The Barbed-Wire Kiss (16 page)

Bobby went over to where the water lapped against pilings. Harry followed him, saw the bloom of Portuguese man-of-wars just below the surface. Bobby bent, scooped up a handful of pebbles.

“I’ll help you in any way I can with the money,” Harry said.

“I don’t want that.”

“You said you had more moves you could make.”

“A few. But sixteen K in ten days. I don’t know if I have that many.”

“Do what you can. If there’s anyone who owes you favors, now’s the time to cash them in. I’ll come up with the balance, you can take it as a loan.”

“You’ve given me enough already.”

“Don’t be stubborn. There’s a window of opportunity here we have to take advantage of. We hold up our end, and two weeks from now this whole thing is nothing but a bad memory.”

“There’s a certain appeal to that, I guess.”

“Do whatever you need to do. Let’s make this happen.”

Bobby side-armed pebbles into the water. The man-of-wars fluttered in protest, moved on. After a moment, he looked back at Harry.

“What can I say? This is it, isn’t it, what they call a ‘threshold moment’?”

“I guess so.”

“Then I’d better step through, huh?”

“It’s your call.”

He tossed the last of the stones into the water.

“Let’s do it,” he said.

Around nine, he poured himself a glass of wine, took it outside. He sat on the back steps, looked up at the sprawling star field, listened to the low bellow of bullfrogs from the creek that bordered the backyard. The wine had the faint taste of cork and there were brown flecks of it floating on the surface. He dabbed them with a finger, scraped them against the lip of the glass, and flicked them away.

A gentle breeze rustled through the willows beyond the creek. He thought about taking the Mustang out, making a run up the turnpike. A good forty-five minutes up to the George Washington Bridge, forty-five back. Time to think.

He went back inside, put the half-full glass on the kitchen counter. He had just taken the keys from the hook on the wall when he heard the sound of tires on the gravel driveway.

He put the keys back, moved into the dark living room. Headlights played across the side of the house, threw a shadow pattern of venetian blinds against the living room wall. He went to the window near the fireplace, eased open the curtain, pushed aside the blinds with a finger.

In the glow from the security light on the barn, he saw the BMW roll into the side yard, park near the picnic table. The headlights winked out.

He stepped away from the window, heard a car door open and shut. He waited, heard footsteps on the front porch. Then, from the door, the softest of knocks.

Later, they lay in bed, slick with sweat, the fan turning slowly above them. The glow of the barn light came in a faint wash through the windows.

He was drifting in and out of sleep, his arm thrown across her warmth. He felt her slide out from under him, heard the bed creak. There were footsteps in the hallway, then the sound of water running in the bathroom.

He rolled on to his back, stretched, the taste of her still strong on his lips. He sat back against the headboard, took the wineglass from the nightstand.

She came back into the room and he watched her move around, naked in the shadows. She picked up her denim skirt from the floor, got her cigarette case from the pocket.

“There’s an ashtray in the nightstand,” he said.

“For company?”

“If so, it’s wishful thinking on my part. I can’t remember the last time someone used it.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, took out the ashtray.

“Are you surprised I’m here?” she said. She took out a cigarette, lit it, set the ashtray beside her.

“The way the last few days have gone, nothing surprises me.”

“I stopped twice on the way over,” she said, “and thought about turning around, going back.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

He touched the fall of her hair, traced the bumps of her spine with his fingers. She shivered.

“Your hands are smooth,” she said. “For someone who lives on a farm.”

“There is no farm anymore. Just the house. And I was never a farmer.”

He ran a thumb along the curve of her right breast. Her nipple was pale pink against the milk-whiteness of her skin.

“You’re bigger,” he said.

“It was Edward’s idea. I’m still not sure how I feel about it.”

His thumb slid over the nipple, felt it harden.

“I’d almost forgotten,” he said.

“What?”

“How beautiful you are. When I saw you at the club that day, it took my breath away.”

“I’m not seventeen anymore.”

“Neither am I.”

She took the glass from him, drank.

“Were you planning on getting loaded by yourself tonight?” she said.

“Thinking about it. It’s a problem sometimes, drinking alone. I have to be careful.”

She put the glass on the nightstand, sat back against the pillows, hugged her knees. He touched her leg, slid his palm down the outside of her thigh. He had a sudden vision of the first time they’d made love all those years ago. Of the way she’d looked into his eyes as he entered her, never looked away.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” he said. “I thought you were gone forever.”

She blew a thin stream of smoke toward the fan. It dissipated in the moving air, vanished.

“Tell me what happened,” he said.

She looked at him.

“After you left,” he said.

She tapped ash from the cigarette.

“We went back to Ohio. I had an aunt there, so we stayed with her at first. After a while, my mother came back out. I finished high school there.”

“You went to college.”

“How did you know?”

“Your husband.”

“Junior college at first. But I wasn’t very serious about it, I guess. I worked, took some classes, did some modeling. When I finally had enough credits, I applied at a small school outside Dayton. I was more amazed than anyone when I got in.”

“What did you study?”

“Education. I wanted to work with children, teach elementary school. Things never worked out, I guess.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Did you graduate?”

She shook her head.

“Are your parents still out there?”

“My aunt moved to Arizona about ten years ago. My mother lives with her.” She took a long drag on the cigarette. “My stepfather’s dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Your husband told me he met you in Florida. Said you were with someone there.”

“That was Garry. He wasn’t very good for me, I’m afraid.” She blew out smoke. “One of a long line. Present company excluded.”

He moved his hand across the softness of her stomach, felt her tighten.

“No children,” he said.

“I can’t. That operation.”

She put her hand over his, held it.

“The way my life has been, maybe it’s a good thing,” she said.

She put her cigarette in the ashtray, caught a strand of his chest hair, tugged on it. Her hand moved down until she touched his scar, traced it with a fingertip.

“Did it hurt?” she said.

“At the time.”

“But no more?”

“No more.”

“Good.”

Her hand moved lower. He felt himself stir as she closed her fingers around him. She stroked gently and he hardened in her grasp.

“Enough about the past,” she said. “There’s nothing anyone can do about it, anyway. Are you glad I’m here?”

“More than I could ever tell you.”

“Then let’s just concentrate on now.”

She put the ashtray beside the glass, rolled toward him. When they kissed he could taste the tang of smoke in her mouth. She straddled him, put her palms on his chest, sat up. He ran his hands over her buttocks, up her rib cage. He cupped her breasts, felt her nipples grow hard against his palms. Her hair spilled down over her pale shoulders.

“And just think,” he said. “All I had to do was give you an envelope full of money and buy you a cherry ice.”

“Money, it’s very overrated, trust me.”

“I do.”

She took him in her hand again, guided him inside her. He closed his eyes as he slid home, enveloped in her warmth. He started to speak, to tell her how he felt, but she laid a finger on his lips. They moved together slowly in the darkness, the pressure building within him. When it broke finally, deep in her heat, he pulled her to him, buried his face in the lilac smell of her neck, her hair, felt the water well up in his eyes. He held her tightly, felt something give way inside of him, like an old and useless structure that had outlived its purpose, crumbling slowly and finally into dust.

•  •  •

When he awoke, the room was still dark. She was out of bed, getting dressed by the windows. Her clothes whispered as they moved on her body.

“You can turn on the light,” he said.

She zipped her skirt.

“I wasn’t running out on you. I would have woken you before I left.”

“I know.”

She put a hand against the wall for balance, slipped on her shoes.

“When’s he coming home?” he asked.

“Monday night. His flight gets in around eleven.”

“How do you know he didn’t call you tonight?”

“I don’t know all of what he does when he goes up there. Whatever it is, I’m sure he isn’t thinking about me.”

She moved away from the windows and into darkness. He saw the flare of her lighter, smelled the smoke.

The bed creaked as she sat down. He found her hand. His fingers traced her wedding band, felt the trio of tiny diamonds inlaid there.

“Should I not have worn that?” she said.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It’s been so long since I’ve taken it off. They’ll probably have to take my finger with it when it goes.”

“‘When’ it goes?”

She took her hand away. Her cigarette glowed in the darkness.

After a moment, he said, “I’m worried.”

“About what?”

“That I’m going to wake up tomorrow and find this was all a dream.”

She touched the back of his hand with the tip of the cigarette. He yanked it away.

“There,” she said. “Now you’ll know it wasn’t a dream.”

“Thanks.” He rubbed at the burn. “You could have sent flowers.”

“What’s life without pain?”

She set the cigarette in the ashtray, took his hand again.

“You’re wondering what I’m doing here, aren’t you? I can see the wheels turning. You can’t figure me out, can you?”

“Well …”

“I’m here because I want to be here. Isn’t that enough? You didn’t have to answer the door, you know.”

“You drove all the way out here. It was the only gentlemanly thing to do.”

“There it is. You were just being a gentleman. Leave it at that.”

“All right.”

“Like I said, Harry, you think too much. Sometimes you just have to let things be.”

He touched her leg, felt her warmth. She put her hand over his.

“You look like an angel there in the dark,” he said.

“You’re sweet. You always were. How did you ever get involved with my husband?”

“I didn’t. A friend of mine did. Like I said, I never met your husband before that time at the club.”

“Who’s your friend?”

“Bobby Fox.”

She looked at him.

“From high school?”

He nodded.

“I remember him. You two are still friends?”

“Yes.”

“And he owed Edward money?”

“Owes. That was the first payment. He was involved in a deal that fell through. Your husband is putting pressure on him to hold up his part of it. I’m trying to help him out.”

“Do I need to know anything else about this deal?”

“Probably not. It’s got nothing to do with this, with us. I hope to have the whole thing resolved in a week or so.”

“Good.”

She took a final drag on the cigarette, put it out in the ashtray.

“It’ll be light soon,” she said. “I have to go.”

“Is there anyone else at your house?”

“Is there anyone waiting up for me? No.”

“What about Wiley?”

“What about him?”

“Is he around?”

“No, he doesn’t live with us, thank God. It’s bad enough having him hanging around all day. But to tell the truth, I’m almost happy to see him lately, as opposed to the alternative.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s another man works for Edward now. He started about two months ago.”

“Mickey Dunleavy?”

“You know him?”

“He used to be with the state police too. We met again yesterday.”

“Small world,” she said. “Or small state.”

“Seems that way sometimes.”

“I’m not sure what his deal is exactly. He seems to be doing some of the things Lester used to do, but Edward treats him differently, with more respect. I don’t like him.”

She stood up. He held onto her hand.

“I have to go,” she said.

“I’ll walk you out.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll find my way. I’ll lock the door behind me.”

“Kiss me.”

She leaned down, touched her lips quickly to his. He tried to pull her down, but she laughed, put a hand against his chest and pushed gently until he let go.

“Enough,” she said. “I wrote down my phone number.”

“On the bathroom mirror? With lipstick?”

“On a piece of paper, with a pen. It’s under the ashtray. That’s my cell phone. I keep it in the car most of the time, but it’s the safest way to call me. I’m the only one who answers it.”

“All right.”

“But in the meantime, it might be better if I just called you instead.”

“Does this mean I’m going to see you again?”

“What do you think?”

She moved away from the bed. He heard keys jingle.

“Be careful,” he said.

She stopped in the doorway, looked back at him.

“You be careful yourself,” she said and was gone.

He slipped out of the sheets, walked naked to the open window. He heard the front door open and shut, then, a few moments later, the BMW growl into life. As she k-turned in the side yard, her headlights streamed across the house, the open barn and the Mustang parked inside. Shadows raced across the bedroom.

He watched her taillights creep down the slope of his driveway. To the east, the dawn was a purple glow low on the horizon. He closed his eyes and smelled the air, the night, the woods, the last traces of lilac on his skin. When he opened his eyes again, the lights were gone.