by Chris Orcutt
Sally had only gotten about fifty feet down Acorn when the man coming up the street rapidly closed the gap. They were side by side now. The man looked like Malone, but with the backlighting from the other end of the alley, it was hard to tell. Then the man grabbed Sally, I saw a flash of pale blonde hair, and I knew it was Malone. Beside me, Miss Krüsh stiffened. I sensed she was about to shout, so I clamped a hand over her mouth.
“Don’t,” I said. “It’s Malone. I think this is a game between them.”
We crouched and watched them. We watched them, that is, until their antics got out of hand, at which point we stared uncomfortably at the cobblestones and grimaced at the sounds they made.
It was rough sex. Enough said.
When they finished, a light went on in a second floor window, and a voice shouted: “What the hell is going on?! Who’s out there?!”
Malone hurried down Acorn toward Charles Street. Shortly afterward, Sally stood, calmly brushed herself off, and followed him. When they were both gone, Miss Krüsh and I got to our feet.
“Well, that was repulsive,” she said.
“Yup.”
“I cannot believe I let that man kiss my hand.”
“One of the dangers of being sophisticated, Miss Krüsh,” I said.
“We have just been through an ordeal together, Mr. Stevens,” she said. “Please…call me Svetlana.”
“Dakota.”
She took a deep breath and pensively considered the cobblestones.
“Dakota, I would appreciate it if you escorted me back to Harvard now.”
“Sure.” I started back toward Park Street. “I hope this didn’t ruin your evening.”
“Why should it?” she said. “What woman does not enjoy watching simulated rape?”
“Yeah, I hear you.”
We retraced our steps to Park Street station and caught a cab back to Harvard Square. From there, I walked Svetlana over to Radcliffe Quad, where we stood on the sidewalk at the mouth of the broad courtyard between the brick buildings. Lights in the windows made the lawn gleam luxuriantly. A breeze came up, stirring the leaves in the oaks above us.
“Sorry to ruin your evening.” I held up her chess book. “Thanks for the autograph.”
A band of drunken, reveling students staggered by on the sidewalk. Svetlana waited until they were gone, then said, “I would thank you for a lovely evening, but given what we witnessed…”
“How about a do-over then?” I asked. “Care to join me for lunch tomorrow?”
“Perhaps,” she said. “What time? I have individual meetings with the team in the morning.”
“How about quarter to twelve? The Berg D-Hall?”
“Pardon?”
“Sorry,” I said. “Harvard-speak. Annenberg House dining hall. You could invite some of the kids, and we could eat among the troops so to speak.”
Since Sally was scheduled to be there at that time as well, I knew there was a good chance she’d see me with Svetlana, which might make her jealous.
“Yes, that could work for me,” she said. “I suppose I should spend more time with them in a social setting.”
“Then I’ll see you there?”
“You shall.”
Taking hold of her hand, I was about to kiss it when she yanked it away and started down the walkway toward the building.
“Good night, Dakota.”
“You too, Svetlana.”
Walking back to my hotel, I put my hands in my trouser pockets and felt a slip of paper. I stopped under a streetlamp, unfolded it and read. It was the list I’d made on the train from D.C.—the qualities my “dream assistant” would have. Considering the person I’d just dropped off, I laughed out loud when I read the last item on the list: “Elegant dresser with great legs.”
I carefully refolded the paper, slipped it in my jacket breast pocket, and started back to the hotel. I had a busy day tomorrow to prepare for.
9
Tasty
As luck would have it, Blodgett Pool, the scene of Meet Cute #1, was located near the football stadium, directly across the river from my hotel. At six o’clock, I rolled out of bed, put on my swim trunks and a warm-up suit, packed a change of clothes in my messenger bag, and hoofed it over there.
I was in the first person in the pool. By the time Sally arrived and got into the lane next to mine, I had already swum six laps. I much preferred this regulation-sized pool to the rinky-dink one back at the hotel.
Once Sally had swum a lap, I decided to have some fun with her. When she started her second lap, I dove under the lane rope into her lane and swam underwater facing up so she couldn’t avoid seeing me when she neared the end of the pool.
She had a red kickboard under her torso and was doing such an awkward breaststroke, it was indistinguishable from a dog paddle. Swimming backwards, I waited until she noticed me, then waved to her. It was difficult to make out her face because she swam with her head out of the water. At the end of the pool, she stopped and held onto the side. I surfaced beside her. She was wearing a swim cap and goggles, but the BDSM collar around her neck made her unmistakable.
“Excuse me,” she said, raising her goggles. “This is my lane.”
“Hi, Sally.” I raised my goggles. “I didn’t know you swam.”
“Dr. Stevens?”
“In the flesh.” I winked at her.
Up on the pool deck, the lifeguard blew his whistle.
“Sir! No swimming under other swimmers!”
“Relax, young man,” I said to him. “I’m a Harvard Fellow.”
Sally giggled.
“What?” the lifeguard said.
“Never mind,” I said. “Carry on, son.”
I treaded water in front of Sally. She was holding onto the side ladder with both hands. Her kickboard, which had a big white capital “H” on it, floated between us. I snatched it up.
“What the heck…?”
“It’s a kickboard,” she said.
“I know what it is,” I said. “Why do you use it?”
“Because…I’ll sink without it.”
“Nonsense.” I winged it out of the pool. It landed on the pool deck beneath the lifeguard chair. “Don’t worry,” I said to Sally, “I’ll rescue you if you drown. I’m very good at mouth-to-mouth.”
She smiled and shook her head faintly. Her shoulders and chest were above the water. She was wearing a sleek one-piece maraschino cherry swimsuit, the plunging, divided neckline of which revealed her to be much more shapely than I’d first surmised.
Approaching her, I took a few seconds to appreciate how flattering the suit was, not to mention the delicious contrast between the satiny red of her suit fabric and the creaminess of her skin. Holding onto the pool deck beside her with one hand, I lifted the BDSM collar off her collarbone.
“How can you swim with this thing on?” I asked. “Doesn’t it act like an anchor?”
“It’s pretty light actually,” she said.
I gently snapped one of her shoulder straps. “I like your suit. You look very nice in it.”
“Thanks.”
“But…you’re not a very experienced swimmer, are you?”
“Um…well,” she said, looking down at the water, “I only learned a few months ago.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m here,” I said. “Meet me down at the shallow end, and I’ll teach you how to do the crawl.”
“I really shouldn’t, Dr. Stevens.”
“No, you really should.” I lowered her goggles and stroked her cheekbone with my thumb. “And my name’s ‘Dakota,’ not ‘Doctor Stevens.’ Come on, beautiful—let me teach you something.”
She nibbled her lower lip. “Mm…all right.”
Lowering my goggles, I pushed hard off the wall, dove under the lane rope, and swam to the other end like a c
rocodile was chasing me. There, I drank from my water bottle and waited for her. When she finally reached me, she was out of breath. I let her have a sip of my water.
“Okay, here’s what you’re going to do.” I put the bottle aside. “I want you to lie face-down on the water while I hold you. I’m going to put my arms under your hips and ribs, and I want you to kick your legs with your knees straight, like this.”
I demonstrated by wagging my forefinger and middle finger.
“What do I do with my arms?” she asked.
“Easy. You just cup your hands a little bit and alternate them in front of you. You want to kind of ‘pierce’ the water with the tip of your hand, then push down and back. Every second stroke, turn your head to the side and take a breath. Ready?”
“Wait,” she said. “When do I breathe?”
“I’ll tap your side when it’s time.” I laid my hands on her waist underwater. “All right, ready?”
“I think so,” she said.
“Okay. Lie face-down in the water.”
She made a pout. “Dakota…I don’t like putting my face in the water. I’m worried I’m going to breathe in water and drown.”
“You’re not going to drown,” I said. “I’m here, and sonny boy is in the lifeguard stand.”
With a snort, she lay face-down in the water. I slid my forearms under her ribs and hips, remarking to myself how petite she was. Out of the water, the girl might have weighed 100 pounds; in the water, she weighed next to nothing.
I grinned thinking of the opening credits of Magnum, P.I., when Magnum mugs at the camera because he’s holding a bikini-clad woman on top of the water, teaching her how to snorkel. Here in the pool, as Sally kicked and stroked with her arms, every second stroke I tapped her ribs with my fingers. She turned her head out of the water, exhaled and took a breath. Her kicks were ungainly and produced a lot of splashing. Her arm motions looked more like random flailing than coordinated swimming strokes.
I let her continue like this for thirty seconds or so, and then I suddenly curled her out of the water. Flipping her over so she was on her back, I cradled her in my arms.
“Did I do something wrong?” she said.
“Nope…conference time.” I carried her to the edge of the pool and nodded at the water bottle. “Have a drink.”
While she drank, I gave her notes on what to do differently on the next attempt. The second and third times I held her and gave her notes, she relaxed in my arms, and, with goggles raised, gazed into my eyes.
“How am I doing, Dakota?”
“Not bad.” I curled her body up once, like she was a barbell. “Hey, would you mind if I did a few reps with you? I didn’t have time to hit the gym this morning.”
“What are you—”
“You’re the perfect weight. Now straighten your body out, like a board. Good.”
With her sniggering the whole time, I curled her out of the water and up to my chest ten times. When I finally plopped her back in the water, she was laughing loudly.
“You’re so weird!” she said.
“All right, the crawl,” I said. “Ready to do it for real?”
“Uh…”
“Know what I think? You’re ready.”
She was standing in the water beside me. I kissed her cheek and lowered her goggles.
“Swim to the other end. I’ll meet you there.”
“Okay, I’ll try,” she said.
“No,” I said, “don’t try. Do it. Now go!”
With a determined nod and a deep breath, she thrust off the side of the pool and began swimming a crawl toward the other end. At first her strokes were choppy, but soon she settled into a rhythm—albeit a slow one—and made steady progress down the pool. I let her get halfway before I dove under the lane rope into the adjoining lane, sprinted to the far end, and waited for her. When she grabbed the pool edge beside me, her face was one giant smile.
“I did it,” she said. “I can’t believe it! Thank you, Dakota!”
“You’re welcome, beautiful.” I kissed her on the cheek again.
“Dakota…you shouldn’t do that.”
“Shouldn’t do what?” I said. “Give you a congratulatory peck on the cheek?”
She shrugged. “I told you—Geoff is my boyfriend.”
“Look, I want to finish my workout now, but what are you doing after this?”
She let go of the wall and treaded water. “You mean after swimming?”
“Yes.”
“I have class, and then—”
“I have a proposition,” I said. “You wouldn’t let me take you to dinner the other night, but how about breakfast? We can have a friendly breakfast together, and then I’ll walk you to class.”
“Jeez, I don’t know.”
“Come on, Sally,” I said. “Who just gave you a free swimming lesson?”
“You did.”
“I bet Geoff’s never given you a swimming lesson.”
She gazed over my shoulder, then looked me in the eyes and nodded. “All right…breakfast.”
“Good. We’ll meet outside in half an hour.”
“Okay.”
“Keep practicing,” I said, and swam away.
I swam fifteen more laps, and when I went to get out of the pool, I noticed that the surly non-shaver had been replaced in the lifeguard stand by a dazzling tawny-haired coed with a heart-piercing smile. She watched me climb up the ladder with the water sluicing off me, and continued to watch me as I cranked out twenty reps on the pull-up bar against the wall. Strolling by her stand afterwards, I noticed that her eyes were a shimmering blue-green like the swimming pool, and positively epic. I smiled and wished her a nice day.
I showered, changed into jeans, an FBI T-shirt and my chocolate blazer, and waited outside for Sally. Luckily I had the Chandler novel to read, because, like all men have done for women from time immemorial, I ended up waiting for her.
She emerged from the building twenty minutes late, but the sight of her was worth the wait. She wore a cute powder blue cardigan with a matching scarf around her neck, a white blouse, powder blue capris, and white Keds tennis shoes. Her pink plaid knapsack, clearly jam-packed with books, drooped down to her butt. I chuckled.
“What’s funny?” she said.
“Your knapsack. It’s drooping.”
“It’s heavy!”
“I can see that,” I said.
“I’ve got a lot of books in it!”
“Stop whining and come here.” I grabbed her by a shoulder strap, tugged her close to me and cinched both straps tighter. “There, how’s that?”
“Better. Thanks.” She gazed at the bridge, then turned to me. “Where are we going for breakfast?”
“Hmm,” I said. “If this were ten, twelve years ago, I might take you to The Tasty, but they’re not around anymore. How about the restaurant in my hotel? The Charles.”
“All right.”
We started walking across the bridge.
“Dakota?” she asked.
“Yes, Sally?”
“What was ‘The Tasty’?”
“Ah. Take my arm and I’ll tell you a story.”
She held onto my arm with both of hers and even rested her head on my shoulder.
“Once upon a time,” I began, “there was a very greedy restaurant…”
The Tasty, I explained, was a Harvard Square greasy spoon when I was in college. While the food had been pretty good, it was exorbitantly priced: a thimble-sized glass of orange juice cost four dollars. The last time I went there, after ordering breakfast I drank from a carton of OJ I’d smuggled in with me. The proprietor, unyielding on his “no outside drinks” rule, forced me to leave. I never went back.
Inside the Charles hotel restaurant, a hostess grabbed two menus and escorted us to a table by the windo
w with a view of the river.
“So,” Sally said, “whatever happened to the Tasty?”
“Oh, yeah,” I said. “The bank that owned their building raised the rent so high, they couldn’t afford it and had to close.”
“Oh, that’s terrible!” she said.
“No, my dear,” I said, “that’s karma.”
Over breakfast I asked her questions about her coursework and interests, complimented her on her outfit, and described my “work” as an FBI profiler. When we finished, I charged the meal to my room, and we discussed movies as I walked her to class. She paused at the lecture hall doors.
“Do you want to come in?” Sally asked. “We could sit together.”
“I’d love to, but I have research to do,” I said.
“Thank you for breakfast. And the swimming lesson.”
“My pleasure.”
A couple of stragglers brushed past us and went inside.
“I should get in there,” she said.
“You should. Have a great day, Sally.”
As I started to walk away, she lunged and grabbed my arm. “Dakota, wait! When will I see you again?”
I suppressed a grin. “Oh…soon enough, I’m sure.”
“How? I mean, don’t you at least want my cell number?”
“No, let’s leave it up to fate,” I said. “If we bump into each other again, we’ll know it’s meant to be. Okay?”
She nodded hesitantly.
“You be good today, beautiful,” I said.
Her glasses were a bit wonky; I straightened them. And that’s when my eyes zoomed in on that pouty, glistening lower lip of hers. Glancing up and down the empty hallway, I leaned in toward her mouth. She sunk into the doorjamb and closed her eyes.
When my mouth was half an inch from hers, I stopped and breathed her in for a second. The warmth from her face smelled of lavender shampoo. Her lips were irresistible. Well…almost.
“Bye, Sally.”
Her eyes sprang open. “Aren’t you going to kiss me?”
“It’s too soon,” I said. “Besides, if it’s meant to be, it will be. Have a great day.” I squeezed her shoulder and walked away.
