Evan Hunter: Romance

Sharyn was a cop, and she knew what to do when cops were in a situation where there was a wild gun on the scene, two wild guns as she now saw, one in the hand of a black man, the other in the hand of a white man, this was going to be last Saturday all over again! She scrambled over the low green-lacquered wall that divided their booth from the one adjoining it, long legs flashing, over and into the other booth where a white couple was digging into a steaming bowl of moo goo gai pan, “Sorry,” she mumbled, “sorry,” and ran right over them and through them, her high heels digging into the green Naugahyde seat, and dropped into the aisle on the other side, and sprinted to the front of the restaurant and called in a 10–13 from a phone hanging on the wall alongside the cigarette machine.

When Brown reached the booth, he saw Caroline standing there with one of her high-heeled shoes in her hand, holding it like a hammer, ready to hit anyone who came anywhere near her, white or black. Brown had drawn his pistol even before he saw the pair of wild guns on the scene, but that was because he’d seen Kling’s gun already in his hand, and he knew he wouldn’t have unholstered it without first considering the guidelines. Both detectives were mindful of the fact that the place was packed and that an exchange of gunfire was inadvisable, but the white man and the black man facing off with guns bigger than they were didn’t have any guidelines to worry about, and they sure as hell looked as if they were intent on shooting to kill at any moment now. Brown was bigger than Kling or any of the other men, and he could yell louder than anybody in this city. He shouted at the top of his lungs that he was a police officer and that if everybody didn’t drop all those goddamn guns in the next ten seconds he was going to break some mighty hard heads here.

It was over as soon as it started.

Everybody had calmed down and everything was under control by the time the six radio cars squealed into the curb outside in response to Sharyn’s call.

Coincidentally, the white man who’d told the brother to fuck off was wanted for armed robbery in the state of Arizona.

In bed that night, he asked her what she’d thought of the evening.

“The food or the floor show?” she asked.

“The company,” he said.

“I’ve always liked Bert,” she said. “And I liked her a lot, too.

“You think it’ll work?” Brown asked.

“I hope so,” Caroline said.

They undressed each other in the dark.

They could have been white and white, or black and black, or anything and anything for that matter, because they could not see each other in the dark. Kissing in the dark, standing inches apart from each other, they undid buttons and lowered zippers until at last they were naked in the dark, pressed against each other in the dark, hard against her, soft against him, touching, feeling, blind in the dark. In the dark, her skin was silken smooth, it felt like polished alabaster. In the dark, his skin was silken smooth, it felt like polished ebony in the dark.

They moved to the bed at last, and lay side by side in the dark together, kissing, touching, exploring in the dark, lips against lips, flesh against flesh, their ardor heightened by what had happened earlier tonight, their desire fueled by a desperate need to demonstrate that it could be otherwise, it did not have to be that way, it could he this way, hearts beating together in the dark.

He entered her in the dark and felt her enfolding him and enclosing him, murmuring softly against his lips as he thrust more deeply into her, gently in the dark, withdrawing again and moving into her again, hips rising to meet each thrust, wet and warm in the dark, his measured steady rhythm drawing from her a measured steady response until together they learned a wilder heat, found together a greater freedom, discovered together a riff that joined them in the dark, and rushed them thunderously toward a farther shore where they shattered against each other in the dark and clung to each other like children.

Later, in the light, they looked at each other.

He was still white.

She was still black.

“Let’s give it an honest shot,” she said.

“Let’s,” he said.