Another silence.
“The Valparaiso case. We watched the video…”
“Oh yes.”
“…together.”
“Yes, I remember now,” she said. “How are you?”
“Fine, thanks. And you?”
“Busy,” she said.
There was a silence on the line.
“Did you catch them yet?” she asked.
“Well, no. Not yet.”
“I thought that’s why you might be calling.”
“Well, no,” he said.
“Ah,” she said, and fell silent again.
He hesitated. Hang up, he thought. She hasn’t the faintest idea why you’re on the phone. She’s not expecting…
“Uh, Honey,” he said, “I was wondering…”
Silence.
“I don’t know what time you might be free tonight…”
The silence persisted.
“But I just got sprung here myself, and I don’t have to be back till tomorrow morning, so I was wondering…”
“I’ve got to talk to a Russian dancer in Calm’s Point,” she said.
“Oh,” he said.
“At the Academy of Music,” she said. “I should be through before eight.”
He waited.
“I can meet you after that,” she said.
“Well, good,” he said. And then, not to sound too eager, he immediately asked, “Where?”
SHE WAS STILLwearing the on-camera outfit she’d worn while interviewing the dancer at the Calm’s Point Academy of Music. An olive green woolen skirt, the same boots she’d worn on the night of the kidnapping, and a brown turtleneck with a collar as thick as chain mail. Tonight was the opening of the Kirov Ballet, she explained. Her interview with the prima ballerina would be shown on tonight’s Eleven O’Clock News.
“So,” she said, “do you get over to Calm’s Point often?”
“Every now and then,” he said.
They had walked over to a very good steak joint she knew near the Academy. Neither of them had had dinner yet, and it was now only eight-fifteen on a slow Monday, so they had the place almost all to themselves. The maître d’ recognized Honey when she came in, and led them to a choice table near a stained glass window artificially lighted from behind. Hawes was thinking if he’d been here on his own, they’d have seated him either near the men’s room or the telephone booths. He was wondering how much a steak would cost in this place. White linen tablecloths and all.
Honey ordered a Beefeater martini, straight up and very dry, with a couple of olives. Hawes ordered a Johnny Black on the rocks. She made the toast.
“To your case,” she said.
“To your interview,” he said, and they clinked glasses and drank.
“Mmm,” she said.
“Indeed,” he said.
“I’m famished,” she said. “Do you think we could see menus right away?”
Hawes signaled to the waiter.
Honey ordered the filet mignon with a salad and a baked potato. Hawes ordered a sirloin with fries and a side of steamed spinach.
“So where’d you get the white streak?” she asked.
He reached up to touch his temple. They always asked about the white streak. They always told him the white streak was attractive.
“I was investigating a burglary,” he said. “The vic was telling me what happened when all of a sudden she got hysterical and began screaming. The super ran upstairs with a knife in his hand…”
“Uh-oh,” Honey said.
“Yeah,” Hawes said, “and mistookme for a burglar or something.” He took another sip of his scotch. “Bottom line, he came at me with the knife and put a gash in my left temple.”
“Ouch,” Honey said, and plucked an olive from her martini and popped it into her mouth.
“Yeah. The doctors shaved the hair off so they could stitch the cut. The hair grew back white.”
“It’s attractive,” she said, studying it.
He was beginning to believe it.
“You think so?” he said.
“Yes,” she said, “I actually do,” and sipped again at her martini.
“So what’d you learn tonight?” he asked.
“From the dancer?”
“Prima ballerina, my my.”
“Who couldn’t speak a word of English,” Honey said, and pulled a face. “One of my crew finally translated. His mother was Russian. Stood off camera while I fumbled my way through. Great interview, right?”
“Hismother stood off camera?”
“Sure, his mother,” Honey said, grinning.
“But you know,” Hawes said, returning the grin, “that might come off kind of cute.”
“You think so?” she said.
“Yes,” he said, “I actually do,” and sipped again at his scotch.
“Come to think of it,” she said, “Tamar’smother is Russian, isn’t she?”
“Russian mother, Mexican father,” Hawes said, nodding.
“They did an interview together on ABC last night. Split screen, him in Mexico, her in Paris. Their five minutes of fame. Did you see them?”
“No.”
“They both speak perfect English. All they did was bitch about how everyone was paying so much attention to everything but the fact that their daughter was still missing.”
“Well, there may be some truth to that,” Hawes said. “All this stuff about racism, and homosexuality…”
“Hasn’t hurt the album any. It’s already number one on all the charts.”
“That’s just the point. With all the hype, people tend to forget there’s avictim out there.”
“I’ll bet you haven’t forgotten, though, have you?”
“Ahh, here’re the steaks,” Hawes said. “Would you like a beer?”
“I’d love a beer.”
“Heineken okay?”
“Heineken’s good,” Honey said.
She ate like a truck driver.
It must’ve been at least five full minutes before she uttered another word.
“Where’d you learn to eat that way?” he asked.
“With a knife and fork you mean?”
“That, too. But I meant so heartily.”
“In Iowa, when we’re hungry, we go out back and kill a cow.”
“Is that where you’re from?”
“Sioux City, Iowa, yep.”
“There’s no such place.”
“Wanna bet?”
“How’d you end up here?”
“I was a roving reporter for KTIV, the local television channel. Ran around covering murders hither and yon. Believe it or not, we’ve got murders in Sioux City, too. Bottom line, I got spotted by Channel Four here, and they invited me east. Better pay, big bad city, how could a girl refuse?”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” Hawes said.
“I’m kind of glad, too,” she said. “Now,” she added.
For an instant, their eyes met over the table.
She went back to her filet mignon.
He went back to his sirloin.
They ate in silence.
“Good steak,” he said at last.
“My favorite joint in the entire city,” she said. “I cover a lot of events at CP-AM. I always come here afterwards.”
“We’ll have to come here again,” he ventured.
“Whenever,” she said.
Their eyes met again.
“So…uh…what is this?” she asked.
“What is what?”
“You know. This.”
“I’m afraid to tell you.”
“Big brave policeman who got stabbed in the head?”
“Yeah, well, notthat brave.”
“Tell me.”
“How’d you like to marry me?” he said.
“Okay,” she said. “When?”
“I may be serious.”
“Okay, so where’s the ring?”
“Honey…” he said.
“Yes, Cotton?” she said, and put both elbows on the table, and cupped her chin in her hands.
“You are perhaps the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met in my life.”