Stranger in Paradise

36.

Crow had a bottle of champagne under his arm when he knocked on Marcy Campbell’s door at 5:45 in the evening. When she answered the door, he held out the champagne.

“I thought we might want to drink this,” Crow said, “and sort of close the circle.”

“The one that opened with me tied up on the couch in my office?” Marcy said. “Some years ago?”

“Yep.”

“What if I decline?”

“You keep the champagne, I go my way,” Crow said.

“Well,” Marcy said. “I decline.”

“Enjoy the champagne,” Crow said, and turned and walked toward the street.

Marcy stood in the doorway watching him. He reached her front gate and opened it when she said, “No.”

Crow turned.

“No?”

“Don’t go,” Marcy said.

Crow nodded and let the gate swing shut and walked back.

“I just got home,” Marcy said. “I need to take a shower.”

“Sure,” Crow said.

While she was gone, Crow found the kitchen and improvised an ice bucket out of a mixing bowl. He popped the cork on the champagne, poured some into a wineglass, put the rest of the bottle on ice, and took it to the living room. He sat and sipped the champagne he’d poured and looked at the room. Colonial American antiques, braided rugs, pine paneling, pictures of sailboats. Very New England. He finished his champagne as Marcy appeared in the bedroom door wearing a white robe.

“Want some champagne first?” Crow said.

“No,” Marcy said.

“Okay,” Crow said.

He walked into the bedroom and took off his shirt. He was wearing a gun, which he took from the holster and placed on the bedside table. Then he took off the rest of his clothes. Marcy watched, standing by the bed.

“What’s the scar from?” she said.

Crow shook his head. Marcy nodded and shrugged out of the robe. They looked at each other for a moment, then Marcy went to him and kissed him and half fell backward onto the bed. Crow went with her, ending up on the side near the nightstand, where his gun was.

Later they sat in the early-American living room, Crow with his clothes back on, Marcy in her white robe, and drank the champagne.

“How’d you know,” Marcy said.

“We know things,” Crow said.

“We?”

“Apache warriors,” Crow said.

“Are you really an Apache?”

“Yes.”

“And you knew I wanted this,” she said.

“Yes,” Crow said, and smiled. “And if I was wrong, what’d I lose?”

“A hundred-dollar bottle of champagne,” Marcy said.

“Three hundred,” Crow said.

Marcy smiled.

“So maybe all that Apache warrior stuff is crap,” she said.

“Maybe,” Crow said.

“But maybe not?” Marcy said.

“You’d like it to be real,” Crow said. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” Marcy said. “I would.”

“It’s real to me,” Crow said.

“I only ever wanted to do this once,” Marcy said.

Crow nodded.

“I’d rather it not happen again,” Marcy said.

“Okay,” Crow said.

“Don’t think it wasn’t wonderful,” Marcy said.

“I don’t think that,” Crow said.

“I had a fantasy and I fulfilled it.”

“Sure,” Crow said.

“You understand?” Marcy said.

“Sure.”

The champagne was gone. Crow looked at the empty bottle and stood.

“Time to go,” he said.

Marcy nodded. They walked to the door together. At the door Marcy put her arms around him and then kissed him hard.

“Good-bye,” she said.

“Good-bye,” Crow said, and walked out and closed the door.