Chapter 29
WE WERE WORKING late, Colleen and I, sorting though Andy Cushman’s files and financial statements, many of them red-flagged for further investigation.
Colleen was wearing a blue silk cardigan over a lacy camisole and man-tailored pants. Her black hair swung around her face when she bent to put another stack of papers on the coffee table.
“Why don’t you go home?” I said. “It’s almost nine. I can do this.”
“Let’s get it done, Jack. It’ll just be worse tomorrow.”
“Sit down,” I said, patting the cushion next to me on the couch.
She dropped onto the couch, threw herself against the back of it, and yawned. “Another hour should do it,” she said.
I put my arm around her and drew her close to me.
“Don’t be messing about, Jack. There’ll be caps on the green and no one to fetch them.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Trouble.”
She was telling me “hands off,” but without much conviction. Finally, she rested her head on my chest. She smelled like rosewater, her favorite. I put my hand in her hair, and she lifted her face.
I kissed her and she kissed me back. “Okay, Jack. Have your way with me. Please.”
“Hang on,” I said. I got up and locked my office door, turned off the overhead lights, went back to the sofa. I said, “Stand up, Molloy. Please.”
“I can do that.”
I unbuttoned her sweater, unzipped her pants, and when she was in her underwear, I returned her to the sofa and undressed myself.
She watched me take off my clothes, then covered her face with her arm as I touched her and made her moan. Colleen cried out as I made love to her… but then she cried tears when we were done.
I wrapped her in my arms, held her between my body and the back of the couch so that she wouldn’t get chilled. “What is it, sweetie? What’s wrong?”
“I’m twenty-five,” she said in a whisper.
“You don’t mean—today?”
She nodded, sang, “Happy birthday to me.”
“Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?”
“I did,” she said.
“No. I forgot.”
“It doesn’t mean anything, really. I’m not a birthday person.”
“It does,” I said. I tilted up her chin. “It does. I’ll make it up to you.”
She shrugged, then pushed me aside, swung her bare legs over the side of the couch, and picked her clothes up off the floor.
“I shouldn’t say this, Jack, so I won’t.”
I already knew. No birthday present, no flowers, no dinner. Sex on the couch. I said, “Go ahead and say it. You deserve better than this.”
“Anyone would,” said Colleen.