When The Bough Breaks

I thought of Elena Gutierrez and Morton Handler. They'd never made it to the emergency room. I allowed myself a short ride on that train of thought, then skidded to a stop and dumped the thoughts in a dark depot somewhere in the south of my subconscious.

I looked over at Raquel. She sat stiffly in the soft leather, refusing to give herself over to comfort. Her body was still but her hands played nervously with the fabric of her skirt.

"Are you hungry?" I asked. When in doubt, stick to basics.

"No. If you want you can stop for yourself."

"I can still taste the chorizo."

"You can take me home, then."

When I got to her apartment it was dark and the streets were empty.

"Thanks for coming with me."

"I hope it was helpful."

"Without you it would have been disastrous."

"Thank you." She smiled and leaned over. It started out as a kiss on the cheek but one or both of us moved and it turned into a kiss on the lips. Then a tentative nibble, nurtured with heat and want, that matured quickly into a gasping, ravenous adult bite. We moved closer simultaneously, her arms easing around my neck, my hands in her hair, on her face, at the small of her back. Our mouths opened and our tongues danced a slow waltz. We breathed heavily, squirming, struggling to get closer.

We necked like two teenagers for endless minutes. I undid a button of her blouse. She made a throaty sound, caught my lower lip between her teeth, licked my ear. My hand slithered around to the hot silk of her back, working with a mind of its own, undoing the clasp of her brassiere, cupping around her breast. The nipple, pebble - hard and moist, nestled against my palm. She lowered one hand, slender fingers tugging at my fly.

I was the one who stopped it.

"What's the matter?"

There's nothing you can say in a situation like that that doesn't sound like a cliche or totally idiotic, or both. I opted for both.

"I'm sorry. Don't take it personally."

She threw herself upright, busied herself with buttoning, fastening, smoothing her hair.

"How else should I take it?"

"You're very desirable."

"Very."

"I'm attracted to you, dammit. I'd love to make love to you."

"What is it, then?"

"A commitment."

"You're not married, are you? You don't act married."

"There are other commitments besides marriage."

"I see." She gathered up her purse and put her hand on the door handle. "The person you're committed to, it would matter to her?"

"Yes. More important, it would matter to me."

She burst out laughing, verging on hysteria.

"I'm sorry," she said, catching her breath. "It's so damned ironic. You think I do this often? This is the first time I've been interested in a guy in a long time. The nun cuts loose and comes face to face with a saint."

She giggled. It sounded feverish, fragile, made me uneasy. I was weary of being on the receiving end of someone's - anyone's - frustration but I supposed she was entitled to her moment of cathartic stardom.

"I'm no saint, believe me."

She touched my cheek with her fingers. It was like being raked with hot coals.

"No, you're just a nice guy, Delaware."

"I don't feel like that, either."

"I'm going to kiss you again," she said, "but it's going to stay chaste this time. The way it should have been in the first place."

And she did.

18

There were two surprises waiting for me when I got home.

The first was Robin, in my ratty yellow bathrobe, stretched out on the leather sofa, drinking hot tea. A fire burned in the hearth and the stereo played the Eagles' "Desperado."

She was wearing a magazine photograph of Lassie around her neck like a miniature sandwich sign.

"Hello, darling," she said.

I threw my jacket over a chair.

"Hi. What's with the dog?"

"Just my way of letting you know that I've been a bitch and I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for." I removed the sign.

I sat beside her and took her hands in mine.

"I was rotten to you this morning, Alex, letting you leave like that. The moment the door closed I started missing you. You know how it is when you let your mind wander around - what if something happens to him, what if I never see him again - you go crazy. I couldn't work, couldn't be around machines in that state. The day was blown. I called you but I couldn't get through. So here I am."

"Virtue has its rewards," I muttered under my breath.

"What's that, sweetie?"

"Nothing." Any recounting of my minor - league indiscretion would suffer in the retelling, emerging as either a boorish bathroom scribble - "Yeah, I copped a fast feel from another broad, honey' - or, worse, a confession.

I lay down beside her. We held each other, said nice things, talked baby talk, stroked each other. I was pumped up from the waist down, some of it a residue of the curbside session with Raquel, most of it belonging to the moment.

"There are two giant porterhouses in the refrigerator and a Caesar salad and burgundy and sourdough." She whispered, tickling my nose with her pinkie.

"You're a very oral person," I laughed.

"Is that neurotic, Doctor?"

"No. It's wonderful."

"How about this? And this?"