Faye Kellerman

by Street Dreams

  “Get me in the right mood, I’ll agree with you,” Rina said. “This weekend, your father has been a doll.”

  “Maybe it’s me.”

  “Want my advice for what it’s worth?”

  “Sure.”

  “The shirt’s not returnable. It’s for a rather specific taste. Give it to Koby. Otherwise it’ll go to waste.”

  The day was spectacular, even if I wasn’t. His car was in the driveway, and for a moment, I just wished it would all go away— all the bad feelings that got in the way of life—so we could hop inside and cruise on an endless highway. I rang the bell, and when he didn’t answer, I went by the side and peered over the gate. This time, the back door wasn’t open, but I could see motion in the garden. I tried the latch, but it was padlocked. He wasn’t expecting visitors, but I didn’t care. I hopped the fence.

  “Hello?” I called out.

  “In back.”

  The orange trees were still heavy with blossoms and perfume. I stopped at the entrance to his backyard. He was right. A week later and the garden had turned all color and aroma. He was trimming the rosebushes, wearing faded jeans, a green tank top, and sneakers without socks. He gave me the courtesy of a glance, then clipped off a stem containing a ruby red bud.

  “Wow!” I brushed my black slacks off, dirty from my excursion over the fence. “It’s beautiful back here.”

  “Thank you.” He glanced at me, then began to peel thorns off the branch. “But I think I have the better view.”

  I thanked him. “How’s the back-room floor coming?”

  He spoke to me, though he was focused on the flower. “It’s not coming. I don’t use power tools when I’m upset.”

  He held out the stem to me.

  I took it and sniffed it. “Très élégant! And as long as we’re in a giving mood …” I lifted the bag. “A little more pedestrian, but like someone said, it’s the thought that counts.”

  He regarded my present, wrapped in tissue paper and placed in a shiny gift bag with rope handles. “For me?”

  “Unless there’s someone behind you, yes.”

  His eyes, although no longer bloodshot, still lacked sparkle. They went from the gift to my face. “I’m utterly stunned. I don’t know what to say.”

  “‘Thank you’ is always in fashion.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Take it and open it.”

  He did and pulled out the shirt. His smile was a brilliant crescent of white. “It’s perfect!”

  “If you wear it with black on Halloween, people will think you’re a jack-o’-lantern.”

  “Especially with my big teeth.” He looked at the label. “Right size.” He held it up to his chest. “What do you think?”

  “It says you.”

  “Then I think it is in serious trouble.” His smile dimmed, and he put the shirt back in the bag. “I would like to wear it tonight for you. Is that a possibility?”

  “Maybe.”

  “How much on a scale from one to ten?”

  I couldn’t bring myself to smile. “I’m sorry I came down on you. I don’t like when other people do my job better than I do.”

  “I don’t do your job.”

  “I wouldn’t have caught him if you hadn’t been there.”

  “I was a competitive runner. No doubt I could outrun anyone in your department.”

  “But it wasn’t anyone. It was me. And the guy was my responsibility. Koby, what if he had taken out a gun?”

  “Then I would have perfect backup.”

  “C’mon! I’m trying to make a point.”

  He grew glum. “I hear you.”

  “I’m … I don’t know. Sorry, all right?”

  “It was more than just my speed,” he spoke softly. “You were already mad at me.”

  I didn’t confirm or deny it. Again silence came between us. I said, “I saw the look on your face when I took that guy down. I’m sure I conformed to your image of the heavy-handed LAPD cop.”

  “I flinched,” he admitted. “But I know there are two sides.”

  I nodded.

  “What did he do?”

  “Technically, I arrested him because he has an outstanding warrant for unpaid traffic violations. But I wanted him in connection with a gang rape of a retarded woman.”

  Koby screwed up his face in horror. I thought what my father must have thought dozens of times. Why did I tell him?

  He said, “Did arresting him help you out?”

  Eventually. After I fielded about a thousand questions. “Yes, it helped quite a bit.”

  “I’m glad.” He tucked the clippers inside his pants pocket and looked at his watch. “How about if I make coffee? You relax here while I shower and get dressed. Then maybe we take a ride to the beach and watch the sunset. Then we have dinner.”

  It sounded not only wonderful, but like instant therapy. But I was still tense. “Koby, why didn’t you call me? I was freaked out after the accident. I know you were busy with life-and-death issues, but a kind word or two on my message machine would have gone a long way. It wouldn’t have taken more than … two minutes.”

  He looked away. “I should have.”

  “So why didn’t you?”

  He regarded a rosebush and took out the clippers. Again he spoke without looking at me. “I have these moods, Cynthia.” He snipped off a dead head. “I was hoping that maybe they wouldn’t surface until we were farther along … so you could see the good side of me.”

  I was puzzled. “What do you mean ‘moods’?”

  “Moods.”

  “Koby, everyone has moods.”

  “Mine are very dark.”

  “Like depression?”

  He faced me. “An angry depression, I think. I am not nice to be around. I have found the best way to deal with it is to throw myself into work. So I work until I cannot work … until I am in a state of exhaustion. Then I sleep—one day, two days. And then … it passes. And it always does pass. Because the world is a good place.”

  “Have you ever gotten help for it?”

  “From a therapist?”

  “Yeah, from a therapist. I see a therapist. It helps.”

  “Why should I bother? It passes.”

  “You should bother so you know what triggers it.”

  “I already do know. This time, it was the accident. The little girl loses a leg but she lives. The baby died, Cindy, massive head injuries. That was it.”

  “Koby, you work with dying babies all the time.”

  “Yes, but those babies are sick. With those babies, one shoe has already dropped. There is expectation. So you are prepared. When it is a healthy baby … and all the mother had to do was put her in a car seat … it makes me … It was the suddenness! One moment, I am elated with you … such a wonderful evening. Then … boom!” He punched one fist into another, the smack so loud it made me jump. “It’s like in Zahal … doing shomrah—watch. One moment, you sit around smoking and talking about women with your chevrah. Then abruptly, your friend is dead from a sniper’s bullet. Or when you’re a child and you walk out of your tukul—your hut—and the women are weeping. But that is nothing new because death is all around. Until someone tells you that your mother has just died. It’s the unexpected death. It’s not like the hospital. In the hospital, the defenses are up. Am I making myself understandable?”

  I exhaled. “You’ve had lots of trauma in your life.”

  “I told you we all have baggage.”

  “But some baggage is heavier than others.”

  He nodded somberly. “Indeed. I don’t blame you for walking.”

  “Did I say I wanted to walk?”

  We were silent.

  “That man Oliver … ,” Koby said. “Do you still like him?”

  I let out a small laugh. “That, my friend, is so over.”

  “Not to him.”

  “Is that what it was all about? Oliver?”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps a small part.”

  “Small part,
huh?”

  “Very small.”

  “Teeny, teeny, tiny.” I nodded. “Okay.”

  “Cindy, under normal circumstances, it is nothing. In combination with everything that happened, I just wonder, that’s all.”

  I waited until I caught his eye. “You know, I never said anything about your friend Marnie. You shouldn’t have brought up Oliver.”

  His gaze shifted, falling somewhere over my shoulder. He was silent.

  I said, “I see you’re pleading the Fifth. So as long as you opened the door, let me say this. Relationships with people you work with are big mistakes. One that I never intend to repeat.”

  “We’re in agreement.”

  “So how about this: I don’t ask … and you don’t ask.” I gave him a knowing look. “Besides, I have a feeling the score isn’t even close.” He actually blushed. I said, “Koby, there is no one else in my life at the moment. Put that baby to bed, all right?”

  “I’m a fool.” He snipped another dead head. “Forgive me.”

  I took the clippers away from him. “You’re not a fool, and as far as I’m concerned, it’s yesterday’s news. But in the future, you’ve got to let me know you’re interested.”

  “Believe me, that is not a problem.”

  “So if you’re having a black mood, just say I can’t talk, I’m having a black mood. That way, I’ll know it isn’t me. I come from a divorced home. Trauma is not foreign to me, either. I like order, same as you.”

  “I can do that.”

  I gave him back his clippers. “And maybe you want to consider talking to someone.”

  “I’m talking to you.”

  “I’m not a therapist.”

  “No, but your hourly rates are very reasonable.” He took in my face, then ran a finger slowly across my cheek. “God gives me a chance at Heaven and I throw it away. I must be psychotic.”

  I let out a small laugh. “I think you’re overstating the case.”

  “You are so gorgeous, Cynthia. It is a thrill just to look at you.”

  “And a cheap thrill at that.”

  “Now who’s making nervous jokes?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “You are pure heat. … Everything about you is fire.” His focus was penetrating. “There is this place in Malibu Canyon … next to a creek. All around are beautiful mountains and open sky. Lots of vegetarian dishes. The food is very good and the atmosphere is intimate.”

  I knew the place. It was beautiful and very romantic.

  “Shall I shower and put on the shirt?”

  His eyes were already in sexual fantasy. But I had things on my mind. “This is the deal, Yaakov Kutiel. You told me your baggage. So now you’ve got to hear mine.”

  “I’d be honored.”

  So I told him. I talked, and talked, and talked, and talked.

  We never got to the mountains. He didn’t even have a chance to wear the shirt. We never made it out of bed.

  30

  I was awakened by a kiss on the cheek, my enchanting prince dressed in jeans and a blue T-shirt, with a plastic-wrapped, laundered set of blue scrubs draped over his shoulder. He was holding a cup of coffee.

  “Good grief.” I sat up and pulled the covers over my breasts. “What time is it?”

  “A little after ten.” He offered me the mug. “For you.”

  I took the coffee and sipped. “Good stuff. Ethiopian. I know because a friend of mine bought me a pound.”

  “There’s more where this came from. Plus, toast, juice, and the paper. But alas, you’ll have to eat alone. I must go to work.”

  I rubbed my eyes and noticed Koby’s. Like sparkling Tokay. Finally, the brilliance was back. “Did you sleep well?”

  “With you by my side, I slept with the angels. And yourself?”

  “Great. I was knocked out.” I sipped more coffee, glancing around his tiny bedroom. It had a king-size bed, one nightstand with a phone and a clock, and a small closet with a mirror. No TV, because there was no room. Sunlight was streaming through the sheer curtains, the windows looking out to the rose garden. In actual size, the house was as small as my apartment. But with the homey factor, it wasn’t even close. “I’ll be leaving shortly.”

  “Take your time.” He pulled something metallic out of his pocket and dropped it on my lap. “Lock up when you leave.”

  A key. “Should I put it in the mailbox?”

  “You can keep it. Use it with or without me. My house is close to your work. If you ever need a quick nap, the place will serve your purpose.”

  I met his eyes. “I don’t know, Koby. This is a little rushed, maybe?”

  “If you don’t want it, put it in the mailbox.” He sat beside me, laying his plastic-wrapped scrubs on the floor. “You say for me to show you I’m interested. Now maybe you believe me.”

  “I meant responding to my phone calls, not moving—” I stopped myself. Talk about slips of the tongue. Now who needed to take it easy? But my first thoughts had been, If I lived here, where would I put my clothes?

  Koby broke into a slow smile. “I think I am mad for you, Cynthia.” He caressed my arm. “I think it scares me … how much I am mad for a woman.”

  Men and their emotions. I gave him an out. “Don’t worry. You barely know me.”

  “I know how I feel. I knew it when I first saw you. I felt it in the heart. I felt it other places as well.”

  The bed was still redolent of pheromones. “We do have chemistry.”

  He kissed my bare shoulder. “We have passionate colors.” His hand snaked under the covers. “Black and red, a lethal combination.”

  I gasped. “I thought you were going to work.”

  “That’s what I am doing.” He slipped his fingers between my legs. “I am going to work.”

  “Work as in a job.” I was desperately trying not to be so damn wet under his touch. I was failing miserably. “Salaried work.”

  “Ah, but this is so much better.”

  I pulled his hand away. “You’ll be late.”

  “You are very cruel,” he told me.

  Much nicer than saying, You know you want it bad, bitch. My eyes went down to his crotch, then up to his expectant face. He raised his eyebrows. He was waiting for a sign.

  I smiled.

  His clothes were off in thirty seconds. Fifteen minutes after that, he was dressed again. He eyed me in bed and I saw him grow. “I am like a schoolboy.” He checked his watch and frowned. “As frustrated as one, too.”

  “It’ll go away as soon as you pull into the hospital parking lot.”

  “No doubt.” He started to sit next to me, then thought better of it. He picked up the scrubs. “Can we see each other tonight?”

  “I get off late.”

  “So we’ll sleep in tomorrow.”

  “I can’t,” I said. “I have to go to a lecture with my mother at nine in the morning.”

  “Lecture on what?”

  “Art history or something. Mom’s doing a master’s. She’s an eternal student. But I promised I’d go with her. I dare not back out.”

  “I defer to Kibud Aim—honoring one’s mother. Tomorrow night?”

  I nodded. “That’ll work.”

  “Do I get to meet her? Your mother?”

  “Yes … when the time’s right.”

  “You said that with hesitancy. She won’t approve of me?”

  “We’ll find out. She professes to be liberal, but you’re the first black man I’ve ever dated.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” He kissed my forehead, brushing hair from my eyes. “As long as you approve.” He lifted up my chin and brought my lips to his. He kissed me softly. Then again, and again. He sighed, then kissed me again. “Oh my God, I got it so bad!”

  You and me both, hot stuff. But someone had to be mature. “Go. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  Reluctantly, he stood. Wordlessly, he left. I waited until I heard the front door close before I got out of bed. I showered and dressed. Because it was a love
ly morning, I put my coffee, juice, toast, and paper on a tray and brought the ensemble out to his rose garden, placing my breakfast on the small, round table, settling into a patio chair. The lot, like all of them in the area, had been cut into the mountains, so I was afforded a view of hillside homes and rooftops. There were houses below me, houses above me, and it was all very charming. I felt as if I were in the artist colony of Montmartre, the Paris neighborhood where the Moulin Rouge still stood. Blue was breaking from the clouds, and in the distance, I caught a glimpse of Silver Lake—truly silver in the muted light.

  A good guy, fabulous sex, coffee and the paper while breathing in the aroma of perfumed flowers, and a lake view to boot.

  I could get used to this.

  But alas, I, too, had work to do. When I was finished, I took everything back inside and washed and cleaned up. I knew he kept kosher, so I opened his cabinets and drawers, and sure enough, he had two sets of dishes and two sets of flatware. I placed the ones I had used with their matching set.

  I shut the front door and locked it.

  I hefted the key several times, then slipped it in my purse.

  I owed Scott Oliver in ways he hadn’t considered. Since we stopped seeing each other, I had avoided visiting my father at his work out of embarrassment. Now that Scott and I were on speaking terms, I could go see the Loo without fear of running into him. I knew that Oliver was a clotheshorse. While buying Koby a shirt, I had bought Scott a tie. He wasn’t in when I came into the Devonshire Detective squad room, so I put the bag on his desk with a thank-you note. Homicide sat in the back of the squad room, its own little fiefdom. I hoped to be a full-fledged member one day, but for now I’d have to be content with vicarious thrills, knowing most of the gold shields here, and knowing that my father was in charge.

  I made small talk with a few folks, then left them alone to do their job. I went to pester my father. His door was open. He always kept it open unless he was in conference. Protocol dictated that I knock, so I did. He was on the phone, taking notes, and when he heard the rap, he looked up and gave me five splayed fingers. I mouthed for him to take his time.

  “Hold on,” the Loo said. To me sotto voce, “Come in and close the door.” To his caller, “Yeah, I’m here, go ahead.”