'What's the difference?'
'I could stop anytime I want to.'
'Then why don't you?'
'Why should I?'
Instead of answering the question she leaned forward to fill her glass. 'I stopped for a while,' she said.
'I quit cold for two months. More than two months.'
'You just up and quit?'
'I went to A.A.'
'Oh.'
'You ever been?'
I shook my head. 'I don't think it would work for me.'
'But you could stop anytime you want.'
'Yeah, if I wanted.'
'And anyway you're not an alcoholic.'
I didn't say anything at first. Then I said, 'I suppose it depends on how you define the word. Anyway, all it is is a label.'
'They say you decide for yourself if you're an alcoholic.'
'Well, I'm deciding that I'm not.'
'I decided I was. And it worked for me. The thing is, they say it works best if you don't drink.'
'I can see where that might make a difference.'
'I don't know why I got on this subject.' She drained her glass, looked at me over its rim. 'I didn't mean to get on this goddamned subject. First my kids and then my drinking, what a fucking down.'
'It's all right.'
'I'm sorry, Matthew.'
'Forget it.'
'Sit next to me and help me forget it.'
I joined her on the couch and ran a hand over her fine hair. The sprinkling of gray hair enhanced its attractiveness. She looked at me for a moment out of those bottomless gray eyes, then let the lids drop.
I kissed her and she clung to me.
We necked some. I touched her breasts, kissed her throat. Her strong hands worked the muscles in my back and shoulders like modeling clay.
'You'll stay over,' she said.
'I'd like that.'
'So would I.'
I freshened both our drinks.
Chapter 9
I awakened with church bells pealing in the distance. My head was clear and I felt good. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and met the eyes of a long-haired cat curled up at the foot of the bed on the other side. He looked me over, then tucked his head in and resumed napping.
Sleep with the lady of the house and the cats accept you.
I got dressed and found Jan in the kitchen. She was drinking a glass of pale orange juice. I figured there was something in it to take the edge off her hangover. She'd made coffee in a Chemex filter pot and poured me a cup. I stood by the window and drank it.
We didn't talk. The church bells had taken a break and the Sunday morning silence stretched out. It was a bright day out, the sun burning away in a cloudless sky. I looked down and couldn't see a single sign of life, not a person on the street, not a car moving.
I finished my coffee and added the cup to the dirty dishes in the stainless-steel sink. Jan used a key to bring the elevator to the floor. She asked if I was going out to Sheepshead Bay and I said I guessed I was.
We held onto each other for a moment. I felt the warmth of her fine body through the robe she was wearing.
'I'll call you,' I said, and rode the oversized elevator to the ground.
An Officer O'Byrne gave me directions over the phone. I followed them, riding the BMT Brighton Line to Gravesend Neck Road. The train came up above ground level at some point after it crossed into Brooklyn, and we rode through some neighborhoods of detached houses with yards that didn't look like New York at all.
The station house for the Sixty-first Precinct was on Coney Island Avenue and I managed to find it without too
