Nowadays, that wouldn't work. Think about The Quiet Man--Maureen O'Hara'd call the cops the minute John Wayne touched her and he'd be booked on second-degree assault, first-degree menacing.
Times were different now.
Ah, Cheryl ...
He stopped the VCR when he realized he hadn't been watching the tape for the past ten minutes.
The problem was that Lusty Cousins was just plain and simple boring.
He found the other remote control--the one for the TV--and turned on the ball game. Time for lunch. He walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He took out one of the thirty-six Rolling Rocks it contained and popped it. On a piece of Arnold's whole wheat bread he laid four slices of Kraft American cheese (four of the hundred and twenty-eight) and added mayonnaise from a quart jar. Then topped it with another slice of bread.
Sam Healy had been grocery-shopping that morning.
He walked back to the living room. He gazed out the window at quiet Queens. Silhouettes showed on window shades in the houses across the street. Seeing them depressed him. He couldn't concentrate on the game either. The Mets were having less luck than both of the lusty cousins.
He looked at the cover to the cassette of the film and decided he didn't like adult films in the first place. They were as interesting as watching a film about someone eating a steak dinner. He also didn't like the weird, slutty makeup and lingerie contraptions the actresses wore. They looked prosthetic and artificial: the fingerless lace gloves, the garters, the black leather bras, the orange fishnet stockings.
And he didn't like silicone boobs.
He liked women like Cheryl.
He liked women like Rune.
Were they similar? He didn't think so. Why would he be so interested in both of them?
He liked innocence, he liked pretty.... (But how innocent was Rune? She'd loaned him Lusty Cousins. And what was the message for him there?)
But whatever he liked, Sam Healy didn't think he had any business being involved with somebody like Rune. When he'd seen her the other night he'd promised to call her. But each of the dozen times he'd thought about picking up the phone he'd resisted. It seemed like the better thing to do. The more stoic. And safer for him. It was ridiculous. The weird clothes she wore. The three wrist-watches. She only had one name and it was fake, of course, like a stage name. On top of that, she was probably fifteen years younger than he was.
Oh, no--that damn number fifteen again.
No business at all.
Add to that, she was playing detective, which really upset him. Good citizens, wound up to the excitement of police work by the cotton candy of TV, often tried to play cop. And ended up getting themselves, or someone close to them, killed in the process.
So why was he thinking about Rune so much? Why was he seeing her?
Because he wanted to make Cheryl, the soon-to-be ex-wife who dated regularly, jealous?
Because she was sexy?
Because he liked younger women?
Because he--
The phone rang.
He answered it.
"'Lo?"
"Sam." It was the 6th Precinct's ops coordinator, the second in command at the station.
"Brad. What's up?"
"We got another one."
"Sword of Jesus?"