The Professional

“How come you sleep in sweatpants and a T-shirt?” I said.

She smiled again.

“So that when I take them off,” she said, “the contrast makes me look really good.”

“It works,” I said.

“Yes,” she said, and went into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

A half-hour later we were both back in bed, clean of body and mouth. When Susan made love she went deep inside someplace. She didn’t withdraw. It was just the intensity of her focus that rendered everything except the lovemaking irrelevant. I liked to look at her then, her eyes closed, her face perfectly still, calm in contrast to what we both were feeling and doing. The event was busy enough so I couldn’t look for very long, but when we were done and I was looking down at her, after a time she opened her eyes and looked at me and I could see her slowly refocusing, swimming back to the surface from wherever she had been. It was always a moment like no other.

“You lookin’ at me,” Susan said in a surprisingly good De Niro impression.

“Sex is a complicated thing,” I said.

Susan widened her eyes.

“Wow,” she said.

“It enhances love,” I said. “But not as much as love enhances it.”

“You’ve noticed that,” Susan said.

“I have.”

“And you may be particularly aware of that interplay these days,” Susan said. “Because of this business with Gary Eisenhower and the women.”

“I would guess,” I said.

Susan and I stayed in eye lock, another moment, then. She smiled.

“Perhaps,” she said, “if you would get your two-hundred-something pounds off of my body, I could breathe and we could discuss it over breakfast.”

“You were breathing good a little while ago,” I said.

“Gasping,” Susan said.

“In awe?” I said.

“For breath,” she said.

I eased off her and lay on my back beside her, and she put her head on my shoulder.

“I mean, the old jokes are all true. The worst sex I ever had was very good. But I have never had a sexual experience to compare to making love with you.”

“Jewesses are hot,” Susan said.

“You are beautiful, and in shape, and skillful, and enthusiastic. But I have been with many other women who fit that description close enough. But nothing to compare with you.”

Susan turned her head so that she could look at me.

“There’s a saying I read someplace, that appetite is the best sauce,” she said.

“Meaning it’s not just what you are, it’s what I feel you are,” I said.

“I would guess,” she said, “in truth, that it is finally about what and who we are.”

I nodded.

“It’s what Gary Eisenhower and his women don’t understand, and probably never will,” I said.

“It is probably life’s essence,” Susan said.

I nodded.

“Maybe children, too,” I said.

“Maybe,” Susan said. “But we’re not going to have any.”

“This’ll have to do,” I said.

“It does very well,” she said.

She kissed me. I kissed her back.

“I’m thinking pancakes for breakfast,” she said.

Chapter 61

WE HAD PANCAKES for breakfast and walked down through Central park to Bergdorf and Barneys, where Susan shopped and I trailed along to watch her hold stuff up, and admire her and, occasionally, some of the other female shoppers. In the next couple of days, we strolled through the little zoo in Central Park. We had di

Life’s essence never disappoints.

It was a Wednesday morning when I got back to my office. There was a call on my answering machine from Vi

“Call me,” he said. “I might have something.”

I called him on his cell phone.

“Where are you?” I said.

“In the Public Garden,” he said, “watching her house.”

“What’s up?” I said.

“Nothing at the moment, but Monday she had a, like, a incident with a guy.”

“Tell me,” I said.

“Guy’s waiting outside her house when she comes back from her health club. I’m trailing along behind, looking at her ass, and he, like, stops her as she starts up her steps. Puts his hand on her arm. She slaps it away. He says something. She says something. He puts his hand on her arm again. She shoves him away and runs up the steps into her house. He stands down at the foot of the stairs for a long time and looks at her front door. I’m up the street thinking if he tries to go in after her do I shoot him. But he didn’t. After a while he walked away.”

“It wasn’t a friendly exchange,” I said.

“No.”

“You recognize the guy?”

“No, but he wasn’t her type, that’s for sure.”

“What’d he look like?” I said.

“Big guy, ’bout your size, but, you know, he was walking on his heels.”

“Like punch-drunk?” I said. “Like a punch-drunk ex-fighter?”

“Be my guess,” Vi

“Anybody with him?” I said.

“Nope.”

“Where’d he go after she went in and he stared at the door?”

“Walked down Arlington Street. I figured he was heading for the subway.”

“You didn’t follow him?”

“Nope. You just tole me to watch the broad.”

“I did,” I said. “Anything else happen?”

“Nope. She stayed in all the rest of the day.”

“No sign that she called the cops?” I said.

“None showed up,” he said. “This guy shows up again, you want me to shoot him or anything?”

“Only if you have to,” I said.

“Okay,” Vi

“I may stop around later and visit Beth,” I said.

“Okay,” Vi

“Don’t shoot me.”

“Okay,” Vi

He sounded disappointed.

Chapter 62

WHEN BETH JACKSON came out of Pi

“Buy you coffee,” I said.

She looked at me as if I was something she stepped in.

“I don’t want coffee,” she said.

“I’ll buy you whatever you want,” I said.

“I don’t want anything,” she said.

“Well, here’s the thing,” I said. “I’m going to keep a

“If you continue to a

“Sure,” I said. “In the meantime, lemme buy you some coffee and talk with you about Boo.”

She stared at me for a moment, then sighed.

“Very well,” she said, and stalked ahead of me to the snack bar.

I knew Boo would get her, and if it didn’t, it would mean whoever Vi

“What about this Boo person, or whatever Boo is?” she said.

“Boo is the slugger used to work for your husband,” I said.

“He and a guy named Zel.”

The coffee arrived. I added some sugar and took a swallow. “Oh,” she said, “Boo. I hadn’t thought of Boo since Chet died.”

“Until Monday,” I said.

“Monday?”

“Boo stopped you in front of your house. You and he argued. You shoved him and went in. He stayed outside for a while and looked at your door.”

She didn’t say anything. She looked at me silently for a long time. I let her look. I was interested in what she’d come up with.

Finally she said, “Are you spying on me?”

“Yuh,” I said.

“Why?”

“What did Boo want?” I said.

“Boo,” she said. “So that’s who that was.”

“You didn’t recognize him,” I said.

“No. I mean, I thought he looked familiar, but… no.”

“And what did he want?” I said.

“Oh, God,” she said. “I have no idea. I thought he was some kind of stumblebum, you know? I just wanted him to leave me alone.”