And so they did. Then they ate. The chops were tender and juicy. The coarsegrained grits balanced them perfectly, as did the bitter mustard greens.
“I’m hearing you dumped me,” he mentioned as he ate.
“I’m hearing you dumped me.”
“Rut Peck’s trying to fix me up with his divorced niece. She’s a dentist.”
“Marge Jewett told me the word is I’m transferring somewhere else. Now where did that come from? Town Hall, that’s where. The powers that be want me gone.”
“They do not. You’ve won them over, Des. And you’re reading way too much into this stuff. It’s just idle village gossip.”
“Mitch, my life is not a reality TV show.”
“To them, it is. I’m Joe Schlub and you’re the sexy bachelorette. They can’t wait to find out whether you’ll stay with me or throw me over for some guy who looks good in a Speedo. That’s life in Dorset. Ignore it. Ignore them. And, whatever you do, don’t let them spoil our evening.”
He got the champagne out of the fridge, refilled their glasses and sat back down.
She took a sip, dabbing daintily at her mouth with her napkin. She had impeccable table manners. In truth, she was the most innately elegant woman he’d ever met. “Mitch, do you think I play favorites on the job?”
“I think you’re very fair. Why?”
“Something that Milo Kershaw said to me today. That there are two kinds of justice in Dorset-one for rich people like Poochie Vickers and the other for lowlife skeegies like Stevie and Donnie.”
“Well, that’s pretty much true, isn’t it?”
“Of course it is,” she said quietly. “That’s how the world works.”
“So what’s bothering you?”
“Milo played the race card,” she confessed, staring down into her glass. “Said that I should know better than to be whoring for the ruling class. Not that he understands my world or me or any other damned thing.”
“Exactly what did you say to the Kershaw brothers-watch your step, there’s a new sheriff in town?”
“I threw in a little tough love. I hate to see people wasting their lives. Mixing it up with Bement Vickers on their first evening home is a notgood sign. What’s up with that envelope Justine gave me? She a wannabe screenwriter?”
“Novelist. I’m doing a favor for Rut Peck. He hates wasted lives, too.” Mitch mopped up the last of the pan juice with his final bite of grits and sat back in his chair, sighing contentedly. “How come you haven’t talked to me about it?”
“About what, baby?”
“This selfportrait you’ve been working on.”
Des stared at him across the little table. “Damn, you scare me sometimes. How did you know it’s a selfportrait?”
“Because you haven’t talked to me about it.”
She turned her gaze toward the fire, swallowing. “I’m not making things easy for you, am I?”
“Des, we really don’t have to talk about this again. There’s a lot for you to consider. I understand.”
“Still, this hasn’t been much fun for you.”
“No, it hasn’t. And if you’d like me to tell you you’re a bad girl, throw you over my knee and spank your bare bottom, I’d be happy to.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you turning kinky on me?”
“Get real. I’m a nice, cleancut Jewish boy. I don’t spank women-women spank me.”
“That is so not going to happen.”
“Then kindly allow me to tell you something else.” He leaned across the table and kissed her lightly. “You’ve had that yellow dress on way too long.”
They left the dishes where they were.
She started up to the sleeping loft with the rest of the champagne. He stopped to grab the royal blue necktie from her uniform. By the time he got up there, she had the bedside lantern lit and the covers pulled down. Her skin gleamed like burnished copper in the golden lantern light as she stretched her smooth naked self out before him, her eyes huge. He gazed at her, transfixed, before he shucked his own clothes at Warp Factor Nine.
“What are you doing with my tie?” she wondered, noticing it in his hand.
“Don’t own one myself. I made a small find on the beach today, and I wanted to share it with you. Do you trust me?”
“You know I do.”
He bent over and gently blindfolded her with the necktie before he opened the nightstand drawer and removed the gull wing feather. “Can you see?”
“Not really. Why, what are you going to?…”
“Go exploring,” he replied, wafting it gently across her belly button. Her stomach muscles fluttered instantly. Then he delicately grazed her tender nipples with it, teasing them. “You okay with this so far?”
“GGaaaah…”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He headed due south with it-toward the back of her knees, between her toes. Then, ever so slowly, he began caressing his way up the soft flesh of her inner thighs. “Oh, hey, you’re not in any hurry tonight, are you? Because this particular expedition may take a while.”
“BBoyfriend,” she gasped, wriggling beneath him. “You take all of the time you need.”
And so he did, igniting a passion that burned so deeply into the night that Mitch became convinced that it was inexhaustible, they were inexhaustible. It seemed as if he’d only just collapsed into a deep sleep when Quirt woke him at fourthirty to be let out. Yawning, Mitch waddled downstairs and let him out, then got back into bed. Des hadn’t so much as stirred. He snuggled up against her, his face buried in her satiny smooth warmth. Instantly, he was asleep again.
He dreamt. Another Maisie dream.
They were hiking a trail together high above Lake Mohonk. Maisie was already on chemo. She had that silk scarf on over her balding head, and those dark circles under her eyes. Her complexion was sallow. And she was so tired she could hike no farther.
She stopped and grabbed him by both shoulders. “It’s too late, Bear. You’re already leaving me. I can feel you leaving me.”
“I’m not, Maisie. I swear.”
“Don’t go! Please, don’t go!”
“I won’t go. I’ll never, ever go.”
But she didn’t believe him. She was still clutching him by the shoulders, shaking him and shaking him and…
With a startled yelp he realized it wasn’t Maisie who had him by the shoulders-it was Des. It was daylight now, and she was standing over him wearing her uniform and her game face. He lay there panting, his heart racing, that same metallic taste in his mouth.
“Damn, what were you dreaming about?” she asked, holding a cup of hot coffee out to him.
“II don’t remember. Why?”
“You were jabbering in your sleep.”
He sipped the coffee gratefully, glancing at his alarm clock. It was just past seven. “What was I saying?”
“Sounded like it had something to with Bosco.”
“Sure, I remember Bosco. Used to drink that when I was a kid. It was chocolatey good. I’ll bet it still is.”
“Mitch, you’re a very weird man,” she informed him, kissing him on the forehead. “But as long as you keep your magic feather around you will never, ever get rid of me. If you change your locks, I’ll break down the door. If you move, I’ll track you down-and break down the door.”
“So why are you all dressed?” he wondered, reaching for her.
“Got to run. I just got paged.”
“What’s up?”
“Grand theft auto. Somebody has stolen Poochie Vickers’s Mercedes.”
