She reared back and pretended to be offended. “You don’t like it?”
“Toothpaste never tasted so good,” he told her. He was off guard again, though. You couldn’t press certain women. Not women like Deirdre, anyway. And why should he press her? Why should he be impatient? “I’ll tell you what,” he said, “why don’t you take the day off? Enjoy the beautiful morning.”
“But why?”
“The morning’s my gift to you. If you feel like it, come in to work later.” He touched her shoulder gently. “I want you to, Deirdre. Really”
Her smile was wide. “If you’re certain, Craig…”
“I am.”
“Okay, but I will be into work later today I promise.”
“You don’t have to promise, Deirdre.”
She leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth again.
He didn’t mention toothpaste.
Almost everyone was seated for the ceremony at Halstadt Funeral Home in Brooklyn. David and Molly sat in one of the pews toward the back of the narrow, hot room, far away from Bernice, resting as if asleep in her coffin near the altar in the front of the chapel. Though it was still early, the chapel was warm, and David could feel perspiration at his white collar. He reached up and straightened his tie, turning his head slightly as he did so.
And saw Deirdre standing in the doorway of the chapel behind him.
He stopped breathing. What was she doing here? Why wasn’t she at work?
She was wearing a green dress and black spike heels, standing with her feet far apart so it pulled the material of her dress taut across her muscular thighs. She smiled at him.
He looked away. Swallowed, aware of Molly sitting beside him and staring toward the front of the chapel.
He couldn’t help it. He turned his head again to look back at Deirdre.
She was gone.
Not far, though, he was sure.
What was in her mind? What kind of trouble might she cause?
David decided he’d better see if he could find her and talk to her, try to prevent…whatever might happen if he didn’t.
He nudged Molly with his elbow. “Gotta get out of here for a few minutes,” he said. He smiled at her. “I’ll be right back.”
She nodded, perhaps assuming he was uncomfortably warm, or that he had to use the lavatory.
He stood up and excused himself as he slid past the knees of the mourners seated between him and the aisle.
The plushly carpeted, hushed main room and reception area of the mortuary was deserted. David looked around for Deirdre but didn’t see her.
He walked to one of three small rooms with quiet conversation areas, “consolation rooms,” he’d heard one of the mortuary employees call them.
In the first room was a woman trying to comfort a sobbing teenage boy. David withdrew awkwardly, then more cautiously stuck his head into the second room. It was identical to the first, with the same plush green carpeting, small traditional furniture, and a table with a coffeemaker whose glass pot was half full.
Deirdre was alone in the room, standing next to the coffeepot. She smiled at David.
He felt his anger surge as he entered the room. “Dammit, Deirdre, what are you doing here?”
“Calm down, David. And come here.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
As he stepped closer to her, she suddenly reached out and gripped his left wrist. He heard a distinct click, and was astounded to look down and see that she’d attached one of the bracelets of a bulky set of handcuffs.
He could hardly find words. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I came here to see you,” she said. Without warning she deftly moved behind him, twisting the arm with the cuffed wrist behind his back. She wrenched his free wrist around suddenly and attached the second bracelet so his wrists were cuffed behind him. He’d been paralyzed for a moment by her strength and decisiveness.
He felt an indignation that almost instantly became fear. What if somebody walked in on them? How could he explain? “Jesus, Deirdre, this isn’t the place-”
“Oh, it’s exactly the place,” she said firmly. She shoved him aside and closed the door of the consolation room. “And the time,” she said with a grin. She lifted the green skirt of her dress and he saw she was wearing nothing beneath it.
In a panic, he moved toward the door then stopped.
“You’re not going out there with handcuffs on, are you?” Deirdre asked. “Here. I’ll open the door for you.” She took a step toward it and extended her hand toward the knob.
“Wait!” David said, then lowered his voice. “At least lock it,” he said, motioning with his head toward the lock button centered in the doorknob.
“That would take away most of the fun,” she said.
She knelt before him and reached for his fly. As he tried to turn away, she clutched his testicles. She didn’t squeeze, but he knew she might. He stood still and she worked the zipper, then reached in with her other hand and found what she sought. She took him in her mouth.
“Ah, damn it, Deirdre, don’t.” His gaze darted to the door.
A minute later she stood up, laughing. “Apparently you don’t think this is such a bad idea at that, David.” She stroked his erect penis.
He knew she was determined and the smartest thing now was to get it over with, to let her satisfy herself. As she backed him against a wall, he offered no resistance.
In her spike high heels she was the right height to move in on him, raise herself slightly, then envelope him warmly. He felt a thrill he hadn’t expected as she plunged along the length of his erection, groaning sensuously. She was still for a few seconds, then began to grind her hips.
“You’re harder than I can ever remember, David. It’s sex and death. They go together, don’t they? Bernice is laid out there on her back in her coffin, so beautiful. Almost like a doll. Did you ever have sex with Bernice, David?”
“That’s sick, Deirdre!” He groped with his fingers at the flocked wallpaper behind him, strained against the handcuffs, then gave it up.
“Sex is the opposite of death,” she said, increasing the pumping motion of her hips. “But then heads is the opposite of tails. Sex and death are opposite faces of the same coin.”
“Deirdre!”
She slapped him. Hard. “Quiet, David! You don’t want someone to hear us and come in here, do you? Remember, I left the door unlocked.”
The grinding and thrusting of her hips became harder, violent. The handcuffs were clinking against the wall behind David. A stack of plastic foam cups next to the coffeemaker vibrated to the edge of the table then fell to the floor and rolled in a tight semicircle.
David looked away from the white cups, at the white ceiling, and was suddenly lost in everything but sensation. Deirdre’s hands clutched his upper arms as she lay her cheek against his, expelling short, hard and hot breaths, moaning.
He reached orgasm but she didn’t stop.
“Deirdre…”
“Quiet, quiet!” she whispered, and rested her forefinger across his lips. Its sharp fingernail cut into the tip of his nose.
He felt himself go soft inside her, and finally she pulled away and stepped back, smoothing her dress. She glanced in an oval mirror hanging on a wall and cocked her head to the side, touched a hand to her hair. She might have been alone in the room.
“Deirdre,” David said breathlessly, “unlock the cuffs.” He was desperately afraid again that someone would walk in on them.
Maybe even Molly! Come looking for him!
“The cuffs!”
Deirdre smiled at him in the mirror, then turned around. “I didn’t bring a key, David.”
“Oh, my God!”
Then she came to him and kissed his cheek. “I’m only joking. Do you really think I’d leave you here like this?”
“Yes,” David said.
She frowned and shook a finger at him. “David?”
“All right, no, you wouldn’t leave me like this. Unlock these, Deirdre, please!”
She moved around behind him and he heard the key enter the handcuffs, felt the sudden release of pressure as they clicked open.