by Dana Donovan
Beer spray and pretzel bits showered down on my lap as Carlos spat, sputtered and coughed out his reaction to my statement.
“HE WHAT?” He was still gasping, but I knew he heard me correctly.
“He called her a witch, but when I questioned him on it, he said bitch instead. I have to tell you, though, it’s got me thinking.”
After cleaning up with a handful of napkins and a dirty shirtsleeve, Carlos regrouped to challenge my assertion. “Okay. Aside from calling Gypsy a witch, and Lilith’s unusual night-time romps, what else makes you think Lilith and Gypsy are one and the same?”
“Are you kidding? First off, you know that she renews her youth every decade or two. So, it’s not inconceivable to imagine that she could have been a hot, train-hopping mama back in the 40s. Secondly, the woman knows everything about hobos and their lingo. She knows Jersey Jake, and you saw how she reacted when I asked her to come with me to meet Mister Marcella. You’d have thought I wanted her to submit to shock therapy or something.”
“She did snap at you over that.”
“Damn straight. And let’s not mention how she refuses to let me near her.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know…near her, romantically speaking.”
“Tony, you dog! Where’d that come from?”
“Hey, it’s not without merit. Think about it. She went through the trouble of including me in her rite of passage ceremony to make me young again, yet she doesn’t want a piece of this?” I splayed my arms for Carlos to take a gander just in case he had forgotten what a rockin` physique I had.
“Yes, very nice,” he said, conspicuously unimpressed.
“So, you see what I mean? I think the reason she resists getting close to me is because she’s—”
“Don’t say it, Tony.”
“My mother.”
“Oh, damn! You said it. That’s wrong, man, just wrong and sick. There’s no way Lilith is your mother, therefore, she is not Gypsy. So, there. Leave it.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I don’t know, but I think you’re really reaching here just to find an explanation that might be staring you in the face all along.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No. What?”
“Don’t make me spell it out.”
“Carlos.”
“You’re not her type, Tony. Did you ever think of that? Maybe the reason she included you in her rite of passage was because she pitied you.”
“Get out! You’re jealous.”
“Am I?”
I got up in his face and held him with a stare. But instead of backing down, he locked in on me like a laser. In all the years we’ve worked together, I could always tell when he said something to me that he wished he hadn’t. Unfortunately, this was not one of those times. Carlos is many things sometimes: stubborn, moody, fastidious, even obsessive-compulsive, but one thing he definitely isn’t, and that’s jealous. My old Cuban amigo had not a jealous bone in his body, which only meant one thing. I backed down and let my eyes drift into the fading bubbles in my beer.
“You really think I’m pitiful?”
He shook his head. “No, not now. But when you first came back from Florida you were pathetic.”
“Was I?”
“Please. You could have been the poster child for pathetica.”
“That’s not a real word.”
“Well, you were pathetically pathetical.”
“All right. I get it. You think that’s it? You think Lilith won’t let me in because I’m not her type?”
“Tony, come on. You’re mister conservative. You look both ways before crossing your Ts. Your idea of taking a chance is buying milk two days before its expiration date. Lilith, on the other hand, would check to see if an electrical socket was hot by sticking her wet finger into it. You see the difference?”
“Yeah. So, what do I do?”
“Chill. Give it some time. Enjoy the new you.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
“Okay, then try this.” He slapped me on the back to emphasize his great idea. “Take Lilith to meet Mister Marcella and see how he reacts.”
I slapped him back to let him know what a terrible idea it was. “She won’t do it. I just told you how she wouldn’t go with me the first time.”
“Don’t tell her. Make something up.”
“Yeah, like she won’t figure it out when I pull up in front of the hospice center.”
“Yes, but then it will be too late. She’ll have to go and see him. If she’s not Gypsy, then she can’t possibly make up a good excuse not to.”
“I see. So, you want me to lie to Lilith.”
“Yes.”
“Would you lie to Lilith?”
“Are you crazy?”
I rocked back on my stool and gave it some thought. As much as I disliked Carlos’ idea, it was probably the only way I would know for sure if Pops’ Gypsy and my Lilith were one and the same. I picked up my beer mug and polished off the last of the brew in a long succession of gulps. Then I turned to Carlos and gave him a nod as I put the mug back down.
“I’ll do it,” I said, knowing that I would remember that moment one way or the other for as long as I lived. “And you know what? I don’t care if Lilith gets angry with me. It’s about time she learns that….”
Carlos looked at me with anticipation. When it seemed apparent that I might not finish my thought, he leaned forward and asked, “Learns what?”
I tilted my empty mug on edge, wondering how much of my bravado was liquid induced. I had never wanted to stand up to Lilith more than at that moment. But then, she had never pushed me to the edge of intolerance so hard before. After concluding that my words came not from alcohol, but from within, I said with a certain amount of pride and authority, “That I’m no pushover.”
“That’s the spirit.”
“But look. Tomorrow. First thing, we need to check out all the places where those transients supposedly committed suicide to see if we can find the signs Thatch told us about.”
“You mean Gypsy’s calling cards?”
“Exactly.”
“Okay. I’ll get with Spinelli to get a list of the locations. You want me to pick you up?”
“I guess you better. With things the way they are between me and Lilith, I don’t want to make any assumptions about her car.”
“All right, done.” He glanced down at his watch. “You ready to split a cab?”
I considered going home and getting a good night’s sleep, but the thought of returning to an empty apartment depressed me more than I wanted to admit. Lilith’s late night romps usually kept her out until way past midnight, and though I had no right to expect anything from her, something about that just rubbed me the wrong way. I lifted my mug to the barkeep and signaled for a couple more.
“Not yet,” I told Carlos. “Not till I’m sure I’ll sleep well tonight.”
He smiled at that. “Good enough, but you’re buying.”
I smiled back. “Of course.” And we stayed until closing.
The next day I awoke to the smell of fresh coffee and bacon, which really amazed me because Lilith usually slept in later than me and almost never made breakfast. I rolled over in bed and the entire room rolled with me. My head throbbed and my stomach ached, and the surprisingly bright sunlight stung my eyes so badly, I almost didn’t recognize my surroundings.
That’s when it struck me. The reason my bedroom didn’t feel like my own was because I wasn’t in my bedroom. I was in Lilith’s. The first thing I did was lift the covers and see if I was naked. The second was to check the clock to see if I overslept. The answer to both questions was yes. I tried hard to piece together what happened the night before, but could recall only vaguely Carlos and me drinking shooters at the bar and giving waitresses hobo monikers like Loose Caboose Katie and Flatbed Phyllis.
I can’t say that I hadn’t dreamed about waking up naked
in Lilith’s bed before. I just hoped it would have followed an occasion I could remember as special and meaningful.
After waiting a moment for the room to stop spinning, I climbed out of bed and put on my pants. Then, with more trepidation than I had known in years, I slithered into the kitchen and sank into a chair at the table as quietly as a mouse. Lilith stood by the stove, her back to me while she scrambled eggs. Though I hadn’t yet announced my arrival, she knew I was there.
“Coffee’s on,” she said, without looking back over her shoulder. “I’ll have breakfast ready in a minute.”
“Wow,” I said. “You’re fixing breakfast?”
“Yes.”
“Since when? You don’t make breakfast.”
“I’ve been known to crack a few eggs.”
“You mean a few heads,” I said, but under my breath.
“What?”
“I said, so soon out of bed?”
She laughed softly. “You want toast with breakfast?”
“How `bout toast for breakfast?”
“Oh, nonsense.” She slapped a helping of eggs onto a plate with some bacon and ushered it to the table. “You need more than toast to rebuild your strength after last night.”
I looked up at her through bloodshot eyes, but even that did not wear against her smile. “After last night?”
She ran her fingers along my cheek and jaw before pressing them gently to my lips. “Yes. You remember last night, don’t you?”
I watched her stroll across the room with unnatural ease as if floating on a thread of air. She poured me a cup of coffee and returned it to the table in a similar manner. Only then did I notice her wearing my tee shirt from the night before. It hung baggy off her shoulders, conforming loosely over the rounds of her breasts before straightening shapelessly at the bottom. There, it wrung her bare legs at the knees in a striking contrast of mocha and cream.
My stomach fluttered at the thought of what lay concealed below the mere stitch of fabric that last touched my skin before hers. An illogical jealousy tore at my psyche, damning my stupidity for having given away my assumptive right to reach up under that shirt and caress the curves beneath it. In my wildest dreams I could not have imagined myself so incapacitated by drink that I might forget the slightest details of the very dream I lived for. Yet, as I sat there, staring with my foolish grin at a prize I had not earned, I collected my fantasy-based memories and began filing them away as surrogates for the real ones I missed out on the night before.
As Lilith placed the coffee down in front of me, I basked in the fragrance of her body spray lingering in faint trails below my nose. I closed my eyes and filled my lungs with the ghostly essence, remembering the same sweet smell on her pillow and bed sheets just moments before. I opened my eyes to find her leaning over me still further, reaching for the sugar, her hair spilling over my shoulder and across my face. I glimpsed down the opening in her v-neck and gasped ever slightly at the reward. She pulled back sharply, giving me a look of mock disgust, but then smiled right away. I smiled back a guilty apology, and she accepted it with a wink.
“So,” she said, patting down the neckline of her shirt. “You didn’t say if you remembered last night.”
I spooned a couple of sugars into my coffee and stirred it absentmindedly. “Of course, I remember. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Well, you were a bit tipsy.”
“Was I?”
She laughed, as though remembering things that I could only hope to remember and then forget. “Yes, you were. I didn’t know you drank.”
I blew into my coffee and took a much-needed sip. “I guess I picked it up down in Florida. They’re always whipping up something exciting to drink down there. If it’s not one fruity concoction with them it’s another.”
“Indeed. You were whipping up a little of your own excitement last night, weren’t you?”
“I suppose,” I said, though I cringed at not knowing what the hell that was. “I didn’t get too crazy, I hope.”
“For me?” She laughed, almost spooky-like, which made me think that if I had not been too crazy for her, then I was probably most definitely too crazy for me. I decided to keep my mouth shut and eat my breakfast. Lilith finished preparing a pile of bacon and eggs for herself and took a seat directly across from me. “So, any regrets?”
My heart nearly stopped cold. “Regrets?”
“About last night.”
Sure, I thought. I regret not remembering a damn thing. It seemed obvious to me now that we slept together. Her morning after behavior all but proclaimed it in writing and on the news. Never mind that I had wanted it to happen so badly that I could have killed for it. But that was before I realized the possibility that she could be Pops’ Gypsy, which meant that she could be my….
No. I couldn’t bring myself to go there. I couldn’t do it. What’s done is done, I thought. I could only look her in the eye and tell her, “Uh-uh. I have no regrets. You?”
She smiled devilishly, which made me feel very dirty. I found myself suddenly unable to look at her any longer. I turned my eyes away and stared down into my coffee, stirring it, once more, absent of purpose. There, I felt I could search for the answers within me. Somewhere in the drunken halls of my memories I knew there lay the details of a torrid conjunction.
“My only regret?” she said, her wicked smirk still taunting me, “is that morning came too soon.”
I nodded, agreeing most obediently. But for me, morning came, perhaps, not soon enough. If it meant that the sun became her foe, than surely it befriended me. And it was in that light that the answer came. My memories had not abandoned me. She had taken them away.
I dropped my spoon into my cup and looked up into her eyes. “Wait a minute. Something’s not right.”
Her brows perked up convincingly. “Oh?”
“I have to tell you. The truth is that I don’t remember last night at all.”
“You don’t?”
“No, but you knew that.”
“Well, I couldn’t say for sure, but—”
“But nothing. You did it.”
“Did what?”
“You made one of your whisper boxes and opened it on me. Didn’t you?”
“I certainly did not.”
“Don’t deny it. You took advantage of me because I came home drunk. You had me open a whisper box so that you could have sex with me, and then you made me open another to make me forget.”
“What!” She slammed her hand down on the table and rose on a column of venom and steam. “Are you insane? Do you honestly believe that I need to employ witchcraft to have sex with you? Ha!”
I shrank back in my seat, feeling remarkably stupid and vulnerable. “Well, since you put it like that,” I said. “I don’t suppose you need to use witchcraft.”
“You’re damn right I don’t. And what makes you think if we had sex that any spell on earth would make you forget it? Am I that ordinary?”
“No, of course not! You’re extraordinary. A thousand spells wouldn’t make me forget it. It would be the single most unforgettable moment in my life.”
That softened her considerably. “Really?” I held my breath until she sat back down. “Then why would you think that about me?”
I shrugged, undeniably confused. “Because, I awoke in your bed this morning, completely naked. And then I came out here and you were so nice, making me coffee and breakfast.”
“I was hungry. You think I’m going to cook and not make any for you?”
“You let me peek down your shirt,” I said, grinning. “You’ve never done that before.”
She picked up a wadded napkin and threw it at me. “I didn’t let you! You stole that peek, you little perv.”
“You’re wearing my tee shirt.”
“I found it mixed in the laundry with my stuff.”
“Then, you didn’t…”
She shook her head.
“And we didn’t….”
“No, we definitely did not.”
>
“Oh,” I said, suddenly feeling very thankful, yet sad—relieved, yet disappointed. I looked at Lilith, who I’m sure could read it all in my face, and I told her I was sorry.
“Don’t sweat it,” she said. “I suppose I didn’t do anything to keep you from jumping to that conclusion. And for that, I’m sorry too.”
I accepted her apology, and after working the better half of my coffee, I asked, “So, just how did I fall asleep in your bed last night?”
She gave me a quirky look. “You really don’t remember?”
“No.”
“Carlos brought you home in a taxi and helped you to the door. It was all I could do to put you in your bed and get your shoes off. Sometime in the middle of the night, I rolled over in my bed and there you were, sleeping next to me, naked as a jaybird. I couldn’t wake you, so I moved into your room and went back to sleep there.”
“Ooh,” I said, adding embarrassment to my potpourri of emotions, especially when I remembered that Lilith likes to sleep in the buff. “Well, I hope you can forgive me for that. I promise it will never happen again.”
“Oh,” she said, smiling slyly. “That’s okay. I didn’t mind.”
I wouldn’t have thought I could feel any more awkward around Lilith, and I probably would have shrunk to the floor in abashment if not for the saving bell from the front door.
“I’ll get it,” I said, willing to accept even a Jehovah Witness as a diversion. Better for me, it was Carlos.
“Tony!” he said, slightly out of breath. “Sorry I overslept, man.”
I waved him in unceremoniously. “Have a seat, Carlos. Maybe Lilith will fix you some coffee while I finish getting dressed.”
“Yes, do come in, Detective,” Lilith called. “Tony’s going to need some time to shake the bear out of his breeches after last night.”
I headed for my room. “Be nice, Lilith.”
“A little hung over?” Carlos asked. By then I was far enough down the hall to pretend I didn’t hear him.
I took a quick shower after raiding the medicine cabinet for some aspirins, and before the steam dried on the mirror, I was heading back to the kitchen, fully dressed but with shoes in hand. I stopped just before turning the corner when I heard my name, followed by the two of them laughing.
