Menage

Once we'd reached the main dining room, a handsome waiter in a boiled white shirt and bow tie ushered us to a corner table. Dim lighting could not disguise the faded red carpet, but the tablecloths blazed like snow. Our beer arrived in huge frosted mugs. The steak was tender enough to cut with a fork.

 

That was sufficient to keep Sean and me happy. The others talked theatre while we devoured the carnivorous treat, blithely ignorant of almost everyone they named. No reference was made to Joe's ambitions or what Desmond Gerrard might do to further them. The few times Marianne tried to steer the conversation in that direction, the men ignored her. Sulking, she ordered a second manhattan. I didn't worry. I knew Joe and Desi were doing a man-thing; they'd get around to business once they finished sniffing each other over.

 

We'd reached the coffee-dessert stage when Sean's cousin Frank dropped by to say he'd reserved his two best pool tables for us.

 

'And when you gettin' married anyway?' the beefy restaurateur added, his eyes sidling to me as he cuffed his cousin's head. Sean had his arm around the back of my chair, so I guess Frank assumed we were together. He looked happy about it - too happy. He shook a meaty finger at me. 'Don't you let him squirm off your hook, Kate. Hallorans have great-looking kids.'

 

I assured him I'd keep that in mind. Sean could set him straight about our relationship later, assuming he wanted to. I wasn't sure how 'out' Sean was to his family. He'd told his parents, yes, but the rest of his relatives? People like the Hallorans probably didn't

 

produce too many bisexual bachelors, or know what to make of them when they did. No doubt, plain old gayness would have been easier for them to accept.

 

Joe had a funny look on his face as he watched this exchange. I could not read it. It wasn't jealousy, but he was obviously entertaining unfamiliar thoughts.

 

As I'd expected, Joe and Desi paired off for a round of billiards. That left Sean and me coupled at the second table. I'd played exactly twice in my life and I was pitiful. I sent three balls in a row crashing over the edge. Sean howled with laughter. When Marianne offered to take my place, I was more than willing to let her, but Sean insisted I just needed a lesson from an expert.

 

'Relax, sweetheart,’ he said, surrounding my body from behind. 'Let a master show you how it's done.'

 

For the next six shots, his hands covered mine on the stick, half-guiding, half-caressing. His hips spooned my hips; his knees nudged my thighs; and every so often his breath, warm and coffee-scented, stirred the curls at the back of my neck. At first, I thought the Casanova act might be for his cousin's benefit, but the healthy erection that brushed my bum with every shot suggested otherwise.

 

'Aim ze stick towards ze hole,’ he said, making me giggle at his awful French accent - and his double entendre, which he underscored by sticking his tongue in my ear.

 

'Jesus,’ I heard Marianne mutter.

 

Fearing she'd make a scene and ruin Joe's night, I insisted she take a turn. Unlike me, Marianne knew which end of the cue was which. Sean still trounced her - twice. Losing did not improve her mood, or the fact that whenever she was shooting Sean wrapped me in his arms and nuzzled my neck.

 

Refusing to play any more, she ordered a third man-hattan, a pack of cigarettes, and lounged back against the billiard room's bar. The ice cubes tinkled in her glass as she tucked a Virginia Slim between her full red lips. She lit it deftly, then watched Joe and Desi amble and joke their way around the table. Each burst of laughter inspired a frown. Between puffs, her fingers drummed the elbow of the hand that held her drink.

 

Despite the miasma of vice that clung to her person, she looked more attractive than I could ever remember seeing her. She was always attractive, it was true, but tonight her eyes sparkled and her cheeks glowed with angry colour. Her high, apple-perfect breasts jiggled within the clasp of her short blue dress. Her nipples pointed straight out like tiny electrified points. Waiters ogled them. Customers licked their lips. Frankly, I didn't know where Desmond Gerrard found the strength to ignore her, unless this was how he maintained their balance of power.

 

Women like Marianne did not reward overt adulation. Look at poor Keith. Marianne hadn't had a kind word to say to him since he'd kissed her feet in Rittenhouse Square

 

.

 

"Thanks for bringing Desi to the play,’ I said, hoping to jolly her out of her funk. 'I know it means a lot to Joe to meet a big name so early in his career.'

 

'Right.' She blew a double stream of smoke through her nostrils.

 

Her acerbity made me wonder why she had brought Desi. If she'd hoped to earn Joe's undying gratitude, that ploy had failed. 'How did you and Desi meet?' I asked, suddenly curious.

 

She gazed across the room at her escort. Her eyes narrowed to black-rimmed silver slits. Desi sank a shot and shook his cue in a little victory dance. Marianne's upper lip curled derisively, as if she knew all his shameful secrets - but perhaps the sneer was the effect of her dangling cigarette.