“I’ve sucked up more chemicals than a laboratory hood. My brain’s used to it.” Donatti regarded her. “I could draw you just like that.”
Rina covered her face with her purse. “Go away! Go to sleep. I’ll let myself out.”
“Sure. In a minute.”
He waited a minute. In fact, he waited five minutes-the time it took for Rina to doze off. Fifteen minutes later, her sleep was deep. The purse, which had covered her face, had slid down to her chest and rested on her bosom, rising and falling with each breath she took. Donatti watched her slumber, his eyes studying her face and body. Even in repose, she maintained modesty, her legs crossed at the ankles, her dress pulled down to her knees.
He’d wake her in an hour. While he waited, he went to his art-supply cabinet and with great effort lugged out his charcoals and several pads of paper. Though he sketched Rina, his thoughts, as always, drifted to Terry. His longing for her was so all encompassing that his throat clogged. He wondered what she was doing, if she ever thought of him when they weren’t together.
Terry had been right about one thing. He wasn’t marriage material. Nor was he paternal material. Though he loved Gabriel on some egotistical level-something that had emanated from his debilitated loins-he purposely kept his distance. Maybe Gabe could live the life that fate had prevented him from having. But it wasn’t just karma that had turned him bad. Had Donatti been of stronger character, he could have pulled away. But he wasn’t that strong-and he was that lazy. Equally as important, his current life was a rush-exciting, unpredictable, a chemical and sexual high. He was too entrenched to go back. He, like Esau, was a natural hunter.
His eyes drifted onto Rina’s outline. He had told her he didn’t force women. And that was true. He didn’t force women-unless he wanted to. Rules were good until they weren’t good. Then he broke them. There was a time-not long ago at all-when he had thought about fucking her in every orifice, using every position known in the Kama Sutra while she begged him not to. Yeah, he’d force her at first. That was the thrill. Then, of course, she’d get into it. She’d start moaning and groaning and plead with him not to stop. She would buck under his weight, writhing in pleasure until she’d ultimately give way to orgasm. And then after she had come, after every cell in her body had been spent from climax, he’d pop her: a quick shot to the chest, exploding her heart. His final revenge on Decker because the motherfucker had taken Terry away from him.
But now as he sketched her, witnessing her sleep so pure, so complete, Rina had transformed in his mind into all that was chaste and good. Any sexual fantasy with her would be totally obscene-an act of incest. Any thoughts of harming her had been erased from his mind.
His own mother had died when he was fourteen.
Maybe this one would stick around a little longer.
His own Madonna.
The image sat well with him.
26
Iwas dead to the world, deep in REM, but my brain must have registered some autonomic signal. As I groped for the phone, I felt my heart banging in my chest; my head dipped in foggy consciousness. I must have said hello because she spoke, saying words that I couldn’t yet integrate. When I heard the word “lieutenant,” I came alive. The clock on my nightstand told me it was three-fifteen in the morning.
“I know who you are,” I told her. “Is your husband okay?”
“The lieutenant is fine,” she assured me. “I’m terribly sorry to wake you up like this, but I just came from your boyfriend’s place. He’s not feeling well. I thought you’d like to know.”
“My boyfriend?” I was agitated, not fully awake. My voice was heavy; my speech was clipped and confused. “I don’t have a boyfriend. Who are you talking about?”
“I’m not making myself clear,” she explained. “I’m not in Los Angeles, Terry. The lieutenant and I are in New York.”
New York.
Okay.
At least, I now knew whom she was talking about. She had the good sense not to use names. I often heard unexplained clicks on my phone. Not surprising considering who had fathered my son. “Is…” I was having trouble catching my breath. “Is the lieutenant having some kind of problem with him?”
“No, the lieutenant is fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. I only called because of your boyfriend. He really isn’t feeling well.”
Again my heartbeat soared. My first thoughts were concern for his actual welfare. Almost simultaneously, those thoughts blurred into what would happen to my son and me if he were permanently compromised. Not very noble, but survival was a very strong instinct. I had a child to care for. I had two years of medical school remaining. I had a severely damaged credit history, a very humble savings account, and no other means of support. His well-being dictated my own.
I’d been silent for a long time. “How sick is he?”
“He’ll be fine, but you might want to pay a visit. I’ve booked you and your son on a ten o’clock from O’Hare to La Guardia. If you’re not interested, I’ll cancel it.”
My head was awhirl with the logistics of the visit. Could I afford the plane fare? Could I afford a baby-sitter? Could I afford to miss school? Silly musings. In the end, I had no choice. “I’ll keep the reservation. But it’s better if I leave my son at home with a baby-sitter.”
“I’ll cancel his reservation then.”
“I can do it if you give me the particulars.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. Let me get a pencil and paper.”
She gave me the flight number and the locator letters.
“This took some work,” I told her. “Thank you very much.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Who’s paying for the ticket?”
“It’s been taken care of.”
“Boy… if he asked you to call me, he must be really sick.”
“No, he’s not really sick. I’m sure he’ll be fine. But I think he’d appreciate a visit. Actually, he doesn’t even know that I called you. That was my idea.”
“You aren’t paying for the ticket, are you?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I’ll pay you back-”
“Please, I mean it,” she insisted. “Not another moment’s thought. This will be our secret.”
“All right.” I thanked her again. “Please say hello to the lieutenant for me. Send him my fondest regards. Tell him things are going well.”
“I will. I’m glad to hear that.”
“Thank you.” The moments ticked on. “You’re a very lucky woman. Then again, I suppose the lieutenant’s a very lucky man.” I heard myself chuckling over the phone. “Of course, people do create their own luck, don’t they?”
“Some people get the breaks.”
“That’s nice of you to say, but I really do believe that people make choices. Of course, no one is doomed by one’s past mistakes. Instead of drowning in the flood, you might as well build a swimming pool.”
The Levines’ two-bedroom apartment was considered large by New York standards. Decker figured that “large” must have referred to height. While it was true that the ceilings were ten-feet plus, all that air didn’t add a toenail’s worth of square footage to the floor space. Jon and Raisie had been kind enough to put him up in the kids’ bedroom for privacy, moving their three small children to the living room on couches and futons. The kids’ quarters were all beds-bunk beds and a second twin abutting the lower bunk. Decker had slept, sprawled out over the two lower twins, using the upper berth for his suitcase because there was no room in the closet for his clothes. There was a small desk jammed into a corner, but it was piled so high with papers and supplies that it was in danger of avalanching.
Somehow he managed to squeeze his six-foot-four frame into the bathroom to shower. Using only a modicum of contortion, he shaved, dressed, and said his morning prayers. By ten, he owned the place. Raisie had gone out, first to walk the kids to school, then back to shiva, but she had shown ample consideration by leaving him a full pot of brewed coffee and the New York Times. Jonathan had left early, had taken the subway to work, leaving him the van.