The Blade Itself

28

After thirty minutes in front of the mirror, Karen had decided to wear her hair back to show off her neck, and gone with lipstick two shades bloodier than normal. The dress was new, a soft, fitted black thing too thin for this time of year. She’d even strapped on a pair of heels. Never let it be said that she didn’t know how to do date night.

Unfortunately, her date was nowhere to be found.

“Another?” The bartender gave her that flirty look reserved for women who’d been stood up.

She started to shake her head, remembered the phone call, the mysterious message that’d had her nerves jangling all afternoon. “Why not.”

A server bumped her chair in passing, the rich smells of marinara and basil making her stomach growl. The hostess looked over, and Karen shook her head. The woman smiled sympathetically, girl to girl, and called out someone else’s name for the table that was supposed to have been theirs forty-five minutes ago.

Out of professional habit, she watched the bartender make her drink. A little heavy on the vermouth and a lot heavy on the ice and the shaking. Bad enough to charge ten bucks for a martini; criminal to bruise it that badly. He set it between the votive candles that lined the black lacquer bar and gave her the look again. “You waiting for someone?”

“Not for much longer,” she said, and turned away.

She’d come in from the gym that afternoon to find the answering machine flashing three. One call from a bar back saying she couldn’t make it to work that night. A computerized voice from Walgreens, telling her a prescription was ready.

And sandwiched between them, that other message.

What had it meant? She hadn’t recognized the voice, but the guy spoke like he knew all about them. She told herself it wasn’t important, that it probably had to do with Danny’s job. The icicle stab of fear she felt was probably just because she’d been anxious lately. That asshole in the alley had scared her more than she liked to admit. Normally she would have used Danny to help her get over it, let him serve as the mirror to reflect her own fear back until she could see it for what it was, until she’d dealt with it. But since that night, they’d hardly been in the same room. It was like he was running from her.

Ebb and flow, girl. Every relationship has trouble spots.

Sure. But if he didn’t ebb-and-flow in here in the next five minutes, she was changing the locks.

She spotted him fighting his way through the crowd with two minutes to spare. He wore a black jacket over a soft gray oxford, and when he glanced at his watch, she could see him grimace and swear. Her heart caught a little bit, even after all the years.

He smiled at her, boyishly contrite. “I’m sorry, Kar.”

“You’d have been sorrier in two minutes,” she said, standing and thumbs-upping the hostess, her voice mock angry. “I look good.”

His laugh made her think that maybe date night would work out after all. As they walked to their table, he rested a hand on the small of her back. He didn’t pull out her chair – she hated that – but waited to sit down until she had, and smiled at her again.

“So,” she said, “they let you out of your cage.”

He nodded. “Thank God.”

She folded the napkin in her lap and sipped her water. He looked around the room as if taking it in. Their eyes met for a moment and then skidded away, like they were on an awkward first date.

“Good evening, folks.” The waiter stepped forward with an obsequious smile. He handed her a menu, then one to him, and set the wine list in the center. “We have several specials this evening.”

They’d been coming here for years, and though Danny teased her for it, she always ordered the same thing. So instead of listening to the specials, she watched Danny fidget with his silverware. His shoulders were clenched. He nodded thoughtfully from time to time, but never in response to anything the waiter said. Truth be told, despite the sharp clothes, he looked wrecked, and her optimism about date night began to evaporate.

“You want another?” She gestured at the scotch he’d already drained.

“Guess I was thirsty.” His smile didn’t quite fit.

“I’ll catch his eye.”

He nodded absently, and turned back to the menu.

“Want to get an appetizer?” she asked.

“Sure. Whatever you want.” It would have sounded sweeter if he’d been looking at her.

“How about the shrimp?”

“Okay.”

“Danny.”

He looked up at her, dark craters under his eyes.

“You’re allergic to shellfish.”

“Right.” He blew air through his mouth, not quite a laugh. “Sorry. I’m not all here tonight.”

“Where are you?” When he didn’t respond, she sighed. “What’s going on? And don’t tell me work.”

He looked at her, then looked away. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You know,” she said, her voice sharp, “a lot of women would start to get suspicious if their boyfriend was suddenly working late every night. Start wondering if ‘working’ was a way of saying ‘sleeping with somebody else.’”

That got his attention. He turned, his eyes firm on hers. “Of course not.”

She felt ashamed. That had been a cheap shot. “I know.”

He nodded, looked away again.

“Danny…” Her voice trailed off. Everybody had rough times. She wanted to believe that’s all this was. But the signals he was giving off were all wrong. In the past they’d always worked through things together, but now he seemed to be pulling away. “Is it me? Something I’ve done?”

“No,” he said quickly. “It’s not you.”

Somehow that was scarier. “Then what?”

“Look.” He leaned forward, hesitated, like he was searching for the right words. “Right now is just a crazy time. I have a lot of things going on, and it’s starting to get to me. But this will all be over soon.”

“When?”

“By the end of the week. Things will be back to normal. I promise.”

It was the kind of answer she should have hoped for, but somehow, it wasn’t comforting. She held up her glass and spun it idly, watching the wine swirl. She felt the grip of one of those weird moments when the physicality of the world – the noisy bar, the art photographs on the wall, the wine rolling red and glinting along the bowl of her glass – overwhelmed any sense of meaning. Left her feeling stranded. Without stopping to consider, she tossed the question like a grenade, hoping they wouldn’t be wounded in the blast.

“Why did a detective call our house today?”

Silence. She looked up to find him staring.

“What?” he asked.

“A Detective Nolan. He left a number. It’s on the machine. He said he had some things he wanted to ask you about.”

It was only an instant. But for a ragged fraction of a second, she saw clear through him. Past what he called his game face. Saw his mouth hanging open and his mind scrambling for a lie.

And then it was over, and his mask slid back into place. “We’ve had some break-ins. Vandalism, some tools stolen. It’s probably just kids, you know, but I have to go through the motions.”

She nodded. She didn’t know what she’d seen, didn’t know what it meant, but she knew she wasn’t going to sit still for it. She’d always pitied women – people – who chose to blind themselves to what was right in front of them. Better to deal with things, even if they were painful. She looked at him again, took in his friendly expression and calculated look, and then she finished a last sip of wine and stood up.

“Good night, Danny.”

He blinked, stuttered her name. Asked her to wait.

She didn’t.