Upon A Pale Horse (13 page)

“Ouch. Sounds horrible. Are you staying at the hotel?”

“No. I live in town. But I needed a drink after that before I go home.”

“What do you do?”

She gave him an appraising glance and smiled mischievously again, raising one eyebrow in the process. “Is that a personal question?”

He blushed. Thankfully, the bartender arrived with two fresh drinks, saving him further embarrassment.

“No, no. I meant, what were you doing in the meeting? Are you an attorney or something?” he tried again.

“I wish. I’m the personal assistant to one of the bigwigs. Which means the same long hours the shiftless lawyers work for a fraction of the pay.” She held her new drink up to the light, as if distrustful of it, then tasted it before nodding in approval. “What about you? What’s your story?”

“I’m here for a job interview. Looks like I aced it, so I’m going to be moving to Washington soon.”

“Really! Congratulations. That sounds like as good a reason as any to celebrate on a Saturday night…” She clinked the base of her glass against his. “What kind of job?” she asked, sounding genuinely interested.

Jeffrey grimaced. “I almost hate to tell you. I’m one of those shiftless lawyers who gets paid way too much for doing very little.”

Her eyes widened and it was her turn to look embarrassed. “I totally didn’t mean it like that…”

“No offense taken. Besides, after a day like today, drinking with a beautiful woman at the Four Seasons qualifies as one of the best things that could happen to me. Even if she hates lawyers.”

“I don’t hate lawyers. It was just an expression. A figure of speech.”

“Oh, come on. Everyone hates lawyers. It’s the American way. I know. And we mostly deserve it,” he said, and she reappraised him, her eyebrow rising again in a way that he found extremely sexy. Then again, there wasn’t much about her he didn’t find arousing, and it wasn’t just the booze talking.

“So seriously. What are you doing to celebrate your big day?” she asked.

“I was thinking about problem drinking and then passing out to TV news.”

“Wow. You go, wild man. By the way, I’m Monica. What’s your name?” she asked, offering a slim hand to him.

“Jeff. Jeffrey Rutherford.”

“And where are you from, Jeffrey Rutherford, esquire?” she asked, a slight mocking tone in her voice.

“San Francisco. The city by the bay.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to sing that Journey song next.”

“Only if they start karaoke early in this joint.”

They enjoyed their drinks, bantering back and forth, and Jeffrey learned that Monica was born and raised in D.C., had attended Georgetown and gotten a degree in Liberal Arts, and had been working for the same corporation straight out of college for the last four years.

“I hate it, but it pays the bills.”

“A familiar story. Kind of why I show up for work every day instead of going sailing.”

“Really? Do you sail?”

“Not nearly enough. So tell me. What’s a beautiful, intelligent young lady like you doing hanging in a place like this on a weekend night? Don’t you have a date or something?”

She pouted. “Not likely in this town. The ratio of women to men is sick. Basically if it’s male and has a pulse, much less a job, it’s in high demand. You’ll see when you move here. When is that, by the way?”

“Next week.”

“Really? And have you ever been here before?”

Jeffrey decided not to mention his brother’s service last Tuesday. “Once or twice. But always for short visits.”

“Well, there are some pretty happening places if you know where to go. If you’re with a local, I mean. In fact, I could probably be convinced to show you a few spots if you’re game. I don’t know what your schedule’s like…”

Jeffrey’s heart fluttered. “I have nothing planned. But I don’t have a car.”

“I do.”

She slammed the rest of her drink and pushed it away, and he followed suit and waved the bartender over, paying for the drinks with the hundred Roger had left.

“Well, Jeffrey, I guess you’re now my captive audience. I don’t normally troll high-end hotels for out-of-town lawyers, but you’re a cute one, so what the hell, you only live once,” she said, the smile still in her voice, the alcohol giving her a welcome lift. “Promise you won’t cut me up and bury me in a shallow grave, and we should get along fine.”

“I could break a nail or strain something, so I gave that up years ago. I promise,” Jeffrey intoned gravely.

She stood, and he was happy to note that her body was in keeping with her face. She filled out her outfit in all the right places, and he felt like pinching himself when she took his arm and led him out of the bar.

“All right, Jeffrey. I hope you’ve got some stamina, because I like to dance, and it’s Saturday night. Get ready to do your best John Travolta.”

“Call me Baryshnikov,” he said, and they weaved into the lobby, where Monica presented her valet stub and took up position by the front entrance. A red Alfa Romeo convertible pulled up in a few minutes, and the valet held her door open as she handed him a few bills. Jeffrey squeezed himself into the passenger seat and she wedged her briefcase behind the backrest, and then she was revving the engine as they flew off the grounds and into traffic, the engine straining as she pointed the car at the flickering lights of the nation’s capital, Jeffrey smiling ear to ear next to her as she raced through the gears like they were running from the law.

FOURTEEN

Monica

Between the second club and the third, Jeffrey learned that Monica lived with two roommates near Foggy Bottom – female friends from college who had banded together to make ends meet and live in a nicer district than any of them could have afforded on their own. After leaving the hotel she’d stopped outside one of dozens of buildings and disappeared, returning after a few minutes wearing jeans and a colorful top with a long overcoat protecting her svelte form from the cold. Jeffrey felt like a nerd in his business casual, but she shushed him, and by the time they’d hit the third disco they were dancing together like they’d been a couple forever, her body melding to his in a way he’d never experienced.

She explained over the music that she’d taken dance lessons for years, and at one point, when she’d been fourteen, had wanted to be a ballerina in the worst way, but competition was fierce and she’d been passed over for the scholarships that would have been necessary to do it in earnest. Not so the academic scholarship that had gotten her into Georgetown, although she’d also amassed a daunting pile of student loans that she was paying down, and would be for the foreseeable future.

Jeffrey learned Monica was single, had dumped her longtime boyfriend a year before, and was focusing on climbing the corporate ladder rather than doing the dating thing much – and frankly, she hadn’t met anyone that had struck her fancy, which was understandable, based on the looks of the crowd at the dance clubs.

A slower song came on, and she emptied her drink in two swallows and grabbed his hand, pulling him onto the dance floor as the lights roved over the throng. The throbbing bass vibrated the floor as she put her arms around him, and when halfway through the song they kissed, it felt as natural as anything he’d ever done in his life.

They stayed like that for a long time, swaying back and forth as they explored each other, and when the music transitioned to another slow song they continued, moving together as one to the languorous reggaeton beat. His pulse pounded in his ears, the alcohol fueling his desire, her full lips every bit as eager as his, judging by her response.

When the music segued into an up-tempo number she moved away, and after favoring him with a long look, took his hand and led him off the floor and towards the exit. Once they were outside, she pressed up against the building’s rough brick wall and pulled him towards her. This time their kiss was more urgent, the swell of his interest obvious to them both by the time they parted to breathe. She gazed up at him; then nodded and took a few steps toward the car.

“Come on. Let’s find someplace quieter so you can tell me all about why you’re still single,” she said, and he put his arm around her protectively as they made their way into the night.

The hotel bar was still open, but as they arrived it was last call. They both ordered Cosmopolitans and settled down at a darkened corner table. Only a few die-hard patrons were still drinking, all older businessmen staying at the hotel, and the room appraised Monica as they waited for their drinks. The bartender came over with his final blending of the night, and they again toasted, having lost count of the number of cocktails they’d consumed over the last five hours.

“This has been one of the best nights ever,” Jeffrey said, connecting with her glass as she giggled. “To new friends.”

“Yes indeed. New friends who are great kissers.”

They were both beyond tipsy, the exertion of dancing no match for the deluge of vodka they’d consumed, and she made soft cooing noises as she snuggled closer to him, her head on his shoulder, her hair a soft miracle of herbal fragrance and desirable femininity.

“This is so much better than the last time I was here,” he said, and then caught himself. Nothing would kill the mood faster than him going down the morose road bemoaning his brother’s death. As he thought it, he felt guilty, and she sensed that something had changed.

“What happened?” she asked, her question innocent.

Jeffrey tried to think of a way out, but he’d put his foot in it now, so he tried his best to duck the question. “Oh, it was just really depressing. A death in the family. It sucked.”

She nodded and reached for her glass, moving away from him. “I’ll bet it did. I’m sorry to hear it.” And then the question he’d been dreading. “Who passed away?”

He killed half his drink, feeling suddenly unfocused, and then shook the feeling off. “My brother.”

Time seemed to morph into atemporal sludge, and he was creeping along through viscous mud, his words like the dull rapping of a judge’s gavel. Grief washed over him in slow motion, as inexorable as a falling building, and for a moment he couldn’t speak. Any words he was going to try lodged in his throat with him unable to clear it. He realized even as his awareness dimmed that he’d put off dealing with his feelings about Keith’s death, preferring to immerse himself first in work and now his quest for a dream job. And that dam had to break – it was just a matter of time. That he’d drunk enough to knock a prize fighter comatose hadn’t helped, and he silently willed himself back into the present as he registered the shocked expression on Monica’s face.

“Oh, my God, Jeff. I’m so sorry. That’s…I couldn’t imagine what that’s like. When did it happen?”

“Not long ago. I don’t think I want to talk about it tonight, though, if you don’t mind. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m a crappy drunk.”

She touched his face with her hand and stared deep into his eyes. “No, you aren’t, Jeffrey. You may be a lot of things, but crappy isn’t one of them.”

And then she was kissing him, and he was lost in her again, reality condensed into a singularity encompassing only them, bright as a flash of solar radiation, their hunger a living thing that wouldn’t be denied.

In the room, he barely got the door closed before she was tearing at him, tugging his shirt out of his pants, pulling at the buttons as they maintained their connection, a kiss that went on forever. She moaned into his ear as he cupped a perfect buttock with one hand and removed her top with the other, and then they were on the bed, their clothes frantically shed as they rushed to satisfy their craving. His senses flooded with her smell, and the intensity of their coupling threatened to overwhelm him. They reveled in the small miracle of their bodies’ responses as they coaxed and nibbled and thrust at each other. Their rhythm began slowly and built to a crescendo. Monica cried out when she climaxed and bit his shoulder, her eyes scrunched shut as she shuddered with pleasure; and then Jeffrey came as well, spent, and collapsed against her, showering her face with kisses as they breathed together as one.

A few minutes later her gentle moaning had transformed into steady breathing, and soon Jeffrey was asleep as well, spooned against her back, her skin still slick with a sheen of passion as they dreamed together, his arm around her waist as her chest rose and fell rhythmically, two strangers now no longer alone.

FIFTEEN