“Neither have I. But I could get used to it. I know that I like it.”
I lightly brushed her cheek with my fingers. The music was working and Christine seemed to flow with me. Graceful, moonlit choreography. All my body parts were moving. I was finding it hard to breathe.
Christine and I were in harmony together. We both could dance well enough, but together it was something special. I moved slowly and smoothly with her. The palm of her hand felt magnetized to mine. I spun her slowly, a playful half turn underneath my arm.
We came back together and our lips were inches apart. I could feel the warmth of her body right through my clothes. Our lips met again, just for an instant, and the music stopped. Another song began.
“Now that is a hard act to follow,” she said as we sashayed back to our table after the slow dance. “I knew you could dance. Never a doubt in my mind. But I didn’t know you could dance.”
“You haven’t seen anything. Wait until they play a samba,” I told her. I was still holding her hand, couldn’t let go. Didn’t want to.
“I think I can samba,” she said.
We danced a lot, we held hands constantly, and I think we even ate dinner. We definitely danced some more, and I could not let go of Christine’s hand. She couldn’t let go of mine. We talked nonstop, and later, I couldn’t remember most of what had been said. I think that happens high above New York City in the Rainbow Room.
The first time I looked at my watch all night it was nearly one o’clock and I couldn’t believe it. That same mysterious time-loss thing had happened a couple of times when I’d been with Christine. I paid our bill, our big bill, and I noticed that the Rainbow Room was nearly empty. Where had everybody gone?
“Can you keep a secret?” Christine whispered as we were going down to the lobby in the walnut-paneled elevator. We were alone in the car with its soft yellow light. I was holding her in my arms.
“I keep lots of secrets,” I said.
“Well, here it is,” Christine said as we reached the bottom floor with just the lightest bump. She held me inside after the door had opened. She wasn’t going to let me out of the softly lit elevator until she finished saying what she had to say.
“I really like that you got me my own room at the Astor,” she said. “But Alex, I don’t think I’ll be needing it. Is that okay?”
We stood very still in the elevator and began to kiss again. The doors shut, and the elevator slowly climbed back up to the roof. So we kissed going up, and we kissed on the way back down to the lobby, and it wasn’t nearly a long enough round-trip.
“You know what, though?” she finally said as we reached the ground floor of Rockefeller Center a second time.
“What, though?” I asked her.
“That’s what’s supposed to happen when you go to the Rainbow Room.”
Chapter 52
IT WAS unforgettable. Just like the magical Nat King Cole song, and the more recent version with Natalie Cole.
We were standing at the door to my hotel room, and I was completely lost in the moment. I had let go of Christine’s hand to open the door-and I was lost. I fumbled the key slightly and missed the lock. She gently placed her hand on mine and we glided the key into the lock, turned the tumblers together.
An eternity of seconds passed, at least it seemed that way. I knew that I would never forget any of this. I wouldn’t let skepticism or cynicism diminish it either.
I knew what was happening to me. I was feeling the dizzying effect of a return to intimacy. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it. I had let myself be numb, let myself live numb for the past few years. It’s easy enough to do, so easy that you don’t even realize your life has become a deep rut.
The hotel door slowly opened, and I had the thought that the two of us were giving up something of our past now. Christine turned to me at the threshold. I heard the faint swish of her silk dress.
Her beautiful face tilted toward mine. I reached for her and balanced her chin with my fingertips. I felt as if I hadn’t been able to breathe properly all night, not from the moment she’d arrived at Penn Station.
“Musician’s hands. Piano player fingers,” she said. “I love the way you touch me. I always knew I would. I’m not afraid anymore, Alex.”
“I’m glad. Neither am I.”
The heavy wooden door of the hotel room seemed to close all by itself.
It didn’t really matter where we were right now, I was thinking. The twinkling lights outside, or maybe a boat gliding by on the river, gave the impression that the floor was gently moving, much as the dance floor at the Rainbow Room had moved under our feet.
I had switched hotels for the weekend, moving to the Astor on Manhattan ’s East Side. I’d wanted someplace special. The room was on the twelfth floor, facing out on the river.
We were drawn to the picture window, attracted by the strobing lights of the New York skyline to the southeast. We watched the silent, strangely beautiful movement of traffic passing the United Nations, moving toward the Brooklyn Bridge.
I remembered taking the bridge earlier today on our way to a crackhouse in Brooklyn. It seemed so long ago. I saw the face of Shareef Thomas, then the dead policeman’s then Soneji’s, but I shut down those images immediately. I wasn’t a police detective here. Christine’s lips were on my skin, lightly bussing my throat.
“Where did you go just now? You went away, didn’t you?” she whispered. “You were in a dark place.”
“Just for a few seconds.” I confessed the truth, my flaw. “A flashback from work. It’s gone.” I was holding her hand again.
She kissed me lightly on the cheek, a paper-thin kiss, then very lightly on the lips. “You can’t lie, can you, Alex? Not even tiny white lies.”
“I try not to. I don’t like lies. If I lie to you, then who am I?” I said and smiled. “What’s the point?”
“I love that about you,” she whispered. “Lots of other things, too. I find something else every time I’m with you.”
I nuzzled the top of her head, then I kissed Christine’s forehead, her cheek, her lips, and finally the sweet hollow of her throat. She was trembling a little. So was I. Thank God that neither of us was afraid, right. I could feel the pulse tripping under her skin.
“You’re so beautiful,” I whispered. “Do you know that?”
“I’m way too tall, too thin. You’re the beautiful one. You are, you know. Everybody says so.”
Everything felt electric and so right. It seemed a miracle that we had found each other, and now we were here together. I was so glad, felt so lucky, that she had decided to take a chance with me, that I had taken a chance, too.
“Look in the mirror there. See how beautiful you are,” she said. “You have the sweetest face. You are trouble, though, aren’t you, Alex?”
“I won’t give you too much trouble tonight,” I said.
I wanted to undress her, to do everything for and to Christine. A funny word, strange word in my head, rapture. She slid her hand over the front of my pants and felt how hard I was.
“Hmmm,” she whispered and smiled.
I began to unzip her dress. I couldn’t remember wanting to be with someone like this, not for a long time anyway. I ran my hand over her face, memorizing every part, every feature. Christine’s skin was so soft and silky underneath my fingers.
We started to dance again, right there in the hotel room. There wasn’t any music, but we had our own. My hand pressed just below her waist, folding her in close to me.
Moonlit choreography again. We slowly rocked back and forth, back and forth, a sensuous cha-cha-cha next to the broad picture window. I held her buttocks in the palms of my hands. She wiggled into a position she liked. I liked it, too. A whole lot.
“You dance real good, Alex. I just knew you would.”
