Let’s go to my place, she said.
I’d like to. But Kelly.
Let’s go to your place then.
But Kelly.
Don’t worry about Kelly. I’ll take care of her.
We went to my place. Kelly was out. I called up Francis, told him to send over the Grande Dame 1988. I’d asked him long ago to save it for me. For a special occasion. One that never seemed to come. I pulled out the handblown Riedel glasses that I’d bought in Germany, years ago. Before they’d made the wine press highlights, started mass production. I’d tried the new ones since, the ones they sold all over now, at reasonable prices. They didn’t have the same effect for me.
Kelly came home. She saw the champagne glasses. She looked at Dorita. Dorita winked. Kelly looked at me.
She shook her head.
Okay, she said. I get it. I’ll go to Peter’s.
And off she went. Without a backward glance.
My God. What had I done?
Dorita took me to the bedroom. She took me to my own bedroom. She pressed me up against the wall. She kissed me. Gently, yet with passion. I fell to my knees. I kissed her stomach. She laughed. She pulled me up, and to the bed. She undressed me, slow and gentle. She undressed herself. I watched, transfixed. All these years of coveting. Of sublimation.
And I wasn’t disappointed. Those breasts I had so long imagined, full and languorous, impossibly imposing on her slim and muscular frame. Her legs, finally revealed from toe to waist, long and strong and graceful. Her stomach smooth and cool as ivory. She laid it all out for me.
And I was afraid.
She was utterly desirable and smooth, exquisitely constructed. I knew, I knew beyond certainty, that even had I been a normal man, with normal lusts and fully functioning libido, I’d be in so much awe of her that I’d be utterly unable to function.
But she took care of that.
She lay down beside me. I was exposed. She was radiant. She put her head on my shoulder. She asked me to read to her. I chose Dylan Thomas. I read poems of rage and defiance. ‘Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night.’ ‘And Death Shall Have No Dominion.’
Rage, rage against the dying of the light, I read.
And it gave me the power.
And she was gentle, and giving, and warm, in the face of the rage. She stroked me softly, like a whisper in the night. We lay by candlelight.
Her mouth hovered and touched and rose again to attack with abandon my most sensitive, my grieving places.
She was a miracle.
I came alive.
She devoured me.
And when it was over, we lay back. We smiled. We touched. We held each other.
For the first time in memory, all felt right with the world.
92.
In the morning I was confused. Confused and disturbed. But Dorita was there. So I couldn’t call Sheila.
I had to get out of the house. I had to get Dorita out of the house. Before Kelly came back. Before my head exploded.
Time for a change of scenery, I said.
We went to Starbucks.
Okay, Dorita said once we’d settled down with our coffee. Enough with the sentiment. It’s time to get to business.
Damn, I said. You always want to ruin my fun.
It’s my job.
You and the rest of humanity.
Heaven doesn’t exist in a vacuum.
True. You need a little hell. To spice it up.
So, back to business. Question one: Do we believe him?
I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it. I’ve been trying not to think about it.
That’s not the answer. Think.
I thought.
If he’s lying, he’s a damn good liar.
Oscar material.
Which belies his lack of success in the field.
True. Very true.
Let’s proceed on the assumption that he’s legit.
We can do that. We can also check it.
You want to go to Podunk?
Not today. I just meant we can always do that if we have to.
Sure. We can do that.
Okay. So, let’s assume he’s foursquare.
Let’s.
And the physical evidence bears him out.
At least it’s not inconsistent.
Correct. He was in the house. Behind your back, he hugs her. They’re overwhelmed to see each other. He leaves a hair behind. Follicle attached.
Sure. He was next to her on the couch when I came back from the kitchen.
Another detail you left out.
I did?
You did.
Sorry. Anyway, it fits.
We need to look at other suspects then.
I’m not sure that ‘suspects’ is the right word. But the…
Semen. You can say it.
I don’t want to say it. But I guess you can.
We thought for a while.
It has to match somebody, I said.
Who?
That’s the million-dollar question.
Sixty-four thousand, I think it was.
Let’s not quibble. Who’s next on the list? The twins?
That’s the other case, darling.
Right. Just testing.
The AA guys.
A possibility.
But messy.
A smorgasbord of suspects.
