By Thursday, I had nearly forgotten about Kleinschmidt's visit to my apartment and I was up to my eyebrows in work. Malone hadn't been around since Monday night, but he was coming up on four days off. I was trying to complete as much work as possible before he finished his shift tonight. He'd promised a romantic weekend I wouldn't soon forget, but the rat wouldn't tell me anything about it. I despise men who can keep a secret.
Late in the afternoon, I finished the revisions and called Shannon Ripley in New York. She suggested I email her my efforts so she could review them before sending them on to the publisher’s office.
“How’s the research coming on the new book?” Shannon asked.
“Good. I’ve been trying to work on that between shifts on the keyboard.”
“How about the new lover?” I could hear a throaty exhale as she spoke. “Is he still curling your toes?”
“Are you smoking again?”
“Don’t try to change the subject, Jamie.”
“I’m concerned about your health.” I could feel the warmth of embarrassment on my face.
“Fine,” Shannon said. “I only smoke cigarettes at two times during the week. One of them is Thursday afternoons when I go over accounts with a glass of wine.”
“And the other?”
A soft chuckle of laughter flowed over the telephone line. “You’re a writer, Jamie. Use your imagination.”
Now my face was as red as my hair. “I think that’s more information than I needed to know.”
“So what about your new guy?”
“Let’s just say I haven’t scared him off yet.”
“Jamie, there may still be hope for you.”
We talked for a few more minutes about the book and the revisions. Shannon commented on what a difference technology made, where I could send days’ worth of writing to her office instantaneously. I remembered the first story I wrote for a high school newspaper on an old Royal typewriter. I can’t image trying to write a novel that way. The revisions alone would be enough to discourage me. It helps you appreciate the dedication of writers from centuries ago.
Since last week, I'd made a conscious effort to keep the apartment locked. Even if I just went downstairs to check my mail, I began securing the door. Malone didn't say anything about my sudden precautions, but I think he approved. Earlier today I went to the locksmith and had copies made of the apartment keys. After making certain they worked, these went on a brass ring with leather tag adorning it. I wrapped them in a little box for Malone. Then I ran out to the liquor store for a couple bottles of wine. It started to snow as I was on my way home, the street glistening with little white sparkles. The phone was ringing as I came into the apartment. Malone.
"Hey, Jamie."
"How are you, Grover?"
Malone chuckled, warm and soft in my ear. "Where do you get these names?"
"I bought a baby book."
The chuckle died quickly.
"A what?”
“A baby book, with possible names in it. You know, like Grover means from the grove."
"Why did you need a book like that?" There was an obvious tension to his voice I’d never heard before.
"You asked where I was getting the names from. I scan the book and check off ones that might apply to you." Suddenly it dawned on me what he must have been thinking. "You jerk; you thought I meant having a baby." I couldn't help laughing.
"Yeah, guess I did," Malone said. I could almost hear the relief in his voice.
"Where would you get an idea like that, Grover? You know we’ve always practiced safe sex. Plus, I’m on the pill. And we haven’t been intimate that long.”
"Never mind. I don't like making a fool of myself. I just wanted to let you know I'd be late. I'm covering the first hour of midnight's shift for Sergeant Mankowski. His wife's in the hospital."
"Anything serious?"
"Appendix. She's in surgery now. The doctors keep reassuring Mankowski that it’s a routine procedure. I’m betting he’s still pretty anxious. He figures she'll be done in a couple of hours or so. Greenwald is coming in to pick up the rest of the shift. Mankowski wanted to come in when she’s in recovery, but Captain Nowalski wouldn’t hear of it.”
That sounded just like Bert. Gruff on the exterior, but a big plush teddy bear on the inside. “I hope everything goes okay for the Mankowskis.”
“Nowadays, an appendectomy is pretty standard. Probably even more so since you had yours done. Hey, maybe you and Carole can compare scars.”
“You are a strange man, Malone.”
“See you around one.”
“I’ll be here, Grover."
“Right. And Jay…”
“Yeah?”
“Keep the door locked.”
“Bye, Grover.”
I piled the pillows on the floor by the bay window and watched the snowfall. Something about the way snow shines as it falls pleases and depresses me at the same time. Fresh snow always seems so clean and fragile, as if it's giving the city a gentle bath. Here's a chance to hide all the filth and debris we leave behind, buried under a lily-white blanket. For some reason, tonight I felt like getting pleasantly buzzed. I warmed some apple cider in the microwave and added a healthy shot of Southern Comfort. Sitting like a sultan on the pillows, sipping my potent brew, I watched the snow. The heat from the booze warmed me and my thoughts turned to Malone.
I'm my own worst enemy when it comes to men. I meet a guy and my weird sense of humor tends to scare him off. Or it’s my career. Or it’s my body. I have always been slender and I don’t have fabulous curves. I’ve got a small chest, narrow waist, small hips. There is nothing about my physique that would set the world on fire. Romance is something that happens to other people. I write about it only if I can work it into a story. But Malone…
Geez, what a difference he was. He seemed to like my body just fine. And he had me so wrapped up, I couldn't think straight. The other day I was doodling while on the phone with Shannon. When I hung up I almost screamed. I'd written "Mrs. Jamie Malone" half a dozen times in a notebook and circled it with little Cupid hearts. High school shit. Hell, it was more like grammar school shit. But it scared me nonetheless. How had I let myself fall so quickly, so completely, for this guy I had just met? A guy I really knew very little about. Maybe it was part of my genetics, passed down from my crazy mother.
Eventually, I thought about Kleinschmidt. He and Malone were a package. I’d met them at the same time and my life changed dramatically. Before Malone entered my love life it had been a barren stretch on the road of romance for me.
The police still had no leads on Kleinschmidt’s shooter. Malone said the file would remain open indefinitely, but without any viable information, there wasn’t much hope of finding the guy responsible. Unless he tried the same stunt again with another cop and didn’t get away so easily. It could happen.
When I finished my cider, I slipped off the pillows and went for a refill. I kept thinking about Malone's reaction to the baby book. It didn't take a detective to recognize how uncomfortable the subject made him. He wasn't too old to have kids—for that matter, neither was I. We hadn't been together that long and already I was doodling about marriage and Malone sounded ready to run.
Was I blowing this relationship too? Like every other one worth mentioning in the last ten years? Was this courtship doomed from the start? I resumed my perch and watched the snowflakes perform their gravitational dance.
Shortly after midnight the snow stopped. Everything outside my window appeared pure and freshly made. There were no wrappers stuck in the bushes, no cigarette butts or used condoms visible. Everything was brand new. A row of pine trees in the park across the street made me think of the holidays. Light from the street lamps and the stars above reflected in the white powder. There were no tire tracks or footprints to mar it. I was looking at a new creation, a world untouched by human hands. It was beautiful.
Malone would be here soon. Could I keep the relationship feeling brand new? Could I roll it in snow and keep it from falling apart? I didn't want to lose this guy, but I didn't know how not to drive him away. I felt like shit. My cider was gone. I fixed another one, put some Earl Klugh on the stereo and resumed my perch. The pillows were softer now, tempting me to stretch out. I did. Even the branches of the giant elms lining the street were thick with snow. Twinkles of reflected starlight reminded me of Malone's eyes.
"Jamie, open up." A steady tapping at my door woke me. I'd passed out on the pillows. My head throbbed as I tried to get up.
"Malone?" My mouth was full of fuzzy caterpillars.
"Yeah. You okay?" I fumbled the locks open and tugged on the door.
"Give me a minute or two. Gotta find my brain." I left him in the living room. In the bath, I splashed cold water on my face and drank half a cup of mouthwash.
He was sitting on the sofa when I came back. I flopped on the cushions, my head landing in his lap. He looked tired and more than a little concerned. Tenderly, he put his hand on my forehead.
"You okay, Jay?"
“Just a little bombed. Snow always gives me the blues. Guess I got loaded." I reached for the table and came up with the gift box. Somehow I managed to hand it to him. "Happy Thursday, Grover."
"What's this?" Malone turned the box over slowly, as if it might explode.
"I forget. Why don't you open it and find out." I tried to sit up twice but couldn't make it. So I gave up and stayed where I was.
He opened the box slowly, carefully slitting the tape with his thumb and sliding the paper out of the way. My eyes felt grainy and sore and it hurt to look through them, but I wanted to see his reaction as he opened my gift. It was worth the effort. He rewarded me with one of my favorite things, his low voltage smile. The one that made his eyes sparkle just a little, like the stars overhead in the winter sky.
"Well what do you know," Malone said softly.
"Nothing too extravagant. They work. I tried them right away." My head was still banging, but I didn't care.
"Guess you're finally getting serious about locking the door." Malone gently ran his fingers through my hair. "Maybe you should go crawl into bed and sleep it off."
"Not unless you're going with me."
"Mind if I grab a shower? I feel like last year’s sneakers."
"Help yourself. Just don't expect me to wash your back. I couldn't stand up without a harness and a safety net."
He kissed me gently and carried me into the bedroom. I had to fight the impulse to cling when Malone set me down. Here’s a great way to improve your relationship. Greet your lover totally zonked on spiked cider while wearing a Chicago Bears sweatshirt and torn jeans. There wasn't enough ambition or coordination in me to even get out of my clothes. If I asked Malone to help, he might get the wrong idea.
The room wasn't exactly spinning, but it sure as hell wasn't holding still. I clung to a pillow, determined to wait for Malone to join me. Unfortunately, I passed out before the water started to run in the bath.
* * * *
Friday morning I felt a little better, but nowhere near human. Malone was still sleeping. I went to fix breakfast and surprise him for a change. Exhibiting the greatest degree of self-control, I didn't drink the coffee straight from the pot. I used a mug. For the second cup I added three scoops of sugar. Coffee, muffins and oranges were the best I could do. The food would eventually make me feel alive again. I was about to take Malone a tray when I noticed the bottle of Southern Comfort on the counter. Last night slowly swam back into focus. I'd cracked the seal on it when I made the first mug of cider. Now it was half empty. No wonder I had wiped out. I put the fifth away and turned to take Malone his meager breakfast. He was standing behind me.
"Jesus, Angus, don't do that!"
He took the tray from my hands and set it on the table. Then he scooped me up for a kiss and carried me over to the Jewish Aunt. We snuggled. Every time I tried to talk, he silenced me with a kiss. Who can argue with that kind of reasoning? I took the hint. After a while Malone sat up and pulled me into his lap.
"We need to talk," he said softly.
"Yeah, I think so too."
"You want to go first?"
I shook my head. "I'll wait."
"There's something you should know, before we go any further. I'm an alcoholic. I haven't had a drink in over eight years. But I'm still an alcoholic. I should have told you before." He gave me a little squeeze around the shoulders. "Just never found the right moment."
I didn't know what to say. Quickly I thought about every time we'd been together. Malone drank coffee by the gallon and bottled water like a million other people, but I realized I'd never seen him with so much as a glass of wine. That one night after work, when I had converted the Dutch oven into a wine bucket, he hadn't even taken a sip. And I’d even washed both glasses.
"Why didn't you tell me, Angus? I feel like an idiot."
"Don't. You had no way of knowing. It doesn't bother me to see other people drink. I just take care of myself." He held me tenderly, stroking my back with his warm, strong hands.
"Booze is something I can live without. I don't need it." I couldn't tell if he believed me or not.
"I'll understand if you need some time to think, Jay. It's not like saying I used to go bowling. Alcoholism is a disease. It can be treated, but it needs attention every day."
I pulled away from him and got off the sofa. He didn't say anything while I walked around the room. I stopped before him, standing beyond his reach.
"How do you feel about me, Malone? Do you see me as something other than an easy piece of ass?"
His face flushed dark with anger. "You're a hell of a lot more than that."
I was frustrated, confused and afraid to say what was on my mind. But it came tumbling out just the same.
"We're not kids, Malone. Ever since I met you, there's been a very definite attraction here. Maybe it goes both ways." He started to speak but I waved his comment aside. "I think we have a shot at something good. What do you think?"
He didn't hesitate. "Same here."
"C'mere." I took his hand and led him into the kitchen. One of the cupboards above the stove serves as my liquor cabinet. It's not much. The Southern Comfort, a fifth of gin, tequila and the two bottles of wine I'd bought last night. I set each one on the counter with Malone at my elbow.
"Jay, this isn't necessary."
"Shut up, Angus, and start pouring." I unscrewed the gin and dumped the contents into the sink. He watched as the booze gurgled down the drain. I did the same to the tequila and the whiskey. Malone held back the wine.
"This is perfectly good wine. Don't pour it away, give it to a friend or take it back to the store. You're wasting money."
"Bullshit," I said angrily, "you mean more to me than some stupid bottle of wine. Give."
"Jamie, this is crazy."
"So have me committed." I snatched a bottle from him and fiddled with the wrapper, trying to get the cork out.
Malone gently but firmly took the bottle back. "You need a corkscrew." His voice softened to a whisper.
I dug one out of the drawer and handed it to him. Expertly, he sliced away the wrapper and twisted the opener, easing the cork out with a slight pop. He handed it back and I dumped it in the sink. By the time the first bottle was empty, the second one was ready. I ran the hot water through the pipes to flush the smell.
"There will be some happy sewer rats tonight." I turned away from the sink. Malone hugged me and began nibbling the soft spot on my neck, beneath my ear.
"Nicest thing anyone's ever done for me," he whispered.
"Come with me, big fella. We'll have to fix that."