just tell Lauren to watch for a pattern because you wanted to put her off, did you?”
My words sounded like they came from a distant canyon. “Of course not, Bwahna.”
“It took you long enough to get here,” Boots complained.
Though there wasn’t much tooth to her bitch—when Boots was really angry she didn’t have to speak—I grew defensive. Actually, the defensiveness I’d been carrying since Lou’s late night telephone call just sprang to life. “I had some catching up to do.”
“With what, NCIS repeats?”
I smiled, determined to keep the evening light. Boots was leaving on business the next morning, and I didn’t want a lousy conversation to ruin our night. I took my traveling stash from my pocket, then removed my pants. “Of course. You think I can get by without my comforters?”
“I thought that was my job.”
“Certainly.” I reached under the elastic of my boxers, “Just ask Mr. Johnson.”
“Put it away,” Boots said unable to squash a smile. “I’m serious. It’s been a long time since your phone’s been turned off when we’re not together.”
I climbed on top of the covers and sat with my back against the headboard. “It’s getting close to fall sweeps.”
Boots didn’t answer until she’d stripped down to her string bikini, a bright white exclamation to her naturally dark, tanned body. She walked to the doorway, her faintly muscled cheeks burying the scanty white, switched off the overhead light, and tied her auburn hair with a black top-knot. “I’ve been thinking of buying a television.”
I felt my face flush, then hoped she couldn’t spot it in the dusky room. Boots hated television. Never owned one. Never would own one except for me. This was her strongest signal yet about our relationship. Unfortunately, it came at a bad time. A real bad time.
“How do you tan your entire chest?” I asked inanely. Well, inane was better than running home in my underwear.
“I roll onto my back.” Boots returned to the bed, and flopped beside me. “Light me a cigarette?” she asked.
Rotten timing or not, this just wasn’t going to be a no talk night. I glumly reached over to the night table and lit two. I wanted to raid my stash, but hung in with the nicotine.
“Why aren’t you saying anything about the TV?” she asked, studying her smoke.
“Where would you put it?” I finally asked, inanity still intact.
Boots pulled her eyes away from the orange glow of the cigarette tip long enough to flash me a searching look. “In here. I’d get the kind with earphones.” She paused, then disguised her hesitancy. “What’s happening, Matt? Did you go over the top with buds and booze?”
The image of sitting hooked to an earphone transformed into a picture of a plastic bag wrapped around my head. Suffocating me. “Not really. I’ve been okay,” I answered, my eyes drawn to the dope. I rushed to change the subject. Both subjects. “I told you at dinner. Dealing with Lou and Lauren fucks with my head.”
“You keep saying that, but you don’t say why.” Boots seemed relieved to drop the television talk too.
“I don’t trust her. However young she looks, the lady is too damn old for her karma crap. This is a woman who married too soon, stayed too long, and seems lost without her old life. I’m afraid she’s using Lou.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know, maybe she’s scared to end up alone. Her ex is apparently living with one of their ‘good old friends,’ and if Ian is representative of their brood...”
“You don’t know that.”
“I don’t. But I’m not talking about what I know. I’m talking about what I feel.” I also felt I was dodging a bullet, without knowing where it was coming from, or what it could hit.
“I don’t understand your problem,” Boots countered. “Lauren sounds like a straight shooter. So what if she’s old for New Age? That sort of thing helped lots of women take some important steps. It isn’t easy to regroup after a shitty marriage. You know that.”
I thought about Boots’s long term affair with Hal and wondered whether she was talking about Lauren or herself. But before I could feel too self-righteous she leaned onto her side and looked up at me. “Lauren wasn’t the only person who married young; you had your Megan.”
“I didn’t stay friends with her.”
“You didn’t have a choice.”
“Low blow.”
“Low blow,” Boots agreed. “Listen honey, Lauren has kids, that makes a clean break impossible.”
I was still rubbing my kidney. “I’ve basically let go of Chana and Rebecca and that seems a lot harder.”
“It is and you have. That’s why we’re talking instead of me getting an earful of silence. I’m not saying you’re off the wall, just jumping to conclusions.”
“Lou didn’t mention Lauren for more than six months. I’d say he has his own doubts.”
“Or he didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
“Hurt my feelings?”
“Matt, you, Mrs. S, and the buildings have been his entire life since he moved here from Chicago. Now Mrs. Sullivan is dead and all he had was you and supervising Charles. He needs more than that to have a life.”
“You forgot Julius.”
“Lou avoids Julius.”
“But likes him.”
“I’d call it respect mixed with intimidation.”
“Same as me.”
“Stop joking,” Boots shook her head. “You’ve been Lou’s world since Martha died and the man needs more. It’s not Lauren’s New Age talk or her ex-husband that’s bothering you, your feelings are hurt.”
They were, though I wasn’t sure why. “Maybe you’re right,” I said, twisting toward the table, finally giving in to the weed. My nerves thanked me for the first-toke rush. “I guess I have to let it play out,” I said after slowly releasing my breath.
Boots rolled over, reached down next to her side of the king-size, and came up with a sweating gin and tonic. “Live and let live,” she toasted. “It’s always been your motto.”
“Right,” I replied before taking another large lung-full.
Boots took a long swallow. “Doesn’t it make you happy for him, even a little?”
I
