His eyes and his mouth creased in a smile. “You're riding around on a hog?”
“Yes. And I had a sexual experience on it already.”
“All by yourself?”
“Yes.”
Morelli gave a bark of laughter and moved toward me, pressing me against the counter, his hands circling my rib cage, his mouth brushing my ear, my neck. “Bet I can improve on it.”
THE SUN HAD gone down and it was dark in my bedroom. Morelli was asleep beside me. Even in sleep Morelli radiated contained energy. His body was lean and hard. His mouth was soft and sensual. The planes of his face had become more angular with age. His eyes more wary. He'd seen a lot as a cop. Too much, maybe.
I glanced over at the clock. Eight. Eight! Yikes. I must have been asleep, too. One minute we were making love and the next thing it was eight o'clock!
I shook Morelli awake.
“It's eight o'clock!” I said.
“Uh-huh.”
“Bob! Where's Bob?”
Morelli bolted out of bed. “Shit! I came here right from work. Bob hasn't had supper!”
The unspoken thought was that Bob would have eaten everything by now . . . the couch, the television, the baseboards.
“Get your clothes on,” Morelli said. “We'll feed Bob and go out for pizza. And then you can spend the night.”
“I can't. I have to work tonight. Lula and I didn't get to talk to Mary Maggie today, so I'm going to The Snake Pit. She's wrestling at ten.”
“I don't have time to argue,” Morelli said. “Bob's probably eaten through a wall by now. Come over when you're done at the Pit.” He grabbed me and kissed me and ran down the hall.
“Okay,” I said, but Morelli was already gone.
I wasn't sure what one wore to the Pit, but slut hair seemed like a good idea, so I did the hot roller and teasing thing. This increased my height from five foot seven inches to five foot ten. I tarted myself up with a lot of makeup, added a short black spandex skirt and four-inch heels, and I felt very kick-ass. I grabbed my leather jacket and took the car keys from the kitchen counter. Hold on. These weren't car keys. These were motorcycle keys. Shit! I'd never get my hair in the helmet.
Don't panic, I told myself. Just think about this a minute. Where can you get a car? Valerie. Valerie has the Buick. I'll call her up and tell her I'm going out to a place where there are half-naked women. I mean, that's what lesbians want to see, right?
Ten minutes later, Valerie picked me up in the lot. She still had her hair slicked back behind her ears and was devoid of makeup with the exception of blood-red lipstick. She was wearing men's black wing tips, a charcoal pinstripe suit with slacks, and a white shirt that was open at the neck. I resisted the urge to check to see if there was chest hair sprouting from the open neck.
“How'd it go today?” I asked her.
“I got new shoes! Look at them. Aren't they excellent? I think they're perfect lesbian shoes.”
You have to give Valerie credit. She never did anything halfway. “I mean about the job.”
“The job didn't work out. I guess that's to be expected. If at first you don't succeed . . .” She put her weight behind the wheel and managed to get the Buick to take a corner. “I got the girls enrolled in school, though. I guess that's something positive.”
Lula was waiting on the curb when we got to her house.
“This is my sister, Valerie,” I told Lula. “She's coming along because she has the car.”
“Looks like she shops in the men's department.”
“She's taking it for a test drive.”
“Hey, whatever,” Lula said.
The parking lot to The Snake Pit was jammed, so we parked a half mile down on the street. By the time we got to the door my feet were killing me, and I was thinking there were advantages to being a lesbian. Valerie's shoes looked nice and comfy.