James Grippando - The Pardon

“I don’t think-”

“I told you,” she interrupted, “you think too much.” She poured two shots, more in Jack’s glass than hers, then handed him one. “Prost,” she said, toasting in German.

Their heads jerked back in unison as they downed the shots.

Gina smiled. “Good start. Have another,” she said as she filled his glass.

The second was gone as quickly as the first.

“Whoa,” Jack wheezed.

Gina filled his glass again.

“What’s in this stuff?” he asked, his throat burning.

“Drink that one. Then I’ll tell you.”

He hesitated, reminding himself he was there to keep a lid on things. It wouldn’t do to be half-in-the-bag if Goss showed up. “Gina, I think I’ve had enough.”

“C’mon,” she pouted. “Just one more. Relax”-she looked over her shoulder-“the lock on that door is strong enough to keep the bogeyman out.”

It was no use. She raised the shot glass to his lips, and he reluctantly swallowed.

She smirked at the glazed look on his face. “It’s from Germany. It’s actually illegal in most of this country. Something about the opium in it.”

“Opium?” his jaw dropped.

Gina smiled wryly. “You’ll be totally shit-faced in about ninety seconds.”

He took a deep breath. He was already feeling something considerably more than an ordinary buzz. He grabbed the edge of the counter to keep his bearings. “I’ve got to go,” he said.

She leaned across the counter and looked into his eyes. He blinked and looked away only to get an eyeful of cleavage, which made him shift awkwardly, as if his personal space had been invaded.

“I really should go,” he said. But he didn’t pull back.

“I know a couple of ways to make you stay,” she said slyly.

“Such as?”

“Bribery, for one,” she said quietly.

He swallowed hard. “And the other?”

Her eyes slowly narrowed. “Torture!” she said as she grabbed his ribs and pinched hard, laughing as she turned and stepped away.

“Oww!” Jack groaned. It had really hurt, but he knew she was just playing and tried to smile. “Could we maybe stick to bribery?”

“Whatever you want,” she whispered as she handed him another Scotch, then directed him toward the living room with a casual wave of her hand. She twisted the dimmer switch, lowering the overhead lighting, then sauntered toward her stereo, walking the way she always did when she knew a man was watching her.

At first he couldn’t help but admire the gentle sway of her curves as she crossed the room. He was certain Gina was coming on to him. And after a month of personal, professional, and public rejection, he was definitely starting to feel too weak, too lonely, and too drunk to put a stop to it, particularly after she’d rekindled his doubts about the “purely professional” nature of Cindy’s trip.

“Take a load off,” Gina said from behind, knocking him onto the couch. She fell in next to him, and they were instantly swallowed by the fabric of her overstuffed couch. She kicked off her shoes and drew her knees up onto the cushion. She scooted closer to Jack, stirred the ice in his drink with her finger, and then licked it off.

She leaned into him, her firm breasts pressing against his arm and her hand falling onto his hip. He suddenly thought of Cindy, which made him tense up.

“What are you, a linebacker?” she grumbled as she gave him a little shove. She reached across his lap, grabbed the remote control from the end table, and flipped on the stereo, preset for Gato Barbieri’s “Europa.”

“Oh, sorry,” he said with a nervous smile, now realizing what all the pushing was about.

“I love Gato,” she interrupted him. “You like the sax?”

Jack coughed into his drink, thinking she’d said “sex.”

“I think it’s the sexiest instrument ever invented,” she said as she leaned back, clearly enjoying the mood of the music. “Have you ever watched a man play the sax, Jack? I mean really watched him, in a jazz bar, late at night? The lighting is always dimmed, just so. The smoke rises in the room in a certain fuzzy way, as if it’s all a fantasy. And then the musician makes love to his instrument, his lips pressed to the mouthpiece, his eyes closed tightly while his face displays his every emotion. It’s like a man with the confidence, the courage, the balls, or whatever it takes to cry, or to make love or to reveal himself, all at the same time, with the whole world watching. How can they be so free? I don’t know how they do it. . but it affects me deep inside when they do.” She leaned toward him and stared deeply into his eyes.

Once again he hesitated. That was the most articulate he had ever known Gina to be. Bet you’ve given that little speech a few times before, he wanted to say.

She moved closer. “Could you do that?” she whispered.

“Could I what?” he played dumb.

“Let yourself go,” she answered. “Turn yourself inside out. And enjoy it.”

He sighed. There was indeed a woman who made him feel that way, who could strip him down to a desire so intense that he could have stood naked to the world and yet felt like the most powerful man on the planet. Then something happened. It wasn’t his fault or hers. It just happened. And nothing had been the same since. “I suppose it depends on who I’m with.”

She smiled, only to have her next move interrupted by the shrill ring of the telephone.

Cindy? asked his guilty conscience.

Gina sprang from the couch, snatched up the phone, and carried it to the other side of the room, as far away from Jack as the cord would allow her to travel. She hissed something into the receiver, slammed it down, and walked back toward him, an intense look of desire having replaced the anger in her eyes.

“My old boyfriend,” she volunteered as she took her place next to Jack, “Antoine. Guy buys me a BMW and he thinks he owns me for life. He calls whenever he figures I have a date. Kind of pathetic,” she shrugged, “but he just doesn’t want anyone else to have me.”

“Does this Antoine own a gun?” Jack only half-kidded.

The phone rang again. Gina jumped up, angrier than before. She grabbed the phone and threw it at the floor. “Asshole!” she shouted, as if Antoine could hear her. She sighed deeply to collect herself, then returned to Jack and knelt beside him on the couch. “Now,” she said softly, “where were we?”

He edged away from her. “I think we were talking about. . Antoine,” he said nervously.

“Antoine,” she scoffed. “What I wouldn’t give for someone who could make me forget I ever knew a silly boy named Antoine.”

Their eyes met and held. Jack started to say something, but the clothes dryer buzzed, and he looked away, distracted. “I think I’m ready. I mean, my clothes are ready,” he said as he pushed himself up from the couch. His knees shook, the room spun, and he was back on the couch in a split second.

“I don’t think you’re going anywhere tonight.”

“I really should go.”

“No way,” she said as she jiggled the car keys she’d taken from his pants before tossing them into the dryer. “Friends don’t let out-of-town girlfriends’ ex-boyfriends drive drunk. You’re staying here tonight.”

“I-”

“Don’t argue,” she interrupted him. “It’s already after midnight, and your clothes probably aren’t even dry yet. I’ll sleep in Cindy’s bed-too many bad vibes in there for you. You can sleep in mine. Come on,” she said as she rose from the couch, pulling him by the elbow.

He wobbled to his feet, drunker than he’d been since college. He knew he couldn’t drive, and part of him was glad he couldn’t. “All right. I’ll stay.”