some help here,” he said.
His voice was hoarse.
“You do,” I said. “But not the kind I can give you.”
“You talking about a shrink?” he said.
“I can get you some names,” I said.
“Fuck that,” he said.
I didn’t say anything.
“Fuck that,” he said again, and got up and walked out.
Outside my office window, a couple of solitary snowflakes spiraled down. I watched them as they passed.
“Après vous,” I said, “le déluge.”
Chapter41
NORMALLY WHEN WE ATE TOGETHER at my place, Susan and I sat at the kitchen counter. But it was Christmas, so Susan set the table at one end of the living room: tablecloth, crystal, good china, good silver, candles, and napkins in gold napkin rings.
“What do you think?” Susan said.
“Zowie,” I said.
“Zowie?”
“You heard me,” I said.
“Would Martha Stewart say ‘zowie’?”
“If she wouldn’t, she should,” I said.
I had a fire going, and Pearl the Wonder Dog was in front of it on the couch, resting up after the rigors of the ride from Cambridge.
“What’s for eats?” Susan said.
“I was thinking pizza,” I said. “How ’bout you?”
Susan looked at me without expression.
“Or Chinese?” I said. “I bet PF Chang’s is open. Pork fried rice?”
Susan’s expression didn’t change.
“I suppose subs wouldn’t do it, either,” I said.
“The baby and I are going home,” Susan said.
“Boy, are you picky,” I said. “Okay, how about we start with bay scallops seviche, then we have slow-roasted duck, snow peas, corn pudding, and brown rice cooked with cranberries?”
“And dessert?” Susan said.
“Blackberry pie.”
“With ice cream?” Susan said.
“Ice cream or cheddar cheese that I bought at Formaggio.”
“Or both?”
“Or both,” I said.
“Oh, all right,” Susan said. “We’ll stay.”
“Good girls,” I said. “Would either of you care for some pink champagne?”
“Pearl’s underage,” Susan said.
“In dog years she’s middle-aged,” I said.
“She is still a baby,” Susan said.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll drink hers. How about you, little lady?”
Susan smiled, which was worth traveling great distances to see, and said, “It would be foolish not to.”
I poured us each a glass of Krug rosé, put the ice bucket on the coffee table, and Susan and I squeezed onto the couch beside Pearl. Pearl looked a little annoyed, which was hardly in the spirit of the season, but she readjusted her position and went back to sleep with her head on Susan’s lap. Which was what I had been planning on.
“So,” I said. “Do Jews go to hell for celebrating Christmas?”
“Jews don’t go to hell,” Susan said.
“None?”
“And in particular,” Susan said, “none who were cheerleaders at Swampscott High.”
“And still retain their skills,” I said.
“Several skills,” Susan said.
“I know.”
We drank our champagne. The fire enriched itself as the logs settled in on one another. Pearl sighed in her sleep.
“Do we love each other?” Susan said.
“We do,” I said.
“And were you thinking of celebrating that love with some sort of holiday rendezvous?”
“I was,” I said.
“If I have a heavy meal, as I expect to,” Susan said, “my libido will be dysfunctional for hours.”
“I’ve noticed that about you,” I said.
“However, if we were to drink a bit more champagne and retire to your bedroom before dinner, we could celebrate Christmas in our own ecumenical way,” Susan said. “And then eat the big meal.”
“Brilliant,” I said. “You’re amazing.”
“Hot, too,” she said.
I nodded.
“Hotter than a pepper sprout,” I said.
“So shall we do that?”
“You bet,” I said.
“Okay, pour me another glass of champagne,” Susan said. “And we’ll proceed.”
“Zowie,” I said.
Chapter42
IT WAS THE WEEK before Valentine’s Day, and I was in my office working on the first draft of my Valentine’s poem to Susan, when Gary Eisenhower arrived with Estelle, the trainer and putative girlfriend. I put the draft in my middle drawer.
“Gary,” I said.
“Spenser,” Gary said. “You remember Estelle?”
“I do,” I said. “How are you, Estelle.”
“Feeling good,” she said, and gave me a big smile.
Gary gave her a hug.
“Main squeeze,” he said, and kissed her on top of the head.
“Amazing that you find the time,” I said.
“We manage,” Estelle said.
I gestured toward the chairs and they sat down.
“We need to consult you,” Gary said.
“Go,” I said.
“It’s about Beth Jackson,” Estelle said.
“She seeing you again?” I said to Eisenhower.
“Not really,” he said. “Her husband’s all over her on that one. But she does see Estelle.”
“I’m her trainer,” Estelle said. “And we’ve become good friends.”
“Still at Pinnacle?” I said.
“Yes, four days a week,” Estelle said. “We do weights twice a week and Pilates twice a week.”
“Estelle has been able to sneak me in a couple of times, and I’ve been able to spend a little time with Beth in one of the massage rooms.”
“How modern of