I must have known instinctively what I was going to do, because even as I undressed I started making friends with the dog.
'Nice Heidi! Good Heidi!' I patted the little monster on the head.
'Good little girl! We're going to be friends. Aren't we? Aren't we, girl? Yes we are. Oh, yes we are!' I could hear Grace moving around upstairs, so I still had a little time to check around. I took off everything but my shorts and shoes, and then explored the cellar. There was just one other room, a cavernous space that contained the furnace and the washer-dryer. There was a window in this room, a typical cellar window, narrow but big enough to crawl through. I found a stepladder, set it in front of the window, mounted it and undid the latch. I tried the window. It opened easily. I undid the latches on the exterior screen, then closed the window, leaving it unlocked.
I was back in the massage room in plenty of time. I could hear Grace beginning to descend the stairs. I quickly slipped out of my shoes, set them on the floor in front of Heidi, and then, while the dog began to sniff, hid my watch behind the barbells. When Grace walked in I was in my shorts playing with Heidi on my hands and knees.
'What's going on?' she asked.
I glanced up.
'Getting friendly.'
Grace knelt to pat Heidi's head. She was barefoot, and had changed into a tank top and shorts. I could clearly see the tattoo on her ankle-entwined initials, K and G, identical with Kim's.
I think it really hit me then. Of course I'd known that they'd been lovers from the moment I'd seen the photographs upstairs, so seeing the actual tattoo was merely confirmation. But there's something about a shared tattoo, an irreversible engraving upon the flesh, that far transcends a brief affair. to have been tattooed together, to decide to go through life bearing each other's initials, was not some kind of casual choice. It was serious commitment.
Grace placed an Ella Fitzgerald record on the stereo, then motioned me onto the table. I mounted it, and when I was lying face down, she asked me how I liked to be massaged.
'What are my choices?'
'Light, medium or hard.'
'What's best?'
'How about a taste of each?' she said. And then without nonsense she pulled down my shorts She was a talented masseuse; I doubt I've been in better hands. She began on my shoulders and neck, slowly worked her way down my back, kneading and chopping until she reached the soles of my feet, then turned me over and started up my legs.
All this was done in time to Ella Fitzgerald singing scat, just about the sexiest vocal music I know. By the time she reached my thighs I was pretty excited. She flicked my hardening cock with her finger, then hoisted herself upon me and wiggled against me so the material of her shorts caressed my groin.
'Hung, aren't we?' she asked, working me beneath her buttocks.
'Well, I do like to think so,' I said, gasping.
'I like what you're doing… very much.'
'That's'the idea. For a massage like this, I usually charge forty bucks. Manual release is fifteen extra. If that's what you want I'll give it to you for free.'
That was not what I wanted. to get a hand job from Kim's old lover-the idea horrified me! But how to decline without hurting Grace's feelings?
Quickly I thought of a way.
'Tell you, Grace-I appreciate your offer, but that's really not what I want. The reason, if you're interested, is because I don't think it's what you want. So why don't we just keep it straight.'
She nodded.
'Know something, Jim? You're a real nice guy.' She lifted herself off me, then continued the massage. When she was finished, she motioned for me to pull on my shorts. Then, while I dressed, she lit a cigarette.
'You're a lot more considerate than most of them, I can tell you. If more men were like you I might just change my preference.' She laughed.
'Well, I don't really mean that. I think I was born this way. I like girls far too much to ever want to switch to guys.' Her eyes sparkled.
'But then, who knows? I mean, sex is such a weird thing, isn't it?
Yeah, I think it's just about the strangest weirdest thing there is.
The air conditioning was finally working at the Devora; my room was now excessively chilled. I lay in bed, huddled under my grungy blanket, trying to come to grips with the day's experience.
Following Grace, meeting her at the topless bar, seeing the picture of Kim-all that had been extraordinary. But the massage had been the strangest part of it, for a reason that was only clear to me in retrospect. Conscious that Grace's hands had also many times touched Kim, I felt that being massaged by her had somehow closed a circle. It was as if Kim and I were now linked through the medium of Grace, as if Kim herself had been with us in that cellar room.
First thing the next morning, I went to a five-and-ten and purchased a cheap quartz watch. Then I drove to Grace's neighborhood and parked on a cross street a block from her house.
I waited there until she drove by, let her go a block, then followed. I was particularly careful this time, since now she knew my car.
When I saw her drive into the shopping mall, I turned and drove back to her house. I knew it would take her an hour to complete the Nautilus circuit, and it was likely she would drive on to work from there.
But there was always the possibility she would return home first, so I gave myself forty-five minutes of safe time. If she came back unexpectedly or a suspicious neighbor called the police, I'd claim I was looking for my watch. A pretty thin story, but it would have to do. I was taking a chance, but it would be worth it if it led me to Kim.
Deciding against a surreptitious approach, I drove aggressively into Grace's driveway, parked parallel to her door, went to it, tried it, shouted 'Good morning' to the dog, then shrugged and walked aroun casually to the back.
Here I removed the basement-window screen, pushed the window open, and, being careful of my Leica, crawled into the laundry room. I went to the workout room, retrieved my watch from behind the barbells, replaced it with the cheap dime-store watch I'd bought, then ascended to the ground floor.
By this time Heidi was going bonkers. I greeted her and started to play.
'Hi, Heidi! Remember me? I'm the nice man you met last night. Yes, Heidi! Yes, good girl! Yes! yes! yes!' I soon had her in bitch heaven, wasting five minutes of my forty-five. With Heidi at my heels, I bounded up the stairs and into Grace's bedroom, where I snatched the photograph off the dresser, removed it from its frame, took it to the window, then brought out my camera and took its picture. Then I sat down at the bedroom desk and began to make a search. it didn't take me long to find the two letters from Kim. they bore recent postmarks, and a Key West, Florida, post office box number as return address. I didn't stop to read them, just took them to the window, lay them down carefully in the light, and photographed them.
Then I returned them to their envelopes, returned the envelopes to the proper drawer, returned the photograph to its frame on the dresser, and checked to make sure everything looked the way it had.
I glanced at my watch. I was surprised: I'd used only fifteen minutes of my allotted time. So far so good. Now it was time to go. But downstairs in the laundry room I panicked.
The window was too high. I couldn't climb out of it directly from the floor. Which meant I'd have to use the stepladder, which meant I'd have to leave it below the window, which meant that when Grace found the window,unlatched, she'd know someone had broken in.
But why, I wondered, should I exit through the window, when I was now in a position to use the door? I'd noticed that Grace never bothered to double-lock-she just shut the door when she left.
I pulled in the basement-window screen, latched it shut, shut the window and locked it too. I returned the stepladder to its rightful place, and then, followed closely by Heidi, went up to the main floor of the house.
So easy. Just open the door and leave. Too easy, as it turned out, for when I opened the door, Heidi gave a shrill little bark, wagged her tail and scooted out.
