“There’s hope for you yet,” she said, shivering slightly.
“Okay. That’s what I’ll put in my report.”
“You do that.”
She lowered her head and sighed as I massaged her neck and shoulders. Her skin was smooth and slippery beneath the soap.
After a minute she spun suddenly and faced me. “Don’t stop.”
“What do you—?”
“I said don’t stop, Mort.”
I soaped her breasts, arms, belly. I felt her body tremble beneath my fingers. Her eyes were closed, back pressed against the warm tile wall, arms out to either side in a gesture of total surrender.
Exquisite. There was no other word for her. Years of dance had honed her, hardened her, made her sleek and smooth, alluring, erotic.
She arched her back. “There comes a magic moment,” she said in a whisper, eyes still closed. That was all she said, but I thought I knew what she meant. Us, alone like this for however long we had, discovering unknown parts of ourselves in what amounted to the vastness of an improbable universe. I sensed the breathtaking awareness we had of each other, the aggression and yielding of sex, like complementary tides. All that and more.
After a while she opened her eyes and took the soap from me. “My turn.”
“That might not be such a good idea, Kayla.”
“Why not?…oh.” She grinned. “You don’t consider that a problem, do you?”
“It…it’s, uh…”
“You’re feeling a tiny bit obvious,” she said. “Polarized.”
“You might say that.”
“At least you’re nicely proportioned.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“Relax. This’ll be good for you, Mort. Call it a mental health moment.”
She pushed me against the wall and soaped me thoroughly from neck to toe, then concentrated her efforts, stopping two seconds short of tipping me over that final precipice.
She gave me an inquiring look. “More? Up to you.”
“No,” I answered breathlessly. “I’m fine.”
“You sure? You don’t sound like it. I’d be happy to work these suds around a while longer, get everything all spick-and-span here.”
“I’m sure.”
She arrowed her deep-blue eyes into my brown ones, drilling me. “Control is one of those double-edged swords, Mort. Women like it, don’t like it. It might be a sign of respect, caring, something like that, but it also makes us wonder if we’re not simply resistible.”
“Resistible? You’re absolutely intoxicating, woman.”
“Nice to know.” Her look told me she wasn’t convinced.
“This…it’s something we might share later, Kayla. If you want, I mean.”
“I want.”
“I wish I knew why.”
“You’re analyzing. That’ll get you nowhere. You can’t analyze white magic, pure awareness.”
“White magic?”
“Sex. Ether waves. Cosmic ties. Vibrations.”
I would’ve been a fool to try to analyze any of that. I kissed her. Her tongue darted across my teeth. “How about a rinse?” I asked.
She laughed. “Okay, Boy Scout. After I shampoo my hair, if you don’t mind.”
“I’ll help.”
“Please do.”
The moment passed into a pleasant soapy interlude, a wet rambunctious sharing, visually pleasing, without the peakiness. At one point a nipple found its way into my mouth for fifteen or twenty seconds, but that was an accident. The undertow was still strong, however, still threatening. I could feel it pulling at me, wanting her. I could feel it pulling at her too, see it in her eyes. I found it utterly remarkable.
“What kind of dance do you teach?” I asked.
“Modern dance and jazz, dance composition.”
“It’s done wonders for you.” I passed my hands along her sides, over the resilient sheath of muscle at her waist, then over the rounded swell of her hips.
“Thank you. If you keep that up I’ll have to wrestle you to the floor. We might drown.”
I quit, thinking I knew how to take a hint.
“You’re so darned literal,” she said, poking me in the belly. “Shower wrestling is a blast.”
“It might lead to other things, though.”
“Yeah? So?”
Back in the bedroom she crawled into bed and watched as I put on faded jeans and a short-sleeve shirt.
“Where to?” she asked, lying on her side, head propped up on an elbow.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
I told her about Jeri, not all of it—meaning her gym and the way she bounced me around like a basketball—but enough. Kayla’s eyes twinkled in amusement. “One private investigator hires another, then the whole thing gets yanked inside out. How fun.”
“Dallas suggested it. Things got a little out of hand yesterday.”
“How old is this Jeri person, Mort?”
“Closing in on thirty.”
“She pretty?”
“Uh-huh.”
“How pretty? I’m not being possessive, really.”
“No?”
She made a face at me. “Nope. This morning was fun and I’m willing to do a lot more of it, but it certainly wasn’t meant to tie you down. If you’ve got anything else, well…going.”
“You’re just naturally inquisitive, nothing more.”
“Uh-huh.”
“She’s very pretty, strong as a freaking ox, and she made it clear she doesn’t get involved with her clients.”
“How about with her employees?”
“I got the impression her decree encompasses everyone on the planet right now.”
“Mmm. Sounds like a little problem there.”
“Could be. Not for me, though.”
She sank back down, still looking at me. The sheet covered her to her waist. I tried not to stare, but finally gave up.
“So,” she said, “where’re the two of you off to this morning?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea. It’s Jeri’s call. I could walk in and find myself unemployed.”
“Her name just rolls off your tongue, Mort.”
“Ms. DiFrazzia, then.”
She gave me a drowsy smile. “Just kidding. You can call her Jeri. I’m not the jealous type.”
* * *
Not the jealous type. Maybe. Some people are, some aren’t, but few of those who are will admit it. And what did I know about Kayla? The shower was one thing, jealousy was another. And… what did it matter? Walking downhill toward Jeri’s, I found myself as confused as ever about last night and this morning. I didn’t know what Kayla wanted, down deep. I didn’t know where we were headed, or if we were headed anywhere. I was in a wait-and-see mode, but I wasn’t about to close any doors.
I’d given myself plenty of time to get to Jeri’s. Too much. I arrived early, at 9:35. The front door was locked. One of those clock signs was
