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It wasn’t the first time they’d enjoyed an afternoon assignation. Three months ago Le
Floyd was almost fifteen years older than she was, and his increasing absence from home and her bed, his constant whining about his heart condition, were symptoms of what Bev knew was a failing marriage. It was why she insisted on continuing working, though Floyd was retired now, with a decent pension and Social Security, and they could get by comfortably if she stayed home. But Bev didn’t want to stay home, cooped up in a one-bedroom New York apartment—not with Floyd. They both understood that was the reason she continued to work. Floyd had become disinterested except for when he wanted to be verbally abusive. But he wasn’t dumb. He knew as well as she did that their marriage was headed for a train wreck.
Bev could be insulted only so much, and ignored only so long. What happened with Le
Bev could be a charmer herself. Never bullshit a bullshitter, she told Le
“Have you always been in the lamp business?” Bev asked.
He settled back in his chair and crossed his legs real cool-like, the drape of his gray slacks saying they were well tailored. Le
“Before this I was in the coffee table business,” Le
“Why on top?” Bev asked.
“That’s to keep the coffins from rising to the surface when the water table gets higher during the wet seasons. Good, beautifully veined marble. So I bought them, ground and polished them, and put some fancy legs on them for coffee tables.”
“How’d they sell?”
Le
“The ones I’m going to buy?”
“You serious?”
She glanced at her watch. “You want to go to lunch, we’ll talk price.”
His hooded gaze traveled over her body, lingering on her breasts. She was sitting behind her desk, and she knew he was wondering what her legs were like. He wouldn’t be disappointed. Legs, I got.
“I’m picking up the check,” she said. “Company business.”
“Then I can’t say no.”
“I know the feeling,” she said.
That fateful lunch had been three months ago. The fire extinguisher lamps still sat in the showroom, unsold. If anyone else had been head of sales, they would have been priced down and out or junked.
“You die in there?” Le
“No, out there, with you.”
Bev didn’t bother with a towel as she opened the door and went into the bedroom to let Le
“C’mon back to bed with me,” Le
“It’s almost two o’clock, Le
“You took one, you can take another in no time. You’re already undressed for one.”
She laughed. “I don’t think a shower’s what you have in mind.”
He pulled her toward the bed. “Mind reader, you.”
At twenty after three they left the hotel together. It was one of the big chain hotels, the lobby was crowded, and it was midday in Midtown. No one paid much attention to them.
Out on the sidewalk, after the dim room with its closed drapes, it seemed unusually bright and su
“No. It’s a nice day. I’ll walk.” A cab veered toward the curb and the doorman stepped out of the way, then opened a back door.
“I thought you were late.”
“I am. I’m also sales manager.”
Le
“It sure is some days, around noon.”
She watched the cab pull out into heavy Midtown traffic. Le
Bev began striding along Fifty-first Street, a tall, attractive woman, well dressed but with her hair, fluffy from the hotel drier, mussed by the breeze as soon as she crossed the intersection. She drew appreciative stares, even a honking horn that might have been for her. She might be married to Floyd, but she wasn’t a fossil like Floyd. Not yet by a long shot.
Halfway back to Light and Shade, she got the feeling she’d been getting too often lately. It was a prickly uneasiness, like a slight pressure on the back of her neck, and sometimes when she turned around it was as if there might have been someone there if she’d only turned faster. Once, when Floyd was out of town with his golf buddies, and she’d come home from work exhausted and kicked off her high heels and fallen into a leather armchair, she could have sworn the cushion was still warm, as if somebody had been sitting there and left only minutes before she arrived. It was creepy, and she had an idea what it might be.
Floyd suspected something and had hired someone to investigate her. A detective.
Bev almost gri
Of course, there were other reasons and other kinds of satisfaction. Floyd didn’t get it up very often these days, but he still had an active mind.
Hell with it.
Bev crossed the intersection against the light, taking her time even though traffic up the block was bearing down on her. If anyone honked she’d give him the finger. That was the kind of mood she was in.
But no one honked.
7
Even though he’d taken a pill, Beam didn’t sleep well.
His dreams were a jumble of images. Lani leaping without hesitation from a balcony high in the night, da Vinci smiling at him and holding out a badge, swastikas, pale stone buildings with columns, people lying dead with red letter Js on them, da Vinci again, still smiling, pointing at something on the sidewalk, something that had fallen.