The steam is dissipating, the mirror is running rivulets of water behind her blond head, he cannot see himself clearly in the mirror because it is completely steamed over except for the silvery rivulets. He is soaking wet, he stands before her dripping water onto the tile floor. She is still leaning against the sink. Her hands are still on her thighs, the fingers spread. He notices that she has long, slender hands, that the fingernails are painted red as bright as the blood that spurted from the dead cop’s head, he does not want to think about that stupid bastard, he reaches up for her breasts. The T-shirt is bunched above them, she stands with her shoulders back, the breasts jutting, a faint smile on her face, her eyes slitted, a lazy, languid look in them, the steam is turning to a faint rain, it is raining in the bathroom as he reaches for her breasts, brings his open hands up to her breasts. She leans into his hands.
He touches her breasts lightly, he does not want to hurt her the way Jocko hurt her, he is almost afraid of causing fresh bruises on the white, her skin is so white. There is a sheen to her skin, the flesh is taut, the globes shimmer with secret pinks and lavenders, mother-of-pearl breasts, he touches them gently, his fingers explore. The skin around the nipples comes as a coarse reminder of sex, blatant and rude, the circles of darker flesh erupting in pinpoint mounds. The hardening nipples are a declaration, he responds to them wildly, seizing her breasts harshly, tightening his hands on them, cupping them to his mouth, kissing the freckled sloping tops and rounded sides, and then bringing his mouth up to hers, waiting wet and wide, and covering her lips with his.
She throws herself into him, she grinds her hips against him, he visualizes her on a small stage in a smoke-filled room. I’d go out there, you know, and the drums’d be banging, and the lights’d be on me, and I’d start throwing myself around, and he reaches for the front of the blue jeans and finds first the button, and then the zipper, which he begins to lower. She is naked under the jeans, her nakedness comes as a surprise, the smooth shock of her belly, the sudden deep navel, the crisp, tangled hair. He spreads his fingers onto her crotch and she pulls her mouth from his and whispers directly into his ear, a cannon shot in his ear, “He’ll kill you.” She is referring to Jocko, he knows she is referring to Jocko., but he can visualize only Kruger grabbing him in the shower, Kruger squeezing his cheeks in both hands, squeezing, squeezing, he will faint, and then stopping just in time, and grinning and walking out, the other cons pretending nothing has happened.
“He’ll kill you,” she says again, but she is stepping out of the blue jeans, she is kicking them away on the tile floor, she is reaching for him again, leaning back against the sink, hands coming up behind his neck, mouth open, grinding again even before their naked bodies touch. He reaches behind her and clasps her buttocks in both hands and lifts her up onto the sink. Then they hear the voice. The first thing he thinks is that it’s the police, he does not know why he thinks it’s the police. The next thing he thinks is, The door, the bathroom door, is the door locked?
“Jeanine,” the voice says.
The voice is hoarse, he cannot recognize it at first. But Jeanine knows the voice immediately, and reacts to it at once. She closes her legs, she puts her hands against Colley’s chest and shoves him away from her, she slides off the sink and onto the floor, she’s putting on her jeans before the voice says again, slightly louder this time, “Jeanine.” There is no question mark at the end of that voice, this is not someone used to calling her and not having her come, this is someone who teats her a lot, this is her Kruger, and his name is Jocko. She is pulling the T-shirt over her head now, Colley sees the swollen breasts for just an instant longer before she pulls the shirt down over them. The nipples are still hard, they poke through the thin cotton fabric, the nipples are the same but everything else is changing, everything is speeding up again, time is becoming real again, the bathroom was damp and time was becoming real.
She moved swiftly to the door. Her hand reached for the knob. She unlocked the door, and then turned to face him.
“Later,” she whisked.
“No,” he said, and shook his head.
“He’s calling me.”
“I hear him.”
“We’ll make it later.”
“No, we won’t make nothin’ later,” Colley said. “Go on, go take care of him.” He felt foolish and white and soft standing there naked with her all dressed and ready to go to Jocko. He looked toward the toilet tank, where he’d put his gun before getting into the shower. The gun was still there. He felt better knowing the gun was there.
“Yes, later,” she whispered, and went out of the bathroom.
He stood there feeling dumb. He looked down at himself. He looked around the room. He found a clean towel, and dried himself, and then found the clothes she’d brought him. Jocko’s clothes. There was no underwear or socks, only a pair of pants and what looked like an old sweater. Just the thing he needed on a hot August night, one of Jocko’s ratty old sweaters. He tried on the pants without any underwear, surprised that the waist fit him, big guy like Jocko, he expected the pants to swim on him. The pants had a button fly, and he was starting to button them when he realized something was wrong, same thing that was wrong in the liquor store when the two cops came running at him with their guns in their left hands. The pants were buttoning wrong. The buttons were on the wrong side. He realized then that they were women’s pants, they were Jeanine’s pants, and he started laughing because he’d finally got in her pants all right, but not the way he thought he’d get in them.
He debated putting on the bloodstained shirt again, and decided in favor of the sweater, no matter how damn hot it was. He still had to go down in the street, and all he needed was some cop stopping to ask about the blood on his shirt. There was only a little blood on one of his socks, so he put on the socks and shoes, and then he combed his hair with a comb he found on the counter top, lots of long, blond hair tangled in it, probably Jeanine’s, like the pants. He still thought it was comical how he’d finally got in her pants. He didn’t know how funny Jocko would think it was. He was a little afraid of going out there and looking Jocko in the eye. He lifted the gun from the toilet tank. He tucked the gun into the waistband of the pants. He pulled back his shoulders and opened the bathroom door.
Jeanine was standing in the doorway to the bedroom.
“He’s out again,” she said.
“Too bad,” Colley said.
“He was okay two or three minutes, then he drifted off again. Clothes fit you, huh?” she said.
“Yeah. I’m gonna split now. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? See how Jocko is.”
She walked him to the front door. He could hear the clock ticking. Time was with him again. She said, “I meant what I said about later.”
“Sure,” he said. “Later.”
“I’d do it now, you wanted to.”
“No, I got to get going.”
“Well, good night then,” she said, and unlocked the door for him.
“Good night,” he said.
He stepped into the hallway. The door closed behind him. He heard her fastening all the locks again. He looked at his watch as he went down the hallway to the elevator. It was close to midnight, another day. He rang for the elevator and stood watching the indicator bar as the elevator crept up the shaft, these goddamned projects never put in quality merchandise.