I noticed a little slurring in Tony’s words. That son of a bitch-he was trying to get plastered enough to sleep with me!
It was the oldest line in the world: “Boy, was I drunk last night. I can’t remember a thing! Hope my tossing and turning didn’t bother you too much.”
How rude!
How pathetic!
How wonderful!
I extended my leg under the table so that my calf pressed against his. He didn’t move away.
“Listen, I said, “I could real y use your guidance on this. Why don’t you come over to my place so we can talk?” I gave him my puppy dog stare.
Tony looked at his empty glass. “Jesus, was that my third? Guess I was thirstier than I thought. But I should be getting home.”
He stood up, staggered a little, and then sat back down again with a thud. “Guess I shouldn’t have had al those beers on an empty stomach, huh? Can’t drive now.”
We went outside, grabbed a cab, and rode cross town. We didn’t say anything on the way, but I sat real close to him and could see his body responding.
Despite the air conditioning, the taxi felt hot.
I wanted to sleep with Tony again. I didn’t care about the circumstances. Lust be not proud, and al that.
If he needed the cover of booze to let him do it, fine. I just wanted to prove that he real y did stil want me.
Once we had that established, we could go on from there.
As we boarded the elevator to my building, Tony looked at me seriously. “You know what I was saying about being total y straight?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.”
“Wel, maybe, for you at least, I’m a little bi,”
The elevator doors closed and Tony closed in on me. I’ve worn cologne that didn’t cling to me as tightly as Tony did. His kisses were deep and passionate.
Meanwhile, his hands traveled down to my ass, stroking, kneading. I felt him hard against me. I answered in kind. His lips traveled to my neck, chewing. He licked his way back to my mouth.
My hands traced the scal oped muscles of his back, ran over his expansive biceps. Smal moans escaped my mouth, quiet echoes of his deeper groans.
“God, you feel so good,” he panted.
“Mmmmm,” I said. I didn’t trust myself to say anything. My heart was pounding a nostalgic rhythm of happiness, desire, and fear.
I didn’t know where this was going, but getting there sure felt great.
The elevator door opened and it took us a moment to disengage. Then, a mad dash to my door.
I fumbled for the key.
“Hurry,” Tony said. He pressed himself against my back.
God, I wanted him. I wanted him badly.
I put the key to my door, but the doorknob turned before I could insert it.
My door was unlocked.
I live in New York City. I never leave my door unlocked.
Someone was in my apartment. Someone uninvited.
First Al en, and now this.
Did someone know I was looking into Al en’s death? Someone with something to hide?
Was I next on the kil er’s list?
I turned to Tony, who picked up my concern.
“Let me check it out,” he whispered.
He rested his hand on his pistol and flung open the door.
A shock of horror ran through me. The sight that greeted me was more frightening than seeing Al en’s body in the street.
My mother, sitting on the couch. Two suitcases, a cosmetics bag, and a hat box by her side.
“Darling!” she said. “Momma’s home!”
I didn’t faint again, but the room did spin.
My mother embraced me in her ample bosom. “You look wonderful, honey.” She pushed me away. “And what about me? How do I look?”
My mother is 5 feet, 8 inches of Long Island chic.
She carries maybe thirty extra pounds, mostly in her chest. She was wearing a blood-red sweater with the words “Sexy Bitch” stamped in rhinestones. Her black stretch pants were tucked into knee high red vinyl boots. Her hair was teased into a high confection that could have hidden a family of squirrels.
“You look great,” I told her.
“I’ve always loved your honesty, honey.”
“How did you get in?”
“I explained to the super that I was your mother, and that you hadn’t returned my messages for days.”
“He let you in because I didn’t return your cal s?”
“I might have said something about your being insulin dependent and that you were prone to diabetic comas.”
“Mom!”
“Wel,” she waived her hand at me, “you should have cal ed.”
She turned to Tony. “Now, who’s this fine specimen? Wait a minute-Tony Rinaldi?”
Tony sobered up real quick. “Hi, Mrs. Connor,” he mumbled.
“Tony, honey,” she yel ed, pul ing him towards her in a hug that would have kil ed a lesser man. “Are you two crazy kids final y back together?”
“Not exactly,” I told her.
“Umm, I’m married,” Tony said.
“You’re married?”
“To a woman.”
“To a woman?”
“I’m straight.”
“You’re straight? You’re not straight.”
Tony threw him arms up and turned to me. “What is it with you people?”
“What is he talking about?” my mother asked me.
“Tony is saying that he’s heterosexual and that he’s married to a woman,” I said to my mother. I turned to Tony. “My mother is expressing disbelief because she knows about our history and because we were just making out in the hal way.”
“You were making out in the hal way?” my mother asked.
“Sorry, I thought you heard us,” I said.
“Why were you making out with a married man?” my mother asked me. Then to Tony: “Does your wife know about this?”
“No!” Tony shouted.
“Wel, I’m sure she’l be thril ed to know you’re fooling around,” my mother said. “God knows I was when I found out what my Henry was up to.”
“What was Dad up to?” I asked.
“Why do you think I’m here?” my mother asked.
“Why are you here?”
“Haven’t you been at least listening to my messages?”
The answer, of course, was no. Now I was paying the price. I grimaced.
“You’re father’s been slipping it to Dottie Kubacki; that’s why I’m here.” She gestured to her bags. “With these.”
“You’re giving me his luggage?”
“I’m moving in.”
Seeing me on the hot seat made Tony happy.
Grinning, he put his hand on my shoulder. “I hate to leave when this is getting good, but I better be going home.”
“To your wife?” my mother asked, pointedly.
“Yes,” Tony growled.
“I’l walk you downstairs,” I said to Tony.
Tony took my mother’s hand. “It’s been a pleasure seeing you again, Mrs. Connor. Kevin was right, you look wonderful. You haven’t aged a day since I last saw you.”
Whatever negative impression my mother had of Tony evaporated like water on a hot stove.
“You’ve always been such a dear,” my mother said, kissing him on the cheek. “Now, you two just run along. I’l wait up here.” As if I were worried she’d leave.
“OK, Mom, I’l be right back. And whatever you do, don’t unpack.”
I rode down the elevator with Tony. “Is it even possible that she could have worse timing?” I asked him.
Tony looked down at his crotch. “Not that I can see,” he answered. “You want me to shoot her? We can say we walked in and mistook her for a burglar.”
“No,” I said. “I’m too mad at my father to let him off the hook that easily. Dottie Kubacki?”
Dottie was a widow who lived two houses down from mine, five away from Tony’s old house. Almost as wide as she was tal, Dottie was not exactly the husband-stealing type.
“Maybe there’s been some kind of mistake,” Tony said. The elevator door opened and I escorted Tony to the door of my building. Even this late, the air stil felt as if it had been baked in a kiln.
“I’m going to walk to my car,” Tony said. “That’l burn off the beers. You go back upstairs and enjoy your mom.”
“I was hoping to enjoy you.”
We stood awkwardly by the door. Here we were in another doorway. Half in, half out. Going in opposite directions.