Dare to Love

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  “Sure, Doug. I’m fine. Just fine.”

  He lay back down, searching for a clear picture of the woman on the other end of the line. He had some fond memories of midnight snacks and late-night sex shared with the buxom brunette. But he was having a hard time envisioning dark hair instead of blond. And Celia’s full, rosy lips were being superceded by a megawatt smile.

  “You know, it’s, uh, been a long time. I really didn’t think I’d be hearing from you again,” she said.

  “Yeah, well, I’ve been doing some extra stuff for Stan. You know how it is.” He rolled over onto his back, staring at the shadowy shapes on the ceiling.

  “You never called. Not once in all these months.”

  He didn’t need this. Celia had never given him a hard time before. Why the hell did she have to start tonight of all nights?

  “I’m sorry, babe. I meant to. But you know how I get when I’m working on a case.”

  “Yeah, I know, Doug. I understand.”

  That was more like the old Celia—full of tolerance, never laying guilt where he couldn’t take it. But she was different, too.

  “So, you busy tonight?” he asked, trying to convince himself that he was imagining things, that if he just acted normally, so would the rest of the world.

  “It’s kinda late.” She’d never refused him before—ever.

  “It’s only eleven o’clock. I could be there in half an hour.” Doug didn’t know why he was pressing so hard, except that he felt like something safe was slipping away from him and he couldn’t seem to do anything about it.

  Celia sighed, sending frissons of warning through him.

  “I’m not alone, Doug.”

  He rubbed his hand across his eyes, scraping it over the day’s growth of whiskers. He’d known, of course. But surely she didn’t want to do this. They were too good together. She just needed to make him pay for having neglected her for so long. He could understand that—she had her pride.

  “So send him away.”

  The line was quiet. Deathly quiet. And that’s when Doug knew things had really changed. The guy who’d answered the phone had had a reason to sound defensive—apparently more reason than he had had. She’d found someone else.

  “I’m sorry, Doug,” she finally said, her voice more sad than regretful.

  “It’s okay, babe.” He slid up to sit against the headboard. “It’s my turn to understand. He treat you right?”

  “Yeah. He’s a good guy, Doug. You’d like him.”

  He doubted that. “You be happy, okay?”

  “I will, Doug. I am. If you’d just quit running long enough you might find a little happiness yourself one day.” Celia’s voice was softer, more caring than he’d ever heard it before.

  “I’m already happy,” he said, adjusting his aching genitals. “Call me if you ever need anything, you hear?”

  He didn’t bother to hang up the phone after Celia’s goodbye. He lay there in the darkness, restless and awake as the night ticked slowly by, his only company the dead receiver resting on the bed beside him.

  * * *

  GLORIA PARKER DROVE down the highway like a bulldozer plowing a field. The only concession she made to the other motorists sharing the road with her was the heavy hand she laid on her horn every time one got in her way. Scotty was at Liz’s house for the afternoon. Gloria had a whole hour to fill, and she didn’t want to waste one minute of it.

  She knew exactly where she was going, and pulled into the parking lot in record time.

  The dresses were all gorgeous, as usual, but for the first time, Gloria did more than window shop and worry. She opened the door and peeked inside, as excited as a child in a toy shop. Everywhere she looked there was white lace and satin and pearls. Gauzy veils lined the walls. Taffeta billowed out around perfectly shaped mannequins that seemed like they belonged in a fairy tale.

  Andrea was going to look beautiful in one of those dresses, more beautiful than the models who wore them. And she would be happy again—finally. She would finally quit punishing herself for a crime she hadn’t committed. She would have the babies she’d always dreamed of having. Gloria’s baby girl was going to be happy again, even if Gloria had to move the world to make it so.

  She let the door swing shut without going in. She couldn’t go in, not yet. Not until she could shop for real. But she hadn’t been able to resist the peek. Something was up—she was sure of it. Andrea had spent too much time extolling the virtues of two of her trainees that last time they’d talked.

  Gloria wasn’t fooled. She knew her daughter wasn’t interested in either one of the men she’d talked about. And that was why she was so certain that Andrea had finally met the man that mattered. Her daughter was hiding something. And sooner or later, she would find out about it.

  * * *

  “TRY IT, MAN. It’s better than sex.” The words held conviction and a hint of a dare.

  “Naw. I gotta get home. My brother’s on the warpath again.” The second voice was weary, aged and scared.

  “That’s why you need this, man. A couple of swallows and you’ll be able to take anything the bastard dishes out. You’ll even be strong enough to give him a little back for once, if you want to.” The first voice again, cajoling this time.

  “Nothing’s gonna make it any easier to face that jerk if he’s in one of his moods. Nothing.”

  “This will, man, I swear it. You’ll be feelin’ better than a wet dream. You’re invincible. There ain’t nothing you can’t do. Come on. I ain’t even gonna charge ya. It’s yours. Take it.”

  Andrea’s eyes were glued to the stage, her throat thick with checked emotion. She was no longer a training officer watching an exercise in role-playing, she was on the streets of any one of a hundred cities, with two of the millions of kids living with the horrible fascination of drug use.

  It had never been so real before, so tangibly painful.

  “Thanks, man, but I better not. It’d kill my ma if she ever found out, and besides, it’s just my luck I’d get some bad stuff. How’m I gonna help my ma if I’m six feet under? She’s outta work again. Which reminds me, I gotta find some dinner for the little kids. You think D’Ambros put out his old bakery goods yet?”

  “Not till six...and it ain’t bad stuff, man, I swear it. I wouldn’t give you nothin’ bad. We’re buddies, man, you know that. I took some of this stuff last night just before the Black Sox rumble. I took three punches and didn’t feel one of ‘em. Broke some guy’s nose, too. You should’a seen it, man. I was awesome.”

  “It didn’t hurt at all when they blasted you?”

  Tears swam beneath Andrea’s lids. She didn’t want it to happen.

  “I didn’t feel a thing, except great. You’ll see, man, it’ll get you through anything.”

  The owner of the second voice, Doug, reached out for the imaginary pipe, raised it to his mouth, took a long drag and held it, letting the narcotic fill his lungs. The floodlight glinted off the silver studs of his wristband.

  Andrea bowed her head as the trainees left the stage. The auditorium full of police officers was deathly silent.

  “It’s two months later, same time, same place.”

  Andrea’s gaze flew back to the stage. Doug and Steve were back in place in the middle of the empty stage, a single floodlight their only illumination. They were dressed identically in the same ripped jeans and stained, too-small T-shirts, but the expressions they were wearing bore no resemblance to the weary yet strangely trusting glances of moments before. Andrea had no idea what was going on. She’d thought they’d completed their exercise.

  “You get me more of that stuff, man, unless you feel like dying tonight.”

  The voice was Doug’s.

  “What’s wrong with you, man? This is Steve, remember? I’m the one who showed you where Old Man D’Ambros throws away his dayolds. I taught you how to steal fruit from Sherman’s Market. I gave you Cindy Lou when we was ten and you wanted to try sex. Remeber Cindy Lou, Dougie?”r />
  “I remember what my bastard brother’s gonna do to me when he finds out I hid Ma’s stash again. I gotta have those pills, now.”

  “Maybe if you talk to him, maybe he’ll listen.”

  Doug laughed harshly, humorlessly. The sound chilled Andrea. She had to remind herself that he was role-playing, fulfilling an assignment. His bitterness felt so real.

  “Oh yeah, he’ll listen, while he’s pounding my brains into the porch. Trouble is, I won’t be able to talk no more by then, and neither will you, Stevie, if you don’t come up with some stuff.”

  “I don’t have it, man. I swear to God, I don’t have it. My supplier’s gone dry. There was a big bust down by the waterfront last week.”

  “Don’t give me that bull, man. You’re holding out on me, keeping it all for yourself. You got to like it just a little too much, didn’t you? But I’m not going to let you do this to me.”

  Doug stepped closer to Steve, grabbing a fistful of the other man’s T-shirt. “Now, you gonna get me that stuff, or do I have to hurt you first?”

  Steve lifted both hands to Doug’s arm, struggling to free himself from his grasp.

  “Calm down, Doug. You’re losing it, man. I haven’t taken any of that stuff for weeks, not since I saw what it’s doing to you. You need help, man. You gotta get some help.”

  Doug pushed Steve, causing the other man to stumble backward. He spat at Steve’s feet.

  “You’re really low, man, you know that? Telling me I need help. I need help beating a little weasel like you into the ground. You’re the one who sold me on ‘em, remember? And you were right. Those pills are keeping me sane, man. They’re all I got. When I’m high I can feed the kids, take care of Ma and put up with the bruises. I can’t make it without them and you know it.”

  Doug started to walk away, but he turned back.

  “You say we’re buddies, Steve. You say we been thick. But what kind of guy would hold out on a buddy? You’re no friend—you’re a damn pig, just like the rest. And I’ll tell you something else. I’m gonna get my stuff, with or without you. I’m gonna get it. Just watch me.”

  Steve moved forward, back into the middle of the floodlight. He reached out a hand imploringly, holding onto Doug’s shoulder as Doug turned to walk away again.

  “Please don’t do this, Dougie. You got hope. You’re smart. You got a chance to get out of this hellhole, to have a real life, but you’re not gonna get anywhere if you don’t stop this. Smoke some pot, man. Cool out. And then get some help.”

  Doug whirled around, appearing to throw his forearm up and to smash Steve’s face. Steve reeled, fell backward, then slowly started to rise.

  “Never tell me what to do again, you hear me? You have no idea what I need.”

  “Sure I do. Listen to me—”

  Doug’s fist shot out, making contact with Steve’s jaw. Steve’s head jerked backward once, twice, before he fell to the stage once more.

  “You have no idea what it’s like!” Doug was shouting now. “You go home to a little old lady who doesn’t even kill the roaches in her kitchen. She may be looney, but you never have to wonder when you go to bed at night if you’re going to wake up with your arm pinned to your shoulder blades or a knee breaking your back.”

  Steve didn’t get up this time. He lay still on the stage, limp and lifeless.

  Doug stood over him for a frozen second, looking down at the body of his friend. Then he reached down and pulled a plastic bag from Steve’s front pocket.

  “You don’t need these, man. I do,” he said, and turned and strode away.

  The spotlight remained on the supine body in the middle of the stage.

  Andrea swallowed the lump in her throat, glad she was not visible in the darkened auditorium. The afternoon’s session had been intended to impart new understanding to the trainees surrounding her. But Andrea had a feeling that she’d learned the biggest lesson of all. The bitterness, the despair she was feeling couldn’t possibly be the products of a cold, heartless man.

  * * *

  DOUG PULLED the too-small T-shirt over his head, dropping it in the trash can in his hotel room. Thursday’s dinner was supposed to be a barbecue, an informal event conducive to socializing. Doug didn’t feel like socializing. He had to get out.

  He was on his third beer in Harry’s, the first tavern he’d come to after leaving the Hetherington Hotel, before the tension in the back of his neck finally slackened. He slouched down on his stool, resting his arms on the bar in front of him.

  “You ready?” the craggy bartender barked out from the other end of the bar.

  Doug nodded once, picked up a couple of bills from the pile in front of him and pushed them across the bar in the direction of the weathered old man.

  “How many you got on me, Avery?”

  “Three, if you hurry.” Doug turned, watching the man who was settling onto the stool beside him. He was a little surprised to find that he was glad to see his acting partner.

  Steve flagged himself a beer and tipped it, not bringing his bottle back to the counter until it was empty.

  “Make that two,” Steve told the bartender with a grin.

  “You eat?” Doug asked.

  “Naw. Barbeques aren’t my thing. How about you?”

  “This is dinner,” Doug said, motioning to the empty bottles in front of him.

  “I figured you were at some dame’s place, laying it on real nice and smooth, all ready to respect her in the morning,” Steve said, looking at the various whiskey bottles lining the wall in front of them.

  “She preferred someone who wanted to be there in the morning,” Doug said, not minding that Steve knew that. After what they’d been through together that afternmoon, it seemed fitting somehow.

  “You know her long?”

  “Five years on and off, give or take a couple.”

  Steve finished his second beer and motioned for a third. “You’re probably better off.”

  Doug peeled the label off the half-empty brown bottle in his fingers. He thought of Andrea, of her smile. He remembered the brush of her breast against his chin.

  “Yeah.” He took another sip of beer. “How ‘bout you? You got someone keeping your bed warm while you’re gone?”

  Steve shook his head. “Nope.” He took a long swig of beer. “I tried three times. The last one wanted to be a farmer. I didn’t.”

  Doug grinned. “So, is she farming?”

  “Yep. She married some guy with twenty head of cattle and a beat-up little house out in the middle of Boondock City, USA.”

  “You sorry?”

  “Not for her. We lived in Chicago, inner-city Chicago. She couldn’t take the ugliness anymore. She needed a nice simple life straight from TV land, and she got it. But I miss my kid.”

  Doug turned on his stool until he was facing the other man. “Kid? You got a kid?”

  Steve looked at Doug and then back at the display of bottles in front of him. “Yeah. A little girl. She’s got dark hair just like her dad, and she’s got my temper, too.”

  “No kidding.” Doug was grinning straight out. “You got a kid. That’s great, man! How old is she?”

  “Six. She started school this year. She’s good at it, too. She’s gonna be a lawyer someday.”

  “A lawyer, huh? Well, congratulations! A damn lawyer. You’re a lucky man.”

  Steve flashed Doug a lopsided grin. “Yeah, I am, aren’t I?”

  The two men finished their beers, ordered one more apiece and then decided that maybe they should have some food after all. They walked back to the hotel in companionable silence, went to their separate rooms and ordered up separate sandwiches from room service.

  In his room, Doug fell asleep in the armchair he’d settled into, his sirloin sub half eaten and a late-night talk show blaring out of the television. The grin he’d worn earlier was still faintly visible on his face.

  * * *

  ANDREA SAT AT THE TABLE in her room, a glass of club soda beside her and
the television murmuring quietly behind her. She opened the ledger she was keeping on Doug Avery and immediately wrote about his unexcused absence at the barbeque that evening. She’d watched for him all evening, trying to tell herself that her disappointment in him was purely professional; that she hadn’t been looking forward to spending time with him in the informal setting; that she hadn’t worn her skintight black jeans just to see if he’d notice.

  And all evening long, as steaks were being grilled and officers were throwing each other, fully dressed, into the pool, she kept hearing the words he’d said to her just two days before. “Each man for himself. Absolutely.” She’d do well to remember that.

  Andrea chronicled the day’s woes and then spent another hour writing about the skit Doug and Steve had done that afternoon. For those few minutes up on stage, Doug Avery had finally shown Andrea a brief glimpse of the depth she had sensed in him. It took compassion, large doses of it, to emulate the suffering of another, and Doug had done so with incredible intensity.

  Andrea believed that Doug could be a top-notch DARE officer if he only could acknowledge that compassion. And she knew it was up to her to help him try.

  She scooted down in her chair, leaning her head against the upholstered back, and tried to imagine a softer Doug—one who was strong and sure, but tender, too. She closed her eyes, suddenly realizing how draining the day had been, how tired she was. And she drifted off to sleep, joining an incredible new lover as they traveled together along the sensuous road to ecstasy. In her dream he was as naked as she, except for the skinny black strip of leather with silver studs that encircled his wrist.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  DOUG WAS LEAVING a networking session with his other team members at ten o’clock Friday night when he saw Andrea heading out toward the hotel pool alone, a towel in her hand.

  “I’m going for some air. I’ll see you guys in the morning,” he said, slipping away from his teammates as they headed to the elevator.

  He slid into an alcove until Andrea turned the corner, and then he followed her outside. Quietly, he leaned his body against a cement column, watching as she entered the deserted pool area. She dropped her towel on one of the empty lounge chairs near the Jacuzzi. Her short terry wrap barely covered her thighs. She really was a beautiful woman.