Wendy Hornsby - Midnight Baby

When I opened the door of Mike’s condo I was in desperate need of strong drink, a hot bath, and some quiet before we got into anything. Mike was generally fairly easygoing, but from the tone of our last conversation, I expected him to be angry. A reflex, I guess. I was still in recovery two years after a long marriage to a human powder keg, still walking around with a lot of protective armor, according to Mike.

The living-room lights were turned down low. Ray Charles was on the CD player, loud enough to appreciate, but only just. Mike was stretched out on his back on the gray carpet wearing white sweats, a black pillow under his silver head, his eyes closed, hands resting on his stomach with a glass of white wine balanced between them.

I closed the front door as softly as I could, not wanting to disturb him. I had disliked his ex-wife’s gray-and-black decorating scheme until I saw Mike lying there in the middle of it. The tones of his hair and skin blended so perfectly with the room that I couldn’t decide whether his wife had decorated to show him off or had tried to make him invisible among the furnishings. Domestic camouflage.

I had my camera in my hand without really thinking about taking it out. More light would have been nice, but I opened the aperture all the way and took a couple of hand-held time-release shots. The texture would be interesting, I thought, if the pictures came out at all.

I was leaning over Mike for a face shot when he wrapped his fingers around my ankle and opened his eyes.

“The late Maggie MacGowen,” he said, mellow and smiling.

“Hold still,” I said.

“When you’re in the room, I can’t hold still. You move me.” His hand slid up my leg inside my jeans.

“Keep talking,” I said.

“What are you doing?”

“We have Whistler’s mother, A Study in Gray. I thought it was time for Whistler’s father.”

“My kid’s name is Flint. Does that make a difference?”

“Not to the artist.” I reached down for his glass of wine, but he held on to it.

“You want the wine? Make me an offer.”

“How about a trade?” I took Rebecca out of my bag and showed it to him.

He sat up enough to look at the title, then he dropped back down. “No deal. I read it in grade school.”

“Maybe it’s a clue. Rebecca sailed away and never came home again. Like Elizabeth Ramsdale.”

“Still no deal.” He massaged my ankle. “We located Elizabeth down in Cabo San Lucas. Arrived two days ago.”

“No lie?” I knelt on the floor next to him.

“No lie.”

“Tell me about it.” I reached for the glass again, but he held it away.

“One thing at a time here.” He slid his hand into the crook of my knee. “I believe the bidding is still open on this fine, vintage, supermarket plonk.”

I leaned over him close enough to feel his warm breath on my cheek. “I bid one kiss.”

“I’m bid one kiss. Do I hear two?”

“Nope. My offer stands at one.”

“Sold. If it’s a good one.”

I kissed him. A good – no, a magnificent – one. His fingers moved slowly up the inside of my thigh, spreading uncontrollable heat like a pot boiling over on the stove. Reduced to a quivering mass, I sat back on my heels to catch my breath, trapping his hand between my legs. His eyes were still half rolled back in his head when he passed me up his glass.

“Thank you.” My voice sounded husky, as if I had inhaled some of that heat. “What’s the next item in your catalogue?”

He raised his head into my lap. “Our next offering will cost you.”

“That’s all right.” I stroked his shiny hair and his fresh-shaved cheek. “In the currency of this auction, I’m loaded.”

“Bidding opens at one shirt with birds all over it.”

“How do I know what you’re offering is worth even one button of this fabulous shirt?”

“It’s worth it.” He tugged out my shirttail and tickled my belly with his little cookie-duster mustache. I giggled, and he grinned up at me. “In point of fact, I think I started bidding too low. Now it will cost you the shirt and the pants, too.”

“I don’t bid on closed lots,” I said. “Show me what you have.”

His hands were soft on my bare abdomen. “I found Hanna Ramsdale’s mother.”

“Alive?”

“Alive as anyone can be in Pasadena.” He pulled the shirt off over my head and bent forward to kiss the lace covering my left breast.

“Wait,” I said, pushing against his shoulders.

“No.” He grinned. “Prepayment required.”

I stripped off my pants and handed them to him. “Payment in full. Now, talk to me.”

“Maggie.” He pulled me down onto the floor on top of him. On the way, he undid my bra. “Do you really want to talk now?”

“No,” I whispered into his ear. He was hard against me. I wanted him so badly that the room around us disintegrated into a vague, warm blur and he was the only solid reality. He helped me slip off the bra.

“What I really want,” I said, “is to make mad, passionate love to you. Right here. Right now.”

“Bidding opens at one kiss.”

I paid. He delivered.

Gathering clouds obscured the moon. The canyon below Guido’s house was a velvet abyss that opened beyond the gravel shoulder of the road and swallowed Mike’s high beams.

“It’s quiet up here,” Mike said.

“If I were ever to live in L.A., it would have to be somewhere like this. Somewhere away from the city.”

In the green light from the dash, I saw the strangest look cross his face; pain, glee – I couldn’t read it.

“What did I say?” I asked, touching his hand on the wheel.

“It’s good to know you’ve given some thought to moving down.”

“Just making conversation. I said ‘If.’ “

“There are a lot of canyons around L.A. We could probably find you one a helluva lot better than this.”

I felt another sort of canyon open up under me.

“Guido’s driveway is right there on the left,” I said. “It’s easy to miss. Go slow.”

“Can’t go any slower, Maggie.” He turned up into the steep drive. “If we go any slower, we’ll stop dead.”

“I work long hours,” I said. “Sometimes I’m away from home for a couple of months at a time.”

“Guido seems happy with his nine-to-five. Casey would be real pleased to have you home more.”

“We’re fine with things as they are.”

“Land somewhere, Maggie.” He stopped in front of the garage and turned off the lights. “Casey will only be with you four more years before she goes away to college. Make the best of it.”

“What are you saying? I neglect her?”

“No. You’ve done a great job with her. What I want to say is, I retire in three years. It isn’t so long. Come, you and Casey, stay here with me for three years. Then I’ll go anywhere you say. I’ll live with you in a tent in the middle of the Sahara, if that’s what you want.”

I turned around in my seat to face him. “Are you proposing?”

“Don’t make it sound like a threat,” he said, laughing softly. “The last six months have been the worst years of my life. Maggie, I don’t ever want to lose you again. I know marriage scares you. As long as we’re together, I don’t care whether we’re married or not.”

“I would drive you crazy, Mike.”

He laughed. “You already do.”

“There are so many complications.” I opened my car door, misjudged how far down the ground was, and stumbled a little. “So much to think about.”

He shut his door after him. “If you want something bad enough, you can overcome the complications.”

I saw Guido spying on us from the window in his front door. When I waved, he came out onto the porch.