“Steely Dan for ‘Deacon Blues.’ And James Taylor for everything, especially ‘Secret O’ Life.’ ” Then Rook palmed his forehead, “Oh, oh, no, wait! I forgot AC/DC.”
Heat made a buzzer sound. “Ambivalent reply, Rook. Points off, pants off.” After he complied, he looked at the questionnaire, made a little head shake, and turned to the next page.
“Whoa, whoa, penalty flag,” Nikki said. “You can’t skip questions, let’s hear it.”
He shuffled back and read, ” ‘What qualities do you look for in a woman?’ ” Rook paused. “Minefield, I’m not answering that.” After she made him take off his shirt, he said, “This is not how I saw this game going,” and he turned to the top of the next page. “Payback time. ‘What qualities do you look for in a man?’ ”
“I can answer that. Honesty. And a sense of humor.”
“Uncanny how I have the quality of being both honest and funny. Like if you asked me about your clothes and said, ‘Hey. Does this blood make my ass look fat?’ I’d tell ya.”
“Are you stalling because you’re losing?”
“Fine.” Next he read, ” ‘Who would you have liked to be?’ All right, I’m going to answer this one first. A backup singer for Aretha Franklin. The sequined dress could be an issue, but that would be my other life. You? Who would you be?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Meryl Streep.” He gave her a sympathetic look because they both knew she gave up her theater major when her mother was killed.
“Moving on. ‘What is your present state of mind?’ ”
All Heat could do was think about the turmoil she was experiencing. She didn’t answer and took her slacks off.
“My state of mind . . . ?” said Rook. “The Strip Proust tide is turning. Yay! Next question: ‘What is your idea of misery?’ ”
“Pass. I don’t like how these questions are going.” As she unhooked her bra and set it on the coffee table, she said, “You have to answer, too, Chuck Woolery.”
“Simple. Misery for me is what I felt after I hurt you by not calling after my trip.”
“To coin a phrase, good answer,” said Nikki. “Next?”
“Let’s see . . . ‘What is your motto?’ ” He dropped his head. “I don’t have a motto. Who has a motto?”
“You’ve got a choice, underpants or socks.”
“There. That’s my new motto.”
“Nice try,” she said.
He slid out of his underwear, leaving his socks on. “Take that, Spitzer.”
“I actually do have a motto,” said Heat. “It’s ‘Never forget who you work for.’ ” And as she voiced the words, Nikki felt a creeping unease. It wasn’t exactly shame, but it was close. For the first time it sounded hollow. Fake. Why? She examined herself, trying to see what was different. The stress, that was new. And when she looked at that, she recognized that the hardest part of her day lately was working to avoid confrontation with Captain Montrose. That’s when it came to her. In that moment, sitting nearly naked in Rook’s living room, playing some silly nineteenth-century parlor game, she came to an unexpected insight. In that moment Nikki woke up and saw with great clarity who she had become—and who she had stopped being. Without noticing it, Heat had begun seeing herself as working for her captain and had lost sight of her guiding principle, that she worked for the victim.
Right then Nikki resolved to call her own meeting with Montrose first thing the next day. And let the damned chips fall.
“Hello?” said Rook, bringing her back. “Ready for the next one?” She looked on him with clear eyes and nodded. “Here we go then. ‘What is your ideal dream of earthly happiness?’ ”
Heat paused only a moment to think. Then she said nothing, but stood and slid out of her panties. Rook looked up to her from the couch with a face that she couldn’t resist, so she didn’t. She bent down, taking his mouth in hers. He met her hungrily and pulled Nikki into his arms. Soon, the rhythm of their bodies answered that last question. She didn’t think about it but found her lips to his ear, whispering, “This . . . This . . . This . . .”
SIX