"I'm going to teach you how to rumba."
She couldn't control the expression on her face. From the inside it felt like disappointment.
He laughed. "Oh, you thought I meant something else."
"I think we both know what you meant," she said, laughing along with him but still maybe showing her disappointment.
"Maybe you already know how to rumba."
"No."
"You will in five minutes. I have a foolproof teaching method."
He stood up, holding her hand gently by her fingertips and guiding her up out of her chair and toward the dance floor. She found herself having some difficulty walking, which was strange since she'd had only one drink
They weaved their way through the tables and reached the parquet dance floor, which wasn't crowded. His timing was right-the band was only halfway through the rumba number. Joe held Lauri close in dance position, her right arm bent up at the elbow, his left hand clasping her right. His right arm was around her waist, his fingers spread near the small of her back, pressing her into him.
"We'll do a simple box step," he said, his breath warm in her ear. "Follow my lead and you'll pick up the rhythm and hip movement."
He was right. She was soon dancing without worrying about getting her toes stepped on. Then he held her even closer so the rhythm flowed through his body into hers. The experience as a whole was making her light-headed.
"Looser in the hips and we're there," he whispered. "That's good. Great! Great!"
She willed her body to relax as he held her more firmly. Now she had no choice; her body had to sway in precise syncopation with his. Fine with Lauri. She swung her hips freely, feeling his hand slip lower on her back to rest on the rise of her buttocks. She wanted so very much to please him.
"I might be slightly…"
"Slightly what?" he asked.
"I don't know."
"You okay?"
"Oh what?"
"Kay," he said, grinning.
"Oh. I'm that. I think."
"Very good," he said of her dancing. "Just relax. Trust me and follow my lead."
That was his best advice. He loosened his grasp on her slightly (though not on her rear, so they remained pelvis to pelvis) and she let her body respond to the gentle guidance of his hands and the subtle shift of his body against hers. Her body became even looser, her movements more fluid. She could trust him and relax.
He smiled down at her. "Now you're an expert just like me."
She smiled back at him. (Was he going to get an erection? She would know if he did.)
The music stopped and he kissed her.
The Hungry U, The Defendants, Wormy, were all far away and in a different world.
"Trust me and follow my lead," he whispered again in her ear.
In the back of the cab she surprised him. It had taken only a brief kiss, the slightest fondling. He didn't think he'd slipped that much ketamine into her martini. Just enough to disorient her slightly, confuse her a little bit. He wanted her to enjoy and remember. Maybe he hadn't even needed the stuff; he'd only resorted to it because time was important here. Maybe it hadn't even kicked in yet. The stuff was actually made for veterinarians to give to cats. Pussy. There was an amusing thought.
Within a block away from Mangio's she had her arms snaked around his neck and the warm wedge of her tongue probed his ear. He felt a tightening in his groin, and her hand was on him as they kissed.
"I don't want to wait, Joe," she whispered in his ear. "I can't wait."
"Your place?" he asked, toying with her, stringing this out to make sure, letting it build in her.
"Can't. I don't live alone. With my father. He's not home now but he might walk in on us."
He grinned, knowing she couldn't see in the dimness of the cab. The desperation in her pleased him. She was disassociating somewhat, not too much. He'd gotten the dosage about right.
She snuggled closer to him. "Might…"
"What?"
"Don't know. Can't remember. Don't care. What're you-"
Holding the slender nape of her neck, he kissed her hard on the lips, using a thumb to play with her earlobe. His other hand was beneath her hiked-up skirt, exploring her warm wetness. He felt her respond to his kiss with her lips, tongue, teeth.
"Jesus! I can't wait!" she whispered hoarsely when he released her. "I don't know…"
"What?"
"Just don't know…Only had one drink."
"You had three, darling. I was counting."
"Three?"
She pressed her body hard into his.
He leaned forward, toward the Plexiglas divider that separated passengers from driver. "Take us through the park."
The cabbie had been there before. He glanced quickly in his rearview mirror then veered right and made a U-turn.
Passing headlights of oncoming cars shuffled the light in the back of the cab and made her blink in mild confusion.
"It will be a slow drive," he whispered
"Have you got something?" Lauri asked, clinging to him.
"Of course," he said. "A condom." He kissed her perspiring forehead, working the hand that was beneath her skirt, manipulating skillfully with his fingers. "You don't have to worry, darling, I'm careful. You've never met anyone more careful."
60
Sherman as usual read the Times over breakfast. He'd bought the paper from a vending machine at the corner, inserting his coins and thinking with a smile that the paper should be paying him. After all, he was giving them something to write about that was more interesting than their usual gray wire-service pap. He was selling papers. Every time the circulation of one of his victims stopped, the Times's circulation increased.
The morning was so beautiful that he'd skipped his favorite diner in favor of a small restaurant with green plastic tables outside. Pedestrians walked nearby, just on the other side of the black wrought-iron railing separating the outer sidewalk from the dining area. Beyond them, traffic locked in the morning rush rumbled and lurched forward about ten feet at a time. But the cool morning breeze carried the vehicle exhaust away so it didn't interfere with his appetite, and the sun sent warm rays angling in beneath the green canvas umbrella above Sherman's table.
As he forked in his scrambled eggs and nibbled at his toast, Sherman read in the paper that Jeb, the brother he'd never seen, was a currency trader. Something like family pride crept into Sherman's mind. So Jeb was smart, like his half-brother, and like Sherman made his money in the world of finance. Sherman had made his fortune in tech stocks, systematically getting out just before the bubble burst, and then compounding his wealth by selling some of the same stocks short, cashing in as they plummeted in value. Possibly Jeb had gotten rich during the same wild market volatility. Sherman thought-no, he knew-that heredity meant much more than most people suspected. Heredity was destiny, and impossible to escape.
A gust of summer breeze flipped the top newspaper page, and there was the now familiar photo of Mom climbing out of a taxi in front of the Meredith Hotel.
Sherman stopped chewing and stared at it for a long moment, into the dark eyes above the smiling lips. It seemed to him that the eyes were not smiling.
The photo also made him think of last night in the cab with Quinn's daughter. Quinn's daughter! Now Sherman was the one to smile. What would Quinn think if he knew? As he would someday know-Sherman would take care of that. As for Lauri, she'd remember last night, what she could of it, fondly. He was sure he hadn't used enough ketamine for her to suspect she'd been drugged, so eager had she been to sleep with him even without a little chemical enhancement. And even if she did suspect, she'd probably forgive him for it. Little Lauri wasn't nearly as innocent as she pretended. How could she be, bedding down with that tall, skinny junkie-the musician, so-called?
After finishing breakfast and paying his check, Sherman scraped his metal chair over concrete, away from the table, and stood up, careful not to bump his head on the umbrella. He felt full and satisfied, and sexually sated from last night, as he strolled toward his apartment. He was expecting a fax from a connection to a connection he had in Atlanta, an architect who a few years ago had found himself in a financial tangle Sherman helped him to escape. The man had later landed a plum job in City Planning and Development. He was not only in Sherman's debt, he was a bureaucratic animal who knew the jungle. More specifically, the New York City archival records jungle.