Douglas, Nelson - Cat in a Flamingo Fedora

Because then they would have had to dash through the subzero weather for her apartment-building door, and dashing always ruined the moment. Lingering on the stoop was impractical, so he'd drive away until the night the moment was right to not drive away.

No, it all had to happen in the car, with the engine off but the dashboard lights on, with the radio playing so low it was almost inaudible.

Max leaned forward to turn on the radio, but not very loud.

Temple felt like Pavlov's dog, her figurative tongue hanging out. When he pulled her across the center console like a rag doll, she felt an aching rush as if they had never made love. Yet their mouths meshed like gears, and the kisses never seemed to stop. They knew how to maximize each move and moment, and how to avoid each other's noses. Soon they were bumping the steering wheel and shift stick. Max's hands were finding areas they shouldn't have been able to reach in such close quarters, and Temple was rediscovering the pleasures of pent-up desire. It was like the very first time, the outcome was inevitable and the feeling was divine.

Uh-oh.

Temple disentangled herself.

"Wow. Max, give me a moment to think."

"I've had too many moments to think about this. Don't think, Temple, just let me love you."

She melted at his voice, his dimly seen face, the hands that had given her pleasure. They belonged together and came together again, until their breaths were deep and shaky.

"Let's go in," Max said.

And Temple hesitated.

His hands tightened. "Why not? We don't even have to practice safe sex. Do you know what a gift that is nowadays? Do you know how hard it was to be without you all that time I was gone?"

"Of course I do. I felt it too. It isn't sex, Max."

"What? Still out of trust because I didn't tell you my background? I've told you now. I shouldn't have, but I did."

"I know." She couldn't say what stopped her. She couldn't say anything, just choked on a lump of indecision.

Max's hands left her to bang down on the steering wheel. "Damn Devine!"

"It's not Matt, either."

"Isn't it? You keep saying he's not the rival I think he is, but you won't say why. Something is holding you back."

"Maybe . . . it's reality. When you left I couldn't fantasize that we were the real thing. You mentioned marriage again, at the Welles house, but now you're caught up in whether Gandolph was killed or just died, and that kind of quest could go on forever."

Max stared ahead, his hands on the wheel as if he were still driving. His eye whites glistened in the light of a streetlamp. Otherwise, she could hardly see him, and certainly not his expression.

"My mistake," he said finally. "In Minneapolis I thought I could do it: lose the past, start a future with you. I still think it sometimes. I'm not just trying to avenge Gary, if he were killed. I'm worried that if someone got him in that clandestine way, someone could get me. And then getting married is a fantasy; besides, you don't trust me--"

"I don't trust myself anymore."

"It would clear up matters if you'd just tell me Devine's big secret."

He was right. She swallowed, licked her lips. No words came.

"Then you're more loyal to him than you are to me."

"No! I just can't betray a confidence."

"Would you tell him my history if he asked?"

"No."

"If a lot depended on it, like he might go away and you'd never see him again?"

"No."

"Your loyalties really are divided, right down the center. It can't be pleasant. How did that happen so fast, Temple?"

"It wasn't fast. It was worry so constant I couldn't stand to think about you anymore. It was Lieutenant Molina always probing about you, showing me how little I knew. It was those men in the parking garage. Everything would have been bearable, Max, if I'd had even a rough notion of what was wrong. I wouldn't have told."

"You can't know that. You can't imagine the extreme methods to make you tell that exist in the shadow world next to this one. Now you do know. You have something to not tell. You're worse off than before, and so am I if you punish me for protecting you. So now what?"

"I need to think about it. Maybe go away for a while."

"I think you need to go to bed with me, to remember what we had feels like."

"That's so tempting . . . that's why I hesitate. I shouldn't be just tempted, I should be jumping at the chance."

"I still say Devine is playing a bigger part in this than you admit."

Temple shook her head in the dark. She didn't know anymore. "I was considering going away for Christmas."

"Home to Minnesota?"

"No. To see my aunt in New York."

"City?"

She nodded slightly, then realized he couldn't see the gesture. "Yes."

"Temple, don't cry."

"I guess I will if I have to."

"I'll miss you."

"There's always New Year's."

He sighed, a huge heave of frustration. He was entitled to it, Temple thought. Great erotic moments that go awry always turn into great letdowns.

She opened the car door. "I'll let you know ... if I go."

He was silent. Then, "I love you."

"I love you too," she said before slamming the door shut.

She was glad he didn't walk her in; she could hardly see for the stupid tears and stumbled like a drunk on the low threshold.

She turned in the doorway, and saw the Taurus's headlights abruptly spear the darkness. It began to nose away as her door shut.

You could be upstairs in bed with Max right now , she berated herself in the elevator. You could be setting records in the sexual Olympics. That long separation, the tension of the break-in tonight cutting loose. As Michelle put it, oh-la-la . Instead you need a cold compress and a pain pill and your head examined.

She let herself into the dark apartment, not bothering to turn on lights, just feeling her way blindly to the bedroom. Instead, all you have in your bed is a black cat who tries to ease you right onto the floor.

Temple turned on the overhead light, wincing as the bedroom leaped into immediate clarity.

She could see Max walking toward the bathroom, bare as Hamlet's bodkin.

Ghosts she could conjure. What she suddenly realized she couldn't see was Midnight Louie.

She scanned the room, called his name. He liked his comforts enough to come home nights.

Where was he? Drat! Temple realized that if Max had come up, they wouldn't even have had to worry about dislodging Louie.

******************

Temple nearly hit the ceiling. She had finally fallen asleep when the phone rang in the dark of night. The wriggly red numbers on her bedside clock read three'thirty.

Had Max--?

She answered, her heart still drumming from the abrupt awakening.

"Temple."

Matt's voice. Or was she confusing the two men? Now she could understand how Darren Cooke might feel.

"Matt? You must be just home from work."

"Yeah. I hate to disturb yo u, but I tried calling all night. From after midnight on, anyway. You must have had the phone ringer turned off."

That sounded lame even to her. No use trying to fool a professional phone man.

"Not really. I was . . . out," Temple said.

"Out?"

"I can't say where or why, but it involves Darren Cooke."

"Can you say 'with whom'?" he asked pointedly.

"Ah--"

"None of my business," he added. Too hastily. "I thought you'd want to know this as soon as possible."

"Know what?"

"Tonight. He called."

"He called?" She was thinking of Max again, for some reason. And was confused.

"Him. My regular. The sex addict."

"But. . . Darren Cooke is dead. I may not be sure why, but I sure am sure of that. Mr. Cooke, he dead."

"So they say, but my chronic caller isn't. He also isn't Darren Cooke, unless they run phone lines from the afterlife."