Nelson Demille - The Lion's Game

We groped, kissed, hugged, and squeezed for about ten minutes. There's something exquisite about exploring a new naked body-the texture of the skin, the curves, the hills and valleys, the taste and the scent of a woman. I enjoy the foreplay, but Willie gets impatient, so I suggested we find the bedroom.

She replied, "No, do it to me here."

No problem. Well… a bit of a problem on the couch, but where there's a Willie, there's a way.

She climbed on top of me and within a heartbeat, we changed the nature of our professional relationship.

I lay back on the couch while Kate went to the bathroom. I didn't know what kind of contraceptive she used, but I didn't see any cribs or playpens around the apartment, so I figured she had it under control.

She came back into the living room and turned on the lamp near the couch. She stood looking down at me, and I sat up. I could see her whole body now, and it was indeed exquisite, more full than I'd imagined it on the very few occasions that I'd undressed her in my mind. I also noticed that she was legally blonde, top and bottom, but I figured that.

She knelt down in front of me and parted my legs. I noticed she had a wet washcloth in her hand, and she polished the rocket a little, which almost caused another launch. She commented, "Not bad for an old guy. You take Viagra?"

"No, I take saltpeter to keep it down."

She laughed, then bent over and put her face in my lap. I stroked her hair.

She picked her head up, and we held hands. She saw the scar on my chest and touched it, then moved her hand around to my back, and her fingers found the exit wound. "This bullet broke the front and back rib."

I guess FBI ladies know these things. Very clinical. But better than, "Oh, you poor dear, it must have been so painful."

She continued, "Now I can tell Jack where you were wounded." She laughed, then asked me, "Are you hungry?"

Yes.

"Good. I'll scramble some eggs."

She went into the small kitchen, and I stood, tidying up the strewn clothes.

She called out, "Don't get dressed."

"I just wanted to put your bra and panties on for a minute."

She laughed again.

I watched her in the open kitchen, moving around in the nude, looking like a goddess performing sacred rituals in the temple.

I looked through the stack of CDs and found Willie Nelson, my favorite post-coital music.

Willie sang "Don't Get Around Much Anymore."

She said, "I like that one."

I looked up at the books on the shelves. You can usually tell something about a person by what they read. Most of Kate's books were training manuals, the sort of stuff you really have to read to stay on top of things in this business. There were also a lot of true-crime books, books about the FBI, terrorism, abnormal psychology, and that sort of thing. There were no novels, no classics, no poetry, no books of art or photography. This reinforced my original take on Ms. Mayfield as a dedicated professional, a team player, a lady who never colored outside the lines.

But obviously there was another side to this clean-cut cheerleader, and it wasn't very complicated; she liked men and she liked sex. But why did she like me? Maybe she wanted to tweak a few noses among her FBI colleagues by going out with a cop. Maybe she was tired of playing by the unwritten rules and the written directives. Maybe she was into horny. Who knows? A guy could go crazy trying to analyze why he'd been picked as a sexual partner.

The phone rang. Agents are supposed to have a separate line for official calls, but she didn't even look at the wall phone in the kitchen to see what line was lit up. It rang until her answering machine picked up.

I said to her, "Can I do anything?"

"Yes. Go comb your hair and wash the lipstick off your face."

"Right." I entered the bedroom and noticed that the bed was made. Why do women make the bed?

Anyway, the bedroom was as sparse as the living room, and I could have been in a motel room. Clearly Kate Mayfield had not made herself at home in Manhattan.

I went into the bathroom. As neat as the other rooms were, the bathroom looked like someone had been in there with a search warrant. I borrowed a comb from the cluttered vanity and combed my hair, then washed my face and gargled with mouthwash. I looked at myself in the mirror. I had bags under my bloodshot eyes, my skin was a little pale, and the scar on my chest looked white and hairless compared to the rest of my chest. Clearly there were a lot of hard miles on John Corey, and more to come. But my crankshaft was still working, even if my battery was run down.

Not wanting to stay too long in Mademoiselle's private quarters, I went back into the living room.

Kate had laid two plates of scrambled eggs and toast on the coffee table and two glasses of orange juice. I sat on the couch, she knelt on the floor opposite me, and we ate. I really was hungry.

She said, "I've been in New York eight months, and you're the first man I've been with." '

"I could tell."

"How about you?"

"I haven't been with a man in years."

"Be serious."

"Well… what can I say? I'm seeing someone. You know that."

"Can we get rid of her?"

I laughed.

"I'm serious, John. I don't mind overlapping for a few weeks, but after that I feel like… you know."

I wasn't sure I did, but I said, "I understand completely."

We looked at each other for a long time. Finally, I realized I had to say something, so I said, "Look, Kate, I think you're just lonely. And busy. I'm not Mr. Right-I'm just Mr. Right Now, so-"

"Bullshit. I'm not that lonely or that busy. I have men hitting on me all the time. Your friend, Ted Nash, has asked me out ten times."

"What?" I dropped my fork. "That little turd-"

"He's not little."

"He's a turd."

"No, he isn't."

"That pisses me off. Did you go out with him?"

"Just dinner a few times. Interagency cooperation."

"Damn it, that pisses me off. Why are you laughing?"

She didn't tell me why she was laughing, but I guess I knew why.

I watched her, covering her face with her hand while she was trying to swallow scrambled eggs and laugh at the same time. I said, "If you choke, I don't know the Heimlich maneuver."

This made her laugh more.

Anyway, I changed the subject and asked her something about what she thought of the press conference.

She answered, but I wasn't paying attention. I thought about Ted Nash, and about how he'd put the moves on Beth Penrose during the Plum Island case. Well, maybe it was mutual and it didn't amount to much anyway, but I have a low tolerance for competition. Somehow, I think Kate Mayfield figured that out, and might actually be using it on me.

Next, I thought of Beth Penrose, and to be honest, I was feeling a bit guilty. Whereas Kate Mayfield didn't mind a few weeks overlap in regard to sexual involvements, I'm basically monogamous, preferring one headache at a time-except for a weekend in Atlantic City with these two sisters, but that's another story.

So, we sat there awhile, our bodies touching, and I picked at my eggs. I haven't had a meal with a woman in the nude in a long time, and I remembered that I used to really enjoy the experience. There's something about food and nudity, eating and sex, that goes together, if you think about it. It's primitive on the one hand, and very sensuous on the other.

Well, I was on the slippery slope into the abyss of love, companionship and happiness-and you know where that leads. Misery.

But so what? You gotta go for it. I said to Kate, "I'll call Beth in the morning and tell her it's over."

"You don't have to do that. I'll do it for you." She laughed again.

Obviously Kate Mayfield was in a better post-coital mood than I was. I really was conflicted, confused, and a little scared. But I'd get it all sorted out in the morning.