54

“You were with that faggot again, Christine.” Riley’s voice was calm now, but artificially so.

Lida wished she’d taken more psych courses in college. She tried vainly to think of the categories, wondering which one he’d fall into.

“You gonna answer me?” He stopped walking and took her face in his hands. then he started squeezing his hands together.

She reached up and caught his arms. The pressure eased. She was able to take his hands away. “But he’s a faggot,” she said. “Why worry?”

He laughed. They started walking again. Then he stopped laughing and began looking over at her at every other stride.

Now what? Lida wondered. Would he follow them? Could he catch up? But anyway, they were in the streets of the nation’s capital, and it was broad daylight.

He stopped.

She stopped as well.

He took her hand and maneuvered her backward, against the face of a building. Then he dropped her hand and pressed his palms against her cheeks again.

People passed them by. Lida heard their heels clicking against the pavement. No one stopped. No one interfered. No one even slowed down.

“Hey …” She raised her knee and rubbed it along the side of Riley’s leg. “Hey, come on,” she said. The pressure of his fingers eased again. His hands moved to her shoulders. And then he placed his hands against the building. Beside her, forming a little cage.

She pointed her toe and rubbed it along his instep, up his calf. “In a little bit,” she said.

“At that museum?” he said throatily.

“Mmm, yes.”

“You’re disgusting.” A woman stood beside them and pushed her face toward Lida’s. “This is a disgusting display.”

Riley dropped his hands. He hung his head.

Where were you, Lida wondered, when he was killing me?

“Wait a minute,” Lida said to the woman.

“You’re a whore. Don’t touch me, you whore.” She backed away. She spat on the pavement.

“Maybe we should get a cab,” Riley said, still looking down. “I’m sick of walking.”

“We’ll walk slower.” Lida ran her hand along the side of his face. The woman was still there, watching. “Don’t you like to walk with me?” she asked.

Without looking up, he slapped her hand away. “Knock it off,” he said. “I don’t want a bunch of kooks staring at us.”

The woman was still watching. Maybe, maybe.

“Ronald Wendolyn walks with me all the time,” Lida said.

He grabbed her face again. Grabbed it and squeezed. “You filthy little bitch,” he said.

Tears were clogging Lida’s vision. But she could see the woman as a blur. Still there. Coming closer.

Upon them now.

“You see?” The woman’s face loomed again. “The Lord will punish you. You see?” She turned and walked away.

Lida took her knee again, and rubbed it over his groin. The son of a bitch. He already had an erection.

But he dropped his hands. “I told you,” he said, “not here.” He started walking and looked back at her. “Come on, Christine.”