Brit turned to leave and practically ran over Quarles standing at the door. Brit kept moving until he made the parking lot. The cold surrounded him, and he zipped up his flimsy jacket, and thought about getting his leather coat.
He gave a verbal report to Wolowitz and Edwards. After a few minutes, they left. Brit went back to the room to finish gathering Cali’s things. Quarles followed on his heels. Too close.
“You’re in too deep.” His partner leaned against the door.
Brit dropped the suitcase on the bed and didn’t reply.
“You need to step back,” Quarles said. “Let me find her a new motel. I’ll keep an eye on her. Give yourself time to think before something happens you’ll regret.”
“I’m handling this.” Brit zipped up the case.
“I saw you handling it on the dance floor. Adams will have your ass if you mess up this case.”
Brit gritted his teeth. “I’m not going to mess it up.”
“It looks bad.” Quarles reared back on his leather shoes.
“Ask me if I give a damn how things look. Besides, you’re trying to get it on with my sister. I think that’s a hell of lot worse than me being interested in someone who may or maybe not even be considered a witness in a case.”
“I’m not trying to—”
“I saw the way you were looking at her tonight. Like she was a candy bar that you were dying to unwrap.”
Quarles rolled his eyes, but he didn’t deny it. “At least let me question Cali, just to make sure she’s not still talking to this guy.”
“She’s not talking to him.” He scanned the room once more and the smell of cigarette smoke filled the air. Was Humphrey a smoker?
“If you believed that, then why were you drilling the clerk about how Stan knew she was here?”
“I was doing my job.” Brit snatched up the suitcase and left.
~
Cali moaned into the mattress. Everything smelled like him. Burying her face in the pillow, she recalled their little make-out session on the dance floor. Her body warmed with the memory. She threw the top sheet off and tugged on the flannel pajamas Susan had lent her.
Staring at the ceiling, she let her thoughts skitter from one issue to the next; the dreams, Stan, Brit thinking she was a weak-hearted woman who loved to be abused.
She thought back to the three real relationships she’d had. Her first, at nineteen, had cheated on her with his brother’s wife, but the moment Cali discovered his indiscretions, she’d told him to take a long walk down a busy railroad track.
Her second boyfriend had been a control freak, and while he’d wanted to control Cali, she’d freed the shackles of that three-month fling pretty quickly. Then Marty. As Dr. Roberts had said, not all relationships were bad. She had loved Marty.
He’d gotten a dream job offer in New York, and he hadn’t wanted to go alone. The night she’d gone to break the news to her mom, her mom had broken her own news first. She’d found a lump. Cali couldn’t leave her mother, and Marty couldn’t turn down the job of a lifetime. Both had made choices.
He had visited the first few months, twice, but as Marty had put it, “Long distance relationships are hard nuts to crack.” But Cali’s heart had cracked. She had lost the man she loved and, at the same time, she’d been fighting not to lose her mom.
After that, Cali had gone through her mom’s up and down dance with cancer. Not until Stan had paid for her coffee that September morning had she even considered indulging in a relationship. Sad as it sounded, she hadn’t missed sex or men. Being with Stan convinced Cali that she hadn’t missed out on much. But meeting Brit sure had.
With her relationship evidence laid out in her mind, she didn’t feel so bad. Yeah, she’d known a few jerks, and she’d admit that she needed to learn to be a better bitch. But she hadn’t been anyone’s doormat.
Unable to sleep, she flipped on the lamp and followed her bladder to the master bathroom. Once relieved, she went to the sink and rinsed her hands. Running her tongue over her gummy-feeling teeth, she tried to open the medicine cabinet, in hopes of finding a new toothbrush.
The mirrored door didn’t pull open easily, so she gave it a yank. The mirror swung open and half the cabinet’s contents came raining down on the sink. Pills, a pack of toothbrushes. Then a thirty-six pack of extra large condoms hit the counter, bounced off and landed in the toilet.
“Oh shit!” She slapped her hand over her mouth at having let the four-letter word out.
Forcing herself into action, she grabbed the first things she saw, a toothbrush in a holder on the sink and tried to fish out the box of rubbers floating in the toilet.
Finally, by sticking the end of the toothbrush into the carton’s side she got the pack out, and dropped the soggy box of rubbers and toothbrush into the sink. Closing her eyes, she tried to figure out what to do. The condoms were not exposed to the toilet water, but yuck on the idea of using one that had made the trip to the potty. And then there was the toothbrush. A big yuck.