Death of an Orchid Lover (25 page)

After a while she pointed at my greenhouse and said, “So that’s where your cacti live.”

“Yeah. And my other succulents too. I should have shown you around it while it was still light. Maybe you can see it in the morning.”

She cocked her head and gave me a funny look.

“Wait,” I said. “That came out wrong. I wasn’t assuming anything. I meant, maybe you could come back in the morning and see it.”

“Is that what you meant?”

“I’m not sure.”

She lay back on the blanket. “Let’s just see what happens.”

Promising. Something could happen. Good thing I’d inspected my condoms.

I stretched out on the blanket next to her. The sky was
clear, light pollution at a minimum. I could see a fair number of stars. Lustful thoughts ran through my head. Maybe Gina was right. Maybe I did think about sex only when I was investigating a murder. Maybe it was because getting laid made me deduct better.

Or maybe, after nearly a year of celibacy, I was just getting horny.

As we lay there quietly contemplating the heavens, I tried and failed to envision what Sharon would look like without clothes on. I’d never been able to picture a woman naked, at least one I’d never actually seen that way. It would have been nice to be like the guys in the Virgil Partch cartoons in the
True
magazines my father had when I was growing up, and have a thought balloon appear above my head with a nude representation of whatever female specimen I was interested in. But I just couldn’t make it happen.

I continued watching the stars and the planes and the blimps. It was a two-blimp night.

“I’m worried about something,” Sharon said.

Uh-oh. Here it came. Here was the part where she told me about the Samoan.

“Maybe this is selfish,” she said. “But I feel we might have something between us, and I don’t want to invest a lot of emotion in someone who’s going to get himself killed.” She raised herself on her elbow, looked down at me. “Do you really need to be nosing around after some murderer?”

I considered telling her, You’re right, I should butt out. That was what she wanted to hear. But I’d made a career out of screwing up relationships by molding myself to what I thought the woman wanted me to be. This time, I thought, honesty was the best policy. “Yes,” I said. “I do.”

“I guess I knew you would say that.” She let out a tiny sigh. As long as you feel that way, why don’t you bring me
up-to-date? Maybe I can be sort of a sounding board. Another set of ears. “Everyone needs a sounding board.”

I felt a flush of guilt. I had a sounding board. I’d had one for years.

But Gina wasn’t there just then. I wondered what she was up to. Then I sat up, put my arms around my knees, and started talking.

I started with Yoichi, and Sharon offered suggestions here and there, pointing out places where what Yoichi had said was questionable. She reconfirmed that she’d heard him arguing with Albert.

I told her about my visit with Helen and David as well, then asked if she could remember any more about their connection to Albert.

“Maybe I’ve made something out of nothing,” she said. “I just heard them say something about contracts once.”

“It’s not nothing. Everybody’s acting too much like it’s something for it to be nothing.”

“Maybe we do have to seriously consider the possibility a robber murdered Albert. Or some transient.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“I don’t
believe
it, but you have to admit it’s possible. And if that’s the case, I don’t think you’re ever going to find them.”

“You think the same transient killed Laura?”

A wry smile. “Same transient, different transient. You’re still feeling it’s your fault, aren’t you?”

“A little.”

“Don’t. It’s not.”

After a while I reached out and began to stroke her hair.
I’d never stroked gray hair before. It felt just like any other woman’s hair. Soft.

I saw her smile in the moonlight. “You’re sweet,” she said.

“That’s what all the girls say.”

“No, you are, I mean it. Not pushing. I like that.”

“It’s hard for me not to.”

“Me too. And that’s why I’d better go now.”

“But the night’s still young.”

“Joe, if I stay here any longer we may sleep together.”

“The possibility had crossed my mind.”

“And I’m just not ready. And I feel that if I’m not ready and we do it anyway, it will make things wrong between us.” She eased to her feet. “So I’m going to go.”

I stood as well. Things were too weird. Was she really going to go because we were too hot for each other too soon? Or was there a Samoan lurking? “But you’ll be back in the morning,” I said.

“I will?”

“To see the greenhouse.”

“It would have to be early. Seven or so. I have to be at work by eight.”

“That’s fine. That’s perfect, as a matter of fact, because I have to leave for my commercial at eight.”

“I’ll bring bagels.”

“Real bagels? Like water and egg and pumpernickel? Or frou-frou bagels, with blueberries and the like?”

“Real bagels.”

“It’s a date.”

We walked out to her car. I kissed her good night, very lightly, no more than a touching of lips. She got in and started the engine.

It just slipped out. I hadn’t been planning it and I really didn’t want to say it, but out it came. “My family’s having a
little get-together Saturday night. I know it’s a really high-pressure situation, so if you say no I’ll understand, but you’re welcome to come.”

She took a second to think about it. “I can’t. I have other plans Saturday night.”

“Oh?”

“But how about tomorrow? I’ll cook you dinner.”

“Then you’ll have to tell me where you live.”

“I’ll come here. I like it here. How about I come at seven? Seven in the morning, seven at night.”

“Huh?”

“The greenhouse, remember?” “Oh. Right.”

“You’re upset I can’t see you Saturday.”

“No,” I said. “It’s fine.”

She reached out, grabbed my hand and kissed it. “Don’t get too clingy,” she said, and sped away.

I went inside and called Gina. “It’s me,” I said.

“Hi, you.”

“What’s happening?”

“My girlfriend’s moving to San Francisco. What should be happening?”

“I thought you were over that.”

“I thought so too.”

“Well, like they say, easy come, easy go.”

Silence from the other end.

“Gi? You still there?”

“It’s early yet,” she said. “Did it go badly with the orchid woman?”

“Is that from a Broadway show?
Kiss of the Orchid Woman.”

“Did it?”

“No,” I said. Actually, it went pretty well. She left because she didn’t want to sleep with me. No, wait. She left because she did want to sleep with me, and she wasn’t ready yet. “Or something. Right, she left because she was too hot for me and wanted to wait before we got it on.”

“Got it on’?”

“But I’m seeing her tomorrow night. She’s cooking for me. And she’s coming over in the morning for a greenhouse viewing.”

“How nice for her.”

“Don’t be snide. Hey, listen. Dad’s having the whole family over Saturday night. You want to come?”

“Okay. But are you sure you don’t want to bring your new girlfriend instead?”

“She’s tied up Saturday.”

“So I was your second choice.”

“Well,” I said. If you must put it in such simple terms. “Yes.”

“And you’re probably upset that she’s not free.”

“No, not at all, I—”

“People have lives, Joe. Some of them aren’t able to make Saturday night available just to suit your dating regimen.”

“I don’t need you to berate me now.”

“I’m not berating you. You need company?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Sounds like you want me to say yes.”

“Well, the truth of the matter is …I’m lonely.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that before.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

Silence. Then I said, “Okay. I’ll come on up.”

“No, my place depresses me. I’ll come down there. Half an hour.” She hung up.

We sat on the couch, trading two pints of Ben and Jerry’s back and forth. I brought her up-to-date on Sharon and on the orchid people. When I was all talked out, I turned on Letterman. Drew Barrymore was one of the guests. The little girl from
E.T.
was all grown up. Something was wrong there. Maybe it was that I was getting old.

Gina got up and put the ice cream away. When she came back, she lay down on the couch with her head in my lap.

I flicked a few channels, spaced out. When I returned I found I was stroking Gina’s hair. Two women’s hair in one night. A new Joe Portugal record.

I moved one hand down to her shoulders. She shifted around to improve my access. I continued down her back.

“God,” she said. “I haven’t had a good back rub in such a long time.”

“We should remedy that.”

She lay on her stomach. I threw some of the cushions on the floor and straddled her. I revisited her shoulders first, then moved down to her back, working out from her spine.

I recalled other women I’d given back rubs, some on that very couch. Back in my heavy-dating days, it had been a good way to get into someone’s pants. You both knew you wanted each other, but no one would admit it. So one would say, “My back is sore,” and the other would say, “Do you want a massage? I’m pretty good,” and you’d look at each other meaningfully, and both would know where it would lead. The massager would work their way down the back
and, seeming tentative, onto the buttocks. The massagee would turn over with open arms, and carnal activities would ensue. In the morning you could say you got carried away.

My reverie had carried me down to where Gina’s hips flared. Nice hips. Baby-making hips, Gina’s mother called them, and Gina would roll her eyes and say, Not in this lifetime, “Ma.”

I took up a holding pattern. Any further and we’d be in new territory, or at least territory we hadn’t visited in seventeen years. Was this a good idea? Our judgment was impaired. Gina’s from her breakup with Jill, me from my neurotic worry about what would happen with Sharon.

I took another look at Gina’s hips. I sucked in a deep breath. I let it out. I patted her butt once, twice. “All done.”

She moved to a sitting position, looked in my eyes. Spent a few seconds like that. Then she said, That was great. “I feel a lot better.”

We sat side by side watching TV. After a few minutes I realized she was asleep. I went in for my extra blanket. It wasn’t there. It was still on my back lawn, gathering dew. I dragged the other one off my bed. When I got back, she was stretched out on the couch. Which had a mattress inside. Like Laura’s. “You want me to pull the bed out?”

She didn’t even open her eyes. Too much trouble. “This is fine.”

I draped the blanket over her.

“Take off my shoes,” she said.

I did.

She opened her eyes.“And my jeans.”

I gave her a look.

“You don’t expect me to sleep with my jeans on.”

“Of course not.”

She undid them and raised her hips. I reached under the
blanket, grabbed the hems, pulled. I folded the jeans neatly and set them on a chair. When I left the room, she was back asleep.