NYPD Red

Chapter 20

The Chameleon lay spread-eagle on top of the crumpled sheet. He had positioned the floor fan at the perfect angle and the perfect speed for a gentle breeze to softly caress his naked body.

He stared up at the ceiling, closed his eyes, and focused on his breathing. He inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, trying to get his brain to stop ruminating about his upcoming scene. Meditation was not his strong suit.

He was almost there when his cell rattled against the birch veneer of the Ikea nightstand.

He propped himself up on one elbow and reached for the phone. It was a text: 6 wuz gr8. Luv Lexi.

The sex had been great. And when he rolled over exhausted, she hopped out of bed, and padded naked to the kitchen. Leave it to Lexi to take her cell phone so she could text him from twenty feet away.

This is why he adored her. She was smarter than any girl he’d ever known, but she still did wonderfully stupid things like text him from the kitchen to tell him the 6 wuz gr8. He texted her back: 4 me 2. Wherz my ice cream?

A few seconds later the answer came back: Scoopin fast as I can.

He sat all the way up in bed so he could watch her scooping.

Scooping is what she was doing the first day he met her-only it wasn’t ice cream. She was selling popcorn at the Paris Theatre, one of the last single-screen movie houses in New York.

“You must be a big Hilary Swank fan,” she said, ignoring the prefilled bags and digging deep into a batch of hot, fresh-popped corn.

“Not really,” he said.

“This is the third time you’ve come to see the movie this week,” Lexi said. “It can’t be the popcorn.”

He laughed. “You know the scene in the beginning where the guy at the bar tries to hit on her, and she blows him off? That’s me.”

“Get out of here,” Lexi said. “You’re acting in the movie that’s playing right here at the Paris? Just for that I’m giving you a medium popcorn and you only have to pay for the small.”

“Thanks,” he said. He didn’t even want the small one. The popcorn sucked, but he kept buying it so he could talk to the popcorn girl.

“One question,” she said. “Why do you stay for the whole movie if you’re only on in the beginning?”

“My name is in the end credits. ‘Jerk at the Bar-Gabe Benoit.’ That’s me.”

“Hey, Gabe, nice to meet you. I’m Lexi Carter-Jerk at the Popcorn Stand.”

He stayed and watched the movie two more times until Lexi got off work. Then they walked over to the Carnegie Deli on Seventh Avenue and split one of their foot-high celebrity sandwiches-an artery-clogging, towering pile of corned beef and pastrami called the Woody Allen.

“Wouldn’t it be cool if one day you got so famous that they named a sandwich after you?” Lexi said.

“I have a better idea,” he said. “They can name half a sandwich after me and the other half after you.”

They took the subway downtown to her apartment for coffee.

“I lied,” she said as soon as she locked the door. “I don’t have any coffee.”

“What’ve you got?” he said.

She peeled off her T-shirt, stepped out of her jeans, and stood there naked.

God, she was gorgeous. Lexi was one of those women who actually looked better naked than she did with clothes on. Thick auburn hair, bottomless blue eyes, and creamy white skin all the way down to her frosted pink toenails.

“You have the most incredible body I’ve ever seen,” he said.

“You’re just saying that.”

“No, really. I mean it.”

“Thanks. Most guys prefer tits the size of volleyballs. Mine work better if you like tennis.”

“They’re perfect,” he said.

“You know what my mom always said-the perfect breast is just big enough to fill a champagne glass.”

The next night he bought her a gift. Two Baccarat champagne glasses. Since then, she used them for everything. Diet Coke, M amp;M’s, sunflower seeds-it didn’t matter. It was, she told him, the best present she ever got.

Right now the champagne glasses were filled with ice cream. She twirled out of the kitchen, a glass filled with Rocky Road in each hand. She gave him one and plopped down on the bed next to him.

“Go ahead,” she said, digging into the ice cream. “Vent.”

That was part of their deal. When he got home, the first thing he had to do was share all the best parts of his day with her. She gobbled up all the gloriously horrid details. Then she bubbled over with questions. What was Roth wearing? Blazer, yellow shirt, no tie. What did he finally end up ordering for breakfast? Smoked salmon platter, toasted bagel. Were there any movie stars at the Regency? Just me.

When she finally ran out of questions, they made love. After that Lexi was happy to listen to him bitch and moan about whatever went wrong during the day.

“There were two detectives from NYPD Red,” he said. “It’s pretty obvious that whoever switched the magazines could still have been right there in the studio. So you’d think they would question me. But no. They just walked off, and I got interviewed by some young Chinese-Japanese-Korean cop.”

“Don’t be a racist,” Lexi said. “It’s not nice. They’re called Asian.”

“I thought Asians were supposed to be smart. This guy was an idiot. He asked me questions like ‘Did you go anywhere near the prop table?’ It’s the same as saying ‘Did you put real bullets in the gun so it would kill Ian Stewart?’ Of course I’m going to say no. I think he took one look at me and decided I wasn’t even worth the trouble. Like, you’re not good enough to be the killer. You’re just some extra who sits in the background and mumbles walla-walla-walla all day long for two hundred and twenty-five bucks. You know what, Lex, he’s the goddamn racist.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Tonight you’ll show them who the real star is. You’re gonna rock. I got your wardrobe and your makeup all ready.”

“Thanks.”

“Gabe…”

He knew by the way she said his name what was coming next.

“No,” he said. “Out of the question. Not this scene. It’s too dangerous. You can’t come with me.”

“Please,” she said. “It’s no fun sitting around wondering what’s going to happen.”

“You can watch it on TV,” he said. “Just turn on the E! channel and you’ll see it all.”

“But I want to see it with you.”

“Put the DVR on and record it,” he said. “When I get home, we can watch it together.”

She lowered her head and sulked. “Not as much fun.”

He dipped his finger into her champagne glass, scooped out a small dollop of cold creamy chocolate, and rubbed it gently against her left nipple. He leaned into her and slowly, tantalizingly, ran his tongue around her breast until he finally arrived at the sweet chocolate center. He sucked it off and she squirmed.

“I promise you’ll get to do a scene, but this one is too chancy,” he said.

“You promise I’ll get one?”

“I swear.”

She kissed him. “You want dinner when you come home?”

“I’ll bring back pizza,” he said. “All you have to do is wash out those champagne glasses.”

“For what?”

“Champagne,” he said, kissing her other breast. “Tonight, we’ll be drinking champagne.”