41

At Diane’s apartment building, Flip pressed a handful of buttons on the intercom and waited for a voice. His response, “It’s me,” eventually worked for somebody, and the latch smacked to unlock the front door. He moved into the lobby.

His hands returned to his jacket pockets. The box containing the gift was a rectangle the size of an ammunition clip. His fingers held it in place. After hours of enduring the suspicious stares of jewelry-store clerks at stores all over the west side, he had settled on this bracelet. The girl who sold it to him said the lucky lady would love him for it. Five carats of diamonds stretched out across platinum into what the girl called a tennis bracelet. He’d thought of asking her why they called it that but had kept his mouth shut. He’d wanted it over with. When she took it to the back of the store to wrap the box in foil gift paper and tie a ribbon around it, he half suspected she was switching it for a cheaper piece.

He set out up the stairs to the third floor and brought his hand away from the box to the railing. The sweat on his palm slicked the metal rail. Diane would like the bracelet. The girl at the store had said Diane would love him for it, and that girl should know. She’d better know.

The door at the top of the stairs took effort to move. He shoved it hard enough to make it bounce against the stop, and he was in the hallway. All these doors, duplicates of one another, grouped in pairs. Diane’s was the fifth one down on the right. He moved toward it, his feet heavy.

She would like it. She had to like it. Eight thousand dollars it had cost him, and the girl in the store had called Diane a lucky lady. And when Di asked how he’d gotten it, he would tell her he had a little job of his own going on the side. He’d tell her about Mr. B and the papers. He’d bring her into it so they could go over it together. She would like that too, and she would have some ideas how to make it even more worthwhile. He passed his hand over his hip pocket to make sure the papers were still there.

Flip reached her apartment door. He removed the box from his jacket pocket, tried to fluff the ribbon back into the curly mass the salesgirl had made. It had gotten pressed in his pocket, and he couldn’t get it to resume the right shape. He told himself it didn’t matter and twisted his neck to try to relax.

He knocked. From behind the door, he heard her voice call him inside. He would have to talk with her about screening her visitors better. If she’d seen some of the guys he’d seen, she wouldn’t let people in that easy. He ran his palm along his leg and reached for the doorknob. It turned, and he pushed the door open.

Candlelight flickered inside. Diane sat at the table, and the softness of the light cast a glow on her cheeks and nose, made the dimple in her right cheek a pinpoint of shadow. Two tall red candles stood in the center of the table. She’d set out plates for two, a bottle of wine, three steaming serving bowls and meat leafed out on a platter. The aroma of the food mixed with a fruity warmth that must have come from the candles posted on the coffee table and end tables.

How had she known he was coming? All the jitters he’d felt shifted into excitement. The fragrance, the care she’d taken with the table and candles, a woman’s vocals as soothing as a caress floating from the stereo speakers. He hadn’t talked to her for a week. He’d wanted to surprise her with the gift. How had she known?

But she rose from the table and her smile was gone. Something was wrong. He took a step into the room. The gift box was in both his hands. The settling of the expression on her face made him tighten his grip. He wanted to crush the box as she came around the table.

“Flip, darlin’ . . .”

Darkness settled in his eyes. The box went back into his jacket pocket.

She wore a long, silky robe the color of new pennies. The form of her body moved underneath the silk. Seeing it created a turmoil inside him that he clamped on so hard he thought he could feel his bones grinding.

She was before him, her hands on his arm. “It’s for the job, Flip.” Her voice was level. Her eyes were hemmed with black makeup. Her lips glistened in the candlelight. She wore heels, bringing the green of her eyes level with his. Through the fragrance of the food she’d prepared for another man, through the aroma from the candles, the scent of Diane came to him. So close.

Her fingers tightened on his arm. “You knew this would be part of it, Flip. You had to know.” Her eyes flicked past him, to the open doorway. “He’ll be here any second. You have to go.”

He tried to blink away the darkness. His eyelids were like sandpaper. He wanted to seize that pretty little neck in his fists. Or, no. He wanted to wait for the man coming, wanted his knuckles to feel that man’s face crushed beneath them.

She pushed him toward the door.

Before he could think, his arm flew up. It caught her hands and glanced against a shoulder. She stumbled backward.

He wanted to take it back, but it was too late. She went to the floor.

The robe slipped up as she fell, revealing her bare legs. By the time his eyes returned to her face, all the pretty had gone out of it, replaced with a fury that twisted her lips and brow, skin reddened.

“You have to go.” Her voice was cold as ice. She rolled onto her knees, and the robe cascaded to cover the bareness, pooling on the floor around her. “If he sees you, everything will be ruined.”

She was on her feet. The redness in her face remained, but she managed to put the pretty back into her expression, letting her forehead smooth and her lips turn into something like a smile.

Her intercom buzzed. She stepped toward it but stopped. She came to him. “That’s him. It’s for the job, darlin’. That’s all. When it’s over, we’ll be together.” Her breath was mints and steel, puffing on his cheek, the warmth of it transporting him to other times with her.

He turned to face her. Close enough to kiss. Close enough to bite. “Just tell me one thing.”

“Okay, darlin’. Then you have to go.” Her eyes the color of spring leaves flitted to the doorway and back to him.

“What’s the name you’re using? Just so I know which button to push downstairs?” He let her steer him to the door.

She leaned outside, looked up and down the hall, returned those green eyes to his. “Tierney. Brenda Tierney. Now go. Use the back stairs. I’ll call you later.”