Chapter11: getting lucky

 

I tapped lightly on the door; scurrying sounded from inside. I tapped again. The peep hole darkened.

“Who is it?” she asked, her voice shrill with fear.

“It’s me, Sam.”

“Sam who? I don’t know any Sam.”

“We met at the bar,” I said.

“Are you alone?”

“Yes. I sent your stalker away.”

After a moment, the door bolt scrapped the door opened, Jeannette’s face appearing in the gap.

“Are you sure he’s gone?”

“I put him out and closed the door downstairs.”

Her dark eyes blinked, the terror of a moment earlier easing out of her, even though she still looked doubtful.

“You’d better come in,” she said. “He might still have a key.”

The door opened in, revealing a portion of her private world, a living room complete with couch along the far wall – behind which three windows looked out onto the nighttime landscape of a church yard, church, and grid pattern of streets – a large, brick old-fashioned water tower stark against the dark sky, like some evil spirit.

I stepped in, taking note of the book case in one corner, and a flat-screen TV mounted on a wall to my right and across from the couch. Tucked in one corner stood an electric piano accompanied by an acoustic guitar.

“So, you really are a musician,” I said, stepping to one side as she hurriedly closed the door behind me, and latched all the locks.

“You doubted me?” she asked, giving me a surprised look. “You know I sing.”

“People tell me stuff all the time. Most often, it’s bullshit.”

“Not me. I never lie.”

“Never?”

“Never!”

“Okay,” I said with a shrug, then glanced around the apartment again, lamps in several corners casting their glow across her world.

A classy version of an old-fashioned rail road style apartment, typical of tenements on the Lower East Side of Manhattan – kitchen at one end, bedroom at the other, with her living room where we stood in the middle.

 “Nice place you have here,” I said, though a bit stunned at how stark it seemed, not an item out of place, not even a hair brush or a half empty cup of coffee.

“I like it,” she said, heading in the direction of the bedroom. “Why don’t you sit down while I go change.”

“Don’t’ change too much,” I said. “I sort of like you the way you are.”

This halted her mid-way between rooms where she gave me a puzzled look, one of her eyebrows rising up onto her forehead like a question mark.

Getting no answer from my expression, she shrugged and made her way into the bedroom, while I took a closer look at her little world.

Ignoring her offer to sit, I wandered into the kitchen, which was stark as the living room, a coffee maker and blender on the counter, and a string of pots and pans hanging on the wall, not at all a decoration, hinting that she knew how to cook.

The walls in each of the rooms had a number of framed pieces of art or photographs, works that seemed to be studies of classical works, suggesting she had attended art school. Other pieces seemed more complete perhaps done more recently. Some art was abstract. The photographs were still life.

I paused in front of several sketches showing a naked female form, each looked like a different aspect of Jennette herself.

“You like them?” Jennette said when she reappeared, wearing a tight t-shirt and very short shorts, cut down apparently from old jeans.

“Yes,” I said. “Are they yours?”

“When I was in art school,” she said. “I’m glad to like them. That’s a point in your favor. If you had said no, I would have thrown you out.”

“I’m glad I have good taste,” I said. “May I sit down. It’s been a long day.”

“As soon as you tell me what that bastard said.”

“You mean your stalker?”

“No, I mean the evil Dementor I keep in the hall,” she snapped. “Of course, I mean my stalker.”

“He said you invited him to the bar and then sicked the cops on him.”

‘He invited himself,” Jeanette said, throwing herself onto the couch. “And I can prove it.”

“How?”

“I have copies of his texts. I kept them all, just in case I needed to file a complaint.”

“Show me,” I said.

She reached her iPad on the coffee table, then thumbed through the screens until she found the appropriate one, then handed me the pad.

I studied the screen and saw pretty much the same things the chef had shown me – with one glaring difference. In this version, all of Jeannette’s comments were missing.’

“It almost sounds like he’s having a conversation,” I said, handing her iPad back.

“He always sounds like that,” she said, putting the pad back on the coffee table. “He’s a sick man and he scares me.”

“Why don’t you file a complaint? I mean, officially.”

“Because I really don’t want to get him in trouble,” she said. “I just want him to leave me alone.”

 “A restraining order might help.”

‘No, he would kill me, and nobody would do anything until after the fact.”

“It sounds like you need a body guard.”

“Are you applying for the job?”

“You already have Paulie to handle that,” I said. “And I wouldn’t want to get between the two of you.”

“What exactly do you mean by that?”

“I mean you two are very close.”

She stared at me hard, her dark eyes dilated, but whether from anger or fear I could not tell.

“How do you know that?”

“This may be a big city, Lady, but in many ways it’s like a small town. Word gets around. Especially among cops.”

“You’re not a cop.”

“I used to be and people still tell me things. The question is, why wasn’t Colombo around to protect you tonight?”

“He was supposed to be,” she said in a miffed tone. “He got called out of town. He’s a very busy man, you know.”

“So, I’ve been told,” I said, recalling the assortment of real as well as imagined exploits Colombo frequently bragged about, although only the most naïve people believed even half of what he said.

Police reporters and tales cops told painted Colombo as a liar and renegade, a former cop who hated other cops in a never-ending war in which he spied on real and imagined enemies, turning them in the way someone had once informed on him. He had a list of enemies so long that his murder – if someone actually dared – would almost be impossible to solve.

The only thing that kept him untouched was the perception that he might actually have worked as an FBI informant, at least in some capacity, and to off him would invite a serious federal investigation not even honest cops would want.

‘I would offer you a drink, but all I have in the house in wine,” she said. “I’m told you only drink hard alcohol.”

“I drink whatever is available,” I said. “If you have wine, that’s suit me just fine.”

“Wine it is,” she said, rose from the couch and headed into the kitchen.

She returned a moment later carrying two glasses filled with white wine. She handed me one. Our fingers touched; I felt her tremble.

In truth, I hadn’t drunk wine since high school, and never much liked it even then. But when I took a slip, it tasted better than I remembered.

Jennette resettled onto the couch, patting the space beside her for me to sit, and I did. Her bare leg pressed against me, stirring up up.

“There must be some way I can reward you for what you did for me tonight?” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“I want to reward you for being my hero.”

It sounded phony even as she said it, still I was in a mood and turned towards her, smiling, feeling a bit devious since I had wondered since meeting her what it might be like to make love to her.

“I have one idea,” I said, putting my glass down on the coffee table, then leaning towards her, towards her amazing eyes and welcoming mouth, all framed by hair cascading down to her shoulders.

“I hope you have more than one,” she said. “It might make for an interesting night.”

Our lips touched, almost sparking from the contact, her lip gloss (which I had not seen her apply) leaving a sweet taste in my mouth.

When her lips parted, I kept mine shut. Her tongue, like a snake, forced its way between my lips, yet still I resisted, then sat back to more closely study her face.

“I love your mouth,” I said.

“You mean you love what my mouth can do.”

“No, well – maybe that, too,” I said. “Your mouth feels perfect against mine.”

“Let’s do more. I’m not quite convinced.”

so we did

I felt like a teenager again as if delving into love making for the first time, needing to creep from some Base to Base because I did not know which point I might get called out.

This was a foolish notion since I already knew how far I could go, how far I wanted to go, but not whether I should go there, so I kept it to a kiss and so the kiss seemed more intense, lips making do for what our hips might do if released.

I let my tongue ease passed her lips and she let me, the tip of her tongue teasing mine for a moment before it became an in and out dance.

finally she broke off contact.

“My God, you're intense,” she said. ‘But a girl needs to breathe perhaps we be more comfortable on the bed.”

This left no doubt as to where she expected things to end up

I hesitated

“let me finish my wine,” I said and took up the glass as a shield

She took this as a challenge her dark eyes filling with mischievousness

“Does this mean you don't want to fuck me?” she asked

I choked on the sip of wine I have been taken

“I never said that,” I said

“Then drink your wine and let's get on with it I'm not getting any younger here,” she said.

I drank the wine with a final gulp.

She fled into the next room like Wood elf, giggling a little. She didn't settle on the bed but went towards the bathroom instead.

“Where are you goin?” I asked. “I thought you wanted to make love.”

“Fuck,” she said. “The word is fuck. I hate it when people say making love.

“All right. I thought you wanted to fuck,” I said

“I do,” she said, pausing at the bathroom door. “But we need protection and I'm damn sure you didn't bring any.”

“I wasn't planning for this to go where it is going.” I said

“Silly boy,” she laughed. “of course, you did. You just didn't think I would go along with it. Wait for me I won't be long,”

Then she vanished the way Wood Spirit might, leaving me with a sense of magic, leaving me lingering on the edge of uncertainty and with an unexpected ache.

Was this is how it happened with Nat? Had she slipped into the bathroom for a moment to get ready while he was in anticipation only to have his heart gave out as he waited

The thought so burned me but did nothing to cure the ache rising in me at the thought of her return

When she did she slipped into the bed beside me so effortlessly I no longer had time to think. I could only react, rising up as she pressed herself against me, her lips finding mine  the slant seemed to fit in a way I might not have expected, not tender but not the ruthless kiss prostitutes gave clients. Most prostitutes I had met hated kissing men more than engaging in sex, a kiss signifying some special connection money could not normally buy.

I wondered if this was the case now and I got full of myself, drawn deeper into her world at the mere thought of it.

yet it was more than just a kiss. All of her seem to fit in the same way, her shape seemed designed to fill in spaces around me I had not previously felt this vacant

So, that I began to panic thinking about how empty I would feel when we drew apart

This made me cling to her, my hands exploring her chest and her thighs. She had small but perky breasts, each fitting easily into the palms of my hands, my fingers feeling the whole shape and finally the stiff tips that I broke from the kiss to lick.

“I don't cum,easily,” she whispered in my ear. “So, you're going to have to work at it, big boy.”

“Since when is this work ,”I'm mumbled, my mouth surrounding her nipple

 I felt only a little foolish like a child out of My League

“If you don't make me cum I might not ask you to come back,” she whispered

“Then I'm going to have to make you cum,” I said and indeed began to work at it

Her sparse shape was easy to handle yet gave testimony to some struggle going on inside her, a struggle her clothing had kept disguised .

She had small breasts and hips from which Bones protruded and she moaned when my lips circled her nipples she seemed to feel in pain.

I would have liked to think my clever touch brought this out of her. but she needed this more than I did, and I being out of practice I was as good as the next guy in giving her what her pleasure she got.

It took a long time and took great care. I knew most of what I did had a clumsy edge to it and though I enjoyed her, I felt I should have done better

Perhaps, too, I could not quite motivate myself the way I might have for another woman.

All this felt to mechanical like repeated routine that had no real meaning to her. this was not love making because there was not even the pretense of love and I was relieved when it ended,and we fell apart from each other, like boxers returning to separate corners the ringing of the Bell ending a boxing round

if she noticed any inadequacy she made no mention of it she simply reached into her bed stand throughout a cigarette and laid it then climbed out of bed

“Where are you going?” I asked

“To smoke.”

“Why don't you smoke here?”

“And stink up the house?”

“You can't go outside you're not wearing any clothes.”

“I'm not going outside silly I'm going to the kitchen why don't you come with me so we can talk.”

I rose too and followed her through the living room to the kitchen at the extreme end of the railroad apartment.

Good housekeeping might have given the room it's seal of approval had it had a few more pieces of appropriate appliances.

Except for the weaved throw rug of pale green and tan, the room glowed with no other color than white blinding from the moment she flipped on the light switch

The wall to one side of the room bearing sink and extended counters but little else. The other side had the stove and a small refrigerator and still more counter space. Here stood a blender coffee maker and a stand full of cooking utensils a small table stood to the immediate right of the door

The room had two windows one at the far wall but looked down at the parking lot behind the building. The other was just beyond the table looking down at the church yard church and the children's play area. the window stood open with no screen. It had an ashtray on the sill and she leaned against the window frame and she lit up her cigarette blowing the smoke out into the dark.

“So, what do we do now, big boy?” she asked staring at me her large eyes filled with humor

“what do you mean?”

“I mean you had your way with me,” she said. “What comes after that.”

“I could bring you chocolate and roses,” I said laughing

“Don't I hate them both.”

“What do you like?

“To be appreciated.”

“You mean with money?”

Sometimes it comes to that,” She said. “I was hoping you might be more creative.”

“I don't know you well enough to be creative.”

“Try,”  she said blowing out more smoke. “If you want to see me again you'll use your imagination.”

How do you know I want to see you again?”

Everybody who's ever had me wants more again,” she said. “That's why I have so many stalkers.”

At that point, something brushed my leg and I look down. A black cat with large gold eyes stared up at me

“Now that's curious,” Jeanette said. “My cat usually doesn't like the men I bring up here.”

“There's no accounting for taste,” I said. “Is that a good sign?”

Jeanette looked at me, her large eyes nearly is dilated as the cat’s

“It could be,” she said. “if you learn to use your imagination.”

 

 

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