John Lutz - The Ex

He went over to the desk by the window, switched the green-shaded lamp on and off as if to test it, lifted the phone, and listened for a dial tone. As he replaced the receiver, he noticed that one of the desk drawers was open about four inches. He hooked a forefinger in it and gave a gentle tug. The drawer slid easily and silently on its runners. He opened it wider. Inside was a worn shoe box. He touched the cardboard lid, then began to lift one end of it to peer inside.

The floor creaked behind him and he knew she was in the room. Letting the shoe box lid drop closed, he shoved the drawer shut with his hip, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

But it slid closed just as easily as it opened, and made a noise as if it had been slammed. He turned around.

Deirdre was fully dressed now, wearing a green dress almost exactly the shade of her robe, and black spike high heels. Her face was a furious mask that shocked him.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Her voice was level but full of rage.

He was embarrassed at having been caught, but he was puzzled by the intensity of her reaction. After all, he’d only been nosing around to kill time, not removing pearls from a wall safe.

“I was, er, just looking around,” he said. “Passing time while I waited…”

“You mean snooping!”

Chumley wanted desperately to defuse this. “Hey, take it easy, Deirdre. I didn’t mean anything by it. I mean, I didn’t think you’d mind, considering what we are to each other…what we’ve…Hell, I’m sorry! I’m genuinely sorry!”

She let out a long breath and stared at the ceiling, then back at Chumley. She seemed calmer now, more in control.

“I’m sorry too,” she said. She ran her hand through her thick hair.

“Look, Deirdre-”

“It’s just that I’ve got this thing about people who snoop. Always have felt that way. It’s not because I have anything to hide.”

“Of course not. Never thought you did. I don’t even know what I was looking for…if I was looking for anything. I suppose I was curious because…well, I don’t know much about you, Deirdre. Not really.”

She stared hard at him. “All you need to know, I hope.”

Another tender spot, Chumley thought. He shrugged. “All right. That’s okay, I understand. You happen to be a private person. Hell, I admire that.” He was always on the defensive with her.

She seemed to have regained her composure completely now, as she crossed the room toward him, smiling apologetically. She kissed him lightly on the lips, surprising him.

“I really am sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have gotten so upset. Can you forgive me?”

“Easily,” Chumley said, relieved. “Let’s forgive each other.”

“Done!” she exclaimed. She kissed him on the mouth again, this time with more passion. “There! Sealed and delivered with a kiss, like so many things in life.”

Chumley licked a minty taste from his lips and grinned down at her. “You taste like toothpaste.”

She reared back and pretended to be offended. “You don’t like it?”

“Toothpaste never tasted so good,” he told her. He was off guard again, though. You couldn’t press certain women. Not women like Deirdre, anyway. And why should he press her? Why should he be impatient? “I’ll tell you what,” he said, “why don’t you take the day off? Enjoy the beautiful morning.”

“But why?”

“The morning’s my gift to you. If you feel like it, come in to work later.” He touched her shoulder gently. “I want you to, Deirdre. Really”

Her smile was wide. “If you’re certain, Craig…”

“I am.”

“Okay, but I will be into work later today I promise.”

“You don’t have to promise, Deirdre.”

She leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth again.

He didn’t mention toothpaste.

Almost everyone was seated for the ceremony at Halstadt Funeral Home in Brooklyn. David and Molly sat in one of the pews toward the back of the narrow, hot room, far away from Bernice, resting as if asleep in her coffin near the altar in the front of the chapel. Though it was still early, the chapel was warm, and David could feel perspiration at his white collar. He reached up and straightened his tie, turning his head slightly as he did so.

And saw Deirdre standing in the doorway of the chapel behind him.

He stopped breathing. What was she doing here? Why wasn’t she at work?

She was wearing a green dress and black spike heels, standing with her feet far apart so it pulled the material of her dress taut across her muscular thighs. She smiled at him.

He looked away. Swallowed, aware of Molly sitting beside him and staring toward the front of the chapel.

He couldn’t help it. He turned his head again to look back at Deirdre.

She was gone.

Not far, though, he was sure.

What was in her mind? What kind of trouble might she cause?

David decided he’d better see if he could find her and talk to her, try to prevent…whatever might happen if he didn’t.

He nudged Molly with his elbow. “Gotta get out of here for a few minutes,” he said. He smiled at her. “I’ll be right back.”

She nodded, perhaps assuming he was uncomfortably warm, or that he had to use the lavatory.

He stood up and excused himself as he slid past the knees of the mourners seated between him and the aisle.

The plushly carpeted, hushed main room and reception area of the mortuary was deserted. David looked around for Deirdre but didn’t see her.

He walked to one of three small rooms with quiet conversation areas, “consolation rooms,” he’d heard one of the mortuary employees call them.

In the first room was a woman trying to comfort a sobbing teenage boy. David withdrew awkwardly, then more cautiously stuck his head into the second room. It was identical to the first, with the same plush green carpeting, small traditional furniture, and a table with a coffeemaker whose glass pot was half full.

Deirdre was alone in the room, standing next to the coffeepot. She smiled at David.

He felt his anger surge as he entered the room. “Dammit, Deirdre, what are you doing here?”

“Calm down, David. And come here.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

As he stepped closer to her, she suddenly reached out and gripped his left wrist. He heard a distinct click, and was astounded to look down and see that she’d attached one of the bracelets of a bulky set of handcuffs.

He could hardly find words. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I came here to see you,” she said. Without warning she deftly moved behind him, twisting the arm with the cuffed wrist behind his back. She wrenched his free wrist around suddenly and attached the second bracelet so his wrists were cuffed behind him. He’d been paralyzed for a moment by her strength and decisiveness.

He felt an indignation that almost instantly became fear. What if somebody walked in on them? How could he explain? “Jesus, Deirdre, this isn’t the place-”

“Oh, it’s exactly the place,” she said firmly. She shoved him aside and closed the door of the consolation room. “And the time,” she said with a grin. She lifted the green skirt of her dress and he saw she was wearing nothing beneath it.

In a panic, he moved toward the door then stopped.

“You’re not going out there with handcuffs on, are you?” Deirdre asked. “Here. I’ll open the door for you.” She took a step toward it and extended her hand toward the knob.

“Wait!” David said, then lowered his voice. “At least lock it,” he said, motioning with his head toward the lock button centered in the doorknob.

“That would take away most of the fun,” she said.

She knelt before him and reached for his fly. As he tried to turn away, she clutched his testicles. She didn’t squeeze, but he knew she might. He stood still and she worked the zipper, then reached in with her other hand and found what she sought. She took him in her mouth.