face and gargled with mouthwash. I looked at myself in the mirror. I had bags under my bloodshot eyes, my skin was a little pale, and the scar on my chest looked white and hairless compared to the rest of my chest. Clearly there were a lot of hard miles on John Corey, and more to come. But my crankshaft was still working, even if my battery was run down.
Not wanting to stay too long in Mademoiselle's private quarters, I went back into the living room.
Kate had laid two plates of scrambled eggs and toast on the coffee table and two glasses of orange juice. I sat on the couch, she knelt on the floor opposite me, and we ate. I really was hungry.
She said, 'I've been in New York eight months, and you're the first man I've been with.' '
'I could tell.'
'How about you?'
'I haven't been with a man in years.'
'Be serious.'
'Well… what can I say? I'm seeing someone. You know that.'
'Can we get rid of her?'
I laughed.
'I'm serious, John. I don't mind overlapping for a few weeks, but after that I feel like… you know.'
I wasn't sure I did, but I said, 'I understand completely.'
We looked at each other for a long time. Finally, I realized I had to say something, so I said, 'Look, Kate, I think you're just lonely. And busy. I'm not Mr. Right-I'm just Mr. Right Now, so-'
'Bullshit. I'm not that lonely or that busy. I have men hitting on me all the time. Your friend, Ted Nash, has asked me out ten times.'
'What?' I dropped my fork. 'That little turd-'
'He's not little.'
'He's a turd.'
'No, he isn't.'
'That pisses me off. Did you go out with him?'
'Just dinner a few times. Interagency cooperation.'
'Damn it, that pisses me off. Why are you laughing?'
She didn't tell me why she was laughing, but I guess I knew why.
I watched her, covering her face with her hand while she was trying to swallow scrambled eggs and laugh at the same time. I said, 'If you choke, I don't know the Heimlich maneuver.'
This made her laugh more.
Anyway, I changed the subject and asked her something about what she thought of the press conference.
She answered, but I wasn't paying attention. I thought about Ted Nash, and about how he'd put the moves on Beth Penrose during the Plum Island case. Well, maybe it was mutual and it didn't amount to much anyway, but I have a low tolerance for competition. Somehow, I think Kate Mayfield figured that out, and might actually be using it on me.
Next, I thought of Beth Penrose, and to be honest, I was feeling a bit guilty. Whereas Kate Mayfield didn't mind a few weeks overlap in regard to sexual involvements, I'm basically monogamous, preferring one headache at a time-except for a weekend in Atlantic City with these two sisters, but that's another story.
So, we sat there awhile, our bodies touching, and I picked at my eggs. I haven't had a meal with a woman in the nude in a long time, and I remembered that I used to really enjoy the experience. There's something about food and nudity, eating and sex, that goes together, if you think about it. It's primitive on the one hand, and very sensuous on the other.
Well, I was on the slippery slope into the abyss of love, companionship and happiness-and you know where that leads. Misery.
But so what? You gotta go for it. I said to Kate, 'I'll call Beth in the morning and tell her it's over.'
'You don't have to do that. I'll do it for you.' She laughed again.
Obviously Kate Mayfield was in a better post-coital mood than I was. I really was conflicted, confused, and a little scared. But I'd get it all sorted out in the morning.
She said to me, 'Business. Tell me more about the informant.'
So I told her again about my interrogation of Fadi Aswad, making me feel less guilty about cutting my workday short for food and sex.
She listened, taking it all in, then asked, 'And you don't think he's a plant?'
'No. His brother-in-law is dead.'
'Nevertheless, that could all be part of the plan. These people can be ruthless in ways that we can't comprehend.'
I thought about that and asked her, 'What would be the purpose of trying to make us think that Asad Khalil got to Perth Amboy by taxi?'
'So that we think he's on the road, and we stop looking for him in New York City.'
'You're overworking this. If you'd seen Fadi Aswad, you'd know he was telling the truth. Gabe thought so, too, and I trust Gabe's instincts.'
She said, 'Fadi told the truth about what he knew. That doesn't prove it was Khalil in the taxi. But if it was, then the Frankfurt murder was a red herring and the Perth Amboy murder was the real thing.'
'That's it.' I rarely have brainstorming sessions in the nude with a colleague of the opposite sex, and it's not as enjoyable as it might seem. But I suppose it's better than a long conference table meeting.
I said, 'Well, I saved you from having to spend a few weeks in Europe with Ted Nash.'
'That's why I think you made this whole thing up. To get me back here.'
I smiled.
She stayed silent a few seconds, then said, 'Do you believe in fate?'
I thought about that. My chance encounter with the two Hispanic gentlemen on West 102nd Street a year ago had set off a chain of events that put me on convalescent leave, then to the Anti-Terrorist Task Force, then to here and now. I don't believe in predestination, fate, chance, or luck. I believe that a combination of free will and random chaos controls our destinies, that the world is sort of like a ladies' garment sale at Loehmann's. In any case, you have to be awake and alert at all times, ready and able to exercise your free will amidst an increasingly chaotic and dangerous environment.
'John?'
'No, I don't believe in fate. I don't think we were fated to meet, and I don't think we were fated to make love in your apartment. The meeting was random, the lovemaking was your idea. Great idea, by the way.'
'Thank you. It's your turn to chase me.'
'I know the rules. I always send flowers.'
'Skip the flowers. Just be nice to me in public.'
I have a writer friend who is wise in the ways of women, and he once told me, 'Men talk to women so they can have sex with them, and women have sex with men so that men will talk to them.' This seemed to work out for everyone, but I'm not sure how much talk I need to engage in after sex. With Kate Mayfield, the answer seemed to be, Lots.
'John?'
'Oh… well, if I'm nice to you in public, people will talk.'
'Good. And the other idiots will stay away.'
'What other idiots? Besides Nash?'
'It doesn't matter.' She sat back and put her bare feet on the coffee table, stretched, yawned, and wiggled her toes. She said, 'God, that felt good.'
'I did my best.'
'I mean the food.'
'Oh.' I glanced at the digital clock on the VCR and said, 'I should leave.'
'Not a chance. I haven't slept overnight with a man in so long I can't remember who ties who up.'
I sort of chuckled. The thing about Kate Mayfield that attracted me, I guess, was that in public she looked and acted virginal and wholesome, but here… well, you get the picture. This turns some men on, and I'm one of
