Rapture

The restaurant, the Gray Door, was better than Jeff had expected. Sean warmed up a little bit during the meal as Jeff became less mysterious and formidable to him. He didn't seem to mind Jeff and Georgianne reminiscing about the old days. When they were about to proceed with coffee and cognac, a trio of musicians appeared, and a few couples took to the small dance floor at the back of the restaurant.

"Georgianne and I haven't danced together since the senior prom," Jeff said briskly. "May I steal your wife?"

"Be my guest," Sean said affably.

The music was medium tempo, slow enough so you could hold your partner and talk, if that's what you wanted, but fast enough to keep middle-aged people moving without inducing cardiac arrest. Jeff thought fondly of the old body-groping slow numbers he'd danced to in high school-never, alas, with Georgianne. He held her as close as possible now. She didn't press against him, but neither did she hold herself away. She felt fantastic in his arms, their thighs brushing, her breasts just touching his chest, the feel of her hair on his cheek, the scent of her ...

"You know," he whispered.

"What?"

"I do remember dancing with you once at the senior prom. We all danced with each other's dates once. It was the polite thing to do."

"Mm-hmm."

"Well, it's much better this time."

Georgianne pulled her head back to look at him. She was smiling, and Jeff thought it was the most luxurious, sensual smile he had ever seen.

"That's very sweet," she said softly. "Thank you. It's so nice to see you again, Jeff. I'm really glad it happened."

"So am I."

They stayed on the floor for two dances. Jeff noticed Sean making his way to the men's room as the second song wound down. He and Georgianne went back to the table.

She was so at ease with herself. So many of the women Jeff encountered were either sharp and aggressive, out to make it in a man's world, or else res olutely, it seemed to him, confused ... muddled housewife types who no longer knew who they were. But here was Georgianne, solid as bedrock, at peace with the person she was and apparently content with the life she had.

Content? Or resigned? Jeff wondered if Georgianne could look this radiant if she wasn't really happy. What kind of life was it, actually? Unexciting, unremarkable, and surely modest if they were getting by on Sean's teacher's salary alone. This still puzzled Jeff, because he had expected something else, something different. Georgianne was the kind of girl you thought would end up married to a rich doctor or lawyer. That Jeff should find her in such cozy but diminished circumstances seemed wrong. A mistake.

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CHAPTER EIGHT

It was a little after eleven-thirty when Jeff got back to the hotel. Still early, as far as he was concerned. He felt wide awake, and he didn't want to sit around in his room. He had stayed in the night before, planning, drinking beer, and watching the X-rated cable channel the Mortlake Motel provided for its guests (he'd seen Debbie Does Dallas for the third time). But the Hilton offered no such distractions. He went to the bar and ordered a beer.

He seemed to be full of nervous energy, and this might help him to settle down, collect himself. The big event, dinner with the Corcorans, had passed. Ordeal, challenge, opportunity. He thought it had gone well enough, generally. There had been no awkwardness, no unpleasantness. Sean was a drag, but it could have been worse. And if one door had finally shut, perhaps another had opened....

There were quite a few people in the bar, most of them businessmen. Unmistakable, Jeff thought. Then he wondered if he looked like one of them. Was he just as obvious? It was a forlorn thought.

He glanced down the length of the bar. A few seats away, a young woman sat alone. He had noticed her when he came in, and he'd thought she was with someone. Now she looked at him and smiled, stirring her drink with deliberate slowness. She had dark hair and wore a metallic blue dress with a wrapped front. It wouldn't have reached her knees when she was standing, and it didn't come close as she sat. He turned to stare at his beer. A moment later the girl took the seat next to him.

"Hi," she said, all throaty.

"Hi."

"Nice night, isn't it?"

"Not bad."

"Could be better, right?" she said. "I know what you mean...."

Jeff turned to face her. She wasn't bad. Her hair was a little too dark, and her manner, of course, was completely wrong, but he had time to kill.

"Are you a working girl?"

"Ha, ha, that depends."

Jeff noticed that the bartender was hovering a few yards away, projecting an air of watchful neutrality. He lowered his voice, but still spoke bluntly.

"How much?"

The woman's eyebrows arched slightly and she smiled, studying Jeff for a few moments before responding.

"Are you a cop?"

"No." He laughed. "Why would you think that?"

"They're no good at small talk either."

"At least it's not my clothes."