XV

Frederika, rubbing the hurt place on her cheek, looked through the slats of the blinds, waiting for Eddie to appear on the street below. The spot where the woman had stood before was empty and, except for the passing of an occasional car, the street was deserted. Then he appeared, walking swiftly.

A flash of movement caught her attention. It was the woman, crossing the street with the sure step of a cat in the jungle. Rushing back from the window, she ran to her bed and slipped under the blanket. She is coming now, she knew, feeling her vulnerability, her nakedness.

Earlier she had been brave, talking of killing. Now her courage had passed out of her like liquid from an overturned bottle and she lay in the bed, sure of doom, welcoming the possibility as her only alternative to Eddie. She waited, listening, knowing in her soul that the woman would soon be here, in this room. But her mind still could not grasp the woman's motive. She is a relative of someone killed in the plane wreck. The idea calmed her momentarily. That was a motive she could understand. Punishment was on its way, deserved, avenging. But the calm was brief. Whoever she was, she was the enemy, the enemy of Eduardo, her Eddie. He had struck her. It should have been a knife in her heart.

She buried her face in the pillows, screamed into it with all her strength, felt the muffled sound bounce back into her head.

Despite the inevitability of the woman's impending presence, the buzzer startled her. Coming first in short bursts, it changed quickly to an unending wail. Finally she rose from the bed. Opening the door, she stood aside as the woman came into the room.

Like a filmed dance in slow motion, the woman emerged in Frederika's consciousness, half-developed, an unfinished photograph. In the gray light, her face appeared dead white, with eyes like pinpoints of light, like a pumpkin head, backlit by a candle. The odd imagery solidified Frederika's fear and paralyzed her sense of motion. The woman focused on her, as if the gaze could strip her flesh from her bones, and she huddled deeper in the blanket she had wrapped around herself. Then she saw the pinpoints of light deflect, leave her face, and dart around her apartment, inquiring. The woman's hands were thrust deep in the pockets of her coat, and as she turned back toward her, Frederika could see the sneering, tightly pressed lips, the uplifted nose suggesting an imperial opinion, as if, she, Frederika, were a piece of obscene garbage floating on the scum of some stagnant backwater.

"He was here," the woman said. It came as a hiss, like the sound of a trapped rattlesnake. They stood facing each other. The woman's voice seemed almost comforting in the charged air, suggesting a humanness that belied the image in Frederika's mind.

"He was here," the woman repeated. The ends of her nostrils quivered. Had she actually caught Eddie's scent? She looked at the coverless bed, the wrinkled sheets, the indented pillows, the obvious evidence of passion. The strange woman was taller than Frederika, her hair clipped short like a boy's. Her fear diminishing, Frederika could study her now. She was, after all, only a woman.

"Who are you?" she asked, ashamed of her previous fear, sensing the beginnings of indignation. She shivered and tightened the blanket around herself. The tall woman seemed tentative, vulnerable, as if she had walked into a den of lions and could not quite decide how to cope with the situation.

"I demand to know why he was here," the woman said. Her tight lips still sneered, but the thinning darkness was swiftly chasing her mystique. Frederika watched her. She stood stiffly, holding her body as if it was incapable of any other configuration, devoid of suppleness.

"Who are you talking about?" Frederika demanded.

"You know." It was as if an obscenity hung on her tongue, and she had not the courage to utter it. Frederika remained deliberately silent, her mind reacting now, observing. This is not what it seems, at all, she thought.

"Eduardo Allesandro Palmero," the woman said. The name was spoken with odd formality. It reached her as the name of a stranger. Not her Eddie. She could deny the knowledge of his existence, she thought. It was her first reaction. But the sound of his name seemed to place him in a new dimension, sparking her curiosity now. There is another woman searching for Eddie. It came to her as if she had been suddenly doused with icy water. There was another woman. It was her turn to hate now. She wanted to be cruel.

"He has just left my bed," she said, watching the words, like bullets, find their mark. The woman's lips quivered and her eyelids fluttered. A nerve palpitated in her cheek. She was losing control. Was she his wife? Frederika turned from her with contempt and moved toward the bed. She flung the blanket from her body, flaunting her nakedness, turning briefly to show her the fullness of her body, its richly turned curves, her womannesss. She felt an odd sense of pride and victory as she propped up the pillows and slid slowly into the bed, her arms crossed behind her head, her jaw pointed upward. She could now feel the woman's helplessness.

"And who the hell are you?" she asked, feeling the venom pass through the air. Again she knew that the tall woman felt the impact, although she could sense the gathering of her pride. Watching her, Frederika was goaded to muster more cruelty. This woman must suffer, she decided.

"He is my lover," she said, superior now, watching the tall woman lose her ominous aura. The woman's hands fluttered behind her for a moment, as if seeking support. Finally, she groped toward a chair and sat down. The light, thickening between the slats of the blinds, etched the lines of exhaustion on the woman's face. Her shoulders hunched forward as if she hadn't the strength to hold them up.

"Are you his wife?" Frederika asked. She was surprised at her lack of compassion. This pitiful woman is nothing to me, she told herself. She would not have been worth the killing, Frederika decided.

The woman shook her head and turned, averting Frederika's eyes. She is feeling my cruelty, she thought proudly, wanting to hurt more, to strike harder blows.

"You are absurd," Frederika said, enjoying her malevolence.

"I know," the woman said. Is she part of Eddie's operation, Frederika wondered. She was hardly the vaunted enemy, this laughable creature. Perhaps she is an unrequited lover, Frederika thought, feeling a first brief tug of pity. Smiling thinly, she recalled how Eddie's powerful sexuality could move her, and she felt puffed up with the full breath of her superiority as a woman. The person before her was hardly female, a man almost, and older by far than herself. She was a hag. Frederika resisted the temptation to throw off the covers and spread her legs in front of the woman. Let me show you where Eduardo Allesandro Palmero has been. She giggled silently, reveling in the sudden image of his hard erection inserted in her.

"What are you?" Frederika asked, the contempt blatant. She had wanted to say "who," but felt better implying a less than human designation. "You've got one fucking nerve," she cried. The woman was staring at her with a fixed glazed look, and it suddenly occurred to Frederika that she might be unbalanced. She remembered her vigil, the preposterous obsessive idea of it, and she cursed herself for feeling the least iota of fear. Then why had Eddie suddenly become upset?

"Come on. Let's have it?" Frederika said, goading the woman. "Eduardo Palmero is my lover, my confidant, my friend." She became suddenly cautious. Surely, this was not a rival. But the idea, now loosed, disturbed her.

"What is he to you?" she asked, clicking her tongue.

"I can understand your arrogance," the woman said quietly. The words were subdued and controlled. She was recovering her poise. Frederika felt a certain alertness, an anticipation of something unknown, unwanted. She had been expecting the woman to burst into tears, an acknowledgment of total surrender, defeat.

"What does that mean?" she croaked. Her voice had caught, indicating the return of terror, a new fear. She wondered if the woman had sensed it. Confirmation was quick. The woman stiffened again.

"We seem to be sharing the same commodity," the woman said softly. What does she mean? Frederika thought. She rose in the bed and sat up, pulling the blanket around the upper part of her body.

"You really must be sick, you know," Frederika said. She shook her head and looked at the woman. "And I'll bet you really believe it."

"Did you think you were the only one?" the woman asked. Her voice was clear now, decisive. She had regained her poise.

"Frankly, I don't think it's any of your business," Frederika said. Did she really want to hear more? He had not told her that much about himself. But was it necessary? Considering what had passed between them? What she felt she knew about him? The mental barricades were falling now, all the careful efforts at self-protection. But surely not this woman. She was older, old. Weird. No, she decided. She is making it up, imagining it.

"Tell me," the tall woman said, her lips firm now, the edges moving upward in the direction of a smile. "What have you done for him?"

"Done?"

"What has he made you do?"

"I do nothing against my will." The words had spilled out and she knew that she had left herself vulnerable. "You are quite sad, you know," Frederika said, attempting to retrieve her advantage, but it felt hollow, and she knew that the strange woman had sensed it.

"I would do anything for him. Anything he asked." Frederika was surprised at her own militancy. And her defensiveness.

"Anything?"

"Why are you asking these things?" Frederika asked, feigning indignance.

"What is he to you?"

Silence hung in the room. Frederika felt the tension between them now, the odd sharing, and the commonality. It was hate, palpable, material, a thing that could be touched. She had never felt such an emotion, not with the same intensity that engulfed her now. The woman is physically repulsive, she decided, comparing herself, the knowledge of her own youth, to the faded woman sitting before her. She could detect the beginning of the wizening process, the body's accumulated wreckage. But she was embarrassed, because she felt Eddie slipping from her, the image of him changing rapidly, even as she sat here. She did not want to hear the woman's response. It was better that she left, that it was ended between them. We share nothing, she decided. I am having a nightmare.

"Everything," the woman answered at last, her voice strong, emphatic. "Eduardo is everything. He is my life." The words came without emotion, controlled.

"That is impossible," Frederika said. "A woman senses things about her lover." She looked at the woman again, as if to confirm her previous thoughts about her. "No, it is impossible. You are doing this purposely. It's a goddamned lie."

The tall woman shrugged. She conceded no victory and Frederika's own sense of superior knowledge was quickly draining from her, the stopper removed, water running from an unclogged sink.

"I'm just as confused as you are," the woman said.

Frederika watched her. "I could kill you," she said suddenly, the hatred filling her, overflowing. "I could kill you and it wouldn't affect me one bit. Last week I helped kill a planeload of people and it ate my heart out. But I could stick a knife in your belly right now, and it wouldn't mean a damned thing to me, not a damned thing."

It was an admission and she knew it. The thought of Eddie sharing his body with this woman disgusted her. "And what did he make you do?" she said bitterly.

"He made me do nothing," the woman said. Then hesitantly, but proudly, she said, "I gave him money."

Of course, Frederika thought. How else could she have had him? She had to pay for him. "That is obvious."

"Just as obvious as you." The woman's strength had returned now. She stood up again, rising to her full height, less stiff now but still imperious. Perhaps it was the fact of her standing over Frederika that reinforced the impression. Frederika was looking up, annoyed at the circumstances.

"He used you," Frederika said malignantly. "You should not have taken him seriously. If you gave him money, it is because he needed it for his work, his cause. If you took it seriously I feel sorry for you."

"I feel sorry for both of us," the woman said quietly.

"You needn't waste your pity on me. I am his woman."

"We are both his women."

"You?"

"Yes."

"That is absurd." It is absurd, she told herself again, but she could feel the tentativeness of her self-assurance. Who is Eddie? Are we really talking about the same man? A glimmer of hope rose, then faded as quickly as it came.

"What do you know about Eduardo?" the woman asked.

"I know what I want to know."

"Yes, I understand," the woman said. "The question is: Is it important to know? I thought so. And look where that has brought us."

Frederika imagined she could feel the woman shifting gears, searching for a new path through this underbrush of confusion. She is seeking sisterhood with me, she thought, resisting it. I will not be part of it, she vowed. She wants to use me to share him. The insight bemused her. Never!

"It has brought us nowhere," Frederika said. "It is all in your head. Perhaps you have been used. But then, Eddie is involved in dangerous work. It is important work." She hesitated, aiming the barb. She wanted it to stick deeply into the woman's flesh. "You had no right to go beyond." Beyond what? Her mind filled with a grotesque image of Eddie and this woman in copulation, a quivering greedy woman with hanging, aging skin, and Eddie, eyes tight, pressed against her ugliness, offering his beautiful body on the altar of sacrifice. But the image lacked integrity. The woman before her was thin, the skin on her face tight, her movements lithe. Her hands bespoke a certain elegance, long graceful fingers gloved in incredibly white alabaster skin. Her neck was not crenellated. The age was around the eyes, sad with wisdom.

"You had no right," Frederika repeated. Despite her revulsion, she felt the beginnings of being drawn toward the woman. It is not possible, she told herself again, her anger mounting to a new threshold, then sputtering. She felt a wave of nausea roll over her. Then her body began to shake with chills. She huddled in the blanket.

"I think he has betrayed us both," the tall woman said. Was she gaining an advantage over her? He was using her, Frederika insisted to herself. It could not be the same with her. It could not be.

"You're a goddamned liar!" Frederika shouted.

"A liar?"

"He used you for your money."

"And you," the woman shot back. "What did he use you for?"

"I would die for him," Frederika said, her voice hollow. She heard it echo in the room. "I killed for him," she said quietly, her anger spending rapidly as she tasted the dregs of defeat.

"You see. We are both his victims."

"Victims?"

"What else would you call it?"

"I would do it again," Frederika hissed. "How can you know what is between us?" She pounded a fist suddenly into her thigh. "Can't you understand that all you were was a casual fuck? What did it matter to him?"

The tall woman remained calm, in control now, watching her coolly. It was Frederika who was faltering and disoriented.

"At least I had no illusions," the woman said proudly. "He moved me. Like I have never been moved before. That was all that mattered."

"Then why did you want more?"

"It was a fatal error," the tall woman agreed. "I know that now. But it is too late. I should have been satisfied with my share and shut away any other possibilities."

"You screwed up everything," Frederika said. She wondered where Eddie had gone, could understand his agitation now.

"He said he would be back," Frederika said. She felt the chill of evaporating tears on her cheek. They must have come without her knowing, tears of pain. "And he knew you were watching him."

"He knew?"

"I told him. I have been observing you for days. I thought you were"--she swallowed deeply--"the enemy. An agent."

"Believe me. I would rather I was as well." The woman sat down again. "I'm sorry. I really am sorry."

"Who are you?" Frederika asked. The tall woman smiled thinly, but the warmth was visible.

"I am Penny McCarthy." She shrugged. "Anne."

"Anne?"

"He calls me Anne. It is my middle name."

"I'm Frederika Millspaugh." The tears came now, cascading without shame. "Pleased to meet you," she said. She had wanted to be sarcastic, but it had not come out that way. Slivers of light came through the blinds now. The sun was rising. It would be a bright day.

They sat in silence for a long time. Automobiles honked as the traffic rolled past, the beginning of the rush hour. An occasional shout pierced the din, a child's voice.

"So what happens now?" Frederika asked. The onset of morning seemed to symbolize a change in her entire world. It will never be the same again, she thought.

"I've been thinking about that myself." The light removed the shadows from the woman's face, except for the deep blue hollows below her eyes. In the brighter light the woman's eyes were green, incredibly green. Frederika found herself searching for positive qualities in the woman, justification.

"I think he's gone to find you," Frederika said, remembering. "He will want to be certain."

"I saw him leave. But I'm sure he didn't see me."

"What happens when he discovers you're not where you're supposed to be?"

"I have no idea."

The urge for questioning seemed odd. But Frederika did not want the woman to leave. There was more to know, more information required, if she was to survive this. What she really wanted to ask, she dared not. Could she possibly ask another woman how she felt, what she felt? It would be unbearable.

"So he lived with you," Frederika said, deliberately oblique, hoping to catch the woman off-guard.

"No."

"No?"

The woman looked around the room. Compulsively, she rose and opened a closet door. We are two jungle cats, circling each other, Frederika thought, the image embarrassing in its accuracy. Had Eddie reduced them to that?

"See. He didn't live with me either."

"All right, then. Where did he live? Where did he go?"

The knowledge came to them both at the same time, Frederika was sure. There was a sisterhood between them, born of shared humiliation.

"I don't know," she said.

"Is it possible there are others?" Anne asked. The inquiry seemed childlike, naive.

Frederika blanched, since she, too, had been thinking the same thought.

"He wasn't, after all, just hatched from an egg, full grown." She did not try to hide her sarcasm, but it was directed at herself as well.

"Others?" she asked.

"It is not impossible."

She looked at the woman, sure now of the truth, aware of the image that must be in both their minds, the slender body, the power of its sexuality, the electricity of what it could convey.

"No," Frederika said. "It is not impossible." The words were emphatic but without conviction. Despite her reluctance, there was a relationship growing between her and this woman. "You spoiled the whole damned thing," she said quietly to the tall woman, who nodded.

"I know."

"And now?"

"I wish it were possible to begin again at square one."

"And where is that?"

"I wish I knew," the tall woman replied.

"It's the place we were before you tried to get more than you were entitled to." Would she really settle for that? Frederika thought. She had blotted out all other possibilities in Eddie's life. Could she abide his consorting with the two of them?

"I could never adjust to it," she decided, the thought articulate. She could sense that the tall woman had understood. "Can you understand that..." She paused. "...Anne?" Was she being patronizing? Or taking advantage of Anne's age. There was more than twenty years between them. She was, obviously, even older than Eddie. At that age, she thought, pride might be thwarted. One could accept demeaning.

"Nor me," Anne said. Frederika was not really surprised at her reaction. This woman was not going to accept half a loaf. Nor she. Perhaps it would be better to ignore the possibilities of choice at this point. It was, after all, Eddie's choice. But would they submit to that kind of slave auction? I would, Frederika thought. It would be bearable if I could have him forever. But nothing is forever, she reasoned, confused now by the sudden onslaught of possibilities.

"Do you really think there are others?" Frederika asked. "Like us?" She could suspect the answer to that question.

"I have no doubt about it," Anne said. "Not now."

"But how can we be sure?"

"We'll find out."

Frederika felt in league with the woman now, conspiratorial. Despite her resistance, they were moving toward sisterhood, a thought which she detested. How can I be allied with that woman? I will share nothing with her, she thought. She has no right to know what went on between Eddie and me. What is going on?

"We can at least check his whereabouts, between us," Frederika said.

"Yes, that. And we can do what I've done."

"Follow him?"

"Yes."

"Or we could confront him," Frederika said. But, considering the circumstances, we could hardly expect his cooperation, she thought. She could see that Anne had also rejected the idea.

"Between us. If we are clever. If we are careful ... we could track him," Anne said.

Frederika felt squeamish. It seemed a violation of Eddie's privacy. But he has violated us, she thought, anger rising again, this time directed at Eddie. He has betrayed us both. The bastard! So she could also hate him.

"Yes," she said, her sense of purpose tangible now. "I can do that." Yet her resolve was not quite unencumbered. "And what happens when we do find out ... discover?"

Anne shrugged, expelling a sigh. "I don't know," she said quietly. "It may not seem as important then as it does now."

They exchanged telephone numbers. When Frederika handed hers to Anne, for a brief millisecond, their eyes met. Anne's green eyes seemed like two blazing searchlights probing her. Could it have been the same, Frederika wondered, the intensity, the joy, the pleasure, the sense of wholeness.

Anne stood at the door, hesitating. Then she turned. "Has he ever mentioned Miranda?" she asked.

Frederika thought, searching her mind.

"No." She waited for a response.

"It was said suddenly. I don't think he realized."

"Another woman? Like us?"

"Another woman yes," Anne said quietly. "But not like us. NO! Not like us." She turned again and let herself out.

Frederika lay in her bed for hours after Anne had left, wallowing in a bottomless void. For years she had felt nothing, was certain that she had died, and then with Eddie she had felt everything. Was she on the verge of death again? The brightness was fading in the room when the telephone's ring shocked her into full awareness. Reaching for it, she wondered if it might be Eddie and she began to compose herself. She had assumed there had been a silent understanding between them. Say nothing. Don't let on.

"He was here." It was Anne's voice. Frederika felt her own resentment. Had they made love? The image was too unbearable to continue and it broke in her mind into a thousand pieces.

"Are you there?" Anne asked, her voice unhurried. Frederika pictured the tall woman in the trench coat, hovering over her.

"Yes."

"I admitted that I followed him. He questioned me. I did not tell him that we have met, nor does he suspect that I know. He is assuming that I think he lives there."

"And he said nothing to clear up the matter?"

"No."

"Did he wonder where you've been?"

"I told him I walked the streets."

"Did he believe that?"

"I don't know. But he is suspicious." She paused. "He made me promise that I would not try to find out more about him. Not now."

"And then?"

"I doubt if any of my explanations satisfied him. I think he will now be more cautious than ever. More secretive." Is she confiding everything, Frederika wondered.

"He was with you all day?" Frederika asked cautiously. The pause that followed telescoped the answer.

"Yes."

What was it like, she wanted to ask.

"I wish I could say I was revolted," Anne whispered finally.

"Nothing was changed?"

From my bed to hers, Frederika thought, her heart pounding, punishing herself with the cutting edge of her own humiliation. Was my body smell still lingering on his skin? Were my juices still visible, tastable? The idea of it was a mortification. We must punish him for this, she vowed, touching the nub of a beginning terror. Her question to Anne remained unanswered. So there is still a delicacy between us, she thought, gathering her malice.

"And where is he now?"

"There is no way of knowing. I thought I might follow him, but he is too suspicious now, very guarded. It would not be easy." There was a pause again. "When do you expect him to come to you?"

"Is there ever a set time?"

"Will you call me when you know?"

"Of course." Why should she be spared the pain of it. "And I plan to follow him. I plan to find out. There is no stopping now, Anne. You realize that."

"Yes."

Frederika lowered the phone, heard Anne's breathing, perhaps a sigh, then depressed the connection. Immediately she had the urge to call her back, to find out more about what had happened between them, then fought back the temptation. She dressed quickly and went to work, but her mind was on the street outside and she peered through the windows, searching the passing faces. She wanted, needed, even a brief moment's preparation before any confrontation. That night she worked particularly hard, to drown her mind and body with fatigue.

"You're really pushing tonight, kid," Marcia said.

"I need the money," she snapped.

For the next two days and nights, she reacted like a sleepwalker, passing through her life half-conscious. Only the sound of the telephone restored her alertness.

"Did he call? Have you seen him?" It was Anne's voice. She called at least three times every day.

"No." A pause. "And you?"

"No."

"Do you think he suspects?"

"I think he is suspicious, surely. But he cannot know the truth."

"Not unless you told him."

"What purpose would there be in that?"

"I'm not sure."

"You must be more trusting."

"I'm trying. Believe me, Anne, I'm trying."

There seemed, Frederika thought, an edge of hysteria to Anne's voice as the calls persisted.

"He didn't call? You didn't see him?"

"No." Frederika was firm.

"How can I be sure?"

"You can't." Frederika felt her own nastiness. "And how can I be sure you haven't?"

"It's maddening."

"How do you think I feel?"

"Please forgive me."

Frederika didn't answer. By the end of the third day, she was frantic and let the phone ring endlessly. Finally she picked it up. Before she could respond, she heard Eddie's voice.

"Will you be there?"

"Of course." She had planned to go to work. Instantly, her plans changed.

"I will be there shortly."

Thankfully, he arrived within a half hour. She was beginning to develop a kind of psychic palpitation as her mind groped through a series of speculations. How would she observe him? Before, her reactions had been natural, inevitable, like the force of gravity. Could she dissimulate now? Could she lie? Was it possible? It was like contemplating death. Then his key was in the door. He stepped into the apartment and, as he did so, her mind went blank and only the primitive force remained. She curled about him, swallowing him, it seemed, as she had once seen a python swallow a pig in an old movie. If he was startled by her reaction, he said nothing, letting her envelop him as if it were his due tribute.

"My God, I love you, Eddie," she said breathlessly. She could feel his breath coming in short gasps as she moved her fingers over his body, undressing him, her animality mindless. She moved herself onto him, bending her torso to insert him, still standing a few feet from the door. He said nothing, the hardness thrusting inside of her, the full force of her body seeking to suck him into her, not only the male organ, the whole of him.

"Eddie. Eddie," she heard herself moan, feeling the great internal explosions, their faraway rumbling, the volcanic force, the lava moving in a hot mass through her body, an eruption of joy. It was joy. She knew. The joy of him. Why?

It was some time before intelligence returned and she lay in her bed watching him, his eyes, she knew, focusing inward, at something that she could neither touch nor understand.

"You think, Eddie," she announced suddenly, seeking an oblique rebuke, some beginning of punishment. "You don't feel." He must have sensed the admonishment.

"That's not true at all." He was protecting himself now, she knew.

"You are governed by your mind." Anne had confirmed that. The idea of Anne emerged, bringing with it the pain that she had successfully kept at bay. Her mind was operating clearly now and she felt she could touch her own cunning. She must be cautious, she decided, remembering Anne's words. I will have to go fishing in his brain.

"I wonder what I really mean to you."

He turned toward her, stroking his chin in an uncommon manner. She had not seen him do that before. He's full of surprises, she thought.

"You mean a great deal."

How could he say that so blandly, she wondered, determined to keep him on the defensive. She wanted to say: Am I the only woman in your life? But the hypocrisy would crush her with guilt. Besides, she would not be prepared for his lies. Not now. She held off asking about the woman who had stood in the cold, waiting, fearful that he would connect the thought with her previous question. Would I really die for him, she asked herself, knowing that something was changing within her.

"Will I be traveling again soon?" she said instead.

"Yes. In a few days."

"To the same place?"

"No. To San Antonio. We have worked out a change in plans."

"And will others die because of what I will do?"

"Yes. But they will be enemies." His thoughts were being deflected now. "The new arrangements have not quite been completed. But everything is moving satisfactorily." He turned toward her and patted her hair. "I am quite proud of you, Frederika."

"What about the woman that I told you about? The one that was watching in front of the building?" It seemed appropriate to broach the subject now, in this context.

He did not blanch or show any sign of sudden intrusion. She observed him closely, watching for signs, but none came. He is a superb actor, she decided, wondering how well she, too, was doing.

"It was nothing," he said. "I had mistakenly thought she might be one of them, an agent. But I checked carefully and now I'm sure it was only a coincidence."

"That must have been a relief."

"Yes," he said. "Unfortunately such things increase one's sense of paranoia. In this business, one always lives with it." He stopped patting her hair. "Did it frighten you?"

"Yes."

"Well," he said offhandedly. "It's all right then."

He seemed suddenly relaxed and, she wondered, perhaps off-guard.

"What is it that you do to me?" she said, her curiosity genuine, although she could feel the tender spot of her humiliation. It was a thought worth exploring, since it contained the kernel of her truth. She had every right to ask why, she decided. For herself. Perhaps he could explain it. She had dared not ask Anne.

"I don't know," he said, frowning, obviously puzzled. It was, it seemed, a thought that even he dared not pursue.

"Do you ever think about it?"

"Yes."

"Has it happened before? With other women?" By his reaction, she knew that the barb had penetrated something inside of him. She hoped there was a wound, that she had drawn blood.

"I cannot say for sure."

"But what do you suspect?"

"How can I answer such a question?" There'd been a brief flash of anger.

"Have you observed it before? A reaction like mine, for example."

"I don't understand."

"Yes, you do," she protested. "Surely there have been other women who have felt this ... like me, felt the power of you."

She sensed his discomfort. He got up from the bed and paced the room, his smooth body like liquid moving through space. His nakedness began to numb her mind as she watched the tight buttocks reflected in the light, smooth as ivory, and the dangling organ. He is beautiful, she told herself, overwhelmed by the sight of him. How can he possibly explain it? she wondered. I can't explain it myself.

"Explain it, Eddie," she taunted. "Surely you can explain it."

"There is no explanation."

"There has to be."

"All right then." He paused, watching her, then shrugged. "It's a mystery. That's the only explanation."

"So there have been others," Frederika said, in full pursuit now, the scent in her nostrils. It had suddenly become more important to know. To know was everything.

"What does all this mean?" Eddie said, turning toward her now, his eyes flashing, brows knitting, his agitation rising.

"I want to know about you, Eddie. You have told me nothing. Surely in the forty-odd years of your life there are things that have happened which have shaped your character. There have been relationships."

He stopped his pacing, shrugged and lifted his arms, palms outward in a typical Latin gesture of mock surrender. He was even smiling, showing the broadest smile she had ever seen him display. Was he mocking her, she wondered, half-expecting him to voice the comedian's stock reaction to contrived feminine triviality ... "Women." Did his eyes search for the ceiling, his head shake with male tolerance, as he expressed the theatrics of exasperation?

"I want to know," Frederika pressed.

"Know what?"

"About you, Eddie. Your life." Her voice rose. "I have a right to know." Did he detect the edge of panic, she wondered, instinctively certain that she had gone too far. She saw his smile disappear.

"Right?" he asked.

"Surely I have that right.... "She felt her voice falter as he glared at her. Did she really? she wondered, remembering Anne and her alleged rights. He is shared territory, she realized suddenly, the reality painful. My God, I will lose him.

"I love you, Eddie. I just want to know." She was conscious of the plea in her voice, the sudden softness. The new attitude seemed to blunt his anger.

"I will tell you everything, Frederika." He took a deep breath. "But not now. There are other things on my mind now. There is an important operation in the making. It is intricate."

"Is this what I am part of?" she asked, fearful that her outburst might have caused her cancellation in the plan.

"Of course."

He came back into the bed. His skin had absorbed the chill and he was shivering. She smothered him with her warm nakedness, the touch of his flesh compelling.

"It is a mystery, Eddie," she said, holding him tightly along his back, fitted snugly against her. She squeezed him hard, the pressure making him grunt.

"Yes," he said. "I told you."

It was dark when she heard him moving around the apartment. Hey eyelids fluttered briefly, as she feigned sleep, listening to the familiar sounds. Then she felt his breath on her face, the brief kiss on the forehead, barely touching her skin. He was tiptoeing across the floor. The door opened, creaked slightly, and closed, and she was out of bed in a moment, reaching quickly for her jeans and a sweater. Tying a scarf around her head, she found a pea jacket in the closet. She was sure he had not seen it. Nor had he ever seen her with a scarf around her head. She also had sufficient presence of mind to grab a pair of old unused glasses from a drawer as she sped out of the apartment, running down the stairs and into the street.

Her mind was working quickly now, turning over possibilities. If he had a car nearby, she could not follow him, although she would be sure to take the license number. But he always seemed to be on foot, as if distance was not a problem. Which meant that he lived close by.

It was still evening. The day, as always with Eddie, had sped by quickly. She had thought it might be early morning, sometime close to dawn. But a clock in a nearby storefront told her it was only eleven. She had missed work and had failed to call in, which meant putting an added burden on her co-workers. Perhaps they would fire her. There was a sudden twinge of guilt as she hesitated in the street, looking south toward M Street. She saw him moving across Wisconsin Avenue, turning toward Massachusetts, heading west. There was little foot traffic and she could see him clearly in the moonlit night.

Keeping her distance, she crossed the wide street and kept him in sight. He was moving with swift strides, obviously sure of his destination. Occasionally, he would look behind him. She did not hesitate, secure in her disguise, proud of her cleverness. She followed him tenaciously, thankful that her work had conditioned her legs for speed and distance. She smiled at the idea that her job had, at last, served some useful purpose besides merely providing a living.

She saw him turn and enter an apartment building, making mental notes, sure that she had the identity of the building fixed in her mind. It was a large building, sitting high on a slope overlooking Massachusetts Avenue. She remembered being inside it once, when she was looking for an apartment. When she reached it, her eyes swept the facade. Many lights were on. She could see people moving about inside some of the apartments. She speculated cautiously. One mustn't jump to conclusions. Who lives here? Is he alone? Is there someone else? She waited in the shadows for perhaps a half hour, then proceeded into the lobby of the building. An indifferent young man slumped behind the desk, reading a book. In the moment before she attracted his attention, she had looked over the lobby, checking details, searching for the apartment's directory.

"Is there a pay telephone?" she asked pleasantly. He pointed to a far wall. Nearby were the mailboxes and the directory. It would be too simple. The directory confirmed her instincts. His name was not listed. But that could have been his own choice. It was not simple to rent an apartment in Washington. They checked you out. She cursed her stupidity for not asking the man at the desk a direct question. But they, too, were trained to be suspicious. Then, as she reached the phone, she discovered that she had not taken any money, nor had she bothered to bring Anne's number. You are America's worst detective, she told herself, and for the first time, she felt a sense of risk.

She thought of Anne, tenacious, driven Anne. Let Anne do the dirty work, take the risks, she decided. Why not? Anne was the older, less attractive, more unsure. Her loss was greater, Frederika assured herself bravely, knowing it was a lie. She felt the doorman watching her and picked up the receiver, moving her lips in a charade, then hung it up again. Passing him again, she smiled pleasantly and moved out into the street, noting the address and name of the building on the sign outside. "The Berkshire. 4100 Massachusetts Avenue."

Walking swiftly, her heart pumping heavily, she got to her own building, hurried to her apartment, and dialed the phone. Anne's voice responded quickly, after one ring. So she is anxious, Frederika thought. As well she should be.

"I followed him," she said, her breath still gasping from exertion.

"He was there?"

"Yes."

There was a long pause, a sign. She could feel the tension across the line.

"I followed him to an apartment house on Massachusetts Avenue. The Berkshire. You know it?"

"Yes."

"But I was afraid to ask if he lived there. His name was not on the directory."

She was waiting for direction now, for Anne's will to assert itself.

"What shall we do?" she asked finally. Her own weakness galled her.

"I'll call later," Anne said.

"What are you going to do?"

"Find out."

"How?"

"I'm not sure."

There was a firmness in her voice, a resolve. It triggered Frederika's suspicion. She remembered how Anne had persevered in standing in front of her own building. Can I trust her? she wondered. Trust! It seemed suddenly ludicrous.

"You will tell me everything, Anne?"

"Of course."

"We are in it together now, Anne."

"Yes."

"I want to know everything you know. Everything." She had wanted to say "please," but could not bring herself to that. There seemed nothing more to say, but she delayed hanging up, expecting Anne to do so first. Anne's breathing came across the line. Frederika could sense that something was gathering in her mind.

"Was it the same?" Anne asked at last.

Frederika understood instantly. "Yes," she said, hoping that the word could hurt. "The same."

The telephone clicked off and Frederika stood for a long time, the phone still at her ear, until the odd beep began, recalling her sense of place and her emptiness.