The Cherry Pages

by Gary Ruffin

  “Cooper, it’s a shame you didn’t get the five-hundred-thousand-dollar reward that Lawrence offered for the capture of my stalker. You deserve it, after all.”

  “Not really, but thanks for sayin’ that. I’m just glad to have had such an adventure. And what an adventure it was.”

  Cherry said, “I’m glad I got to share it with you, instead of some dry old FBI agent. No one else would have made it bearable.” She sat up straight, stuck her nose in the air as she had done last week, and said, “Right, then. So. Glad we had this little chat. Home, Jeeves.”

  “Yes, mum. Right away, mum.”

  A little more than an hour after leaving the Feagin house, we pulled into the lower parking lot of the Buckhead Ritz. Highway 400 had turned out to be not too bad, traffic-wise, and we had avoided being spotted, which was nice. But it was a different story when we got out of the Lexus at the Ritz. The now larger mob of reporters and paparazzi caught sight of us immediately, and started hollering and braying, calling out for us to stop and talk and pose for the cameras. Instead, naturally, me and Cherry ran to the loading dock entrance, laughing and waving to the throng. While we’d been on the lam, I had almost forgotten we were still big news, but their presence and commotion at seeing Cherry brought it all back in a flash. It turned out all the entrances had been under siege since the moment we’d left, waiting for Cherry’s return, and only the fact that we were in Neal’s car had made it possible for us to sneak in almost undetected. Cherry would have to face the horde sooner or later, but not right then. I was going to make sure of that.

  We made it up to the suite pretty quickly, even with all the commotion we caused with the Ritz employees. The moment I opened the door to the suite, the phone rang, and Cherry answered.

  “Yes, Sal, we made it. Oh, no, not quite yet, if that’s all right? Tomorrow, perhaps? Yes, that would be much better. Thanks, girl.”

  She hung up and said, “The cast and crew want to throw a celebration party for me.”

  “I’m glad you put it off,” I said. “I’m not up to it.”

  “Neither am I,” she said, and kicked off her shoes.

  I found a classical music station on the wall radio, and we both sprawled out in the parlor: Cherry on the sofa, and me on my bed by the window.

  We sprawled and listened for quite a while, hardly speaking, and then started getting ready for our quiet night at the hotel.

  Cherry had told a little white lie to the Feagin women about where she wanted to eat supper. Four hours later, Cherry and I were downstairs, seated in the Ritz’s posh restaurant, after Will had worked his magic on her, and after I had showered and shaved and worked my magic on myself. Cherry was decked out in a black dress that showed lots of cleavage and her great legs, and I was choking in my damnable new tux again.

  She had begged me to wear the monkey suit, and I did it because it might be our last night together. And because the studio had rented the hotel restaurant for the evening at Cherry’s request so we could be alone. Her dress was by some big-shot designer, so I couldn’t sit there in my tee shirt and jeans with her, could I?

  There were a lot of people mad at us initially for ruining their evening at the restaurant, but I was sure that after they found out what was up, there would be no hard feelings. I have no idea how much it cost to rent the place for an evening, but since it wasn’t me who was paying for it, I sat back and enjoyed the meal.

  The restaurant in the Ritz Buckhead is paneled in dark wood and expensive-looking, with beautiful artwork all around. The décor is conservative, but it doesn’t make you feel like you can’t relax and have a good time. In one corner, a jazz trio played softly. There was a grand piano, drums, and one of my favorite instruments, a big stand-up bass. I love the way the bass looks like a giant fiddle, and the deep sound can make the hair on the back of my neck stand up. The group was hitting all the right notes, so to speak, playing great tunes that seemed to run together. It was the perfect backdrop, and Cherry moved her body to the music as we finished our salads and waited for the rest of our food to arrive.

  “The music is so beautiful,” she said, closing her eyes and swaying gently in her seat.

  “I can agree with that,” I said, picking up a roll and buttering it. “I can also agree with you about having supper in here. I’m glad you talked me into it, even though it must be ridiculously expensive.”

  “The studio can afford it, and besides, you kept one of their cash cows from being slaughtered. The least they can do is provide you with a good meal, yeah?”

  “Since you put it that way, yeah, it’s the least they can do.” Pause. “You really think they consider you a ‘cash cow’?”

  “Moo.”

  I chuckled and took a huge bite of my roll; the last week had given me quite an appetite. At that moment, one of our three waiters brought a tray stand and a large tray with our main courses on it tableside, and began to serve.

  He placed a plate with a lobster tail and broccoli on it in front of Cherry, and a plate with a thick porterhouse and french fries on it in front of me. Next, he poured more wine into each of our glasses, put some drawn butter down for Cherry, and placed a dish of sautéed mushrooms next to me. He then asked if we needed anything else.

  Cherry looked at me with an “anything else?” expression, and I said, “This is great, thanks.”

  He bowed slightly to Cherry, and disappeared into the darkness. The way the lights were set, Cherry and I were about the only things visible in the restaurant, including the band. They had small individual lights on their music stands, and that was about it. The effect was such that it seemed like me and Cherry were the only people in the room. It was definitely a night to remember, and was just starting, as it turned out. As we ate in silence, I thought again about the new unsolved mystery: the decision I had to make concerning my life with Cherry.

  Or without her.

  I quickly decided to change the subject in my head, so I started thinking about the past week, and the last year of my life, and how strange and exciting it had all been. My thoughts turned to women, of all things. I recalled the only real true love I’ve ever had, besides Penny, who may or may not be my true love. We’re still working on that.

  I met my possible true love in Tallahassee, the summer I graduated from the police academy. Gwen was eighteen and just out of high school, a leggy strawberry blonde with a face an angel would kill for. She had been accepted to pre-med at Harvard, and I knew she was way out of my league, but I was young enough to be hopeful. We met at a party a mutual friend threw on a Saturday night in mid-June, and hit it off immediately. We made each other laugh, and as the night wore on, tuned out the other guests. I may have been hopeful, but I was too scared to make a move on her. Gwen, however, was anything but scared, and after she made a move on me, we ended up back at the apartment I shared with Neal, sneaking in so he wouldn’t catch us. We snuck in because if Gwen’s parents had ever found out what we were about to do, I would’ve been a dead man, and she would have been in big trouble at home. Her father was a genuine pillar of the community—a bank president as well as a church deacon—and conservative to the extreme. In other words, our affair had to be kept secret, and that was fine by me. There were no public displays of affection, but there were plenty of private displays of youthful lust. We would meet at a motel when we couldn’t use my apartment, and strained my bankroll to the limit.

  It was money well spent.

  I loved her in that way everybody loves his or her true love: that is to say, I wanted to be with her every minute of every day. She was my whole world, as trite as that sounds, and I’m sure everybody has felt that way at least once.

  She made me feel so alive, and I experienced things for the first time when I was with her, things I’ve never experienced in quite the same way, even with Penny. For example, love songs were always sappy and stupid to me before Gwen came along; they were just dumb, and I made fun of them when I heard them on the radio. But that all changed dramatica
lly when I met Gwen. All of a sudden, every one of those songs was deep and meaningful, and seemed as if it was written just for us. And after we broke up, every sad song seemed like it was written just for us.

  Sound familiar?

  Things were great that whole summer, and then one night the subject of marriage came up as we drove in my beat-up Volkswagen to the apartment after a movie. Her parents had left her alone for a week, and we were joined at the hip, and other places as well. It was around midnight, Neal was gone for the weekend, and heaven was suddenly a hot, cramped bedroom in the Florida Panhandle.

  Still talking about marriage, and why people do it, we got out of the car and walked hand in hand up to the apartment. I put the key in the door, and my gorgeous Gwen said something that stopped me cold: “You know, Coop, as far as marriage goes, the only thing wrong with you is—you don’t have a million dollars.”

  I turned to look at her in the dim light, expecting to see her sexy smile that would let me know she was kidding, but she was serious. I opened the door, she headed back to my bedroom as usual, and I knew at that moment there was no chance in hell I would ever be with her again after that summer.

  That simple, that final.

  We wrote to each other a few times after she moved to Cambridge, but by Thanksgiving, the fling was flung. I saw her once years later, right after I became police chief of Gulf Front. I was back in Tallahassee for a court appearance to testify in a trial involving a case I had been working on when I left and moved to Gulf. Gwen was home for a visit, shopping downtown with her mother. She didn’t see me, and I’ve always wondered if I should have crossed that busy street and gone up to her. But I didn’t have a million bucks, so I let the moment pass.

  So much for true love.

  As I sat in the Ritz restaurant, listening to the band and eating my steak, I also thought about other failed relationships, and how they affected my life. And then I thought about New Orleans and the beautiful blond FBI agent I had met there last year, and that brought me back to the past twelve months, which now included meeting Cherry.

  Then I started thinking how amazing and exciting it would be to travel the world with Cherry Page, and what it would be like to actually have a relationship with her, and how it would taste to kiss Cherry Page with her lips dripping drawn butter.

  “Well?” she asked, and I snapped back to the moment.

  “I’m sorry, did you say something?” I asked dumbly.

  “Yes. I said you look like you’re a million miles away.”

  “More like a couple of feet.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Nothing. How’s the lobster?”

  “Oh, Cooper, it’s absolutely divine. You simply must try some.”

  She cut a big chunk of lobster tail, dipped it in butter, and slowly pushed her fork through the air towards me, aiming at my mouth. I obligingly opened up, she placed it on my lips, and I drew the lobster into my mouth.

  “Mmm, mmm, mmmmmmm,” I managed to groan as I chewed. “That’s incredible.”

  “You like? I think it’s simply perfect,” she said in that accent I love.

  “You’re right. It is ‘puh-fickt,’” I said, trying to sound like her. I guess I didn’t.

  She said, “I wish I could say your Brit accent has improved, you Yank baboon.”

  I smiled like a baboon, took a swig of wine, issued a satisfied aaahhh, and went back to my steak.

  Cherry called to one of our waiters, “Excuse me? Could you come over please?”

  This time it was the youngest of the bunch, and he nearly broke his neck getting to the table. As he stared at Cherry, he defined the term “starstruck.”

  “Yes, Miss Page?” he squeaked. I had to turn my head and chew so I wouldn’t laugh. He looked like a Trekkie who had just run into William Shatner at the laundromat.

  Cherry asked, “Would you be so kind as to bring the chief a lobster tail?”

  “Yes ma’am, right away ma’am,” the kid said, turning and hustling off to the kitchen.

  For the next few hours, Cherry and I were in our own little world. A very expensive little world, what with the three bottles of high-end wine we drank, and the dessert tray we used for a sampler after a long pause from gorging. We each had a bite or two of everything on the dessert menu, plus several cups of coffee called Jamaica Blue Mountain, or something like that. Like I said, I wasn’t paying for it, and that was a good thing, because I’m not sure I could have paid for it. It was luxury living at its finest, and one of the best meals I’ve ever had. The conversation covered everything we hadn’t had time to discuss in the last week, and was as pleasant and entertaining as it could be, not to mention stimulating.

  After we were fully stuffed, Cherry said in a noticeably drunken tone, “What say we head upstairs to the suite? The night is young, and I have a surprise for you.”

  “You’re the boss lady,” I said, and groaned as I pulled my fattened carcass up and out of my chair, and went around to pull Cherry’s chair back and help her up. Tipsy, she giggled as she stood, wrapped her arms around my neck, and drew me close.

  “I say, old chap, did I mention there’s a surprise waiting for you upstairs?” she said in my ear, slurring her words.

  “Yes, mum, ye most surely did,” I replied in my crummy British accent, and she pulled away so we could take leave of our private restaurant.

  Cherry graciously signed autographs for the waiters, and the band stopped playing and came over to get one, too. The bass player, a large middle-aged black man, even asked me to sign one for him, and when I asked why, he pulled me aside and said in a low voice, “I been jealous’a you all week, man. That’s the finest white woman on the planet. You my hero.”

  I signed his music sheet, and told him I loved his instrument, which got me a hearty laugh, and Cherry and I headed for the elevator, full of lobster, wine, and goodwill toward men.

  When we got up to the suite, I looked around the room, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

  I said, “Okay, you. What’s the big surprise? Looks like the same old room to me.”

  Cherry took off her shoes and walked slowly over to the dining table, slightly off balance. She sighed heavily and picked up a new deck of cards that had escaped my attention.

  “These are the surprise,” she said, holding them out towards me.

  “A deck of cards? That’s the big surprise?”

  As I started to take off my tux jacket, she said with a drunken smile, “You might want to keep that on as long as possible, old bean.”

  I stopped in my tracks and said, “Oh. Okay. I see now. You want me to look like James Bond in a casino while we play, right?”

  She wobbled over to the sofa, sat down, and replied, “That’s not what I meant, but I like the way you think.”

  My curiosity was getting the best of me. “Then, what did you mean?”

  She tore off the wrapper, opened the box, and said, “Time for a friendly game of strip poker, Chief Cooper.”

  73

  “NOW, CHERRY, WAIT A MINUTE HERE. YOU CAN’T BE SERIOUS. IF WE play strip poker, things might get a little outta hand.”

  “I’m relying on it,” she said as she took the cards out. She discarded the jokers and the rules card, and asked, “Where shall we play? The table, or the floor?”

  Resigned to the fact they she would get her way eventually, and not really being opposed to playing, and seeing as I had been sitting in a chair for hours, I opted for the floor, and we sat down in the middle of the parlor. I wasn’t sure how the scene would play out, but the wine was making me feel like any decision I made would be the proper one.

  Mystery, shmystery.

  Cherry laid the cards out on the carpet and started spreading them around to mix them up. After ten seconds or so, she gathered them together, shuffled three times, placed them on the floor in front of me, and said, “Cut.”

  I cut the cards thin, to win, and she said, “Draw poker, nothing wild, nothing to open, and no d
rawing four to an ace.”

  As she dealt, I thought, This babe has played before.

  I picked up my cards, looked them over, and kept a straight face as I saw the three nines. I also had a jack and a four.

  “How many?” she asked.

  “I’ll take two.”

  She dealt me two, and said, “One to the dealer.”

  Hoping she didn’t hit her straight or flush, I looked at my two new cards. A seven and a ten. If she didn’t hit, I was the winner for sure.

  “Whatcha got?” I asked.

  She frowned, and said, “A lousy busted flush.”

  “You lose. Three nines,” I said.

  She smiled drunkenly and sexily, and it hit me: Cherry didn’t want to win. She wanted to strip.

  Holy macaroli.

  I tried to get a look at her cards, but she quickly put them back in the deck as she said, “No peeking.”

  I decided that I needed to change my strategy as Cherry pulled her dress high up on her right thigh, and unfastened the silk stocking. I gulped at the sight of her slowly pulling the stocking off, giving me a show and another memory I’ll have forever.

  “I noticed you liked the stockings when we watched my film at Penny’s,” she said as I stared.

  I realized if I was going to survive the game without being unfaithful to Penny, I was going to have to start losing, and fast. I also realized if things continued the way they were going, being unfaithful to Penny was almost a certainty. But did I really want to take advantage of a drunk woman?

  Drunk Cherry handed me the deck, and said, “Your deal, copper.”

  I took the cards, and said nothing; if I had tried to reply, I’m sure my voice would have cracked like our young waiter’s had. I shuffled, let her cut, and dealt the cards.

  I picked mine up, and saw a pair of aces, a pair of deuces, and an eight. I asked how many she wanted, dealt her two, and took three after discarding the aces and one of the deuces. I was now drawing to a foot instead of a hand, and hoped my strategy didn’t backfire on me.