Kate left the station shortly after ten o’clock. As she threaded her way through the downtown freeway interchange and over quiet city streets to the Silverlake District, persistent waves of fatigue encroached on her anticipation of time alone with Andrea. The day had been long, beginning with the autopsy of Dory Quillin and ending with the paperwork she had had to complete at the station. But it was the confrontation in the parking lot of the Nightwood Bar, the full expenditure of adrenaline, which had so depleted her.
The house was a small white frame, its old-fashioned veranda dark and shadowy with the shapes of leafy plants. Kate frowned at the flimsy aluminum-frame door, the light, easily removable screens and windows. A two-year-old could break into this place. Disturbed, she rang the bell.
From the backyard a dog snarled, then barked. Kate was suddenly bathed in light which illuminated the forest of plants on the veranda. To her relief, the light also revealed a substantial inside door and a barred living room window. The house was not nearly as vulnerable as it appeared.
Andrea, in jeans and a large blue plaid shirt, stood framed in the inner doorway, her house’s warm brightness behind her; then she came out onto the veranda to unlock the door. The rich aroma of coffee reached Kate. She felt suddenly weak with the womanly presence of Andrea and the warmth of her house; she ached with tiredness and loneliness.
“You look exhausted,” Andrea said, taking her arm, leading her into the living room. “How about something stronger than coffee?”
“Coffee is fine.” Kate sank into a thickly cushioned sofa, and looked curiously around her. As if the veranda had overflowed into this room, plants occupied the floor and the slate hearth of a fireplace, as well as the surfaces of the glass-topped coffee table, two cherrywood occasional tables, several shelves of a tall bookcase. On the wall across from her hung a large print, geometric bands of color, costly-looking in its simplicity. The room had been put together with care, and Kate felt comfortable in it.
“Is it that you don’t drink at all?” Andrea inquired. “Surely you can’t still be on duty. Do they work police officers eighteen hours a day?”
“On a homicide investigation we don’t have set hours. We have to move fast, develop information fast. We go till we can’t go any longer. So I’m still on duty. Technically, have no business being here unless I am on duty.”
“Okay, you’re on duty. Now what would you like to drink on duty? I have some excellent brandy, also scotch, vodka, wine—you look like a scotch drinker to me.”
Kate smiled. “You’re very observant. And kind. Right now some coffee with a little brandy sounds perfect.”
Andrea disappeared into the kitchen. Kate pulled an ottoman over from the end of the sofa, feeling at ease about doing so, and kicked off her shoes and put her feet up.
Andrea came back carrying two mugs of steaming coffee and placed them on the coffee table. From a cabinet in the bottom of the bookcase she took a bottle of Henessey and two bubble glasses, and poured generously.
“All the plants you have in here, they’re wonderful,” Kate commented, accepting the snifter of brandy, warming it in both hands.
“Plants are easily the healthiest life forms on this earth,” Andrea said forcefully. “They don’t prey on one another, and you can keep them alive and growing forever.”
“I never thought about them that way,” Kate murmured, surprised by the intensity in Andrea’s voice. The first sip of brandy was ambrosial, the liquor easing its silky way through her tiredness.
“Anything new on the three neanderthals?” Gracefully, Andrea seated herself next to Kate, tucking her feet under her, her glass of brandy cupped in a palm.
“They all have rap sheets. Burglary, sale of stolen property. No drugs on them, there may be some in the car. But most dopers don’t stockpile unless they’re dealing, they can’t afford to. They ingest whatever they buy.”
“Real assets to society,” Andrea said dourly.
Kate swallowed coffee that was strong and bracing. “I can tell you what their story will be tomorrow when we question them. That Audie offered to go with them and you women at the bar interfered and I, prejudiced woman cop that I am, wronged them. We’ll question them within an inch of their lives about Dory, of course.”
“Kate—young men like those three, surely they don’t all end up in prison, there are too many. What happens when they grow up?”
“If they grow up,” Kate amended. “Maybe one of the three—”
The phone rang. On the second ring it clicked into an answering machine.
“Andy, honey, I know you’re there, please pick up the phone…” The woman’s voice came softly from the speaker, tremulous with need. “Andy…pick up the phone, baby…please…”
Andrea walked over to the answering machine, turned the volume off. “You were saying,” she said to Kate.
Kate swallowed more coffee. “Maybe one of them will find a good person to marry,” she continued, watching Andrea as she settled herself once more on the sofa. “But a felony record is death in the job market, and he’ll never have a job of any consequence. Maybe he’ll scratch along in the underground economy, maybe he won’t.”
Andrea’s eyes were fixed on the answering machine; its message-waiting light had not yet begun to blink, indicating that the caller was still speaking.
“More likely,” Kate continued, “they’ll all end up dealing drugs. Maybe get caught, do serious jail time. They’ll probably die young—an overdose or a drug-related failure of some vital organ. Or their brains will get so fried they’ll become wandering zombies living out of garbage cans.”
The message-waiting light finally began to blink, Andrea’s eyes still fastened on it. Kate doubted that she had heard a single word she had said. “Andrea,” she asked, “is someone bothering you?”
Andrea’s eyes, cool and expressionless, met hers. “My ex-lover. She calls all the time. Thanks to my answering machine, I never have to talk to her.”
Her senses invaded by the subtle scent of perfume, the beauty of Andrea’s face and bearing, Kate looked at her in a warmth of desire. Whatever could this ex-lover have done to earn such enmity from Andrea?
Kate cleared her throat. “I was wondering, I thought perhaps…” She had spoken impulsively, and now she sorted through frantic thoughts: What could she invite Andrea to do? She was unable to cook a decent dinner, a movie seemed too juvenile. “Depending on what happens with this case, I’m free this weekend. I thought perhaps… Maybe you’d like to have dinner at the beach—” She broke off, confused by the hardening grimness in Andrea’s face.
“I was quite certain you were attracted to me.” The voice was flat, almost accusatory.
Confounded by Andrea’s tone, Kate put down her coffee mug and tried to gather her wits. “I—I’m sure I have that in common with a lot of women.”
“You’re wasting your time, Kate.” The words were bitten off. “I’m not at all what I seem.”
“In what way?” She was completely bewildered.
But Andrea did not reply. Closing her eyes, she lifted her brandy snifter and took a deep swallow.
“I go by instinct,” Kate said, desperate to bring this conversation into the realm of comprehension. “I learned to do that in police work and I’ve relied on it—I’ve had to. You’re one of the most interesting and attractive women I’ve met in a long time. In every way.”
“Every way?” Andrea was unbuttoning the cuffs of her shirt.
“Every way,” Kate confirmed, still groping to locate solid ground somewhere.
Andrea seized the tails of her shirt in both hands and tugged it up and over her head.
Kate stared at two red scars making their jagged and lengthy way across a puffy expanse of dusky flesh, the scars neatly and evenly cross-hatched by pink stitch marks.
“See how deceiving appearances can be?” Andrea’s voice was soft; she did not look at Kate. She continued almost inaudibly, “My breasts used to be larger than yours.”
Kate reached to her, needing to protect the rawness of those scars, needing to protect Andrea’s nakedness from the coolness of this green room. She grasped Andrea’s bare shoulders to warm her, rubbing, chafing the cool flesh under her hands, and looked into eyes that stared in amazement into hers.
“Listen to me,” Kate said quietly. “The woman I loved burned to death a year and ten months ago. I would have taken her without arms or legs or breasts. I would have taken her with burns or scars or anything—if only Anne could have lived.”
Andrea buried her face in Kate’s shoulder.
Kate took her into her arms, moved her hands over the soft flesh of Andrea’s back. “It’s all right. Andrea, you’re beautiful still. It’s all right.”
“I’m not,” Andrea whispered. “What Bev said was true.”
Bev—the woman on the phone? Andrea’s former lover? “What did she say?” Kate drew her close.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“I don’t understand. When was this?”
Andrea’s voice was muffled against the fabric of Kate’s jacket. “Four months after…the surgery. I hadn’t looked at myself, not even when the bandages came off. I couldn’t.”
Andrea lifted her head to gaze again at Kate, her brown eyes glistening with tears. “I wouldn’t let Bev look, either. We didn’t make love, I was in pain some of the time, there was a lot of numbness…But mostly I couldn’t stand to be touched. I felt so…mutilated. But I needed her to look at me, understand?”
“Yes,” Kate said.
“I had to have her do it for both of us and tell both of us it was okay, that it was okay for me to look at myself…understand?”
“Yes,” Kate said.
“And finally I did ask her… And then she didn’t say anything, she just stared at me and then I looked down and I saw how hideous I was—”
“Andrea, you’re still beautiful. You’re a beautiful woman.”
Andrea shook her head. “No. My breasts were perfect…” She picked up her shirt, dabbed at her eyes.
“When did you have the surgery?”
“Six months ago.”
“Is everything okay? Are you fully recovered?”
“If you mean did they get it all, yes. The lymph nodes were clear. They tell me I’ll be fine.”
“How long were you and Bev together?”
“Four years.”
“You could have given her a little more time—” Kate sighed. It was ludicrous, justifying the behavior of this woman she did not know, whose turf she had just invaded.
“What you said, the way you—if only Bev…”
“Andrea, she had as much anxiety as you. Some people just need more time to adjust. A friend of Anne’s told her parents she was a lesbian. They didn’t take it well—but two months later they were remorseful about how they’d reacted. Bev sounded pretty remorseful on the phone.”
“Bev is slow to react about a lot of things, but this was different, Kate. She knew about this. She knew days before the surgery, all those months afterward…”
She had to convince Andrea, but to convince her she had to defend Bev. And the more she defended Bev…
“Andrea, knowing about something like this doesn’t matter. I knew my mother was dying. But her actual death was a shock I hadn’t begun to imagine.”
Andrea was silent for some moments. “I’m so sorry about your lover,” she finally said. “Anne was very lucky to have you for the time that she did.”
“Thank you,” Kate said simply.
Andrea unbuttoned Kate’s jacket, taking her time, and pushed it off her. She slid her arms around Kate’s shoulders. “Your metal buttons are cold on my scars,” she said, smiling.
Kate chuckled, and picked up the shirt, draped it around Andrea’s shoulders. “It’s chilly in here.”
Andrea took Kate’s face in her hands, looked into her eyes.
Kate’s hands moved along the soft silky flesh of Andrea’s arms to her shoulders, down her back. She held Andrea’s eyes, knowing that with each passing moment Andrea saw more and more clearly her desire.
“You’re very beautiful.” Kate breathed the words; Andrea’s face was nearing hers.
“Stay with me tonight,” Andrea murmured against Kate’s lips.
* * *
Invigorated by cool sharp shower spray, Kate wrapped herself in a towel and came into the small, dimly lit bedroom. Andrea was propped up on pillows, her hair dark and glossy against the whiteness, a sheet drawn up to her shoulders. She patted the edge of the bed next to her. Smiling, Kate obediently sat down beside her.
Andrea unwrapped the towel, dropped it to the floor, and unhurriedly surveyed her.
“What a fine big woman you are,” she murmured, and took Kate’s face in her warm hands. She ran her fingers into Kate’s hair. “Your hair is wonderful, so soft and fine…” Her fingernails stroked Kate’s scalp, creating waves of chilling sensation; Kate felt gooseflesh rise on her arms. Andrea’s hands came to Kate’s neck, circling it, her palms exploring its curving; then to Kate’s shoulders, the nails again running lightly; and Kate could not suppress her shudders.
Smiling in evident self-satisfaction, Andrea took Kate’s breasts in her hands, cupping them in her palms as if to weigh them. She slid her palms around and around the curving of them, and Kate closed her eyes to concentrate on the warm friction, her sensations deepening as Andrea’s fingers began to sensuously knead, as a fingertip circled each nipple, then stroked across it.
Andrea sat up and pushed away the sheet covering herself, drew Kate to her. Again she took Kate’s breasts in her hands, this time to fit them into her, sighing as she sinuously adjusted her own body. Kate slid her arms around the delicate slenderness of her, holding her closely, and lowered her slowly, careful to preserve the melding of their bodies.
As Andrea’s body joined the entire length of hers, Kate sucked in her breath at the smooth warm silkiness of her. Andrea’s hands caressed down her back, the fingernails again making her writhe; the warm hands moved over her hips, squeezing them with a proprietary roughness. Andrea’s legs twined with hers; Kate felt the soft hair, the heat between Andrea’s legs against her thigh.
“Your body is wonderful,” Andrea whispered, looking at her out of dark, heavy-lidded eyes.
Leaning on her elbows, she held Andrea’s face in her hands, gazing at her, and stroked smooth firm skin that was like an ocean-polished stone warm in the sun. Inhaling the scent of musk, her desire keenly penetrating, she whispered, “God, I want you.”
Andrea pulled Kate’s mouth down to hers, her lips a possessive, increasing pressure until Kate felt the impress of teeth; then Andrea’s lips became sensuous softness, yielding under hers, and as Kate’s tongue entered her Kate was freshly pierced by desire that ascended to an altogether new plateau.
Andrea’s hands in her hair held Kate’s mouth to hers, Andrea’s tongue met hers with light swift strokes, Andrea’s body became subtly undulant under hers. Kate felt the moist heat between Andrea’s legs move against her thigh, felt herself go out of control for the second time this night. Overpowered by her craving, she slid a hand down to Andrea’s thighs.
Her palm cupped exquisite mossy warmth, her fingers sank into a satiny depth; and Andrea’s thighs closed powerfully, imprisoning her. Too fast, Kate thought amid the ecstasy of her sensations, I’m doing everything too fast… But Andrea’s mouth became pure passion under hers, Andrea tightened her arms around the thickest part of Kate’s back and rocked her upper body against Kate’s breasts. Then she buried her face in Kate’s shoulder and opened her legs, her hips churning as Kate’s fingers began to move. Soon Andrea’s hips surged in what Kate thought was her coming until they surged again and again and again in a tense quivering that only gradually stilled.
“So good,” Andrea breathed, her body softening once more into Kate’s. “Oh God, so good.” Gently, she took Kate’s hand away.
“Too fast, I was too—”
“I wanted you… God, just like that.”
She rolled Kate over onto her back and lay on top of her, still breathing swiftly; Kate could feel her rapid heartbeats. Again Andrea fitted, adjusted Kate’s breasts to her.
Kate saw the briefest wince of pain cross her face and asked in alarm, “Did I hurt you? Was I too rough?”
Andrea took a shuddering breath, and smiled. “Not that I noticed.” She added, “Sometimes there’s a little stinging around the scars—it’s fleeting. They tell me it’ll all be gone soon. Don’t worry.” Andrea closed her eyes, nestled into Kate. “You feel wonderful, your breasts are just incredible against me there.”
She held Kate’s head cradled in her arms. “You hardly need to apologize for anything,” she said, and kissed her.
With Andrea’s mouth on hers in lingering tenderness, Kate explored the satiny body lying on hers, sliding her hands slowly over the curves of Andrea’s back and the richly firm hips, down her thighs and under them, slipping a savoring hand again into the moist warmth between her legs. Andrea was tracing an ear with her tongue; her hand came slowly down Kate, her palm caressing over her stomach, to her legs. Kate squeezed her eyes shut against too much sensation.
Throbbing from wetly caressing fingers, groaning with her need, Kate put Andrea beneath her again and moved urgently, Andrea’s fingernails raking across her shoulders, down her shoulder blades. Kate groaned again as the fingernails raced down her spine, and she arched, pressing into Andrea, transfixed.
Her release sweet and full, she took her body slowly, contentedly from Andrea, lassitude already permeating her. “Don’t let me sleep,” she murmured, “I don’t want to sleep.”
“I have other plans for you, you rough, tough cop…”
Sometime later she lay helpless, her nipples a fiercely sweet ache in Andrea’s mouth, Andrea’s merciless fingernails seeming to be everywhere at once. Then Andrea’s fingertips were stroking lightly between her legs, and then Andrea was under her again, fused to the needful rhythms of her body.
Exhausted, murmuring contentment, too utterly replete to struggle, she sank into sleep, Andrea warmly in her arms, Andrea’s face pillowed against her breasts.