from the bedroom floor, he groaned at the time. Seven-thirty on Saturday morning? Who the fuck was—oh. Robin . He hit the talk button and edged quietly out the bedroom door.
Someone screamed.
“Sorry!” he said, and beat a quick retreat back into the bedroom. Maybe he should have put some clothes on first.
“John, where are you? What’s going on?” asked Robin.
“It’s kind of hard for me to talk right now,” he whispered as he felt around for his clothes. “If this is about last night—”
“Actually, it’s not. I really need your help. I was all set to track down leads on Alfred Henderson, you know, Irina Mareau’s nephew. And Julio chickened out on me. He says he just can’t handle knocking on strange doors, it gives him panic attacks. I have to get this done today because other people might know about the appraisal and the clock is ticking. I know this is a lot to ask.”
“What, exactly, are you asking?” He stepped into one leg of his jeans commando.
“ Shhh !” Therese hissed.
“Can you drive me? Some of these places are in rough neighborhoods. I’ll buy you lunch afterward, alphabetize your books, whatever.”
Hot . “All right. I’ll meet you at my place by eight.” He hung up before she could ask him why he wasn’t there already.
And then he saw her text message.
“This is perfect,” he said to himself as he walked out the door, fully clothed this time.
“What the hell is wrong with you, man?” Therese’s roommate yelled at him, but John just flashed him a smile and a thumbs-up sign and kept walking, out into the glorious, glorious morning.
* * *
When he answered the door, John was so fresh from the shower that drops of water meandered down his neck. His hair was spiky wet and inky black. She wanted to reach up and ruffle it dry, but the dynamics of touching him were so confusing that she just leaned against her car door and smiled at him more shyly than she would have liked. Funny, two days ago she wouldn’t have thought twice about ruffling his hair.
“Thanks,” she said. “I owe you.”
“Hell yeah you do,” he said as he locked his front door behind him and followed her out to the sidewalk. “I’m expecting some sushi out of this. And that’s just how you’ll repay me in public.”
What does that mean? What do I want it to mean?
He must have noticed her confusion. He reached out, almost touching her, but leaned against the car instead, right next to her. Her little hatchback creaked and wobbled under his weight. “I saw your text,” he said. “We’re in kind of a gray area now, but once we talk it over and get that written out, I promise you, it’ll be easier. Clearer. And I’m not going to spend the morning coming on strong just to fuck with you.”
Robin had been holding her breath. She let it go. “Okay then, that’s settled. Let’s get some breakfast. I am not going to hunt down porn on an empty stomach.”
They discussed strategy over three dollar plates of greasy sunny-side up eggs and bacon.
There was an A. Henderson in East L.A. they could start with, a cluster in Inglewood, some more scattered seaside and two in West Hollywood.
Robin had spent a couple of hours mentally rehearsing the door-to-door proselytizing angle, but without Julio to identify the right man on sight, she wasn’t sure what to do. She’d have to be honest, she supposed. Maybe start discreetly, saying something vague about whether he was the A. Henderson who had had some photos and letters appraised recently...
By the time they left, they had a map and a plan, and she felt a lot more at ease. Something about the way John inhaled breakfast food was inherently reassuring.
He was a great social lubricant, as well. The situation was automatically less precarious just by virtue of him being there, grinning like an idiot. Maybe he’d seal the deal for her right then and there.
“I’d better stay outside, by the car,” he warned her. “Sometimes old white guys
Someone screamed.
“Sorry!” he said, and beat a quick retreat back into the bedroom. Maybe he should have put some clothes on first.
“John, where are you? What’s going on?” asked Robin.
“It’s kind of hard for me to talk right now,” he whispered as he felt around for his clothes. “If this is about last night—”
“Actually, it’s not. I really need your help. I was all set to track down leads on Alfred Henderson, you know, Irina Mareau’s nephew. And Julio chickened out on me. He says he just can’t handle knocking on strange doors, it gives him panic attacks. I have to get this done today because other people might know about the appraisal and the clock is ticking. I know this is a lot to ask.”
“What, exactly, are you asking?” He stepped into one leg of his jeans commando.
“ Shhh !” Therese hissed.
“Can you drive me? Some of these places are in rough neighborhoods. I’ll buy you lunch afterward, alphabetize your books, whatever.”
Hot . “All right. I’ll meet you at my place by eight.” He hung up before she could ask him why he wasn’t there already.
And then he saw her text message.
“This is perfect,” he said to himself as he walked out the door, fully clothed this time.
“What the hell is wrong with you, man?” Therese’s roommate yelled at him, but John just flashed him a smile and a thumbs-up sign and kept walking, out into the glorious, glorious morning.
* * *
When he answered the door, John was so fresh from the shower that drops of water meandered down his neck. His hair was spiky wet and inky black. She wanted to reach up and ruffle it dry, but the dynamics of touching him were so confusing that she just leaned against her car door and smiled at him more shyly than she would have liked. Funny, two days ago she wouldn’t have thought twice about ruffling his hair.
“Thanks,” she said. “I owe you.”
“Hell yeah you do,” he said as he locked his front door behind him and followed her out to the sidewalk. “I’m expecting some sushi out of this. And that’s just how you’ll repay me in public.”
What does that mean? What do I want it to mean?
He must have noticed her confusion. He reached out, almost touching her, but leaned against the car instead, right next to her. Her little hatchback creaked and wobbled under his weight. “I saw your text,” he said. “We’re in kind of a gray area now, but once we talk it over and get that written out, I promise you, it’ll be easier. Clearer. And I’m not going to spend the morning coming on strong just to fuck with you.”
Robin had been holding her breath. She let it go. “Okay then, that’s settled. Let’s get some breakfast. I am not going to hunt down porn on an empty stomach.”
They discussed strategy over three dollar plates of greasy sunny-side up eggs and bacon.
There was an A. Henderson in East L.A. they could start with, a cluster in Inglewood, some more scattered seaside and two in West Hollywood.
Robin had spent a couple of hours mentally rehearsing the door-to-door proselytizing angle, but without Julio to identify the right man on sight, she wasn’t sure what to do. She’d have to be honest, she supposed. Maybe start discreetly, saying something vague about whether he was the A. Henderson who had had some photos and letters appraised recently...
By the time they left, they had a map and a plan, and she felt a lot more at ease. Something about the way John inhaled breakfast food was inherently reassuring.
He was a great social lubricant, as well. The situation was automatically less precarious just by virtue of him being there, grinning like an idiot. Maybe he’d seal the deal for her right then and there.
“I’d better stay outside, by the car,” he warned her. “Sometimes old white guys
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