IllicitImpulse (12 page)

John had prepared a response to this as soon as Grace had
started participating. “We had to switch gears a little there. We talked about
what was going on and how much information I really needed.”

“Didn’t you do that before?” asked Davenport. “You know,
when you first started out together.”

“Yes, it’s part of the protocol when the subject first signs
on. This was more of a reeducation about the process.” John took one last look
at his handwriting in the file, let the memory of that first interview with
Grace pass smoothly through his mind. “In this case, the effort really paid
off. That interview includes a lot more material, like the one after that.” He
sighed. “We might have gotten this sort of information from everyone, if only
we’d educated all the subjects like this, repeating what we needed as
necessary.”

That seemed to strike a chord with St. Cloud. John waited
while he and Davenport finished their notes. He’d gone over Grace’s file after
each of the interviews, carefully laying out everything that might have drawn
the auditors’ attention. Nothing had escaped his scrutiny. He’d even checked
out differences in handwriting so subtle that no one else would have seen them.
If things like this were all they noticed, he was home free. It meant a lot of
worrying for nothing, but he didn’t mind that so much.

“This is still a very conservative part of the country,”
John went on, trying to fill the cumbersome silence. He pushed his notes back
across the table. “Any sampling we do here is going to reflect that. A lot of
women don’t want to talk about this with
anyone
, especially if they’re
enjoying their experiences. We were very fortunate with 3258.”

St. Cloud sighed and began to reassemble the file. “This is
a conservative place, you’re right.” He’d lowered his voice a bit. Someone
standing outside probably wouldn’t be able to hear every word. “Maybe in
another place, we wouldn’t be having the same trouble.”

Regret settled in John’s chest. He’d wished for the same
thing in the past, more than once, but at the same time, he loved being
involved with Impulse. The thought that its development might be moved away
from him wounded him, even if it did serve the project best.

Even if his involvement with it ended today.

St. Cloud stamped Grace’s file and John slowly exhaled
through his nose. He was pretty sure he hadn’t given them a reason to examine
Grace’s file any further and soon he’d be in the clear as well. After all the
weeks his stomach had been twisted into knots over this, it was almost over.

St. Cloud piled the three files on top of each other.
“Well…you’ve given us a great deal to think about.”

John tried to sound neither eager nor apprehensive,
desperate to keep his relief from showing on his face or in his voice. “So what
happens now?”

“This is the last day of our data compiling phase.”
Davenport stood. “We’ll compile our findings over the next few days. There’ll
be a meeting sometime after that, when we’ll issue the results.”

Hearing his cue to leave, John rose and shook the proffered
hands. He risked a last glance at the files. The number 3258 stood out and he
tried not to stare at it. He’d done everything he could about this now. The
knowledge made the next step bearable.

“Thanks so much,” said Davenport.

“Thank you,” he answered.

* * * * *

All he wanted now, at the very end of the worst day of his
career, was to go home. He’d wanted so much more just a few hours ago—a nice
drink, a long shower—but somewhere along the way he became willing to settle.
When the mere promise of the drink made him feel languid and sleepy, he’d
dropped the idea entirely. On the way out of Neil’s office, he became willing
to postpone the shower until tomorrow morning. He’d have to deal with the
consequences from today at some point. But that would wait. All that mattered
right now, on the way to the car, was getting home tonight and sleeping in
tomorrow.

He trudged across the asphalt expanse of the parking lot
toward a car that never seemed to get closer. Was that even his car? Something
about it seemed strange. He hoped he hadn’t actually parked on the other side
of the building. He didn’t think he could bear the walk all the way around to
the back lot.

Well, it was too long a walk to take for nothing. Better to
make sure that wasn’t his car before he committed to going around back. He
remembered parking here in front. Sort of.

As he got closer to the car, he realized why he’d had such
trouble recognizing it. That shape he saw…it was a silhouette. He’d driven past
them in the county before, a shape that was supposed to be a cowboy leaning
against a fence post or something. God, how long had it taken him to figure out
it was a cow—

A man. A man sat on his car, one hip resting on the hood,
his foot propped up on the bumper.

That was crazy though. Who would—

Oh shit.

“How we doing tonight, Einstein? Working late?”

Tal crossed his arms over his chest. In his jacket and
jeans, he looked like a bouncer for a nightclub that was at once casual and
exclusive.

John tried to formulate the most intelligent of his
questions. “How did you—”

Tal interrupted him with a question of his own. “Cut the
shit, buddy. Where’s Grace?”

John’s lethargy sizzled away like drops of water on a hot
frying pan. “What?”

Tal got off the car, which lurched upward once relieved of
his weight. “Where is Grace?”

Didn’t he know? “I don’t—what are you talking about?”

“Let me use some real small words. I haven’t seen Grace
since you were both at my place. She hasn’t called. She hasn’t come by. She
won’t pick up when I call her.” Tal took his jacket off and tossed it at the
car, the way people did on TV just before they came to blows. “I kind of feel
like you must have hurt her. Remember what I said would happen if you hurt
her?”

No longer exhausted, but not at all enthusiastic about
fighting Tal here in the parking lot after hours, John called on all of his
depleted resources to keep from taking a step backward. “Tal, the last time I
saw her was last night, right before she went to see you.”

Some, but not all, of the fury seemed to drain from Tal. “To
see me?”

John nodded. “Yeah. So maybe it’s
your
ass.”

“Don’t get cute with me, Einstein.” Tal began to pace, his
hands balled into fists. John watched him complete a tight circle and then
another in the opposite direction before coming to a stop with his back turned.
“How do you know she came to see me?”

“She left in a hurry, like she usually does when she’s going
to see you.” Unease took hold of John as his imagination raced through all the
reasons she might not have made it to Tal. “You’ve been getting together on
Thursdays, haven’t you?”

Tal lifted his face toward the streetlamp. “Shit.”

“What?” John watched Tal rest his hands on his hips, heard
him blow a long breath out into the dark. “What, dammit?”

“I was out last night.”

“All night?”

“No.” Tal leveled his gaze at John. “Just out.”

John shook his head in disgusted amazement. “Out with
another woman.”

“Not like that, dammit.”

Unbelievable. “What the fuck is the matter with you?”

“Do not start that shit with me,” said Tal. “Nothing
happened, and nothing was going to happen. She’s a friend.”

“You have a lot of
friends
.”

Tal closed the distance between them in two strides. Damn,
he was fast. “You know what?” His voice had taken on that lethal quality from
that night in the loft. “Life was really simple before you turned up with your
magic pills. Everybody understood what was going on and everybody was happy.
Except maybe you.”

“Really?” John almost embraced the surge of anger as it
rushed up inside him. “How happy was Grace, really?”

“The fuck do you know about it? You think you can do it
better?” Tal gestured behind him, toward the gate he’d somehow gotten through.
“Go do it better.”

John locked eyes with him and the two stood, toe-to-toe,
long enough for John to consider and reject the possibility of taking a swing
at him while they were alone in the deserted parking lot. John’s BlackBerry
chimed, breaking the tense silence, and he knew without looking that it was
Grace. He knew it without proof, in his bones, just as he knew that Tal could
never find out what Grace now had to say. She’d chosen him, even if it was just
for this text, and whatever she was now starting, John meant to finish.

He looked up at Tal. “I’ll call her.”

Tal didn’t budge. “Tonight.”

John nodded. “Okay. Tonight.”

“Good.” Tal took two steps back toward the car. “That’s all
I wanted.”

John didn’t think that was true, but now wasn’t the time.
“Tal, how’d you get back here, anyway?”

“I didn’t drive. Your fancy security gate can only stop you
if you drive.” Tal’s smile betrayed not even a hint of humor. “Besides, your
rent-a-cop is a client. He was going to look the other way if he had to.” He
took his jacket off the hood and pulled it on. “You better take care of this
tonight. I don’t have time to keep coming back here.”

Tal turned and walked off into the night, heading toward the
fence that had failed to keep him out. John leaned against his car and watched
until Tal was out of sight before checking the message on his BlackBerry.
Grace’s electronic pidgin greeted him.

R u @ work? Can u meet me @ Bank?

The message, devoid of her usual breeziness but still more
urgent than her typical impromptu invitations, solidified his conviction that
Tal had somehow added to her troubles.

But now she needed him. She’d chosen him. His fatigue faded
into memory as he answered her text.

On my way. I’ll let you know when I get there.

As soon as things got back to normal, Grace was going back
to arriving late. She’d ended up waiting for John twice in two days now and as
far as she could tell, showing up early just gave her more time to think, which
meant more time to question herself. Knowing that John was ahead of her gave
her some measure of comfort, even though he didn’t do anything specific to
prepare for her. His presence somehow encouraged her to relax.

Maybe you just don’t like standing around by yourself.

From her perch at the edge of Bank’s cigar loft, which was
busy at this hour without being crowded, Grace watched the multitude surge
around the central island of the bar on the main floor below. A few minutes
ago, the lights had dimmed and the late-dinner crowd had shifted gears to
become the first wave of the party throng. Not long ago, she’d have passed the
time with the population downstairs, sizing up the local talent, enjoying the
choice between the straitlaced bankers and lawyers and the younger set on their
way to the club.

Tonight she wasn’t feeling it. In fairness, she hadn’t felt
it in some time. Once she’d felt like a predator in the world of men. Now with
a veritable sea of them just downstairs, she didn’t really care that much. The
world of men had shrunk down to Tal and John.

She couldn’t blame all that on the pills though. Impulse
made her situation clearer, but she’d really gotten into this bind all by
herself.

Her BlackBerry vibrated in her hand and she checked the
message there.
I’m downstairs. Where are you?

She’d hated to drag John all the way downtown, but she
couldn’t go back to his place. Not with the memory of being close to him still
so fresh in her mind, and not as long as she daydreamed of a future she could
never have with him. If she took him to her place…

Well, that was out of the question. He hadn’t been there
since the night she’d kissed him in the hallway. No, she couldn’t go through
that again.

No. She just needed to set everything straight once and for
all. This wasn’t exactly neutral ground, but it wasn’t as loaded as either of
their homes would be.

She answered his text, letting him know she was upstairs in
the cigar loft. Despite the dim light, she saw him way down there, making his
way through the crowd, sidestepping a tight circle of young women whose
lingering stares followed him as he moved. Did he really not notice that they
were watching him the way a cat studied a goldfish? She knew he was more
worried than usual, and God love him, John was always a little worried. It was
cute, really, the way he seemed to think through everything that could happen
before he made a decision. She wanted to pat his hand or push his hair away
from his forehead and tell him everything would work out.

As if that would help. She’d probably never stop him from
worrying. She might not even really want to. She loved watching his mind work
and knowing that he’d taken everything into account, left nothing to chance.
She could use a little of that herself. She’d gotten herself into more than
enough trouble by not thinking far enough ahead. All this excitement and
surprise and spontaneity carried a hefty price tag.

He emerged from the stairs and she offered him a smile that
felt unconvincing before meeting him halfway for a hug. “Hey.” She had to raise
her voice to be heard over the noise. “I’m sorry to drag you out here on a
Friday night.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He glanced over toward the bar in the
corner of the room. “Your timing’s good, actually. I could use a drink.”

Grace struggled unsuccessfully against the temptation to
turn this into just another drink with her friend. “Another bad day on the
job?”

“Possibly the worst of days.” For a moment, he watched the
bartender almost wistfully, and she hoped he would take the bait. But then he
turned back to her. “That’s not why we’re here though. Is it?”

Damn. She was going to have to go through with this, wasn’t
she?

They’d have to keep shouting if they stayed here. “Let’s go
downstairs. I don’t want to yell.”

They began to make their way down the narrow stairs to the
main floor. She let John lead the way, making a path for her as they fought the
growing press of people coming up past them. About halfway down, where the
stairs turned a corner at a landing, he reached for her and when she let her
fingers entwine with and then be engulfed by his, treacherous warmth bloomed at
her center.

God. If only there was another way to deal with this.

She knew the entrance would be crowded with people trying to
get in. Even if there was room for the two of them to have a conversation on
the front steps, what she had to say wasn’t for public consumption. At the foot
of the stairs, she tugged his hand and led him through the door between the
kitchen and the men’s bathroom, a forbidden exit to an equally illicit place—a
concrete slab between a Dumpster, a loading dock and concrete stairs. Two
white-shirted cooks leaned against the brick wall, standing over a pile of
cigarette butts. Where the steps met the alley built from worn cobblestones,
three barely legal girls in painted-on minidresses waved their cigarettes
around in time with their conversation. Grace’s ears rang from the noise they’d
escaped, but the impromptu smoking patio would be quiet enough and private
enough to serve her purposes.

She pulled John halfway down the stairs and stopped to lean
against the metal banister. She took a deep breath of chilly air, gathering her
resolve, before saying, “I didn’t really tell you everything last night.”

Without releasing her hand, he came down one step, moving as
if he were next in line for a flu shot. When she was between him and the
railing, so close that she had to fight the urge to wrap her arms around his
waist, he asked, “What didn’t you tell me?”

“I told you how Impulse makes you kind of crazy,” she said.
“I said it took away everything but the sex. And I told you that kissing you
was different from kissing Tal.” Now that she’d started this dreaded
conversation, words all but fell out of her. “I didn’t tell you that I wondered
what would have happened if Tal hadn’t been there. I started thinking about it
when I kissed you in that crazy frame of mind, and John, I can’t stop thinking
about it.”

He turned away from her, looking down the stairs, and all at
once it occurred to her that he was contrite. Ready to apologize for something
she couldn’t imagine but which was probably her fault. She squeezed his hand
until he met her gaze again, grateful for the moment’s delay but anxious to get
this off her chest. “All I want— All I wanted from Tal was the sex. But with
you…all I could think about was what might happen next. I want a next morning.
An afterward. A
future
.” She swallowed hard and hoped her voice stayed
level. “I always have.”

His grip on her hand loosened, but not enough to release
her. The glare from the streetlamp nearby made his expression hard to read—his
face betrayed little emotion, and his glasses kept her from seeing his eyes.
When he opened his mouth, she pressed her fingertips to his lips, unable to
face another gentle rejection. “I know. You were always straight with me. This
is just an experiment and I am so grateful to you for letting me do this. But I
can’t walk away without saying this to you. And I can’t go forward as long as
this is between us.”

She let go of his hand to rummage through her coat pocket
for the last of her pills. She thought she could hear them shaking in the
blister pack when she tucked them into his pocket. “I’m so sorry. I feel like
I’m letting you down too.” She hugged him close, squeezing until her hands
stopped shaking, and breathed in the sweet warmth of his hair before she kissed
his cheek. “Thank you so much for letting me do this. I wish I could see it
through with you.”

Grace caressed his face as she moved away from him. When he
didn’t turn toward her, she knew she’d surprised him, and under any other
circumstances—say, if they were talking about anyone else in the world—she’d
stay to talk this through with him.

Later. They’d talk later. If she stayed, she’d start to cry.

He was staring off into the dark beyond the banister,
reaching into his pocket, when she turned and jogged up the stairs.

She wanted a future. She always had.

Always? Since she’d kissed him in her hallway?

Before?

As long as he had?

Who cares? Always is now.

And now, while he’d been rationalizing all of this, trying
to decide whether to pinch himself or ask her to say it another two or three
hundred times or do something so crazy he hadn’t thought of it yet, he’d let
her run off.

He snapped his attention back to the door she’d run through.
She hadn’t been thinking clearly either. She’d run for the front door and about
thirty thousand people would be between her and the street. He could still
catch her.

John jogged down the stairs, nearly bouncing off the trio of
girls on his way into the alley behind the club. Quickly but carefully he
darted over smooth, slick cobblestones behind one building and then another
until he arrived on the sidewalk. He turned toward Main Street and headed
uphill with long, purposeful strides. He couldn’t suppress a grin. That hadn’t
taken long at all. She probably hadn’t gotten to—

Shit, there she was. He started to run to catch her.

“Grace!” Heads turned and he shouldered past people as they
ducked out of his way. Damn. Had she even heard him? She was still just far
enough away, turning the corner away from him. He dodged a car in the
intersection, ignoring the horn, not looking back. “Grace!”

She looked over her shoulder and he ran, hoping for the
first time in his life that he was making a spectacle of himself, that she
would see him and wait.

Once he’d caught up to her, she said, “Don’t try to talk me
out of this.”

“I’m not.”

She frowned. This must have been what he looked like on the
stairs a moment ago, thrown off and cautious. “Aren’t you?”

“No. God. I’m not even thinking about that.” He started to
take a deep breath before launching into what was on his mind, that huge,
convoluted catalog of things, but he ended up swallowing against his stomach’s
slow, queasy barrel roll. “I gave it up.”

Still frowning, she asked, “Gave what up?”

“Impulse, Grace. I gave it up.”

Actually doing it had been simple to do, if painful. He’d
thought telling her he’d done it would be just as simple, but the carefully
considered plan he’d designed last night suddenly seemed like nonsense.

Her eyes widened and her lips parted in shock before she
whispered, “What?”

“I told my boss today. I wrote a memo last night after you
left.” The memory of it had him rushing through the rest of the explanation. “I
told him basically that it was working like we intended. I said it increases
freedom and appetite.” She nodded and he slowed down enough to take a breath.
“I told him that with all the closeness removed, there was just the bare bones
of the relationship. Or whatever was passing as a relationship. You know. All
the truth and none of the cuddle.” He sighed. “I told him that might be our
intent but that I wasn’t sure that was good.”

He realized that some small part of him, something quiet and
often ignored, hoped his explanation wouldn’t make sense, hoped he would
wonder, aghast, what he had done. But he’d made the right decision, improbable
though the entire adventure had been, and if anything, explaining it to Grace
solidified it in his mind.

“How can it not be good?” Passersby tried not to look as she
raised her voice. “All you’re doing is taking away all that stuff that isn’t
real, all the stupid lies the oxytocin makes us believe.”

He shoved his hands into his coat pockets to keep from
touching her, to make sure his reason stayed in the driver’s seat. “That’s just
it. It is real. Grace, just because it hurts, just because everything falls
apart later, that doesn’t mean it’s not real. Whatever you’re feeling afterward
in that person’s arms, no matter why you’re feeling it—that is real. That’s the
only reason anyone bothers.”

The indignation seemed to desert her, and her shoulders
drooped as if she hadn’t abandoned the project herself just a few minutes ago.
“But you…this was everything to you.”

“Yeah, it was.” That felt so long ago now, the night he’d
first given her the pills, the night he’d watched her with Tal, even tonight’s
conversation with his boss. He reached slowly for her, fearful in his heart
that she’d back away and all of this would come to nothing. He stroked her chin
tentatively with one finger before cupping her face in both hands, wanting to
will her beyond the wonder in her eyes and into the truth. “It
was
everything. It’s not everything anymore.”

Too dark to see if she was responding. If her pupils were
dilating. If a rosy blush burned beneath that warm, vital skin.

But he was done playing it safe.

He bent toward her and closed his eyes an instant before his
mouth met hers. Friday night’s noise faded to a whisper when he teased her lush
lips apart, and when she exhaled against his cheek, everything went silent. She
melted into him with a tiny sound of amazement. Her weight shifted toward him
as she rose onto her toes, and he wrapped his arms around her slim waist. His
tongue touched hers, hesitant at first, as if waiting to be invited. She
stroked the hair near the nape of his neck and they pulled each other close,
closer than he’d allowed himself to imagine they could be. She pulled away
first, slowly, before pressing those incomparable lips to his cheek.

They rocked from side to side like that a few times before
he breathed in the wild, enticing scent of her hair and whispered, “I don’t
want to be friends anymore.”