Dirty Blonde

CHAPTER 7

The door banged open against the bedroom wall, and Cate found herself being hoisted against its hard wood. She wrapped her legs around Graham, her slim skirt hiking up, and he kissed her breathless, pressing into her. He pushed harder against her, opening her thighs, then slipped both hands under her panties in the back, cupping her in two rough palms. The sensation thrilled her, and she kissed him deeper, her heart hammering. Suddenly he lifted her up and whirled her toward the bed, and Cate squealed, clinging to him.

“You didn’t warn me!” She laughed, spinning in his arms.

“You like?”

“Yes!” Cate fell backwards onto the soft white comforter, her pearls against her throat and her arms opening like a snow angel’s. Graham stood between her bare knees at the end of the bed, laughing and breathing hard, then he unbuttoned his shirt and let it drop. A hallway light silhouetted the hard caps of his shoulders and a muscular torso that tapered to a trim waist. Cate couldn’t wait another minute. She yanked her skirt up rather than waste time taking it off and wriggled out of her panties. Graham’s belt buckle jingled, the leather belt flapped to the side, and as soon as she saw him unzipping his jeans, she reached for him.

“Wait.” Graham stepped back, laughing in surprise. “You’re not even undressed.”

“I’m undressed enough!”

“No, you’re not. Blouse’s still on, and your skirt.” Graham leaned over and found the top button of her blouse, and Cate’s hands flew to help him.

“But I can do it faster.”

“Faster isn’t the point.” Graham pressed her hands away. “Now be still.”

“Argh.” Cate gave up and let her arms flop back on the sleigh bed. Up close, she could see the dark flash of his eyes and the glint of his smile. A raggedy fringe of his hair fell forward, and she breathed in the wintry scent of burning smoke from the fireplace. She stroked his arm while he unfastened the button between her breasts, his knuckles grazing her nipple. “You did that on purpose.”

“I’m guilty, Judge. Now take off your skirt.”

“I’m fine with it on.”

“Take it off. I don’t want to mess it up.”

Cate scoffed. He was teasing her and it was driving her crazy. “You don’t give a damn about my skirt.”

“Oh, I do. I care very much about your skirt.” Graham finished opening the third button and stroked her breast gently, sliding his fingertips along the fine silk. She arched her back, but he only moved to the next button, chuckling softly. He took his time, and when he finally unbuttoned the last button, he moved aside each side of the filmy blouse, one after the other, as if he were unwrapping a very expensive present.

Cate lay breathless on the bed, her heart hammering, her neck vulnerable and her arms resting back. Her breasts lay exposed in a lacy black bra.

“You are beautiful, you know that?” Graham whispered, seeming to stall over her.

“Argh, come here!” Cate squirmed under his gaze, hating the scrutiny, even in the dark. She reached for him again, and he finally lowered himself onto her, kissing her more softly than before, more gently than he had, even downstairs. She kissed him back, excited by the heat of his skin on hers, wanting to feel that groove again, the one they had against the door. She ran her hand up the length of his thigh, feeling the hardness under his jeans.

“Caught me, huh?”

“Yep.” Cate giggled, then she felt again, a box shape. “What’s this?”

“I was going to give it to you afterwards, but since you busted me…” Graham pulled away, propped himself on one elbow, and dug in his front pocket. “I have something for you, Cate.”

“I know you do, but you won’t shut up.”

Graham chuckled, reaching for the bedside lamp. “You look like such a classy lady, but only I know the real you.”

Suddenly the light came on, and she shielded her eyes from the brightness. When she moved her hand, Graham was holding a medium-sized box wrapped in robin’s-egg blue paper with a satiny white ribbon on top. Tiffany’s. Cate’s mouth went dry. “What’s this?”

“You have to open it to find out.” Graham handed her the box, and she shifted up on the bed with it, bracing herself on her free hand.

“But, a present? Why?”

“Stop asking questions and open it.” Graham tugged on the ribbon, which slipped off like silk. “Cool, isn’t it?”

Cate unfolded the wrapping paper and took it off. It was a medium-sized box of black velvet, and her fingers trembled as she opened its lid. Inside glittered a gold link bracelet with a heart pendant. It was lovely, which only made her want to cry. She didn’t know what to do. Graham took it out, unhooked it, and held it up to the light. The heart gleamed expensively, a rich, eighteen-carat gold. Finally Cate found her voice. “I can’t take this. It costs too much.”

“Please, hush, give me your wrist.” Graham lifted her wrist, put the bracelet on it, and held her hand up, with obvious pleasure. The heart dangled prettily, and he turned it toward Cate. “If you want, we can get it engraved. But I like it the way it is. What do you think?”

Cate winced.

“I ordered this for you after our first date.” Graham took her hand, and Cate stiffened. She felt a sudden urge to move, but he was holding her hand, sitting only a foot away. “You might think it’s too soon to get involved, after my divorce, but I’m forty-two. I know what I want, and it’s you. It was right from that first night.”

Cate heard the emotion in his words and couldn’t meet his eye. She looked away, and her gaze found one of the bedroom windows in this colonial town house, with bubbled mullions and thick wooden sills, two-hands deep. She had measured them last time, with her own spread fingers. Outside, the winter sun had set and its pinkish rays clawed the deepening blue, only reluctantly surrendering its stake on the sky.

“You don’t have to feel the same way I do, I understand that. It’s still early.”

Silence fell between them, and the temperature in the bedroom dropped a tick, chilling Cate in her bra.

“You okay?” Graham squeezed her hand, and the gold heart glinted in the lamplight. “You don’t look happy.”

“I’m fine, sure,” Cate said, though she wasn’t. She knew she should stay and she knew she would go.

“Talk to me, would you?”

Cate wished she could, but she couldn’t. She released his hand, stood up, and started buttoning up her blouse.

“What are you doing?” Graham rose slowly. “You’re leaving?”

“I think I should. I’m sorry.” Cate tried to get the bracelet off but couldn’t undo the clasp, fumbling.

“Don’t leave, baby.” Graham reached for her arm, but Cate withdrew it. She had to go. She couldn’t explain it to him, this wonderful man. She just had to. She hurried to the door, her bare feet cold on the floorboards. Her shoes and stockings were still downstairs by the fireplace.

Graham followed her. “Wait, listen. I shouldn’t have sprung it on you. It just came out. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Cate said, but she hurried away.

It took Cate less than an hour to find a good corner bar in a working-class neighborhood south of the business district, near the airport. It had stopped raining outside, and an increase in the temperature made the air unseasonably wet. It was after six, so the TV news wasn’t showing more reports of her courtroom, and she sipped her smudgy glass of Miller’s, leaving behind thoughts of Marz, Sherman, and even Graham. He had called twice on her cell, but she hadn’t picked up.

Behind the bar sat the same line of dusty bottles as in the other bar, and junking up the mirror hung the same leftover Christmas decorations. Cate speculated that the bars rotated the items, to save on filth. The men looked the same, too; two Verizon employees in navy blue coats sat at the end of the wooden bar, joking with the bartender and ignoring CNN. They’d had to settle for Larry King on closed captioning, because the Sixers weren’t playing tonight. A few seats down from the two men hunched a dark-haired man with muttonchops, who reminded Cate of Detective Russo.

Odd. The thought caught her up short. It was the first time Cate thought about work on one of these outings. She kept the two worlds separate, or at least her brain did for her. Her head began to ache, and she shifted on her bar stool, uncomfortably. Russo. Marz. She couldn’t keep doing this anymore, as a judge. She imagined that if you looked up Appearance of Impropriety in the dictionary, there might well be a photo of her, at this bar. Without her panties.

“Hi,” said a masculine voice, and Cate looked over. It was the man with the black muttonchops, standing next to her. He wore a black motorcycle jacket and was reasonably handsome. “You look lonely. Can I buy you a drink?” The man climbed onto the bar stool next to hers, and Cate felt a tingle she couldn’t deny.

“If you’re Elvis, you can.”

“If you’re Priscilla, I will,” the man said, and they laughed.

It turned out Elvis knew a motel near the airport with a sign that read CABLE TV-AIR CONDITION. It was three stories tall, with concrete stairs and hallways on the outside, in front of numbered doors painted dark pink. The walls were paved with matching stucco, as if the place was in South Beach and not behind Terminal C. Cate parked the Mercedes in the lot and waited in it while Elvis checked them in, and when he left the tiny office with its plastic window, he gave her a wave, and she got out of the car, chirped it locked, and fell into step behind him.

“Done got us the honeymoon suite, Priscilla,” he said in a terrible Memphis accent. He reached back for Cate’s hand and led her down the concrete walkway, past a busted vending machine, and up the concrete stairs.

“Second floor?”

“Third, sweetie, but I’ll make it worth your while.” He laughed again, and the sound echoed in the cold night. Airplanes hung suspended in the flight path overhead, their red lights twinkling in a perfect line, like a strand of precious rubies.

They reached the top floor and Cate followed, permitting herself to be led as they took a right at the head of the stairs. Elvis withdrew something from his jeans pocket, an old-fashioned key hanging from a plastic diamond scored with 325, and he had no trouble finding the room.

“You’ve done this before,” she said, her heart starting to race as he opened the door and flicked on the light.

“The hell I have, darlin.’ I been savin’ myself for you.”

Cate laughed, standing on the metal threshold, thrilled and nervous. A long hallway led into a small room, containing only a double bed covered with a brown-patterned quilt and a metal TV cart next to a louvered closet.

“Come on in,” he said, and before she had time to think about it, he pulled her gently inside and shut the door behind her, and she found herself suddenly wanting him when he wrapped strong arms around her and kissed her once, tasting of beer.

“Against the door,” Cate heard herself say.

“Whatever,” he murmured, easing her back against the door in the dark hallway. She was on fire, and his hands grabbed at her skirt, pushing it up. He moaned when he felt bare skin.

“Watch out,” Cate said, giggling. He kissed her deeply, and she reached up around his shoulder, feeling his leather jacket under her hands, which was when she saw a flash of gold, darkly. The bracelet. Cate still had it on. She couldn’t wear it here. She turned her head from the kiss, pressing him back, saying, “Wait, wait.”

“What?” he asked, his hair mussed in front, his expression bewildered. He reached for her, but she was trying to undo the bracelet. He reached again. “Come here. Come back here!”

“Wait a minute,” Cate said firmly, holding up her hand, and he stopped, then eased down the hall and flopped backward on the bed, waiting.

“Women!” Elvis laughed, throwing up his arms. “What is it? A weddin’ band? Wear it or don’t, I don’t give a damn.”

But the bracelet wouldn’t come off. Cate couldn’t undo the clasp link, and Elvis was too drunk to help. It made her stop. And think. What am I doing? Graham. Marz. Sherman. She couldn’t keep this up. It was wrong. Inappropriate, not only because she was a judge. Because she was a woman. She wouldn’t do this again. Never, ever.

“Hurry!” Elvis hollered, sitting upright, but Cate had already pulled her skirt down and gone partway down the hall.

“Listen, wait, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to do this. I can’t.”

“What?”

“I have to go, I’m sorry.”

“Now, you want to leave?” Elvis sat up, his dark eyes wide with disbelief. “You can’t do that! You got me up here, bitch!”

“I know, I’m sorry. Here.” Cate reached reflexively into her purse, grabbed her wallet, and handed him cash, trying vainly to make it right. “Here, this is for your trouble. I’m sorry.”

“You can’t pay me!” he shouted, batting her hand away. Cash scattered in the air.

Cate hurried to the door but Elvis launched himself off the bed, rushed down the hall, and reached her just in time to straight-arm the door shut with a loud bang.

“No!” Cate cried, but he smashed his mouth against hers and pinned her against the door with his body. She tried to scream but his mouth was covering hers, his beery tongue thrusting inside. She tried to push him off but he shoved his hand crudely up her skirt.

“Hel-,” she screamed, but he mashed his hand over her mouth and started to pull up her skirt in front. He wedged her legs open against the door and plunged his hand between them. His fingers probed cruelly, hurting her, and he grunted in satisfaction.

Cate gave way to panic. He was going to rape her. He was enjoying her pain. No one knew she was here. He could even kill her. She must have been crazy to come here. She torqued her head this way and that. Trying to get free. To scream. To think. Cate trounced with all her might on his foot, driving her stiletto into his instep.

“Owwhh!” he shouted, releasing her and bending over, and in that split second Cate opened the door, bolted out, and half-ran, half-stumbled down the stairs to the second floor.

“You bitch! You bitch!” he yelled, running onto the balcony after her. It was raining hard again, but she kept pounding down the stairs, almost slipping on the last flight, streaking to her car, and chirping it unlocked on the run. She jumped inside while he kept screaming at her from the balcony.

Cate wasn’t a block away when her cell phone started ringing.