Kissing in Manhattan (19 page)

“Mmm.” Hannah’s voice had a sexy timbre. “Mmm. Ohh.”

Leonard pondered the paths across Central Park. On a warm summer night every one of them would be filled with lovers and brigands.

“Yes,” whimpered Hannah. “God, yes.”

Leonard stopped at the door, put his ear to it. He heard a sliding, scratching sound, like claws on linoleum.

“Hannah? Are you really getting yourself—”

“Mmm,” moaned Hannah. “Not now, Lenny, I’m busy.”

Leonard heard more scratching. He pictured Hannah’s thighs pressed against the panther. He knocked on the door.

“Hannah,” he whispered. “Hannah, let me in. Let me . . . do that to you. Please.”

The scratching stopped. “Have you collected your wits?”

“Yes.”

“Are you still engorged? You know, erect?”

Leonard blushed.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Lenny. It happens when a man hears a woman in the throes of passion.”

“I’d rather see than hear you,” whispered Leonard. “Let me in.”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Because, under the current circumstances, you’ll converse with me candidly. It’s cruel but necessary.”

“I can converse with you candidly inside.”

“Lenny.” Hannah’s voice was a tease. “Considering the humiliation I’m putting you through, if I opened this door and you saw me naked, would you converse with me or fuck me?”

Leonard stared at the oil lamps down the hall, considered snuffing them out. “I might try to . . . consummate our evening.”

Hannah giggled. “Uh-huh.”

Leonard scowled. His groin throbbed. “I’d fuck you. Hard.”

Leonard heard the sound of two hands clapping.

“Bravo,” laughed Hannah. “By the way, you’re probably thinking of snuffing the lamps to cloak your nakedness. My stern warning is this: Don’t snuff the lamps. If you do, my doorman, Sender, will appear. You don’t want that.”

Leonard scowled again, but sat still, his back against Hannah’s door, his arms crossed on his knees. He’d heard the rumors about the Preemption’s doorman.

“Also,” said Hannah, “don’t try to summon the elevator. It’s closed between midnight and one.”

“What do you
want
?” said Leonard.

“You mean, what are my demands. When a person takes another person hostage, she’s expected to have demands.”

“I’m not your hostage. I could get up and walk out anytime.”

Hannah laughed again. “Lenny, Lenny, Lenny.”

Leonard closed his eyes. He wasn’t strong enough to fight muggers. He could smell Hannah’s perfume from under the door.

“Fine,” he muttered. “I’m your hostage.”

Inside the apartment Hannah really was naked, straddling the black panther. She really was deriving pleasure from the animal between her legs. But what thrilled her even more, what had both her groin and her mind tingling, was the animal she had trapped outside.

“I want to relay some information,” she told him. “I want to ask some questions.”

Leonard’s erection had faded. Now he had to go to the bathroom.

“First of all, I’d like you to know an interesting fact. My father, Gerhard Glorybrook, killed both of these animals, the harpy and the panther, on big-game hunting trips.”

“Fascinating,” sighed Leonard.

“Not really. The fascinating part is this. In both cases he wasn’t hunting that particular animal when he killed it. He was lion-hunting in Africa when he killed the panther, and he was crocodile-hunting in the Amazon when he bagged the harpy.”

It occurred to Leonard that perhaps Hannah was building a riddle for him, and that if he solved it, he could have her. “Am I supposed to ask why your father changed prey?”

Hannah clapped her hands again. “Good deduction, Lenny.”

Leonard’s ass was sore, but his groin was once again hopeful.

“The thing is, Lenny, my father, Gerhard Glorybrook, didn’t change prey at all. He was in the process of tracking the lions and the crocs when the panther and the harpy, respectively, attacked him. What do you think of that?”

Leonard searched for insight. “So he killed the panther and the harpy in self-defense?”

“Exactly,” shouted Hannah.

Leonard jumped to his feet. “Is that significant? Is that the moral of the story?”

“Yes,” cried Hannah.

Leonard smiled, breathless. “So will you open the door?”

“Hell, no.” Hannah cleared her throat. “We’re just starting to converse.”

Leonard cursed under his breath. He dropped himself back to the floor.

“Lenny?”

Leonard didn’t answer. He considered urinating on Hannah’s door.

“Lenny? Hello? Is there a naked lawyer in the house?”

“What,” said Leonard evenly.

“I’d like to pose a question.”

Leonard heard the panther move closer to the door.

“Me and my nakedness are only two feet away now, Lenny.”

“I have to go to the bathroom,” said Leonard.

“Well, hold it, buster. Here’s my question. Do you know what line of business my father’s in?”

Leonard stared at the lamps on the walls. He wondered if, rather than snuffing the lamps, he could spread their oil down the hall and start an inferno. Naked husbands and wives would teem out of their apartments and Leonard wouldn’t be alone.

“Would you care to hazard a guess?”

Leonard sighed. “He’s a butcher. He sells panther meat.”

Hannah laughed. “Sarcasm. Breezy sarcasm. I knew Alison must have a reason for letting you fuck her.”

Leonard caught his breath.

“Oh, yes, Lenny. I know about your little romps. I also know that Ms. Shippers is in love with you, and that you could care less about her.”

The door one apartment down from Hannah’s opened. A man wearing blue jeans stepped out.

“Yah,” squeaked Leonard. He cupped one hand over his groin, the other over his birthmark. His face pulsed.

The man yawned, looked up and down the hall. When he noticed Leonard, he laughed.

“Not again.” The man shook his head.

Leonard stayed on the ground, but renewed his pounding on the door. “Hannah, for God’s sake, let me in. There’s a guy out here.”

“Uncle Walter?” called Hannah.

The man winked at Leonard. “Hi, honey,” he yelled.

“Lenny, it’s my uncle Walter,” explained Hannah. “He lives next door.”

“Jesus Christ,” said Leonard.

“Later,” yawned Walter. He hitched his jeans, went back inside, shut his door.

Leonard closed his eyes. “Hannah, please let me in. I’m sorry if I did something to make you dislike me, but please let me in. I’ll get my clothes and leave.”

“Walter’s a hot-dog salesman,” said Hannah. “He got me this place for wicked cheap.”

Leonard kept his eyes closed. He understood now that he wasn’t going to be shown mercy. He wondered if Hannah treated all men this way, or if she fixed her wrath only on scar-faced ogres. Watching the red pepper sparks behind his eyes, Leonard tried to ignore the womanly scent coming to him from under the door.

“Hannah, what’d your uncle mean by ‘Not again’?”

“Let’s get back to my father. I’ll give you three guesses as to what he does for a living. If you guess right, you can come in and fuck me.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I mean it. Cross my tits and hope to die.”

Leonard’s blood sang. “Really?”

“Sure. You’ll never get it, though.”

Leonard crossed his legs like a guru, thought hard.

“He’s a lawyer,” guessed Leonard.

“God, no. My father’s no pussy.”

“Excuse me?”

Hannah coughed. “It’s chilly in here from my air-conditioning. My nipples are firming up. Can you imagine how firm they’re getting, Lenny?”

From Walter Glorybrook’s apartment came a female giggle. Leonard glared around, his thoughts of arson returning.

“Anyway,” said Hannah, “where was I?”

Leonard folded his arms. “Lawyers were pussies.”

“Well, you’re a pussy, anyway.”

“Is that right.”

“You’re supposed to be all dauntless in court, but you spy on me like a schoolboy.”

“I do not.”

Hannah snorted. “I feel your eyes, Lenny. Following me, ripping off my outfits.”

Leonard scowled. In the movies men did the impossible. They battered down locked doors with their shoulders.

“You’re a pussy, Lenny. You don’t have the balls to talk to me, so you’re humping poor Alison.”

Leonard thought of Alison’s toenails, which she’d painted to please him. He winced.

“Maybe Alison’s enjoying it.”

“Why don’t you ever talk to me? Do you think I’m a dumb blonde?”

“No.”

“I got a fourteen fifty on the SATs. Seven fifty on the verbal.”

Leonard sighed. In the morning, with any luck, he’d be helping Joanna Krickmire maneuver her husband into roughly the same position that he was in now.

“Congrats,” said Leonard.

“My theory is, you’re insecure about your scar.”

Leonard’s shoulders stiffened. “It’s not a scar. It’s a birthmark.”

“You look like Frankenstein’s monster,” said Hannah, “and you feel lousy about it.”

Leonard was shocked. What with political correctness he hadn’t received a direct insult about his birthmark since high school.

“Ms. Glorybrook,” he began, “I take bitter offense to—”

“Oh, shut up. Why not cash in on your freakhood? You know, play the misunderstood monster. Women love that shit. Let’s try it out, Lenny.”

Leonard thought of Hannah’s tits, her hips, her knees gripping the panther. He adjusted himself so his penis wasn’t touching the floor.

“Let’s try what out?”

“We’re in a bar. I’m the hottest chick in the place. You’ve just walked up to me. I’ll begin.” Hannah made a startled sound. “Ooooh, what happened to your face?” Her voice was laced with drama now, extra girlish.

Leonard’s hand flew to his temple. “I have a birthmark.”

“No.” Hannah sounded furious. “Clever, Lenny. If you want to score a woman, you have to talk clever. You have to say just the right things. And quit covering your forehead.”

Leonard turned his head, stared at the door. Hannah’s scent was strong in his nostrils. He told himself that it was nothing magic. But she’d somehow known—she’d sensed—what he was doing.

“Ooooh,” repeated Hannah, “what happened to your face?”

Leonard’s mind whirled. “Motorcycle accident.”

“Ooooh,” crooned Hannah. “Where’d it happen?”

“Pittsburgh.”

“Boring,” said Hannah, her voice lapsing to normal.

“Ireland.”

“Oooooh.”

“The roads are narrow there. Lots of blind curves.” Leonard had his eyes closed. “I was driving along the coast, near the cliffs, when a touring van broadsided me.”

“How terrible.” Hannah sounded intrigued.

Leonard roamed the black behind his eyes. The lying was erotic.

“A child in the van was killed,” fantasized Leonard.

“Oh, no.”

“A little boy named Seamus. He wasn’t wearing a seat belt.”

“Oh, God.”

“They have less strict seat-belt laws overseas.”

“Boring,” said normal Hannah. “Circumstantial.”

“I attended the funeral for the boy. In Kilkenny.”

“How sweet of you.”

“The family welcomed me. They knew I wasn’t responsible. Seamus’s kid sister sang a dirge.”

“Poor little Seamus.”

Leonard opened his eyes. He’d run out of words.

“See, Lenny?” said Hannah. “It’s easy.”

Leonard bit his lip. “You think I’m being cruel to Alison?”

“Yep. But she’s bound to realize what a beast you are.”

“Oh, I’m a beast?”

“Sure. But don’t worry about it, Lenny.” Hannah’s voice had dropped an octave. “That’s sex. Beastly, cruel, and necessary.”

Leonard had an erection again. He turned and knelt close to the door.

“Is that what
this
is?” he whispered. “Sex?”

“I told you,” Hannah said coyly. “Only if you guess what my father does.”

Leonard’s mind darkened. He was frustrated, sick of banter. He thought of Gollum and Rumpelstiltskin, of guessing games with grave stakes.

“Weapons,” he threw out. “Your father sells weapons. For hunting.”

“Nope.” Hannah drew in a breath. She sounded suddenly excited. “Well, wait. Wait a minute. In a figurative sense he does.”

Leonard thumped the door, his heart drumming.

“Let me in,” he hissed. “I win.”

“Uh-uh.” Hannah’s voice was thrilled but firm. “You only have one guess left. You have to say exactly what my father makes and sells. You have to get it just right.”

Leonard’s cock ached. “You’ll keep your promise if I do?”

There was silence. The fooling was over.

“Yes,” whispered Hannah. “I’ll keep it. But you’ll never get it.”

Leonard stood and paced. He didn’t want contention. He wanted to know what Hannah was thinking, whether she was anxious, how attracted to him she really was. He was stripped, in need, and tonight was about beating strange, terrible odds. He stared at the door.

“You’ll really have me?” he said.

Hannah giggled. “Monster, monster, at my door.”

Leonard stalked back and forth. His lust was immense, his wagging penis ridiculous. He thought of Hannah’s girlhood, of pink icings and jealousies, wondering what her father could have been doing to sustain her through all that, to rear her into what she was now. Leonard stroked his face, felt the night crushing in around him, coming to a head.

“Come on, buster,” said Hannah. “Guess. What’s he sell?”

Leonard Bunce stopped before the door. There was flair coming at him in Hannah’s voice, flair and vicious daring. But there was something else coming at Leonard, and for the first time that night he tuned everything else out and honed in on this thing: Hannah’s smell. It was more than a smell, though. It was a musk, an assault on the senses. It had been leaking out around Leonard all night, surrounding him like vaporized honey, or warm limbs, or sweet breath. Leonard realized that this scent was something that was with Hannah always, something that she put on, and radiated, and gave like an inheritance to the world around her. Leonard stood still and breathed in this sweetness that, offered or not, was coming to him. He understood that the musk, the element around him, was worldly, costly. He let it fill him until he forgot his office, his apartment, Cherrywood’s Lounge, Central Park, all the sad haunts where he refused to end up tonight. His birthmark tingled like a sixth sense, a dormant gift that was finally waking. He filled his lungs, triumphantly.