“Can you do it now?” asked Rita.
Ken looked at his watch, then back at Rita. She was wearing a navy pants suit, and he wondered what she was wearing underneath.
“Sure,” he said, “I guess I could give it a look. Long as it doesn’t take too long.”
“Oh, great,” she replied. She stepped aside, and allowed the deliveryman into her apartment. He was careful not to brush against her. Rita mistook his deliberate manner for shyness.
She had already removed the components from their cow-covered boxes, and the empty cardboard containers were stacked against the wall. Ken studied the directions for a moment, and before long had connected the monitor to the tower. He then ran the proper wires to the printer, speakers, and microphone and plugged the power cord into the nearby outlet.
“Let’s give it a try,” he said.
Rita pressed the buttons on the tower and monitor, and waited. In a couple of seconds the screen flickered and lit up. Soon, the familiar Microsoft waving-flag logo appeared, together with the manufacturer’s trademarked black and white image. “Great,” said Rita, with a broad smile.
“Believe it or not, I just want to get on the Internet so I can start chatting.”
She related the story of her Florida girlfriend, and again expressed her own frustration with the dating scene. Again, Ken was struck by her naïveté.
“Have you picked out a screen name yet?” he asked.
“Nah, I haven’t really thought about it,” she replied. “I still have to get online.”
“Well, when you do, let me know and I’ll send you your first email,” laughed Ken.
Rita laughed too, and showed the middle-aged man to the door. “I can’t thank you enough,” she said. “Are you sure I can’t pay you something?”
“Nope,” said Ken. “It’s on the house.”
“Well, thanks again. And I’ll let you know when I get online.”
Yeah, I’ll bet.
After leaving Rita Valdez’s apartment, Ken had all he could do to get through the rest of his workday. He couldn’t get her off his mind. Would she really give him her screen name? He doubted it. But, what if—no, she would never give it to him. He decided that she was just like all the rest.
CHAPTER 44
Rita Valdez was quite pleased. Not only was her computer up and running—thanks in no small part to Ken—but, she had gotten a disk at a computer store that advertised “1,000 Hours Free!” The next day, she corralled Ken in the hallway, and enlisted his help in actually getting online. He walked her through the installation procedure, helped select her dial-up numbers, and moved her to the page where she was supposed to enter her personal information for her “profile.” She made him turn his back while she typed in various tidbits about herself—some true, some not—including hobbies, dating preferences, astrological sign, etc. Finally, it was time to choose her screen name.
“You know,” she said, “I don’t have a clue what to call myself.”
“Does this mean you’re really going to tell me your screen name?” asked Ken, a hopeful tone in his voice.
“That’s the least I can do,” said Rita. “Especially after all you’ve done for me. Besides, didn’t I promise you I would?”
“Yeah,” said Ken, “but I didn’t really think you would. Most girls never keep their promises.”
“Well, I’m not exactly a girl,” said Rita with a laugh.
“Yeah, but I’m just the grocery guy,” said Ken. “You’ve probably got lots of guys just dying to talk to you.”
Rita hesitated for a second.
“See,” said Ken. “What did I tell you? You’re just bein’ nice to me.”
“No, no,” said Rita, “not at all. Honest. I’d love to chat on line with you.”
“Well, okay,” said Ken, apparently greatly relieved. “But, first we gotta pick you out a screen name.”
“I just don’t want anything too obvious,” said Rita. “You know – no ‘Lady Dick,’ or ‘Girl’s Gotta Have it,’ or anything like that; just something simple. Maybe like – ‘Need A Friend.’ What do you think?”
Ken stared at her with a sly looking smile on his face.
“What?” said Rita.
“Well...” Ken blushed.
“Well, what?”
“Well, it’s just that most of the girls I see on line use sexy names – at least, the ones I talk to.”
“Okay, so what’s a sexy name?”
“You mean it?”
“Sure,” replied Rita. “What the hell? We might as well go with the flow. Give me a name.”
“How old are you?” blurted out Ken.
Rita frowned.
“No, no,” said Ken. “I mean, what’s your age? I don’t care how old you are.”
“Does it matter?” asked Rita.
“No, no – that’s not what I mean. I mean, you could use that as part of your name, that’s all.”
Rita shook her head. “I don’t think so. Besides, I don’t want anyone on line to know my name. There’re too many creeps out there.”
“No, not your real name,” replied Ken. “I was thinking more like – ‘Sexy21’ or something like that.”
“Well, we both know I’m not twenty one,” said Rita,” so that won’t work.”
“That’s why I asked you how old you are,” replied Ken.
“Okay, okay. Now I get it. Oh, what the hell. How about ‘Sexy39?’”
“You’re thirty nine?” said Ken, incredulously. “No way!”
Rita sucked in her stomach. “Why? You think I look younger?”
“Of course,” answered Ken. “You don’t look a day over…thirty.”
Rita could remember a time when that would have been an insult. She laughed out loud. “Okay,” she said, “’Sexy39’ it is.” No big deal if they know my age, she thought. Hell, it might help weed out the kiddies.
To test out her new moniker, Rita agreed to have Ken send her a personal message (PM) using the AOL Instant Messenger program. His screen name was “QuesanKen,” which was an obvious reference to his time spent in Vietnam. On her first night on the Internet, Rita logged on and waited for Ken’s message. At exactly eight o’clock, as he had promised, Ken sent Rita the PM. They chatted for a few minutes, and then he said he had to go. All of a sudden, she was alone, just she and the computer.
Rita viewed the screen for the next couple of hours, getting the hang of the lingo, and observing how others operated within the cyber world. It was fascinating. Mostly, she noted that everyone seemed to be interested in one thing—sex! Oh sure, there were rooms for those interested in hobbies, such as boating or skiing, but sex was the common thread.
After a couple of evenings of just watching, Rita entered a room designated as “Single and Looking.” In it she met Carl, whose screen name was “CallMeCarl.” Not too imaginative, but certainly not threatening, either. He was from Connecticut, and was divorced. He had married way too early, he explained—he was nineteen, his bride a year younger—and now, at forty-one, he was ready to find his soul mate. His job as an insurance adjuster provided him with a good income, and his flexible schedule allowed him freedom to travel. His major encumbrance was his two sons, with whom he observed diligent visitation.
Rita told Carl about her friend in Florida, who had struck up a “cyber” romance with someone she met in a chat room. Naturally, she left out the part about the actual marriage that had resulted from the Internet affair. Leave that for later, she thought.
She and Carl hit it off right away. He didn’t want to rush her into a face-to-face meeting, and that suited Rita just fine. She said she was interested in a long-term relationship, but wasn’t really in a great hurry. However, she had joked if she didn’t find someone within a year, she’d “just commit suicide; that’s all.” They both laughed, and agreed that that wouldn’t be necessary.
So, each night they would meet in “Single and Looking,” and then move into a “private room,” to continue their cyber conversation. For the first
time in years, Rita felt optimistic about the future.
CHAPTER 45
“Do you know what today is?” asked Valdez. She was standing in Matt’s office, her finger tracing a trail across the face of his wall calendar.
Matt looked up and absentmindedly answered, “Yeah, it’s Monday.”
“Well, I know it’s Monday,” said Rita with a laugh. “But, do you know what today is? As in ‘what occasion?’”
“Haven’t a clue,” quipped Matt. “But, guessing by the question, it must be something special. I give up. What is it?”
“It’s May 7th!” said Rita. “It’s been six weeks since I transferred in. I think that calls for a celebration. Don’t you?”
Matt looked at Valdez over the top of his reading glasses and smiled. “Since when is six weeks a special time for a celebration?”
“It isn’t,” said Rita. “We should have celebrated after a month. But, nobody offered. And I’m s-o-o-o-o disappointed,” she said, with an exaggerated pout.
“So solly, Missy,” said Matt, in a mock Chinese accent. “Better ruck next time.”
“Very funny,” said Rita. “Come on, Matt. Seriously. How about you, me, and Freitag tip a couple of beers tonight? No big deal. Just a tiny little celebration.”
Matt frowned.
“A little bonding?” teased Rita. “Just between friends, of course,” she added. “Come on. What’s the matter—afraid the little woman won’t approve?” Matt narrowed his eyes; Rita figured she’d hit a nerve.
“Okay, okay,” said Matt. “I know I’m going to regret this – okay, but just one. Check with Freitag, and see if he can make it.”
“You got it, Lou…I mean, Matt.” She leaned over and gave Davis a peck on the cheek. As she floated out the door, Matt watched her ass wave goodbye and thought, watch it, Buddy, watch it!
Freitag and Valdez waltzed into Matt’s office at exactly midnight. Matt sighed resolutely, put down his pen, and removed his reading glasses. He knew when he was licked. He pushed back his chair, and stood up. “All ready, are we?” he said, addressing Rita, who was fidgeting like an anxious schoolgirl.
“Yep. I’m even buying the first round.” She handed Matt his jacket. “Come on, let’s go,” she said, “no more stalling. You promised.”
“Okay, okay,” sighed Matt. He looked at the other two and smiled. “What are we, like the three musketeers?”
“Egg-zactly!” replied Rita. “All for one and one for all!”
“Oh, Christ,” muttered Freitag, raising his head and rolling his eyes skyward. “Here we go again.”
“By the way,” said Matt, “where’re we going, anyway?”
Rita hesitated before answering. “How about Malone’s, over on Seventh Avenue?”
“Killian’s Red on tap?” asked Matt, referring to his favorite Irish beer.
Rita nodded in the affirmative. “And great soda bread,” she added, looking over at Freitag, who grinned in apparent approval.
“Works for me,” he said, validating Rita’s supposition. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
It was nearly two in the morning, and Matt was feeling no pain. He sat quietly on his stool opposite the polished mahogany bar in Malone’s, and watched Freitag and Valdez as they slow-danced to the strains of a baleful Irish love song that poured from the ancient jukebox in the corner. The lyrics were actually quite dreadful, and told of a sheepherder who had leaped to his death from a cliff after losing his true love to—of all things—another sheepherder.
Rita and Freitag were an odd twosome, but it seemed to work, thought Matt. As he watched the couple move awkwardly around the dance floor, he was struck by how peaceful they appeared in one another’s arms. He reflected upon all the salacious rumors that had preceded the female addition to his squad, and wondered if maybe they were merely founded in jealousy. The last two hours had been filled not with ribald jokes or innuendo, but rather with poignant remembrances of Rita’s love affair with her first commanding officer. As Rita understood them now, the subsequent flings with the others had probably just been her blind attempt to eradicate the memories. Instead, all she had accomplished was to tattoo her reputation with the indelible ink of rumor and hearsay. Now, as Matt watched her dancing with his best friend, it occurred to him that she had probably orchestrated this get together for the sole purpose of explaining her side of the story – and it had worked, at least as far as he was concerned. Val had nothing to fear from Rita Valdez. Who knows, maybe the two of them could even become friends? Lord knows Val could use one. He pictured his wife, probably asleep, and smiled. Then, he stood up, stretched his arms high, and yawned.
“Oh, shit!” he exclaimed, suddenly fully awake.
Freitag and Valdez stopped dancing, and looked over at their boss. “What’s wrong?” asked Rita.
“I didn’t call Val,” said Matt. “I forgot. I totally fucking forgot.”
Rita broke free of Freitag and walked over to Matt, who was struggling mightily to put on his jacket – inside out. She grabbed hold of the garment, quickly re-arranged it, and helped Matt to put it on correctly. “It’s all my fault,” she said. “I should never have dragged you out here tonight. I’m so sorry. I really am.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” said Matt. “I’m the one who fucked up.”
Rita frowned.
“And, besides,” said Matt, “it was actually a good idea. If anything, I’m the one who should be sorry—for not doing this sooner.”
Rita threw her arms around Matt, and gave him a big hug. “Okay, okay,” he said, “let’s not get carried away.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “Besides, I’ve gotta get the hell out of here.” He looked at Freitag. “Take me home first, okay Chris?”
“No problem,” replied Freitag. He looked over at Rita. “Okay with you?” he asked. Rita grabbed his arm and sighed, “Uh huh.” She looked exhausted. They all were.
It was nearly three in the morning when Matt climbed wearily out from the backseat of the Chevrolet, closing the heavy door as quietly as he could. Freitag waited until his partner was on the sidewalk, and then pressed down gently on the accelerator, steering the big car away from the curb. Rita snuggled close to Chris, and looked back apprehensively over her shoulder at the receding image of Matt, who stood waving slowly at the automobile. He made his way wearily up the front steps and into his apartment, silently praying that Val was indeed asleep. No such luck.
Chris inserted a Sinatra CD into the little player located beneath the dashboard. He had had to get special permission to have the unit installed in the unmarked patrol car, but it had been worth the trouble. Now, it infused a quiet mix of the Italian crooner’s eloquently sung lyrics and Nelson Riddle’s accompaniment into the cozy interior of the Chevy. Rita snuggled close to Chris, and began busily searching through her purse for something with which to write. Freitag drove slowly, humming along with the melody. “What’re ya doin’?” he asked.
“Oh, just looking for a pen,” replied Rita. “I want to write down my new email address for you—if you don’t mind?”
“No, I don’t mind at all,” replied Chris softly. “In fact, I kinda like it—that you want to give it to me, I mean.”
Rita asked Chris for one of his business cards, turned it over to the backside, and carefully printed [email protected] on it. Then, smiling smugly to herself, she added in parenthesis Sexy39. “I put my screen name on there, too,” she said, as she carefully slipped the card into Chris’s right front pocket. “But, keep that information to yourself, okay? I just thought that if you ever get lonely some night, you might want to chat.”
“Actually, I thought I’d post it on the bulletin board, down at headquarters,” quipped Chris. He reached over and gave Rita a little pinch on the arm. “What do you take me for, some kind of asshole?” he said. “Besides, why would I want to share that with anybody, anyway?”
“Okay, fine, don’t be such a crab,” said Rita. “I just wanted make sure, that’s all. I don�
�t need twenty-five horny guys emailing me with dirty jokes, that’s all.”
“Maybe just one,” shot back Chris.
“Yeah,” smiled Rita, “just one.”
When Matt walked into the apartment, he could hear the TV playing softly in the living room. The lights were on, and Val was fast asleep in the corner of the sofa. He picked up the remote, turned off the set, and reached down and gently shook her shoulder. She murmured softly in response, but remained asleep. Matt sat down next to her, and whispered in her ear, “Val, honey, I’m home.” She shifted her weight, and leaned against his shoulder, sighing softly. “Sweetheart,” Matt said, “it’s time for bed.”
Suddenly, Valerie sat upright with a start, and pulled her robe close around her shoulders. She opened her eyes wide, and looked at her husband as if he were a stranger. Apparently, she had been dreaming.
“Honey, it’s me,” said Matt.
“Wha—oh, Matt, it’s you. I must have been dreaming.” Slowly, she gained awareness, and with it came the realization of how late it must have been. “Where have you been?” she said. “What time is it?” There was a tone of annoyance in her voice.
“It’s a little after three,” replied Matt. “I meant to call you. I’m so sorry.”
By now, Val was fully awake. “You should be,” she said. “I was worried sick.”
“I know, I know,” said Matt. “I just forgot.”
“So, where were you?” asked Val.
“I was at Malone’s…I mean, we were at Malone’s, and—”
“Who’s we?” asked Val, angrily. “And is that perfume I smell?” Matt could tell that she was really pissed.
“Me and Chris” replied Matt. “And Valdez,” he added. “I guess that’s where the perfume came from.” Then, realizing the implication of his answer, he added, “I mean she was the one wearing the perfume.”
“Oh, great,” shouted Val. “I’m here worrying my ass off about you, and you’re out playing footsie with ‘Little Miss Home Wrecker.’ And, I suppose Chris just stood by and played lookout?”
As The Twig Is Bent: A Matt Davis Mystery Page 15
