Ed Mcbain: Mischief

“But it’s Sharyn .”

“I know,” he said, thoroughly confused now.

“With a y, ” she said.

“Oh,” he said. “Right. Thank you. I’m sorry. Sharyn, right.”

“What’s that I hear?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“That sound.”

“Sound? Oh. It must be the rain.”

“The rain? Where are you?”

“I’m calling from outside.”

“From a phone booth?”

“No, not really, it’s just one of these little shell things. What you’re hearing is the rain hitting the plastic.”

“You’re standing in the rain?”

“Well, sort of.”

“Isn’t there a phone in the squadroom?”

“Well, yes. But…”

She waited.

“I…uh…didn’t want anyone to hear me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I…I didn’t know how you’d feel about…something like this.”

“Something like what?”

“My…asking you to have dinner with me.”

Silence.

“Sharyn?”

“Yes?”

“Your being a chief and all,” he said. “A deputy chief.”

She blinked.

“I thought it might make a difference. That I’m just a detective/third.”

“I see.”

No mention of his blond hair or her black skin.

Silence.

“Does it?” he asked.

She had never dated a white man in her life.

“Does what?” she said.

“ Does it make a difference? Your rank?”

“No.”

But what about the other? she wondered. What about whites and blacks killing each other in public places? What about that, Detective Kling?

“Rainy day like today,” he said, “I thought it’d be nice to have dinner and go to a movie.”

With a white man, she thought.

Tell my mother I’m going on a date with a white man. My mother who scrubbed white men’s offices on her knees.

“I’m off at four,” he said. “I can go home, shower and shave, pick you up at six.”

You hear this, Mom? A white man wants to pick me up at six. Take me out to dinner and a movie.

“Unless you have other plans,” he said.

“Are you really standing in the rain?” she asked.

“Well, yes,” he said. “ Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Have other plans?”

“No. But…”

Bring the subject up, she thought. Face it head on. Ask him if he knows I’m black? Tell him I’ve never done anything like this before. Tell him my mother’ll jump off the roof. Tell him I don’t need this kind of complication in my life, tell him…

“Well…uh…do you think you might like to?” he asked. “Go to a movie and have dinner?”

“Why do you want to do this?” she asked.

He hesitated a moment. She visualized him standing there in the rain, pondering the question.

“Well,” he said, “I think we might enjoy each other’s company, is all.”

She could just see him shrugging, standing there in the rain. Calling from outside the station house because he didn’t want anyone to hear him being turned down by rank. Never mind black, never mind white, this was detective/third and deputy chief. As simple as that. She almost smiled.

“Excuse me,” he said, “but do you think you could give me some kind of answer? Cause it’s sort of wet out here.”

“Six o’clock is fine,” she said.

“Good,” he said.

“Call me when you’re out of the rain, I’ll give you my address.”

“Good,” he said again. “Good. That’s good. Thank you, Sharyn. I’ll call you when I get back to the squadroom. What kind of food do you like? I know a great Italian…”

“Get out of the rain,” she said, and quickly put the phone back on the cradle.

Her heart was pounding.

God, she thought, what am I starting here?