John Abbott - Scimitar

“Do you still draw?”

“Not under my eye anymore. And only every now and again.”

“Are you good at it?”

“Not very.”

“I can’t draw a straight line.”

“I do it because I find it relaxing.”

“No one’s ever faked a black eye for me,” she said.

“I’ll paint one on the next time I see you,” he said. “I still have the pencils.”

She imagined him at thirteen, probably long and lanky, with the same eyelashes he had now, lashes a girl would kill for, standing before a mirror and decorating his eye with blues, yellows and greens...

The scimitar.

Under Sonny’s left pectoral.

The brightest green imaginable.

The green of a lizard’s eye.

She visualized him standing before her naked...

“Something?” Geoffrey said.

She blinked at him as though coming out of a trance.

“You seemed very far away for a moment,” he said.

“Sorry, I was... just thinking how hungry I am.”

“Shall we get some menus then?” he asked.

“Do you live in New York?” a woman was asking Sonny. Except for Carolyn, she was quite the most attractive woman here. Sonny expected she was somewhere in her fifties, with a face-lift engineered by an expert. She was standing very close to him. Dark hair cut close to her face. Brown eyes looking up at him.

“No, I’m from San Diego,” he said.

“Where in San Diego?” Carolyn asked. She had not moved an inch from his side the moment the brunette appeared.

“Well, El Cajon, actually,” he said. “Are you familiar with it?”

“No,” Carolyn said, “not really.”

“I live on Garwood Avenue,” he said, making up a name on the spot.

“I love San Diego,” the brunette interrupted.

Careful, he thought.

“But I haven’t been there in years,” she said.

“It’s changed a lot,” he said.

“I’m sure. What do you do out there?”

“I run a small cable company,” he said.

“You do? How exciting!”

Careful, he thought again.

“We do informational programs,” he said. “Mostly medical.”

Back to safer ground.

“Like what?” Carolyn asked.

“Oh, a wide variety of topics intended to keep the layman informed. As for example, how to detect the early signs of various diseases. Or when to consider surgery. Or how to...”

“Are you married, Mr. Hamilton?” the brunette asked.

“No, I’m not. And call me Scott,” he said. “Please.”

“Then it’s Sally,” she said, and smiled.

“Sally,” he repeated, and returned the smile.

“Sally,” Carolyn asked sweetly, “when does your husband get back from Boston?”

“The food’s really quite good, don’t you think?” Geoffrey said.

“It’s delicious.”

“But do you see what I mean about it getting sort of crowded and noisy?”

“That’s okay, I like noisy places,” she said.

“You do?”

“Yes. This pasta is fabulous.”

She was eating penne with broccoli. He was eating the red snapper.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said. “Shall I order another bottle of wine?”

“No, no. Whoo, no,” she said, covering her glass with the palm of her hand. “So is New York the first assignment you’ve ever had?” she said.

“No, my first one was in Dublin.”

“Is Ireland nice?”

“Oh, terrific. Well, not where they’re shooting and killing people. But, yes, Dublin is...”

“How about that murder right here at the Hilton ?” she said, and rolled her eyes.

“The city’s getting absolutely frightening , isn’t it?”

“Getting?”

“Well, it is already , isn’t it? You’re quite right.”

“I didn’t catch all of it, I turned it on when I came out of the shower. Was he a guest there, or what?”

“No, a detective. The victim, do you mean?”

“Yes.”

“A detective. Actually, it’s the oddest thing. I know him.”

“You do ?” she said, and opened her blue eyes wide, causing him to want nothing more in that instant than to lean over the table and kiss her.

“Well, he’s not a personal friend or anything near,” he said, “but we did have some business of a sort, Do you remember the two women I told you about? With the tattoos and the false passports?”

“Yes?”

“He was the detective who... you don’t suppose they’re related , do you?”

“The women?”

“No, the murders. His murder and theirs. He was investigating them, you see. The other murders. Do you think they know that?”

“Who?”

“The police. His superiors.”

“I would guess so.”

“Perhaps I should give them a call. Mention the possibility.”

“Might not be a bad idea. But I’m sure they know what he was working on. That’s something they’d check immediately.”

“Yes, I’m sure you’re right. Do you really enjoy noisy places?”

“Yes. Truly.”

“Do you like to dance?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like to meet Margaret Thatcher?”

“Sure,” she said breezily. “Frank Sinatra, too.”

“You’re really quite lovely, do you know?” he said.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Would you like to walk up to Fifth?” he asked. “When we’re finished here? I love Fifth Avenue in the summertime, don’t you?”

“I love it all the time,” she said.

“Well, shall we then?” he asked. “We can walk up to Fifth and then up Central Park South to Rumpelmayer’s. Do you like ice cream sundaes?”

“I love them,” she said.

“In England, we’re sadly lacking places that specialize in them, more’s the pity. There’s one called Marine Ices, on the way to Hampstead, in Chalk Farm, but it’s not widely known and not very central. There’s always Fortnum’s, I suppose, but really there’s nothing in London quite like Rumpelmayer’s. Do you think you might care for some ice cream?”

“Yes, I think I would.”

“Well, splendid,” he said, beaming. “Super!”

“Sunsets out here always remind me of a Syd Solomon painting,” Carolyn said.

Sonny didn’t know who Syd Solomon was.

“A marvellous abstract expressionist,” she explained. “He lives out here part of the year. Sagaponock. I met him at a party once. He’s a delightful man, and a wonderful artist.”

The crowd was beginning to thin, one or two guests disappearing each time the sun dropped a bit lower on the horizon, the brilliant colors of the sunset dissipating, the sky becoming streaky and blurred.

“Looks like we should be leaving,” she said. “Before they put the chairs up on the tables. Let’s say good night to our hosts, shall we?”

She took his arm, and led him off the deck, back into the house. Out on the ocean, the sun was all but gone, the sky stained a violent purple immediately above the water, the color graduating to a deep blue, and then the blackest black high above, where only a single star shone.

“Good night, Phil,” Carolyn said to their host, and offered her cheek to him. “Marge,” she said, and kissed her hostess as well.

“Thank you for including me,” Sonny said.

“It was a pleasure having you,” Marge said by rote, and turned to another departing guest.

“Want to walk back on the beach?” Carolyn asked.

“Sure,” he said.

They climbed the wooden steps over the dune. The night was still except for the sound of the waves rushing the shore. She took off her sandals, holding his hand for support. Still holding his hand, the sandals dangling by their straps in her other hand, she began walking with him up the beach.

“If we’re going into town,” she said, “we’ll need a car. That is... well... would you like to have dinner together?” she asked;