Other people

Thirty Francine

One successful fuck does not a summer make. The next time it could all collapse, and we'd be back where we started. Was I wrong to be nervous?

George didn't want to eat out, so we drove to his place and I extracted enough from his fridge to cook us a passable dinner. He pushed the food around on his plate as if it was pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

Afterwards I put on some Mozart the Peacemaker. It almost always works for me. In his armchair, without looking up from his law book, Machiavelli says, "Could you turn that down?"

"I thought you liked Mozart?"

He didn't answer me.

Eventually I said, "This is just like being married, I suppose."

He put a place marker in the book, shut it, sighed, and said, "I'm sorry."

"What's the matter, George?" I went to turn off the phonograph.

"You don't have to turn it off. I just said turn it down."

"My generation hasn't learned to listen to music when it's barely audible. Can I read something to you?"

"I haven't been read to since ten years before you were bom."

He's feeling his age tonight.

"What did you want to read?"

I took the sheets out of my briefcase. " 'In Praise of Limestone.' Auden. Know it?"

"No."

"It's my cure-all."

"It's illegal to copy books," he said.

"It's my book. If I copied it by hand, would that be illegal? Jesus, the law is cockeyed. May I read?"

"Is it long?"

"It's the right length. Don't let me force it on you."

"Look, my head's full of something else. I won't be able to concentrate."

"Tell me what's the matter."

"Not right now."

"What've you been reading?"

"Cases."

"Is that all you're going to say?"

"Rape cases. Look, Brady's going to try to battle this out before we ever get to court. His strategy's to harass you into dropping the whole thing. The prosecution's nowhere without you."

"I know I won't quit. Let me read Auden to you."

"I've dealt with Brady. He's a certifiable sadist. When he wants his jollies, he gets them. He looks for situations where he can twist someone's balls."

"Then I'm safe."

"Brady's not after you. He's after me, don't you see? I'd love to push his face into the gravel, but this time I've got a handicap I'm not used to."

"Me?"

"My relationship with you. He's got to find out about it if you keep coming here."

"Want me to stay away?"

"As a lawyer? Yes."

I lay there on the couch, trying to let the music soak into me, thinking Josephine de Beauharnais wouldn't have just sat around listening to music, she'd have found something to distract him.

I sat up. He didn't look up.

I stood. If I stood on my head, would he notice? I went to the John, took off blouse, shoes, slacks, pantyhose. I rubbed my hand across the elastic marks. I was tempted to rub lower. Opening the door of the John a smidge, I could see him making notes demonically. I got all the way to the couch stark naked, stretched myself out. He didn't notice.

The record, thank heaven, stopped. I didn't go to turn it over. He noticed the absence of the music. That's when he looked up.

"Dear God," he said.

I turned part way to the wall. Thata girl. He thinks you're shy. You're showing him your fantastic ass. My ears, like rabbits' ears, listened for sound. He was putting the book down. He put the yellow pad aside. He was coming across the room. I turned toward him. He had dropped to his knees beside the couch.

"You look lovely," he said.

He put a hand on the flat of my belly and said, "You feel good, too."

The flash of light came from the window straight across the room.

"Jesus!" He was on his feet in a second, bolting across the room, opening the window, trying to grab at something, cursing. He ran to the hall and out the door like a maniac. I could hear footsteps racing down the gravel driveway.

I hurried my nakedness back to the John, got his bathrobe off the knob on the back of the door, and wrapped it around me.

When he got back, George's face was livid. "The son of a bitch got away."

"Someone took a photograph."

"You can bet everything you own to a nickel that that photograph is for Brady."

"We weren't doing anything,"

"Oh no, just you lying naked and me with my hand on you, how much do you think you need for a blackmail photograph?"

"That's ridiculous," I said. "Nothing I've done with you is embarrassing to me."

"I'm not thinking of you being embarrassed. I'm thinking of who he'll show that photograph to."

"In court?"

"Brady's not stupid. That's not the kind of thing you can show in a courtroom. If I know Brady, he's going to use it now."

"Who?"

"Put yourself into his head, think what he would do. Damn it, you should have pulled the curtain if you were going to take your clothes off!"

"I didn't think anyone could see here in the woods. I mean there're no windows across the way."

"That guy was no amateur."

"I was only trying to distract you. I thought you need some R and R."

"Oh I do, I do."

"How can lawyers do things like that?"

"Some do it more easily than others. Some don't."

"Do you?"

He looked at his fingers at first, not answering me, then he said, "Look, Brady doesn't take those pictures, he hires people. I got something from somebody, that's all."

"A picture?"

He nodded.

"Like that?"

"No, just a newspaper clip."

"But the effect is the same?"

"How do you mean?"

"Morally," I said. "Is that what all you guys are taught in law school, dirty tricks?"

"Not in law school."

"I think I'd better get my clothes back on." Halfway to the bathroom, I stopped and asked him, "Who's he going to show that picture to?"

"It's only a guess."

"Guess for me," I said.

His face looked very tired. "Your father," he said.