Manhattan Lullaby (16 page)

“Tea?” That sounded so benign. A nice cup of tea. A little chit-chat with her son and good night and thank you for a lovely evening. It was the civilized thing to do. And there was absolutely nothing even remotely passionate about a cup of tea.

Exhaling with relief at not having to face the demons of her own sexuality, never mind Jeffrey's, Maxine unlocked the door and went into the apartment. Jeffrey followed and locked the door behind him. It was Little Maxine Riding Hood and the Wolf all over again.

“Bradley,” called Maxine, but not too loudly in case she woke the baby. “Bradleeeey.” This time a little louder. There was no answer. She turned to Jeffrey. “He must be in bed already. I'll just go and check.” She started down the hall toward the bedrooms.

Jeffrey, the consummate seducer, noted the direction of his ultimate destination and then made himself comfortable on the couch. He was beginning to feel pretty good. He had been right about Maxine. A regular little firecracker. And not only that, but a firecracker that hadn't had its fuse lit in quite some time. It was going to be a long night. And he was looking forward to it.

A minute or two later she returned. Her face was pale and creased with worry. “They're not here.”

“Maybe he took the baby out for a while. You know, visit some friends.” Jeffrey shrugged. An empty apartment was even better than a son in bed. “Here, come and sit by me.” He patted the couch next to his thigh.

But Maxine wasn't paying any attention. “I can't believe he'd take the baby out at this time of night. Something must have happened.” She sounded fearful now, already anticipating the worst.

Jeffrey felt the moment slipping away. Nothing killed passion faster than fear. He stood up and went over to her, slipping a comforting arm around her shoulders and letting his hand dangle just above the heaving swell of her right breast.

“He's a big boy, Maxine. He's probably just gone out to get something for the baby and he took the kid because he didn't want to leave it alone in the apartment. He'll probably be right back.” But as he said this he crossed the fingers on his other hand. The last thing he wanted at this point was any interruption.

“Do you really think so?” She sounded hopeful but unconvinced.

“I'm sure of it.” He made his voice sound casual and relaxed and very matter-of-fact. “Now how about that tea?”

“Tea? Oh, yes.”

As he suspected, the mention of tea distracted her sufficiently that she stopped dithering in the living room and went into the kitchen to put the water on. He congratulated himself silently as he followed her. Women were so easy to control. You just had to distract them enough so that they didn't know what was happening until it happened.

Maxine was getting two cups out of the cupboard and as she reached up to get them Jeffrey moved in for the kill. Quickly, and with a surefootedness that would have surprised a Balinese dancer, he grabbed her, kissed her, picked her up and started to carry her toward the bedroom, making sure he kept his mouth plastered to hers to stifle any protestations until he got her right where he wanted her. On the bed.

Shocked and more than a little overwhelmed at being manhandled in her own kitchen, Maxine didn't put up any resistance until she was halfway down the hall to the bedroom. Then she tore her mouth away from the sucking leeches of his lips. “What do you think you're doing?”

She kicked, trying to get free, but he was stronger and younger and more determined than she, and he held her tight against his chest and kicked open the door to her bedroom with one light tap of his foot.

“I want you, baby,” he murmured, carrying her over to the bed. “I want you so bad.”

Suddenly Maxine felt herself being catapulted out of his arms, through the air and onto the bedspread. Alone at last. But not for long. In a second he was beside her, one hand working itself up under her dress, the other pinning her shoulders to the coverlet.

“Jeffrey, get off me!” She struggled, devoid of passion now and filled with annoyance. She clamped her legs together as his fingers tried to infiltrate their way up the last few inches of Night Nude. “Jeffrey, please!”

But Jeffrey wasn't paying any attention. Somehow, while holding her, he had managed to work himself out of his jacket, undo his shirt and pull down the top of her dress and her bra strap so that one soft pale breast was bare to his touch. He seemed for a moment to possess more arms than Shiva and more lips than an octopus has suckers. He was all over her.

Maxine had the hysterical impression that there was more than one pushy young advertising executive wrestling with her on the bed. There was a whole conference room full!

“Jeffrey, I don't want to—Stop that!—
No
!”

He was kissing her neck, arms, face, breast. Then he whispered something in her ear.

“You want to do what?”

Five minutes on a bed with Jeffrey Mondavi had exposed Maxine to more sex education than twenty-five years of marriage. He was suggesting things that even Kinsey had never heard of, things that had never been written about to Dear Maxine. In another time, another situation, she would have taken notes. But at the moment both hands were busy fending off the salacious, squirming presence of Jeffrey Mondavi.

He tried again to get his hand up under her dress. He knew if he could just get the panty hose down she would stop pretending she didn't want what he wanted and they could get on with enjoying themselves.

He had managed to get his hand almost up to the waistband when all of a sudden he felt the impact of one stockinged knee right below his rib cage. For a moment he thought he was going to lose consciousness as his diaphragm deflated, driving all the oxygen out of his lungs.

As the strength ebbed from him, he released the grip on his hostess, and Maxine took the opportunity to slide off the far side of the bed. She landed
thump
! on the floor. But in a couple of seconds she was back on her feet, dress down, bra strap up, and kneeling on the bed.

“Are you all right?” She slapped him lightly on both sides of the face.

Jeffrey was gulping air, trying to reinflate his lungs, so he could not answer for the moment. And Maxine, whose emotions were already stretched as taut as a size-six knit on Tammy Bakker, was suddenly struck with a surge of hysteria.

She felt a wave of panic welling up inside her. “Oh my God! Oh my God!” she cried, her life flashing before her eyes as Jeffrey started to turn blue in the face. “My second date in twenty-five years and I killed him!” What would she tell Harry? What would she tell Bradley when he came home with the baby? The diapers are in the bedroom, dear, next to the dead man? She could see it now in the
Daily News
. “Grandmother Slays Boy Lover in Bed!” Her readers would have to write Dear Maxine care of Rikker's Island.

Jeffrey gave one pathetic little cough and then another. The color was gradually returning to his face. He drew in a deep, ragged breath and looked up at Maxine, who was still kneeling over him. “Boy, I know some women like to play rough, but you play too rough for me, baby.”

He tried to sit up, but she pushed him down again. “Lie there. Breathe. In. Out. In … That's it.”

In a few minutes he was fully recovered. He sat up. “Well, I can't say it hasn't been fun.”

Cured of her fear now, Maxine felt her anger coming back. “What's wrong with you!”

“Me! What's wrong with
me
!”

“You tried to rape me,” she accused, wagging a finger under his nose.

“I did not. You wanted it as much as I did.”

“I did not!”

“Come on, Maxine, I know when a woman is responding to me, and you responded.”

What could she say? He was right. To a point. She stood up and went out of the bedroom, down the hall and into the living room. In a few minutes, Jeffrey appeared. “Well, I guess it's
adios
, he said, straightening his tie.

Maxine continued to sit on the couch. She was thinking. There was a question that still had to be answered before she could officially file this evening under O for over.

Having decided that there were not going to be any lingering good-byes, Jeffrey started toward the door.

“Wait!” She got up and came after him.

“Change your mind?” he asked hopefully.

Maxine gave him a look that said “Not in this century!” And then she asked, “Why me?”

“What?”

“I said, why me? Why not any of those girls in the restaurant, any of the girls at the magazine? Why me?”

Jeffrey pulled on his coat and then turned to face her. “It's pretty simple, babe. You're safe.”

“I'm what?”

“Safe.”

“You mean you don't have to worry about me getting pregnant?”

Jeffrey gave a laugh that sounded more than a little like a snicker. “No, baby, that's your problem, not mine. What I mean is, you've been married for twenty-five years to the same guy. And you older broads never fucked around. So that makes you safe.”

Maxine still had not got the message.

Jeffrey sighed and tried again. “I mean, I can't
catch
anything deadly from you. Get it?” And he unlocked the door and went out into the hall. “Let me know if you change your mind, O.K.? We could still make beautiful music. Catch ya later.” And he was gone.

Bradley came home a few minutes later. Maxine was sitting in the living room mulling things over. She had attributed many motives to Jeffrey Mondavi and his attraction to her, but
safety
had never been one of them. And she didn't much care for being called an “older broad.” But what was really troubling her—aside from the fact that she was almost a date rape statistic, and that she could partly forgive because when it came right down to it, for a moment or three she had actually wanted him to—was the fact that she had once judged potential dates by the width of their shoulders, the curliness of their hair and the color of their eyes. This element of
safety
was a whole new consideration. It was just too much!

“Hi, Ma,” said Bradley a little sheepishly as he came into the living room.

Maxine looked up from her musings. Immediately something struck her as not quite right. He was on his own. Sans baby.

“Where's—”

“At the hospital.”

“The hospital!” Maxine clutched one hand with the other and then moved both hands up to her throat. This evening was turning into one of her worst nightmares. “I knew it. I should have stayed home. I shouldn't have gone out—in more ways than one. What happened?”

“Take it easy, Ma. He's O.K. Bradley sat beside her and patted her shoulder with a soothing hand. “He just had a temperature, that's all. I took him to the hospital because I didn't know what else to do. The doctor said it's pretty normal for small babies to get temperatures and that there's nothing to worry about. They're just going to keep him in overnight for observation.”

Maxine relaxed a little. Just a temperature. That was a relief. For a moment she was afraid that Bradley had done something like drop the baby on his head. It had been that kind of an evening.

“Only overnight? All right, I'll pick him up on the way to work in the morning.” She was glad to get back to what passed for normal in her life.

“No, Ma, that's O.K. I'll go and get him.”

Maxine looked at her son in surprise. Something had transpired between him and his son while she was fending off the lascivious Jeffrey. Something that looked remarkably like parenthood. “All right, if you think you can handle him while I'm at work.”

“No problem, Ma.” Bradley got up. “You want a cup of tea?”

“No! No tea. I mean I'm tired. I think I'll just go to bed.”

She got up and started down the hall to her room.

He called after her. “Ma?”

“What?”

“When I thought the baby was really sick tonight, I was scared and then I felt …” He searched for the appropriate words, and then shrugged. “Oh, I dunno.”

Maxine smiled to herself. She knew what he was trying to say even if he didn't. “I know.”

Bradley grinned. “Yeah, I guess you do. And you know what else?”

Maxine shook her head.

“I kind of liked the idea that he needed me, you know, really needed me. I was important to him.”

“It's one of the perks,” said Maxine softly, though she had a little trouble getting the words out because a lump had started to rise in her throat.
Her
baby was finally growing up.

“Good night, Ma.”

“Good night, son.”

Chapter Thirteen

Chester was waggle-walking across the back of the sofa, digging his long curved toenails into the fabric and using his fan of tail feathers for balance. And balance was an issue of prime importance, because keeping pace beneath him was a large, threatening white mass that was setting all his bird nerves on edge.

The parrot rolled his orange eyes and flexed his wings, once, twice, in a display of birdly bravado, and then negotiated his way carefully around Janie's shoulders. He looked down once more. The interloper was still there. At least, thought Chester to himself, when Bradley used to come over, he came alone. This new man, however, came with reinforcements.

Anxiously looking up at the tiny feathered figure, Tony was a seething mass of quivering canine instincts. From the tense flexing of his nostrils, to the tingling in the taut tips of his whiskers, to the throbbing of blood in every vein and capillary of his little dog's body, one perception was being flashed along the wire bundles of his nerves, assaulting his brain with its primeval possibilities. That perception was
bird
.

After a few more moments, his brain, stirred from centuries of domesticated lethargy, finally managed to convert the perception into a reality that was a little more meaningful, a reality that exploded from his primal memory like a grenade—
food
. And Tony, true to the instincts of his ancestors, responded accordingly. He launched himself straight up like a helicopter, jaws open and ready, tongue soaked with saliva, taste buds oozing and waiting for the flavor of
bird
.