Phillip Margolin - The Last Innocent Man

“Are you famous?”

David laughed.

“Only in circles that you’re not likely to travel in.”

“Oh, for instance?”

“Murderers, dope fiends, pimps, and rapists.”

“How do you know I’m not a rapist?” she asked. She had attempted to ask the question coolly and casually, but a tremor in her voice betrayed her nervousness. She heard the tremor and looked away, embarrassed, when he looked at her.

“I still haven’t shown you the top floor,” David said evenly. He led her up the spiral staircase to his bedroom. The lights were off and the bedroom curtains had not been drawn shut. They could see the moon floating above the pine shadows.

Valerie walked across the room and pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the picture window, watching the lights of the city. David stood beside her and gently touched the smooth skin of her shoulder. She turned to face him and he took her in his arms. His lips pressed softly against hers. She hesitated for a moment, and her body tensed under his touch. Then she flung her arms around him, pulling him into her, returning his kiss with great passion.

David stepped back, surprised at the ferocity of her reaction. Valerie looked into his eyes and unfastened the straps of her summer dress. It floated down the long lines of her body in slow motion. She stood in the moonlight, her face in shadows.

David took off his clothes, his eyes never leaving her. Her body was magnificent. An athletic figure with breasts that were small and perfectly formed. He watched the gentle rhythm of her breathing and the rise and fall of her rib cage under her smooth, tanned skin.

They touched and she melted into him. They stroked each other, and he forgot where he was and who he was. There was desperation and abandon in her lovemaking, and she moved under him with violence and passion until her body suddenly arched and her eyes closed tight. He could feel her fingers digging into his back and he heard her gasp, then moan.

They held each other for a while; then David rolled slowly to his back. She pressed her head to his chest and sighed. He wound his fingers through her long blond hair. His fingers strayed to her cheek. It was damp with tears.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered.

“I’m always sad after I make love. Really make love. I feel…I don’t know…as if I’d lost something.”

He sat up and gently pushed her back. Moonlight illuminated her hair and made it look like strands of gold against the pale blue of the pillow cover.

“You’re very beautiful,” David said. She turned her head away from him.

“Have I said something wrong?” he asked.

“No…I…it’s just that…”

He placed a finger over her lips, then kissed them. The longing he felt for her welled up in him. She drew him down.

“I have to go,” she said. “It’s very late.”

He looked at the digital clock on his nightstand. It was after midnight.

“Why don’t you spend the night? I promise to cook you a terrific breakfast in the morning.”

Valerie looked suddenly worried.

“I can’t stay, David. It’s…I just can’t.”

“Why?” David asked, concerned by her sudden change of mood.

“Please, David. It has nothing to do with you. I can’t stay. That’s all. Can you take me back to Mr. Banks’s house? I left my car there.”

David nodded. She stood up and walked to the bathroom, picking up her clothes on the way. He watched her from the bed. She pressed the light switch, and floor-to-ceiling mirrors reflected her in a halo of light. Each part of her body was like a piece of fine sculpture. The long, thin arms, the well-formed legs, the flat, muscular stomach. He wanted to touch her again.

She moved out of his line of vision, and he heard the shower door open. David lay back on the bed and looked at the ceiling. They had been good together sexually. He felt as if he were giving a part of himself when he was inside her, instead of simply taking. He had not felt that way in a long time.

The shower started and David turned his head toward the bathroom door. He didn’t want Valerie to leave and he wondered why she had to. The obvious answer was that she was married. That would explain her nervousness at the party. Would it make any difference to him if he found out she was married? No, he decided.

The water stopped and David started to dress. He wondered what it would be like to love somebody. What he and Monica had was not love, but he had never felt as strongly about any other woman. He thought about Gregory Banks and his marriage, which had lasted so long. What was the secret? Was it all chemical? Was he missing something that other men had?

Valerie finished combing her hair and turned off the bathroom light. David put on a pair of slacks. He looked at her while he buttoned his sport shirt. Valerie walked around the room, glancing out the window, fingering objects, not looking at him. He wanted to see her again. There was something about her. He wanted to know if what he felt for her was a product of the magic of the evening or something more.

They rode down from the hills in silence. The view was very beautiful, and neither wanted to break the spell it created. Most of Gregory’s guests had left, but there was still noise coming from the big house. Valerie’s car was at the foot of the long, winding driveway. David stopped behind it. He turned off the ignition and they sat in the dark.

“I’d like to see you again,” David said.

She looked suddenly nervous, as if she regretted the evening.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“David,” she said slowly, “I don’t want you to misunderstand. I enjoyed…had a wonderful time…being with you. But I’m a little confused just now.”

She stopped. He wanted to hold her. To press her. To make her commit herself. But he knew that would be a mistake.

“All right,” he said. “I’m glad we spent the evening together, too. If you feel the same way, you know how to get in touch with me.”

Valerie looked down at her lap, then turned quickly and kissed him, opened the door, and walked to her car. David watched her drive off. He was tired and a little down, but he didn’t start back immediately.

Sunlight streamed through the glass wall of David’s bedroom, and he stretched. The warm morning sun made him feel lazy and relaxed. He opened his eyes. A bird was singing and he could see green pines profiled against a clear blue sky. He should have been elated. Instead, he felt a sense of loss. Nothing overwhelming, but real enough to put him off stride.

In the bathroom he splashed cold water on his face, brushed his teeth, and shaved. He returned to the bedroom and began to perform calisthenics in front of a full-length mirror. He enjoyed watching the play of his muscles as they stretched and contracted. When he broke a sweat, he did some stretching exercises to loosen up his legs. Then he slipped into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and laced up his running shoes.

David’s house was on a three-and-a-half-mile road that circled around the hill back to his front door. His morning run took him past sections of wooded area and other modern homes. There were a few other joggers out and he nodded at them as he went by. This run had become a daily routine for the past five years. His body had become a victim of the sedentary nature of the legal profession. Turning thirty had made him self-conscious about the softening process he was going through. So it was back to the weights and miles of jogging and an attempt to return to the muscle tone of his youth.

It was nine o’clock. He had slept later than usual, but that was okay. He had no court appearances and, at the moment, nothing very pressing to work on other than the Seals case.