“How would I do that?”
“Easy. Look her up online. I did. So sue me. She went to Smith College for undergrad, Columbia for a master’s, and Harvard for a Ph.D. I mean, give me a fucking break.”
“Hey, you can’t hate the woman for going to pedigree schools.”
“Who says? And she’s a profiler, not a cop. She shouldn’t have been doing the interrogation.”
“She wasn’t bad.”
“She didn’t nail him, did she?” She sighed. “So where did you go to school? Never mind. I know. Hunter College. A city school.”
“You looked me up too?”
“Didn’t have to. It’s in your file.” She grinned.
“Detective Russo does her homework.”
“Naturally. I’m a cop.” She arched her eyebrows for emphasis. “It’s bad enough Schteir has all the fancy degrees, but does she have to be good-looking too? I mean, shit, that’s just not fair. And I can tell you that outfit she was wearing was not from Target.”
“And when was the last time you shopped there?”
“Yesterday. I was visiting the homestead on Staten Island. Believe me, Target was like an escape to paradise.” She snared a piece of her jersey between thumb and forefinger. “Eight bucks. I bought three.”
“So you’re a good shopper.”
“No, I’m a schlepper. But what the hell.” She tried her martini and it seemed to go down easier.
“Going back home is difficult?”
“No, it’s a fucking nightmare. My dad sits in front of the TV and orders my mom around like she’s his slave. Mom is clinically depressed and will never do anything about it. She married a mean, withholding son of a bitch who will never give her anything, but it’s too late for her to get out. I’m sure the guy was a shit from day one. He used to beat the crap out of us, me and my brother, but…oh, God, why am I unloading this on you? Forget it.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m just sorry to hear it.”
“Don’t be. I’m used to it. I mean, it’s the past, right? Over.”
“Yeah,” I said, trying to feel the way she did, that the past was over. I didn’t think it ever would be for me.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, great.” I started chewing on a cuticle, realized it, and replaced the finger with my beer bottle.
“Sure you are,” she said. “Me, I try to avoid going home as much as possible. What about you?” She finished her drink and ordered another.
I checked my beer. “No, I’m fine.”
“Not your beer. I meant your home life.”
“Oh. I grew up here, in Manhattan, and it was fine. Well, except, you know, the part…about my father.” I finished my beer and tapped the bar for another. Just talking about my father had that effect on me. “My mother lives in Virginia Beach. She’s a therapist. There’s a naval base there. She says it produces more peacetime casualties than war, though the wounds are not so easy to see with the naked eye.”
“You see her much?”
“Not really. Once or twice a year.” I didn’t want to talk about my mother either.
“No sisters or brothers?”
“You read my file, didn’t you?”
“Right. Forgot.” She smiled. “You don’t seem like one of those spoiled only children types.”
“Thanks. I think.” I smiled and Russo smiled back.
“It must have been hard after your dad died.”
“It was.” My muscles tensed. “Is it okay if we don’t talk about this? It’s not my favorite topic.
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to overstep my bounds.” She laid her hand on mine and said she was sorry again.
“It’s okay,” I said, aware of her hand, the heat it was producing.
She smiled up at me, lifted her hand, but kept smiling.
“You’re quite something, you know that, Russo?”
“How do you mean?” She tilted her head back and waited for my answer.
“For one, the way you handled Karff in that interrogation; you were good, a little scary too.”
“Oh. That.”
“What’s the matter? You expected me to say something else?”
“Yes,” she said, looking into my eyes.
A moment passed, the two of us sharing a look, then Terri took a big slug of her martini, stood up, and peered down at me.
“What?” I said.
“I was just wondering…You feel like taking me home?”
31
Terri’s apartment was a one-bedroom on East Thirty-seventh in the Murray Hill section. She’d fixed it up nicely, walls painted in shades of gray, a big brown leather couch with lots of pillows. She said most of her salary went to pay for the place, but it was worth it because she loved the city.
After five minutes in her apartment I didn’t know what to say. We were both pretty uncomfortable. I could see Terri was having second thoughts, her facial muscles ticking off a whole slew of nervous expressions.
She offered me another drink, and I said yes though I didn’t want one. She got a beer out of her fridge, handed it to me, and said, “You’d better kiss me before I totally chicken out on this.”
I did.
It was going pretty well until I got my pants stuck on my shoe and practically fell off her bed. Terri helped me yank my shoe off and we laughed, which helped ease the tension until we were both naked and stopped laughing. I backed up to look at her and she tried to hide under the blanket, but I held it away and told her she was beautiful. Then we kissed and our bodies took over, and for a first time I thought it went pretty well. Afterward, she curled against me.
“Was that like a huge mistake? You don’t think I’m like some big slut now, do you?”
I laughed.
Terri slapped my chest. “I’m serious. I need some reassurance here, Rodriguez.”
“Well, for starters, how about calling me Nate?”
“Nah, I like the way ‘Rodriguez’ rolls off my tongue. Rod-riiiguezzz, see? Nate doesn’t have any rhythm.”
“How’d you get this?” I touched a scar on her shoulder.
“Bullet. Pretty cool, huh?”
“Oh, sure, Wonder Woman. That’s you, I’m sure.”
“No question,” she said. She outlined the angel tattoo on the inside of my arm. “What about this? When did you get it?”
“When I was too young.”
She rolled over and displayed her ass, which was very nice, her left cheek sporting a small rose. “Night of my high school prom. I was totally stoned. Lucky I didn’t end up with an anchor.”
I ran my fingers over the rose tattoo, and Terri leaned back against me. “I’m glad we did this.”
“Me too,” I said. “Even if you are a big slut.”
She slapped my chest again, harder, and we both laughed.
“Well, it wasn’t so bad, was it?” she asked.
I could see she needed the truth. “Bad? No. I think it falls under the heading of ‘really good’.” I pulled her closer. “But hey, I come from a long line of Latin lovers, so how could it be bad?”
“Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you, Rodriguez?”
“Oh, yeah, that’s me.”
“Well, you did okay,” she said, and curled into my side. “So, Latin lovers…” She stopped and her mood turned serious. “Earlier, when I asked about your father-”
I felt my muscles tense again.
“Talking about it can help, you know. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that?”
“A shrink or two.”
Terri ran her fingers along my arm. “I don’t want to push, but I swear I’m a good listener.”
I shrugged.
“Don’t you trust me?”
“Sure, but…” I took a deep breath, thought about the picture I’d been carrying around of myself for a very long time. It was a cartoon of a guilty little boy looking for his dad.
Terri touched my cheek. “You okay?”
“Sure,” I said, but the movie had already started to play, with all the attendant feelings I could never sort out: sorrow, guilt, grief, anger. The shrinks hadn’t helped, but maybe I hadn’t given them a chance because I didn’t want to admit all the things I’d worked so hard to bury.