'Yeah. Oh. You have any or not?'
'Not.'
Her little fist thumped me lightly on the chest. 'Nice work, boy. You get lucky enough to come along when I'm having an estrogen-fit, then you blow it.'
'Speaking of which…'
'Forget it. What year do you think this is? I didn't go to medical school to have some strange man playing with my life. I don't know where you've been.'
'I…'
'Don't even tell me. A stiff cock's got no conscience.'
'Your mother tell you that?'
'Matter of fact, she did. Best time to ask a man for a favor is just before he comes.'
'When's the best time for a woman?'
'Just after.' A gentle twist to her mouth, playing with a smile.
I cupped my hands behind my head. Looked at the ceiling. 'How long do these estrogen-fits of yours last?'
Her full smile bloomed in the darkness. 'Not long enough for you to find a drugstore, you dope. You know
'Not much.'
A faint coppery smell came off her body. She nuzzled against my neck. Whispered, 'Wait here.' Like I was going anywhere. I watched her walk out of the bedroom. She didn't bother to keep it down. Cyndi could have taken lessons.
I closed my eyes. Felt her hand on me. Slick and wet. A long fingernail trailed down my shaft. Electricity ran from my spine to the back of my neck.
'You found something?' I asked her.
'Like what?'
'I don't know. A diaphragm, foam…something.' Not saying anything about the vasectomy I'd had years ago… like I'd told her too much, somehow.
'Feel this,' she said, guiding my fingertips to her upper arm. Five tiny little lines, fan-shaped under the skin.
'What is it?' I asked her.
'Progestin. Best birth-control chemical there is. Each implant is a time-release bar. The whole thing's good for about five years. Unless you weigh more than a hundred and fifty-four pounds. You think I'm a good risk?' Patting her butt, smiling.
'You're well on the safe side.'
'You're not exactly a silver-tongued devil, are you, boy? Anyway, this version's called Norplant. It just got FDA approval— I was one of the volunteers they tested it on. No ugly side effects like the Pill.'
'So why…?'
'I know how to keep from having babies. Know what to do if that doesn't work too. You never heard about Safe Sex?'
'Sure.' I didn't tell her where I first heard about it. From a child molester. Safe for him.
He thought.
Her hand stroked. I opened my eyes a slit. White fluffy bath towel lying on the bed.
'That isn't going to work,' I told her. 'I haven't gotten off like that since I was a kid.'
'Shhh, baby. Close your eyes. I'll tell you a story.'
She whispered all I'd missed out on, coming to her house without protection. Whispered and stroked and teased and played and chuckled.
Then she spread the towel over me, curled up against me, and we slept together.
89
I WOKE UP to the sound of the shower. Wrapped the towel around me, went into the kitchen, lit a smoke. Heard the bathroom door open. Found Blossom seated at her dressing table, working some cream into her face. She nodded her head at the bathroom, concentrating.
The place was full of steam, mirror fogged. I took a shower with the liquid soap she left there in a clear push-top bottle. Washed my hair with shampoo I found in a black squeeze tube. Put on last night's clothes.
Blossom was still in the bedroom, still fussing with her face when I came back.
'I don't want you to take this the wrong way,' she said, 'but I can be saying this only once. I'm not mad at you. There's nothing wrong. But I
'Okay.'
She was letting me see pieces of her— the ones she wanted held up to the light. No more today. I walked out. It was still before rush hour— it only took me twenty minutes to get back to the motel, even with stopping at a drugstore.
90
I SEPARATED OUT my dry cleaning, stuffed underwear and socks into the laundry bag Rebecca had given me. Showered again, shaved, changed my clothes. Time to work.
Called Sherwood from the car. 'Want to meet me someplace?'
'Okay. You know your way around?'
'I can find you.'
'The Police Community Relations Outpost. It's on Twenty-fifth, just off Broadway. In about an hour.'
'I was hoping for a little more privacy.'
His laugh was a bass rumble.
91
I TURNED THE Lincoln onto Broadway, motored past the Y&W Drive-In Theatre. Glanced at the marquee: first-run flicks, no slasher-porn. Still in Merrillville. I crossed the line into Garyat Fifty-third. The stores got closer together, muscling each other for sidewalk room. Package joints, tire stores, BBQ, brick-fronted bars, shoeshine, barbershops. An abandoned gas station. Pizza parlors, law offices, auto body shops. A dozen different dumps with 'Lounge' after some name. XXX video stores. Signs: Go-Go Dancers Wanted. Burlesque. Pool-room. Ladies Welcome. Exotic Dancers. Hand-painted, red letters: LIVE GIRLS.
I thought of the Ghost Van.
I crossed into Glen Park, where even the billboards turned Afro. Fast food, ribs and chicken. Sex shops, private booths, a quarter a play. Storefront churches. Check cashing. Pawnshops. Bible Book Center. Tattoo parlor. A closed-front store advertising Swingers' Supplies and Marital Aids.
They probably got the last word right.
At Twenty-sixth a sign: Welcome to Gary. Sherwood's home ground.
I hung a left on Twenty-fifth. The Police Community Relations sign hung limply from a bombed-out ruin, rusted metal gates padlocked across its face. A black unmarked Ford parked in front, conspicuous as a pigeon among peacocks in that neighborhood. The front seat nearly filled with one body.
I pulled in behind him, killed the ignition. He maneuvered his bulk out of the car, light on his feet. Came around to the passenger side. I hit the switch and he climbed in.
'Let's take your ride. Leave this thing on the street around here, it won't be around when you get back.'
'Where to?'
'Straight ahead. Past the high school. Over by the Delaney Projects. You know where they are, right?'
I didn't say anything. But Hightower's mother must have.
