stopped.
“We’ll talk about it another time, maybe.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” He did not want to relive those emotions. It was too complicated to explain to someone who had not been there.
“Whenever you feel you can.”
“Sure.”
Carol jumped up. “Would you like to see my house?”
Her eyes looked to him either preoccupied or unfocused. In any case, over bright. He set his glass down with great care. The glass was fragile and so was whatever mood she was in. He did not want to risk breaking either. “I’d love to.
He began to trail her through rooms. She talked as steadily as a tour guide, but her voice had gone off fractionally. He watched her.
They stood in her bedroom, a bright airy room with chintz curtains at windows that were partly open. The bed was queen-sized - rather a large bed, he thought, for a lone woman. It was like an empty arena. It existed to be used. Without two struggling gladiators, and the grunts of combat, it did not make sense. In itself it seemed an invitation. He wondered if he was supposed to make a try here.
But she never stopped talking, and instead led him through a short corridor into what must have been a boudoir originally - a small room outfitted as an office. “Here’s where I do a lot of my work,” said Carol. Boudoirs have changed Powers thought, but women have not. All roads still lead to the boudoir, he thought. He could measure his progress toward it with a ruler. Afterwards, to determine the magnitude of his victory, he can make a body count.
There was a desk and typewriter. There were stacks of books and papers on the floor. Against the wall was a daybed, and Carol sat down on it. When Powers sat beside her, she threw him a shy smile.
“You are a beautiful woman.”
“Well, thank you. What a nice thing to say. Thank you very much.”
He decided to take up both her hands, but she disengaged them.
Powers was not sure what to do next.
“I feel there’s something between us, don’t you?” she said. “Maybe it’s just that we’ve been shot at together. I don’t know what else it could be, do you?”
Powers felt like a man whose letter was in the mail. His message would reach its destination eventually. Repeating it now could do no further harm.
He said, “I want to go to bed with you. I want to go to bed with you right now.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Carol said. “That won’t be possible.” She frowned, then smiled, then frowned again.
Powers said nothing.
“It isn’t,” she added, “because I don’t find you attractive. I find you very attractive. You’re a very attractive man As a matter of fact, I’m flattered to be asked. I’m sure any woman would feel flattered, an attractive man like you. Thank you for asking me.”
Powers stared at her; his face felt set in cement.
“So tell me about yourself,” said Carol nervously Did you go to college?”
The question hung there, as red and tender as a bruise.
“Did I go to college? What kind of question is that? What do you take me for? For some stupid flatfoot? Is that who you think you’re dealing with? Of course I went to college. And got a degree. And law school. And got a law degree. You want to know something? Some cops can read and write. Try getting to know a few. You’d be surprised.”
“You’re a lawyer then. I didn’t know that. I didn’t know you were a lawyer.”
“I’ve got a law degree. I’m not a lawyer, I hate lawyers.
“But I don’t see why,” she said nervously, triumphantly, “why you went to the trouble of getting a law degree. If you didn’t intend to practice law, that is?”
“Because if a man wants a big career in law enforcement a law degree helps.”
“Is that what you want, a big career? In law enforcement?
“I have to shove off.”
Carol, in a small voice, said, “I seem to have led you on. I’m sorry. I’m really terribly sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
Powers, on his feet, stepped toward the door.
“There’s a very nice
“We’ll talk about it another time, maybe.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” He did not want to relive those emotions. It was too complicated to explain to someone who had not been there.
“Whenever you feel you can.”
“Sure.”
Carol jumped up. “Would you like to see my house?”
Her eyes looked to him either preoccupied or unfocused. In any case, over bright. He set his glass down with great care. The glass was fragile and so was whatever mood she was in. He did not want to risk breaking either. “I’d love to.
He began to trail her through rooms. She talked as steadily as a tour guide, but her voice had gone off fractionally. He watched her.
They stood in her bedroom, a bright airy room with chintz curtains at windows that were partly open. The bed was queen-sized - rather a large bed, he thought, for a lone woman. It was like an empty arena. It existed to be used. Without two struggling gladiators, and the grunts of combat, it did not make sense. In itself it seemed an invitation. He wondered if he was supposed to make a try here.
But she never stopped talking, and instead led him through a short corridor into what must have been a boudoir originally - a small room outfitted as an office. “Here’s where I do a lot of my work,” said Carol. Boudoirs have changed Powers thought, but women have not. All roads still lead to the boudoir, he thought. He could measure his progress toward it with a ruler. Afterwards, to determine the magnitude of his victory, he can make a body count.
There was a desk and typewriter. There were stacks of books and papers on the floor. Against the wall was a daybed, and Carol sat down on it. When Powers sat beside her, she threw him a shy smile.
“You are a beautiful woman.”
“Well, thank you. What a nice thing to say. Thank you very much.”
He decided to take up both her hands, but she disengaged them.
Powers was not sure what to do next.
“I feel there’s something between us, don’t you?” she said. “Maybe it’s just that we’ve been shot at together. I don’t know what else it could be, do you?”
Powers felt like a man whose letter was in the mail. His message would reach its destination eventually. Repeating it now could do no further harm.
He said, “I want to go to bed with you. I want to go to bed with you right now.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Carol said. “That won’t be possible.” She frowned, then smiled, then frowned again.
Powers said nothing.
“It isn’t,” she added, “because I don’t find you attractive. I find you very attractive. You’re a very attractive man As a matter of fact, I’m flattered to be asked. I’m sure any woman would feel flattered, an attractive man like you. Thank you for asking me.”
Powers stared at her; his face felt set in cement.
“So tell me about yourself,” said Carol nervously Did you go to college?”
The question hung there, as red and tender as a bruise.
“Did I go to college? What kind of question is that? What do you take me for? For some stupid flatfoot? Is that who you think you’re dealing with? Of course I went to college. And got a degree. And law school. And got a law degree. You want to know something? Some cops can read and write. Try getting to know a few. You’d be surprised.”
“You’re a lawyer then. I didn’t know that. I didn’t know you were a lawyer.”
“I’ve got a law degree. I’m not a lawyer, I hate lawyers.
“But I don’t see why,” she said nervously, triumphantly, “why you went to the trouble of getting a law degree. If you didn’t intend to practice law, that is?”
“Because if a man wants a big career in law enforcement a law degree helps.”
“Is that what you want, a big career? In law enforcement?
“I have to shove off.”
Carol, in a small voice, said, “I seem to have led you on. I’m sorry. I’m really terribly sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
Powers, on his feet, stepped toward the door.
“There’s a very nice
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