Thor'sday Night - Paranormal Erotica (10 page)

‘I tell her everything. I hope you don’t
mind.’

‘Of course not.’ She rather enjoys being the
center of attention.

When Linn’s cat eyes fall on Will, Carmen can
almost see his pulse speeding up beneath them. ‘You must be the
police officer who came to her rescue.’

‘I just happened to be in the right place at the
right time.’

‘You saw those two men drag her into the
churchyard?’

‘Yes. I was walking up the street a few yards
behind her.’ He grabs a hold of his Guinness glass, and stares into
the dark liquid as if into that night. ‘I remember thinking she
looked like an angel in that white dress. The scumbags who grabbed
her wouldn’t have noticed a bomb going off they were so into her. I
was wearing black, I was practically invisible, so I followed them,
and waited.’

Mike frowns. ‘You waited?’

‘Until they were vulnerable. I wasn’t sure if
they were packing, and all I had on me was a knife.’

Linn’s sexy voice imbues the expression ‘Oh,
my!’ with its original reverence.

‘Well, I’m sure Carmen would rather not talk
about this.’ Mike’s tone brooks no argument, as usual.

‘I don’t mind,’ Carmen assures him, fascinated
by the realization that Will’s perspective of the event is as real
as her own.

‘After all, something good came from it,’ Linn
observes languidly, her eyes still on Officer Reed.

‘Yes.’ Carmen agrees, but her own eyes, dark as
the hearts of sunflowers, turn in the direction of Mike’s intensely
blond hair.

Linn’s slender fingers come to rest around the
stem of her wineglass, and her thumb, crowned by a long burgundy
nail, begins slowly caressing it. ‘How long have you been on the
force, Will?’

‘Nine years.’

‘Have you ever been injured in the line of
duty?’

‘No, never. I’ve been lucky.’ He doesn’t mention
his suspension.

‘Is it true that women just throw themselves at
you?’

‘For Christ’s sake, Linn.’ The exasperation in
Mike’s voice is just a reflex; he is obviously accustomed to her
speaking her mind.

‘Yes, it’s true,’ Will answers bluntly.

Carmen realizes Linn has insulted her, however
indirectly, and her blood seems to stop flowing for an indignant
moment, in which her relaxed rivalry with the other woman
crystallizes into antipathy.

‘Do you think it’s the uniform?’ Linn goes on
lightly, ‘the aura of power, of controlled violence? You make them
feel safe, yet there’s always the exciting threat of punishment if
they’re not good girls, isn’t there?’

Cruelly exposed, Carmen feels all her emotions
welling dangerously to the surface and slipping out of her
control.

She is going to say something rude… Mike’s eyes
grip hers as forcibly as hands, and make it impossible for her to
speak as she hears Will comment, ‘That all sounds good to me,’ and
Linn laugh softly.

‘Can I take your order now?’

Will gently touches her wrist to get her
attention. ‘What would you like, Carmen?’

Meeting her boss’ direct stare was like looking
straight at the sun; the dining room seems darker now, closer, and
she can’t seem to focus on the menu crawling with small black
print.

Will comes to her rescue again. ‘She needs
another minute.’

By the time everyone else orders, Carmen has
decided on the grilled chicken sandwich because it is the least
fattening item on the menu. She is not going to enjoy her food
anyway; all the intense emotions her mind is attempting to digest
are giving her a stomachache.

Mike forgave her because she was not herself
that day, yet she just saw in his eyes that he had come to
understand the opposite was true – that she was more herself than
ever. What she read in his look was much more than a sympathetic
apology for his wife’s behavior.

Linn asks, ‘Are you an art lover, Will?’ She
glances at Carmen as if they both know the question is a test.

He shrugs. ‘Some of it’s all right. I like the
Impressionists, and Rodin’s sculptures, but most modern art is just
a bunch of pretentious shit, in my opinion.’

Carmen has discovered that brutal honesty is one
of his most distinguished qualities.

‘My wife’s an artist.’ Mike polishes off what
looked like a gin and tonic.

‘Really?’ A stab of jealousy deepens Carmen’s
dislike of the woman. ‘What’s your medium?’

Linn looks at Mike. ‘Do you realize she’s the
first person who’s ever asked me that? Everyone just assumes I
paint.’

‘I don’t know how I managed without her.’ He
motions for the waitress.

‘I sculpt,’ Linn replies, ‘in a variety of
mediums. It all depends on my mood, but my pieces are all small, no
more than eight to ten inches high.’

‘They’re striking,’ her husband says absently.
‘Another of the same, please,’ he tells the waitress, glancing
around the table at everyone’s glasses. Will and Linn’s are still
half full. Carmen’s is empty. ‘And another Chardonnay for the young
lady.’

‘Right away.’

‘I also enjoy making jewelry.’ Linn pauses to
sip what looks like white Zinfandel, a drink that makes Carmen ill.
‘A little shop in Bayside has sold some of my pieces for me. Do you
have any hobbies, Carmen?’

She stares with mute desperation into the
luminous surface of Mike’s eyes.

‘Linn and I are planning to stop in at some of
the local galleries after dinner,’ he announces abruptly, ‘why
don’t you two join us?’

She takes a quick, heady breath. ‘I’d love to.
Um, Will?’ she belatedly consults her date.

‘If that’s what you want,’ his five o’clock
shadow suddenly looks a shade darker, ‘it’s okay by me.’

‘That’s very big of you, considering how you
feel about art,’ Linn comments sweetly.

‘I like to keep an open mind.’

‘How long have you two been married?’ Carmen
hears herself wonder out loud.

‘Eleven years,’ Linn answers sedately.

‘Has it been that long?’ Mike’s surprise seems
genuine, and makes him look almost boyishly vulnerable inside the
impressive fortress of his physique.

‘Time flies when you’re having fun,’ Will says
dryly.

Their respective orders arrive finally, and they
all concentrate on the food like primitive people who haven’t
discovered language stuck together in a cave. Then Linn says
something quietly to Mike, he responds just as inaudibly, and
Carmen can’t seem to swallow the piece of chicken in her
throat.

‘How’s your sandwich?’ Will asks her in their
own private aside.

‘All right, I guess, a little dry.’

‘Are you sure you want to…?’

‘Don’t you like your sandwich, Carmen?’

Mike’s gruff concern both surprises and pleases
her. ‘Not really.’ Her honesty verges on defiance.

‘What’s wrong with it?’ Linn inquires
mildly.

‘It’s too dry,’ Will answers for her.

‘I’m sorry you’re not happy with it.’

‘I’ll live.’

They all look down at their plates again.

They decline their waitress’ offer of dessert
and coffee, and when the check arrives, Will refuses to let Mike
pay the entire bill so they split it straight down the middle.

Carmen is infinitely relieved when they get up
to go. Part of her regrets accepting Mike’s invitation, but most of
her is thrilled by what strikes her as his protective attitude. It
could be her imagination, but she senses that he doesn’t trust Will
to do right by her. It would be stupid, however, for her to think
he might be feeling anything but a kind, essentially superficial
concern for her well being. He is not, she tells herself firmly,
remembering those few forbidden seconds in his office.

In the shadowy foyer leading out of the
restaurant, Will offers her a mint from a tray. She shakes her head
as Linn takes one for herself while Mike reaches for the dish
beside it. He accidentally knocks it off the shelf, and scatters
toothpicks across the dark red carpet.

Linn ignores the mess as Will pushes the heavy
wooden door open for her.

Possessed by an inexplicable impulse, Carmen
falls to her knees as if to clean them up. Instead, she just stares
at the white lines on the dark rug as they come into focus in her
brain like some kind of writing.

Will says a little impatiently, ‘Leave it for
the busboy, Carmen, and let’s go.’

‘That’s not your job, Carmen.’ Mike doesn’t
sound any more sympathetic.

She gets up, and hurries outside.

Linn is standing a few feet away admiring a
window display.

Flushed from three glasses of wine, Carmen
delights in the breeze that immediately wafts up her skirt. It
feels so good that she gathers her hair up away from the nape of
her neck, and sighs with pleasure at the evening’s cool caress.

Will and Mike don’t emerge from the restaurant
for another minute or so.

Carmen suspects they were talking about her as
she lets Will take her hand.

They follow Mike and Linn down to a side street
between Miracle Mile and Ponce de Leon.

They enter a small gallery crowded with people.
The exhibit is generating a palpable current of excitement as a
result of all the well-dressed bodies brushing up against each
other.

Carmen finds an empty spot in front of one of
the pieces—a large canvas drenched in dark red paint. ‘Excuse me a
minute.’ Will squeezes her arm as he moves away.

It is a few seconds before her eyes penetrate
the obvious surface layer of paint and make out the coiling form
alive just beneath it. A third dimension is created by what could
be the imprint of birds’ feet, except that they look crueler, like
claw marks.

Mike fills the space Will vacated.

‘What are those scratches all over the canvas?’
he asks.

The image of toothpicks scattered over a dark
red carpet is stuck in her mind. ‘They look like runes.’ A
white-hot emotion burns the rational edges of her thoughts. ‘I
wonder if they really mean something.’

‘How would I know? Is that a snake?’

‘Yes.’ She glances over her shoulder, and spots
Linn at the back of the gallery conversing with another woman. Will
is nowhere in sight.

‘Strange,’ Mike murmurs.

She glances up at his profile, dramatically
hardened by concentration. ‘Do you like it?’

‘Actually, I do.’ He glances down at her. ‘Do
you?’

She looks back at the bloody canvas. ‘I’m not
sure.’ She follows him over to the next painting, and another
furtive glance down the length of the gallery tells her that Linn
has found Will (she prefers not to think it was the other way
around).

Intricately carved dragons’ heads rise from the
four posts of a bed covered by a red blanket, on which a
beautifully stylized dragon is intricately embroidered in golden
thread. A naked woman is sleeping peacefully in its arms, the
curves of her pale body following its flaming undulations.

‘Beautiful,’ Mike casts his vote. ‘A modern
artist who knows how to draw and paint like a master. I’m
impressed.’

‘Look at the exquisite contrasts,’ Carmen puts
her finger on the work’s power, ‘in all the colors and
textures.’

‘Beauty and the Beast. I like this version
better than Disney’s… Carmen, what were you doing back there in the
restaurant?’

‘Um, what do you mean?’

‘When I knocked over those toothpicks it… well,
it seemed to upset you. You were just kneeling there staring at
them. Why?’

She confesses in a single breath, ‘Because I
felt, I don’t know, like I should be able to read them. I realize
now that they looked like runes.’

‘Runes? Mm, funny coincidence.’

Her respect for him plummets a notch. ‘I don’t
believe…’ she stops herself.

‘You don’t believe in coincidence? Come on,
Carmen, surely you believe in free will?’

‘I didn’t say I didn’t.’

‘But if there’s no such thing as coincidence,
doesn’t that mean everything is predetermined?’

Neither of them is looking at the painting
anymore. ‘Not necessarily. I’ve always felt that Fate and Free Will
are interwoven, somehow.’

‘You’re talking about Karma.’

‘I guess so, but I don’t think it’s as simple as
it’s made out to be.’

A tall woman bumps into Carmen, and unwittingly
baptizes her with a cool splash of champagne.

‘God,’ she mutters, brushing at the damp spot on
the front of her skirt.

Mike rests a hand on the dead center of her
back, and helps her navigate the press of bodies towards the next
piece.

A narrow slab of dark wood has been carved into
an exquisite bas-relief of tangled vines sprouting animals’ heads.
The center of the twining forest is a creature that resembles a
stylized greyhound. Its torso and limbs are barely distinguishable
from the serpentine growth around them as it sinks its teeth into
the neck of its inverted twin.

Mike asks, ‘Is it just me, or does everything in
here look familiar?’

It is a rare pleasure to be able to call upon
her knowledge of history. ‘That’s because everything we’ve seen so
far was inspired by ancient Nordic art.’

‘Is that so? I’ve always admired the Vikings,’
he admits, ‘yet I don’t really know much about them, just what I’ve
seen in movies.’

‘That’s not much,’ she agrees.

‘You studied history, didn’t you? Were they
really as barbaric as they’re made out to be?’

‘Yes, and no.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘They were complex. No one’s all good or all
bad, you know.’

‘That’s true. I’d be interested to learn more
about them. Let’s do lunch.’

She is careful not to look at him. ‘Okay.’

She flinches when Will abruptly grabs one of her
sore arms.

‘Let’s get out of here, Carmen.’ His breath is
hot in her ear.

‘Okay.’ She feels like a thief escaping with the
small yet priceless treasure of a lunch date with Mike. Finally,
she won’t just be stealing moments of his attention; she’ll have
him all to herself.