to find out about myself and only one way to do it.

In the main cabin she did a slow pirouette and said, 'Why, it's bigger than I remember. Cozy.'

'You'd hate living here.'

'No, I wouldn't. The studio apartment I had on Long Island wasn't much larger. I don't need a lot of space anymore.'

I didn't say anything.

'The bed . . . or is it a bunk?'

'Bunk. Or berth.'

'It's almost the same size as the one in our villa, isn't it?'

I didn't say anything.

'But I wouldn't have to sleep here if you didn't want me to. I could sleep in the smaller one up in the front.'

'Bow,' I said.

She nodded. Then she said, glancing around, 'Oh, you still have the pirate's chest we bought on Tortola.'

'That I bought. One of the few things you left me when you ran off.'

'I'm so sorry, Richard. You'll never know how sorry I am.'

I didn't say anything.

'Well, I'm glad you kept it,' she said. 'The chest, I mean. I like it there on that wall shelf.'

'Bulkhead shelf.'

'I don't know all those nautical terms, but I'll learn. I want to learn all about your boat, about sailing—'

'Yawl,' I said.

'Yawl. I want to be a part of your life again.' She moved closer, gazed up into my eyes. Hers glistened with yearning and sorrow, but those emotions had nothing to do with me. 'If you'll just give me the chance.'

I didn't say anything.

She put her palms flat against my chest, standing so that her breasts almost touched me. 'Will you think about it, Richard? Please?'

'I'll think about it,' I said.

She said, 'Thank you,' and kissed me. Quick and hard, as if with impulsive relief. I knew she would. I knew her so goddamn well.

She looked into my eyes. Wet her lips. Kissed me again. Lingeringly this time, fitting herself against me, her arms sliding up and around my neck, her fingers combing through my hair.

I just stood there.

Tongue sliding into my mouth, breath coming faster, loins making slow, sensuous motions against mine—all just as expected. But I'm not made of wood. No man can completely resist the sexual advances of a woman like Annalise, not for long and no matter how much he might want to. I let myself return the kiss. She gave a little cry. It was supposed to be a moan of pleasure, but it came out sounding exactly like what it was—the voice of triumph.

One hand began to tug at the buttons on my shirt, the other dipped inside the waistband of my trousers. She was breathing heavily now. The wet mouth was feverish on mine a few seconds longer, then she broke the kiss and drew back. The shirt and halter and shorts came off in quick, practiced movements. Like a stripper's. Like a prepaid whore's. I knew she wouldn't be wearing anything under the shorts, and she wasn't.

Long, motionless pose, showing off her nakedness. Her body was the same and not the same. Incipient fat roll at her middle, little pouches of fat forming on her hips, cellulite starting to show in her thighs. Too much liquor, too much bad food, too many wrong men. In ten or fifteen years, she would be fat. Once she stopped caring about her appearance, and I knew she would, she'd let herself go rapidly and utterly.

I let her undress me, not helping. When we were both naked, she pulled me down onto the bunk and twined herself around me, her hand moving expertly between my legs. Into my ear she breathed, 'I've missed you, oh God, I've missed you so much, I've missed being with you like this.'

Hot, moist, whispered lies.

Her caresses grew more insistent. Always before, the touch of her hands and the sweetness of her mouth and the feel of her bare flesh had fired my blood. No more. I felt nothing for her. Numb below the waist. Dead soldier down there. None of the manipulations of fingers, mouth, tongue produced so much as a twitch.

I'd found out what I wanted to know about myself.

After a while she sighed and gave up. Lay with her head on my belly, still stroking me but in a different way now. Absently, as if she were offering distracted comfort to a sick pet.

'Poor Richard,' she said. 'Did I do this to you?'

I said, 'You broke my heart and my pecker both.'

She laughed.

She thought I was making a joke. She thought it was funny.

Funny!

I found out something else then.

I found out just how much I hated her.

A short time later, before she went away, she said, 'You can reach me at JoEllen's. I left her address and phone number in the bathroom.'

'Head,' I said.

'Or I'll come see you again, if that's all right. Tomorrow or the next day, after you've had time to think it over.'

I didn't say anything.

'If you let me come back, you'll never regret it. I promise I'll fix what I did to your pecker, too. It'll be just like it was before.'

I didn't say anything.

'Think hard, Richard. One more chance.'

She sounded so sincere. She was sincere, because she was fighting for her free ride. But the sincerity wouldn't last. She didn't love me, she didn't give a damn about me. The only thing she was sorry for was that her life hadn't worked out the way she wanted it to, the only thing she was ashamed of was that she'd had to come begging to me, the only person she cared about was herself.

If I took her back I knew exactly what would happen. For a while she would make an effort to live up to her promises. She'd be attentive, loving, deferential. She wouldn't argue or complain or make demands of any kind. She would curtail her drinking and her pill-popping. She would pretend to like living on a thirty-four-foot yawl, go out on cruises with me and pretend to enjoy herself. But in six months or so, boredom and restlessness would set in and she would regress—gradually at first, then not so gradually—into all her old habits and excesses. The bitch would take over. And the bitch was always hungry.

Oh, I knew her so well.

I knew myself so well, too. Knew that if I turned her away, gave her cause to hate me as much as I hated her, to run away again or, worse, to take up with another Fred Cotler, I would never feel safe again. I'd never be safe again. So I didn't have to think about her proposal. I knew all along what my answer would be.

I was going to give Annalise her one last chance. Not for her sake, but for mine.

I kept her squirming on the hook for nearly a week. Didn't call her or go to see her at JoEllen's; forced her to keep coming to me. The next two times she showed up, I put her off. The third time she was tearful and pathetic, ready to get down on her knees—to blow me right there in public, if that was what it took. JoEllen wasn't going to let her freeload much longer, she was almost out of money, the only jobs she could get on the island were shitty