Indemnity Only

I shook my head reluctantly and turned to my ice cream. Ajax did not sound promising, and I’d been pinning hopes to it. “By the way,” I said, “did you check on Ajax’s pension money?”

 

 

Ralph laughed. “You are persistent, Vic, I’ll grant you that. Yeah, I called a friend of mine over there. Sorry, Vic. Nothing doing. He says he’ll look into it, see whether we get any third-hand stuff laid off on us—” I looked a question. “Like the Loyal Alliance people give some money to Dreyfus to manage and Dreyfus lays some of it off on us. Basically though, this guy says Ajax won’t touch the Knifegrinders with a ten-foot pole. Which doesn’t surprise me too much.”

 

I sighed and finished my ice cream, feeling suddenly tired again. If things came easily in this life, we would never feel pride in our achievements. My mother used to tell me that, standing over me while I practiced the piano. She’d probably disapprove of my work, if she were alive, but she would never let me slouch at the dinner table grumbling because it wasn’t turning out right. Still, I was too tired tonight to try to grapple with the implications of everything I’d learned today.

 

“You look like your adventures are catching up with you,” Ralph said.

 

I felt a wave of fatigue sweep over me, almost carrying me off to sleep with it. “Yeah, I’m fading,” I admitted. “I think I’d better go to bed. Although in a way I hate to go to sleep, I’ll be so sore in the morning. Maybe I could wake up enough to dance. If you keep moving, it’s not so bad.”

 

“You look like you’d fall asleep on a disco floor right now, Vic, and I’d be arrested for beating you or something. Why does exercise help?”

 

“If you keep the blood circulating, it keeps the joints from stiffening so much.”

 

“Well, maybe we could do both—sleep and exercise, I mean.” The smile in his eyes was half embarrassed, half pleased.

 

I suddenly thought that after my evening with Earl and Tony, I’d like the comfort of someone in bed with me. “Sure,” I said, smiling back.

 

Ralph called to the waiter for the bill and paid it promptly, his hands shaking slightly. I considered fighting him for it, especially since I could claim it as a business expense, but decided I’d done enough fighting for one day.

 

We waited outside for the doorman to fetch the car. Ralph stood close to me, not touching me, but tense. I realized he had been planning this ending all along and hadn’t been sure he could carry it off, and I smiled a little to myself in the dark. When the car came, I sat close to him on the front seat. “I live on Halsted, just north of Belmont,” I said, and fell asleep on his shoulder.

 

He woke me up at the Belmont-Halsted intersection and asked for the address. My neighborhood is just north and west of a smarter part of town and there is usually good parking on the street; he found a place across from my front door.

 

It took a major effort to pull myself out of the car. The night air was warm and comforting and Ralph steadied me with shaking hands as we crossed the street and went into my front hallway. The three flights up looked very far away and I had a sudden mental flash of sitting on the front steps waiting for my dad to come home from work and carry me upstairs. If I asked Ralph to, he would carry me up. But it would alter the dependency balance in the relationship too much. I set my teeth and climbed the stairs. No one was lying in wait at the top.

 

I went into the kitchen and pulled a bottle of Martell from the liquor cupboard. I got two glasses down, two of my mother’s Venetian glasses, part of the small dowry she had brought to her marriage. They were a beautiful clear red with twisted stems. It had been a long time since I had had anyone up to my apartment, and I suddenly felt shy and vulnerable. I’d been overexposed to men today and wasn’t ready to do it again in bed.

 

When I brought the bottle and glasses back to the living room, Ralph was sitting on the couch, leafing through Fortune without reading it. He got up and took the glasses from me, admiring them. I explained that my mother had left Italy right before the war broke out on a large scale. Her own mother was Jewish and they wanted her out of harm’s way. The eight red glasses she wrapped carefully in her underwear to take in the one suitcase she had carried, and they had always held pride of place at any festive meal. I poured brandy.

 

Paretsky, Sara's books