"How do I get out if there's a fire?" Riley said.
"You gotta call the Fire Department," Charlie said.
"We done here?" Frank said.
"We're done here," Charlie said, and snapped his pad shut.
Riley sighed.
"See you," Charlie said, and both cops walked out.
The moment they were gone, Riley said, "The city's fucking finest, huh?"
"You should see the cops in Houston," she said.
"Somebody breaks in here, they stand around…"
"Are you sure somebody broke in?"
"Those marks weren't on the window when I went out last night."
"Maybe you ought to call…"
"What for? So they can tell me again why they can't spare any cops here? You should've heard them. The party line. Lots of crime in this city, men urgently needed elsewhere, sorry we can't continue the surveillance… that's a police word, surveillance. Surveillance of the premises and the subject. Those are police words, too. These are the premises and I'm the subject. Only I'm not a subject anymore, I'm back to being a possible target!"
Marilyn said nothing.
"So come give me a hug," he said, and grinned, and opened his arms wide.
"There's something we've got to talk about," Marilyn said.
"Later," Riley said. "Would you like a drink?"
"No, thanks."
"I've got a good bottle of scotch on the shelf there. Twelve years old."
"Not now, thanks."
"You look terrific, did I tell you you look terrific?"
"Thank you."
She was wearing a blue pleated skirt, pantyhose of the same color, high-heeled blue pumps, a shoulder bag to match, a pale blue blouse with a Peter Pan collar, and a navy blue cardigan sweater. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a pony tail, held there with a barrette the color of the blouse.
"You really look terrific."
"Thank you."
"Something wrong?"
"No, no."
"Cops been hassling you?"
"Lots of questions, but not what I'd call hassling."
"Sure you don't want a drink?"
"Positive."
"How about some coffee?"
"I'll make some," she said.
"All I've got is instant."
"I know."
She walked familiarly to the cabinet under the sink, took out a kettle, and began filling it with water.
"You mind if I tidy up a bit out here?" he asked. "I quit late last night, and rushed out leaving a mess. I like to have things neat on the weekend. You never know who may drop in."
Marilyn carried the kettle to the hot plate, and turned it on. Riley walked into the loft's work area and picked up a broom.
"I've been meaning to call you," he said.
"I'm glad you didn't," she said, and went to the wall cupboard, and took two cups and a jar of instant coffee from it.
"How come?" he said. "You been busy?"
"Very."
She spooned instant coffee into the cups, and then looked at the kettle.
"Me, too," he said. "Which is why I didn't call, actually. You see this big one here?"
She walked into the work area.
"Recognize it?"
"Snowflake," she said.
"I had a hell of a time getting that white overlay," he said. "Looks like it's really snowing, though, doesn't it?"
"Regular blizzard," she said.
"Yeah," he said, grinning proudly. "Do you like it?"
"Yes."
"That's you there in the yellow parka."
"My parka isn't…"
"I know." He kept looking at the painting, grinning. "You really like it?" he asked.
"Yes. Very much."
She walked back into the other part of the loft, checked the kettle again.
"Watched pot," he said. "Shit, look at how I left these brushes!"
He began cleaning the brushes, sitting on a stool at his work table, his back to her. When he turned to look at her again, she was at the shelf beyond the divider-wall, the bottle of scotch in her hands.
"Twelve years old," he said. "Gift from the gallery owner."
She yanked the cork, sniffed at the lip of the bottle, wrinkled her nose.
"Sure you don't want some?"
"Too early for me. Anyway, I hate scotch."
He kept dipping brushes into turpentine, working the bristles.
"Amateur stunt," he said. "Leaving brushes overnight."
He kept working, his back to her. She was silent for a long time. He looked up when the kettle whistled.
"Coffee's ready," she said.
"There's milk in the fridge," he said. "Sugar in the…"
"I take it black," she said.
"Right, I should know that by now."
She carried the cups to where he was sitting at the work table, and took the stool opposite him. There was the smell of turpentine. She fished into her shoulder bag, took out a package of cigarettes and a gold monogrammed lighter. She thumbed the lighter into flame, held it to the tip of the cigarette, let out a stream of smoke. She placed the package of cigarettes on the table, arranged the lighter neatly on top of them. He watched her hands. She looked up suddenly.
"Nelson," she said, "I want to end it."
He looked at her.
"Okay?" she said.
"What's the matter?"
"Let's just call it a day, okay?" she said.
"No, what is it? You mad I didn't call? I didn't think that kind of bullshit was important to our…"
"It's not that."
"Then what?"
"I've met someone."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, what do you think I mean, Nelson? I mean I'm involved with someone."
"Involved?"
"Yes, involved."
"You?"
"I don't see why that should…"
"I mean, you? Involved? I thought involvement…"
"I thought so, too."
"I mean, I thought commitment . . ."
"I've changed my mind, okay?"
"Look, don't get so damn impatient, okay? I mean, this is what you might call a bit of a shock, you know? You're the one who kept telling me what we had together was enough, isn't that what you kept telling me? The talking, the laughing, the sharing? Isn't that what you kept telling me, Marilyn?"
"It's what I said, yes."
"So all of a sudden…"
"Yes, all of a sudden."
"Who? One of these other guys you've been seeing?"
"No."
"Then who?"
"It doesn't matter who."
"It matters to me. Who's the guy?"
"His name is Hal Willis."
"Who?"
"Hal…"
"The cop? The one who was here asking me questions? You've got to be kidding."
"I'm not kidding, Nelson."
"I mean, there's no accounting for taste, but Jesus, Marilyn…"
"I said I wasn't kidding. Drop it, okay?"
The room went silent.
"Sure," he said.
The silence lengthened.
"So that's it, huh?" he said.
"That's it."
"Six, seven months of…"
"Nelson, we were good friends. Let's end it as good friends, okay?"
"Sure," he said.
"Okay?"
"Sure." He grinned suddenly. "Want to give the waterbed a last shot?"
"I don't think so," she said.
"Make a few waves?" he said, still grinning.
She smiled, rose, slung her shoulder bag, came around the work table, and kissed him on the cheek.
"Nelson…" she said. "Goodbye."
She looked at him a moment, seemed about to say something more, then simply shook her head, and walked out of the loft.
He listened to her high heels clicking along the corridor outside. He heard the elevator grinding its way up the shaft. He heard the big doors lumbering open. And then the sound of the elevator again, fading, fading.
And then there was only silence and the smell of turpentine.