And there was another thing. Claire had lived overseas long enough to know that an American passport was still a desirable commodity. Even for a wealthy Pole with diplomatic immunity. Stefan was attracted to her, she knew that. Even now his hot little breaths were fogging up her sense of well-being.
She knew exactly what sex would be like with Stefan. It’d be slick, expert sex … like between the lines of the glossy magazine advice columns. The music would be suitable. Most likely black and newly released. He would moan. His body would be scented with the most expensive men’s cologne from Bloomingdales. He would labor away at satisfying her first, tackling her body with all the cultivated calisthenics picked up at the health club. Yes, he would do his level best. When it was over, he’d sink down onto his elbows and gaze at her with triumphant eyes. Maybe even hold up his Waterford champagne glass for a replenishing toast. And she knew that the smell, the essence he would emote then, what with the talcum and the perfume rubbed away, would be thoroughly repugnant to her. She knew it. Just as surely as she knew that she had no idea what it would be like with Johnny. With Johnny all she knew was that she was compelled to him, thirsted for him with an almost infantile yearning, and had lost her mind when he’d held her. From that moment on she had only one insistent memory whenever she got close enough to herself to turn out the world, when she was drying her face with a towel or when her cheek touched the pillow … a dark and fragrant mental picture of a still-unopened blood red rose.
“I’d like to go straight home, Stefan.”
“I know. We’ll just stop off at my place for a quick drink. Help you sleep.”
“That’s very kind of you, but no thank you.”
“Come on, Claire. Don’t play coy with me.” He was driving faster now, deliberately intimidating her.
She gripped the upholstery with ice-cold hands. The bottom fell out of her stomach as he cut through traffic like a shot from a gun.
“Come on, Stefan,” she heard herself say in what seemed an only slightly elevated tone.
“Excited?” He looked like a beautiful little boy having fun. He went still faster.
She burst out laughing. She didn’t know what else to do. It worked. Stefan slowed down, took the turn, and pulled up in front of her house. Even his sudden anger seemed to mellow. “All right,” he said as they pulled up in front of her house. “Tonight you’re off the hook. But tomorrow night”—he gave her an almost malevolent look—“we’ll take a drive. Do you like Montauk?”
“Ooo! So far? Exciting!” She smiled at him, her goodbye full of promise, and hopped out of the car.
He grinned at their secret joke and roared away.
She kept that smile on her face until he turned the corner. She walked up to the stoop and sat down. Something was missing. There he was, staring at her through the screen. She let him out and sat down next to him on the top step, as was their custom, put her arm over him and felt his doggy breath on her hand. “That is one guy,” she said, “with whom I will never again get in a car. Something strange there. Boy. Never again. Do you know I was actually frightened for a moment? Always laugh in the face of fear, your honor. It’s the only way out.”
The Mayor put his chin down on her knees. He was awfully glad she was home, safe and sound. Astonishing how much she meant to him after such a short time. She made him feel somewhat vital. Lord knew she needed looking after. They sat there listening to the crickets. A pack of kids were down the road under the trestle. They heard a bottle break and the muffled laughter, then the giddy shuffle as they ran off. The midnight local lumbered in and out, groaning and wheezing and farting. A cop car passed in front of the house, then parked in its everynight spot up on Bessemer for coffee regular and half a dozen Dunkin Donuts.
Iris’s kitchen light was still on. Claire was tempted to go over and take a peek through the window until she remembered how late it was. If anybody saw her they’d think she was breaking in. The hell, she decided. “C’mon,” she said. “We’re going to do a little spying. You do have a girlfriend over there, don’t you?”
They strolled with pointed nonchalance across the street. “Go on,” Claire egged him through the bushes. “Pretend I’m not here, would you? Gee. Now that you’ve got the green light, you act like Mr. Prim and do it off the curb.”