Spiegelman had plated a minor part as a lawyer. She smiled as she saw recognition dawn on me. She got up and struck a pose, leaning on the bench.
'The prosecution is tilting at windmills…'
I drank some coffee and nodded. She sat down and stirred her coffee. 'Yeah, the poor woman's Sigourney Weaver.'
'You weren't Malloy then. But Harvey, I remember, was still Spiegelman.'
'Right. Sheila Lambert, stage name. I've fallen on hard times since then. There aren't many parts for women with years on the clock. Harvey's doing it tough, too. He was never much of a lawyer or an actor and I just brought him along to our meeting for ballast.'
'You're not smoking.'
'I'm quitting.'
I wondered if that was true or just part of the act for today. She leaned forward to push her cup away on the table and the top of her jacket gaped open. She wasn't wearing a blouse or a bra and I could see the shape of her small, firm breasts. I'd been celibate for longer than I cared to remember and I felt a stirring. I couldn't tell whether the movement was a come-on or not, but she surprised me with what she said next.
'I want to see where he died.'
'For Christ's sake, why?'
She shrugged; I tried not to look, but the movement stiffened her nipples under the tight jacket.
'The man was a huge part of my life and he damaged me. I damaged him, too. Call it closure. D'you think that's sick?'
I was aroused and confused. I stood and she slid out from her seat and moved towards me, touching my arm.
'Show me.'
We went through the door to the back bathroom. I'd had it cleaned, hadn't replaced the shower curtain, but some of the rings still hung there. Patrick's head and body had taken the full force of the blasts but there were a few chips on the tiles where stray pellets had struck. The space was white, sterile, dead-no blood, no bone, no tissue. Nothing.
She leaned against me. 'I thought I'd feel something but I don't. This is creepy. You look so much like him and I loved him so much for so long. Off and on, I mean. God, I'm going to end up telling you my life story.'
The hard shell had well and truly cracked and for a minute we stood still. I was thinking about Patrick and I was sure she was, too. I guided her back to the kitchen.
'I'm a good listener,' I said. 'Look, would you like a drink? A toast to Patrick? It's a bit early but…'
She smiled and stayed close to me. 'It's later somewhere. I'd like that. It's been a while since I drank wine in the morning but why not? I wish…'
'What?'
'I was going to say I wish I'd met you before Paddy. What a dumb thing to say. Sorry.'
I got a bottle of white from the fridge and poured. We both sat and touched glasses without speaking. She took a decent slug of the wine and smiled at me. She had small, even teeth and her eyes crinkled with the smile. She did everything gracefully and I wanted badly to touch her. I was suddenly aware of my scruffy appearance.
'I'm glad you came,' I said. 'Hard to put it into words, but.. .'
'Try, why don't you?'
I reached out and covered her smooth hand with my battered paw. We stood. I knocked my glass over and the wine spilled. I put my arms around her. We stood in a tight embrace. I thought I could hear her heart pounding. I could definitely feel mine.
She said, 'I thought I came just to talk, but now I'm not sure. Without knowing it I think maybe I came for this.' She pressed close against me and her hand went down to my erection.
We made love in the tangled sheets and blankets I'd left after my sleepless night. Her body was smooth, lean and pale and she was athletic and inventive with it. I found myself almost fighting to get my share of the pleasure and we were sweaty and panting when she shoved a pillow under her rump and pulled me down and into her. We fucked hard, and I don't know who came first. We rolled apart, gasping. Sweat beaded her upper lip and I wiped it off with a finger.
She laughed. 'Yes, that happens when it's good. Not very chic.'
'Chic's overrated.'
She traced the scar line from my bypass, not much more now than a series of discolourations. 'There's a difference. Shit, I didn't mean
…'
'It's okay. We were both in the grip of something a bit weird.'
'Are you sorry?'
'No.'
The room was cold. The heat we'd generated was fading and I clawed up the sheet, jerked the blanket free of the tangle and covered us. The desire she'd triggered in me was still there and I pulled her close and wrapped my arms around her. She felt my unshaven chin.
'I'm glad you hadn't shaved,' she said. 'I'm going to have bristle rash, but I can look at it and tell myself I've had a top fuck from someone who wanted it as much as I did.'
We showered, separately, in the upstairs bathroom, got dressed and went back to the kitchen. By now it was later in the morning, late enough to have another go at the white wine. The day had improved during our lovemaking, and we took the drinks out into the courtyard where we could sit comfortably in the patch of sun protected from the wind.
I told Sheila what I'd learned about the dodgy dealings of Pavee Security and the dead end I'd struck there and with the company that had bought his shares.
'Sorry to tell you,' I said, 'but there was no money involved. Just a share transfer.'
'But the shares are worth money. Sorry to sound so mercenary, but I think I'm entitled. He was a psychological mess when he came back from that ridiculous soldier of fortune episode, and I just about supported him through university. Then he upped and left.'
'Why?'
'He became successful with his property developments. He still needed me for a while because it was edgy stuff- juggling loans and contracts, dealing with unions and politicians-but when it all sorted out and the money came in, he didn't need me anymore. I think he associated me with his earlier struggles.'
'Why didn't you divorce him and get a share of the assets then?'
She sipped her drink and shivered. I went inside and got a jacket, the one Patrick had borrowed as it happened, and draped it round her shoulders. Our hands touched as she drew it closer.
'Thanks. It's nice out here. I was busy then and doing pretty well. I thought it might work out. Then I went to America for a while and bombed. I lost touch with him and I was hitting the booze pretty hard. I was… ashamed.'
I could understand that. In my experience, at those low ebb points you can still maintain some pride even though it's not in your best interest. It feels like all you have left.
We were sitting side by side on a seat I'd constructed out of stacked bricks and pine planks-the limit of my skills. I put my arm around her shoulder and she stiffened.
'Do you believe me about not being divorced?'
'I want to say yes.'
'Jesus, an honest man. Let me show you something.'
She got up and went into the house. I watched her elegant strut on her high heels and knew all my impulses were affected by the sexual experience and a hope for more. She came back and handed me a photograph. It showed a man and a woman outside the Sydney Registry Office. Patrick, in a stylish dark suit, was looking at Sheila as if he wanted to make love to her right there on the steps. She, in a low-necked sheath dress and carrying flowers, looked as if she'd oblige. Another couple, presumably their witnesses, looked almost embarrassed in the presence of such overt sexuality.
Sheila came closer, took my hand and locked it between her thighs.
'You'd have looked just like that back then, wouldn't you, Cliff?'
