Ten-fifteen, still not eating. Not touching their drinks either. Now only a small amount remaining in the sixth Tom Collins, the f.u.c.king bartender who looked like Tommy Laglesia pretending not to be looking at him. Come over and say something, Jesus was thinking; tired, ready to go to sleep on the bar.

Almost ten-thirty. They were leaving. They must have already paid the girl without him seeing it. They were getting up, leaving!

The f.u.c.king bartender was down at the other end. Of course, talking to someone who wouldn't stop talking. Jesus Diaz stood up on the rung of the barstool.

"Hey!"

The bartender came to him and this time he said, "Like another?"

"s.h.i.t no," Jesus Diaz said. "I want to get out of this f.u.c.king place."

"We've got to eat something," Karen said. "Three martinis-you know what that does to me?"

"Four," Maguire said. "It makes you feel good."

They stood on the patio making up their minds, sit down or go back in. There was a breeze off the channel, the feeling of the ocean close by.

"No worries," Karen said. "No, you still have them, but they don't seem as real. Maybe that's the answer. Stay in the bag and forget about it. Whenever he comes over, Marta can tell him Missus has pa.s.sed out. So-do you feel like a drink?"

"Not right now."

"Something to eat then? Why didn't we eat?"

"Lost interest, I guess. I'm still not hungry."

Maguire was looking toward the house, at the dark archway and the French doors. A lamp was on in the sitting room. He could see the back of the Louis XVI bergere. The windows of the living room were dark; the upstairs windows dark, except for one. He could feel her next to him. She was wearing a dark b.u.t.toned-up sweater now, over the dress he thought of as a long shirt, open at the neck, letting him see the beginning soft-curve of her breast when they were sitting at the table. He took her arm, and they began to walk out on the lawn toward the seawall.

"That's one way," he said. "Get stoned. But the other way, going to the cops-I'm not prejudiced, I just don't see it'll do any good. Unless he's awful dumb."

"He acts dumb," Karen said, "but I'm not sure. He's so confident."

"I doubt the cops'd put him under surveillance. They'll tell you they'll serve him with a peace bond and that should do it. Like a warning, stay away from her. But it doesn't mean anything because how're they gonna enforce it? He comes here. You call the cops. They come and he's gone. They pick him up, he says, 'Who, me? I never threatened the lady.' They shake their finger at him, 'Stay away from her.' That's about all they can do. But the way it is, he hasn't asked for anything yet."

"No."

"So it's not extortion. How do you know he wants money?"

"What else is there?"

"I don't know," Maguire said, "but I think he's interested in you more than the money. Or you and and the money." the money."

"You're kidding."

"Why not? What does he do? He worked for your husband?"

"He works for Ed Grossi, but I doubt if he will much longer."

"Why not?"

"Why? After what he did?" After what he did?"

"He jumped on your bed," Maguire said. "You can say he had rape in his eyes, but in the light of what he does for Ed Grossi-we don't know but it might be very heavy work, a key job-then all he did was jump on your bed. Ed Grossi says, 'Don't worry, I'll talk to him.' And he says to Roland, 'Quit jumping on the lady's bed, a.s.shole,' and that's it."

"Ed's a friend of mine," Karen said.

"That's nice," Maguire said, "but in his business you're a friend when he's got time or if it isn't too much trouble; unless you're in the business with him and you've taken the oath or whatever they do-even then, I don't know."

Karen thought about it, walking slowly in the darkness, holding her arms now, inside herself.

"What if I told Ed, I insist I be there when he speaks to Roland?"

"Fine," Maguire said. "Then they put on this show. Take that, that, and and that. that. Ed chews him out and Roland stands there cracking his knuckles. Even if Ed's serious, he wants the guy to stay away from you, how important is the guy to Ed? Or how much control does he have over him? That's the question." Ed chews him out and Roland stands there cracking his knuckles. Even if Ed's serious, he wants the guy to stay away from you, how important is the guy to Ed? Or how much control does he have over him? That's the question."

They stopped near the seawall, looking out at the lights of the homes across the channel.

"Are you cold?"

"Hold me," Karen said. "Will you?"

He put his arms around her, and she pressed in against him. She felt small. He thought she would fit the way Lesley did and feel much the same as Lesley, but she was smaller, more delicate; she felt good against him. He wanted to hold her very close without hurting her. He became aware of something else-though maybe it was only in his mind- that this was a woman and Lesley was a girl. Was there a difference? He raised her face with his hand and kissed her. She put her head against his cheek, then raised her face, their eyes holding for a moment, almost smiling, and they began to kiss again, their mouths fitting together and then moving, taking parts of each other's mouths, no Lesley comparison now, Lesley gone, the woman taking over alone, the woman eager, he could feel it, but holding back a little, patient. There was a difference.

He said, "Why don't you show me the bed."

She said, "All right-"

"Do you know what I thought about? The maid catching us. Why? It's my house, I can do anything I want."

"Afraid she'll go down to Southwest Eighth Street, tell everybody."

They lay close, legs touching, the sheet pulled up now.

"But only for a minute," Karen said.

"What?"

"That I worried about the maid. By the time we got to the stairs I couldn't wait."

"I couldn't wait to see you," Maguire said. His hand moved over her thigh to her patch of hair and rested there gently. "To look at your face and look at you here"-his hand moving, stroking her- "and see both of you. I tried to imagine, before, what it would look like."

"Really? You do that?"

"No, not all the time. Most girls, I look at them and I'm not interested in what it looks like. I know, know, for some reason and, well, it's just there. It's okay but it's not that important. But every once in awhile I look at a particular girl, a woman, and I don't know what hers looks like, because it's a very special one, it's for some reason and, well, it's just there. It's okay but it's not that important. But every once in awhile I look at a particular girl, a woman, and I don't know what hers looks like, because it's a very special one, it's hers hers, it's part of her and-I can't explain it. But that particular person I know I can feel very close to."

"And I'm one of those?"

"There aren't that many. Just once in awhile I see a girl, a woman-"

"You're having trouble putting me in an age group," Karen said. "It's okay, girl, woman. Which do you want me to be?"

"No, see, I like the word girl. girl. Giiirl, it's a good word. Woman, I think of a cleaning woman." Giiirl, it's a good word. Woman, I think of a cleaning woman."

"And you like girls."

"Yeah, but I'm not preoccupied, if that's what you mean."

"What about the shark girl? Let's give her a hand because she may need one someday?"

"Oh. Lesley." That was one thing about girls, women, he'd never understand. How they could read your mind. "Lesley's"-what was she?-"sort of spoiled. She pouts, puts on this act if she doesn't get her way. Or, she's arrogant, very dramatic, and you have to wait around for her to come back to earth."

"Do you go out with her?"

"Well, I have. She's the one who lives next door.

In fact it's her aunt's place, the Casa Loma. She got me the apartment. It's an efficiency really."

"Oh," Karen said.

"That's all. I ride to work with her."

"She's a cute girl."

"I guess so. If you like that type."

"Do you picture her pubic hair?"

Jesus Christ- "No. She's not the type I picture. She's more what they're turning out today. Not a lot of individuality, but a lot of hair and a cute a.s.s. If that turns you on, fine."

"Does she turn you on?"

"Lesley? I ride to work with her, ride home. We talk once in awhile."

"But does she turn you on?"

"The only reason you pick her, you happened to've seen me with her."

"Are there many others?"

"No, what I mean, it's like if I picked out Roland because we were talking about him and I ask you, when he jumped in bed with you, did it turn you on?"

"He jumped on on the bed." the bed."

"Yeah, but did it?"

"We sound like we're married," Karen said.

"This is what it's like, huh? I always wondered if I was missing something."

She turned her head on the pillow to look at him.

"I think you were miscast. You should've been something else."

"Yeah, like what?"

"I haven't decided yet. But-you would've ended up in prison. You're smart enough to know that."

"That's why I got out of it."

"No, I think you're out of it because you finally realized you never should've been in. That's what I mean you were miscast. Some wild idea influenced you."

"Money," Maguire said.

"See, you pretend you're cynical, but you're not. It wasn't just money. Maybe the risk, or the excitement."

"Maybe," Maguire said. "I remember telling Andre I could do without anymore thrills. Yeah, maybe you're right," his tone thoughtful, going back in his mind and beginning to wonder how he'd got into the life-always one more, just to raise traveling money-and how those years had gone by so fast. He said, "That wasn't me I was telling you about. It must've been somebody else."

Looking at him lying next to her in her bed she could say to herself, My G.o.d, who is this guy? Or she could say, Somebody I've known for a long time. She said to him, "You feel it, don't you? You said you felt close." Putting her hand on his hand.

"Like the other night was years ago," Maguire said. "Even dinner, the one we didn't have, seems a long time ago now."

"That's what I'll tell Marta, we're old friends," Karen said, and smiled. "Why do I worry about Marta? Even with Frank, I was never afraid to stand up to him."

"I guess you did," Maguire said.

"But I was always worried-not worried, concerned, with what the maid thought of me."

"Because you think of her as a person and not just a maid," Maguire said. "Talk about miscast, the lady of the house. I don't see you that way at all. A lady, lady, yeah, I suppose, the way it's used. But I don't see you just sitting around pouring tea." yeah, I suppose, the way it's used. But I don't see you just sitting around pouring tea."

"How do you see me?"

"Well, like in a sweater and jeans, doing something outside." He paused. "You want me to tell you, really?"

"Yes, I'd love to know."

"I see us, us," Maguire said. "I see us driving through Spain. I see us at a sidewalk table, place with a red awning. I see us looking at somebody, like some tourist, and nudging each other and laughing."

She turned to him as he spoke, moving closer and laying her hand on his chest.

"I see us picking up our maps and a couple bottles of red wine to take with us."

"What kind of car do we have?"

"Alpha Romeo. Convertible, with the top down."

"Where're we going?"

"Madrid to the Costa del Sol. And if we don't like it, we'll go to some other costa."