John Locke: Callie’s Last Dance

“I would.”

“Dani, on the other hand…”

“Ten.”

Callie nods.

I ask, “Have you ever been with a woman as hot as Dani Ripper?”

“Not in the biblical sense. Have you?”

I wait till she turns to look at me.

We lock eyes. Then I say, “Not yet.”

She smiles and looks down. Then says, “Anyway, Dani’s into you, not me.”

“That’s crazy. She’s gay.”

“She only thinks she’s gay. Less than a month ago she was married, remember?”

“Till her husband got killed.”

“Till then,” Callie says.

“Then Sophie showed up.”

“Sophie got lucky.”

“How so?”

“She was there to pick up the pieces when Dani was vulnerable.”

“Is that how it works?” I say.

“Sometimes.”

We’re both quiet a moment.

“This thing between Dani and Sophie,” Callie says.

“Yeah?”

She pauses, gives me a look.»It’s temporary.”

“YOU CAME!” SAL says with great enthusiasm, as we enter the main tent.

“Sal?” I say. “Marie? This is Callie Carpenter. Callie? Sal and Marie Bonadello. Our gracious hosts.”

“Thank you so much for inviting us!” Callie says.

Marie shows Callie the deepest frown her face can hold. The very response you’d expect from a seasoned wife standing face-to-face with her husband’s greatest weakness.

She says, “Be forewarned, Miss Carpenter. My husband’s got less class than a nut-licking dog at a church picnic.”

Marie fixes her husband with a harsh gaze and leaves to greet the next guests.

Sal says, “I must apologize for my wife. She and I no longer sleep together.”

Callie and I exchange WTF looks.

“Intercourse,” he adds, by way of explanation. “We don’t-whatcha call-”

“We get it,” I say.

Callie and I press envelopes filled with cash into Sal’s hand, as is the custom when attending these sorts of events. Sal separates the envelopes and hefts mine briefly.

“You’ve always been generous,” he says. Then looks at Callie and says, “He’s very-whatcha call-philanthropic.”

Trying to impress her with his vocabulary.

Then he does something I’ve never seen him do.

He places Callie’s envelope back in her hand and says, “I don’t expect this from you. A goddess like you should be paid to attend parties!”

Callie flashes a dazzling smile. “That’s so nice of you to say, Mr. Bonadello. But I insist on making a contribution to your Mothers of Sicily charity.”

“They do great work,” I say, sarcastically.

As he accepts her envelope a second time he says, “Please, fair maid. Call me Sal.”

“Okay.”

“Say it. Say my name,” he says.

“Sal.”

He closes his eyes and swoons.

“Didja hear that?” he says. “An angel just spoke my name.”

He tucks the envelopes into his jacket pocket, then takes Callie’s hand in his.

“I’ve invited you to my-whatcha call- soirees every time,” he says. “But you never showed up.”

She shrugs.

I notice Marie coming up behind Sal and cough to warn him. But he’s too wrapped up in Callie to notice. He raises her hand to his lips and kisses it. Then takes a step back and looks her up and down like she’s covered in frosting and he can’t decide where to start licking.

He says, “Did you happen to bring a bikini, sweetheart?”

Marie says, “Why don’t you just sniff her ass, Sal? Isn’t that what dogs do?”

Sophie and Dani.

SOPHIE ALEXANDER (STAGE name) is a well-known songwriter who’s struggling to make it as a country singer. Her proud, supportive Uncle Sal hired her to provide the entertainment today, and flew booking agents from all over the country to watch her perform. She’d been nervous all week about it, but at the moment, she and Dani are consumed with thoughts of Callie and Creed.

“What do you think of our assassin?” Sophie says, while waiting for the sound check guy to hook up her equipment.

“He’s gorgeous!”

Sophie gives her a look. “I’m talking about Callie Carpenter.”

Dani laughs. “Her, too.”

“She’s gay, you know.”

“So is he.”

Sophie furrows her brow. “Who?”

“Donovan Creed.”

Sophie laughs. “I don’t think so.”

“Trust me,” Dani says. “When they’re that beautiful and buff, they’re gay.”

Sophie says, “So now you’re an expert?”

“Oh shit!” Dani says. “ Don’t look !”

“What’s wrong?”

“They’re coming over.”

The prettiest woman Dani has ever seen offers her hand and says, “Hi Dani. I’m Callie Carpenter.”

They shake hands. Dani says, “And you’re Donovan Creed, the phony FBI agent.”

Creed says, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do,” she says. “You somehow managed to shut down the FBI’s investigation. You probably kept me out of jail.”

“I probably did, but it wasn’t that big a deal. I knew you didn’t kill your husband.”

Sophie says, “And how about you, Mr. Creed. Are you planning to kill some of our party guests today?”

Dani punches her arm. “Jesus, Sofe!”

Creed says, “I promise not to kill a single guest.”

Dani notices a slight smile on Callie’s lips and says, “A married one, perhaps?”

Callie changes the subject. “You enjoy being a private detective?”

“Very much. When I get to help kids.”

“You’re not carrying a gun.”

“I own a small Glock, but hardly ever carry it.”

“Because?”

“Guns frighten me.”

Callie frowns.

Creed says, “So, you two are a couple?”

Sophie puts her arm around Dani’s waist and pulls her close.

“We are,” she says.

The sound guy approaches and stands a respectful distance away, waiting to be noticed.

Sophie says, “I need to do a sound check.”

“I’ll go with you,” Callie says.

Sophie looks at Dani, standing with Creed. “Want to come?” she says.

“I’ll watch from here,” Dani says.

While Sophie and Callie climb the steps onto the stage, Creed leans closer to Dani and says, “What’s it like?”

“What?”

“Being with a woman?”

Dani smiles, but says nothing.

After the sound check, Sophie and Callie come back over. Sophie says, “You’re smiling. What did I miss?”

“I was right.”

Sophie says, “You think?”

Creed says, “Right about what?”

Dani says, “You’re from Vegas?”

“For the time being.”

“Well, if you want, Sofe and I can show you where to find the best fashion in Cincinnati.”

“Are you inviting me to go shopping with you?”

Dani looks at Sophie. Then says, “Of course! It’ll be fun!”

Callie says, “Donovan, go check out the pool.”

“What?”

Callie says, “Girl talk.”

“Oh. Right.”

Donovan Creed.

SOPHIE’S SINGING, DANI’S standing left of the stage, watching her. Callie and I stand a safe distance from the crowd that’s gathered to watch Sophie’s band.

“Ready to dance yet?”

“Are they playing our song?”

She cocks her head and listens a moment, then wrinkles her nose.

“We need a special song,” she says. “Something melodic and dreamy. Or at least something slow, with meaningful lyrics.”

“I take it Love Dies doesn’t cut it?”

“Not even.”

“I’d like something from the sixties.”

“Eighteen sixties?”

“Funny.”

“This is a progressive country band,” Callie says. “They’re not likely to play old fogey music.”