sex, but—
Rhoda and Curt were walking toward them from the other direction. The four of them met in front of the Corn Building’s elderly revolving doors. Rhoda’s eyes scanned Bill up and down with bright curiosity.
“Bill, these are the people I work with,” Rosie said. Instead of subsiding, the heat continued to rise in her cheeks. “Rhoda Simons and Curtis Hamilton. Rhoda, Curt, this is—” For one brief, abysmally black second she found herself completely unable to remember the name of this man who already meant so much to her. Then, thankfully, it came. “Bill Steiner,” she finished.
“Goodtameetcha,” Curt said, and shook Bill’s hand. He glanced toward the building, clearly ready to slide his head back between the earphones.
“Any friend of Rosie’s, as the saying goes,” Rhoda said, and held out her own hand. The slim bracelets on her wrist jangled mutedly.
“My pleasure,” Bill said, and turned back to Rosie. “Are we still on for Saturday?”
She thought furiously, then nodded.
“I’ll pick you up at eight-thirty. Remember to dress warm.”
“I will.” She could feel the blush spreading all the way down her body now, turning her nipples hard and even making her fingers tingle. The way he was looking at her hit that hot-button again, but this time it was more attractive than scary. She was suddenly struck by an urge—comical but amazingly strong, nevertheless—to put her arms around him ... and her legs ... and then simply climb him like a tree.
“Well, I’ll see you, then,” Bill said. He bent forward and pecked the comer of her mouth. “Rhoda, Curtis, it was nice to meet you.”
He turned and walked off, whistling.
“I’ll say this for you, Rosie, your taste is excellent,” Rhoda said. “Those eyes!”
“We’re just friends,” Rosie said awkwardly. “I met him ...” She trailed off. Suddenly explaining how she had met him seemed complicated, not to mention embarrassing. She shrugged, laughed nervously. “Well, you know.”
“Yes, I do,” Rhoda said, watching Bill’s progress up the street. Then she turned back to Rosie and laughed delightedly. “I do know. Within this old wreck of femininity there beats the heart of a true romantic. One who hopes you and Mr. Steiner will be very good friends. Meantime, are you ready to go back at it?”
“Yes,” Rosie said.
“Are we going to see an improvement over this morning, now that you’ve got your ... other business more or less in order?”
“I’m sure there will be a big improvement,” Rosie said, and there was.
VI
The TEMPLE OF THE BULL
1
Before going to bed that Thursday night, Rosie plugged in her new phone again and used it to call Anna. She asked if Anna had heard anything new, or if anyone had seen Norman in the city. Anna gave a firm no to both questions, told her all was quiet, and then offered the old one about no news being good news. Rosie had her doubts about that, but kept them to herself. Instead, she offered Anna hesitant condolences on the loss of her ex-husband, wondering if Miss Manners had rules for handling such situations.
“Thanks, Rosie,” Anna said. “Peter was a strange and difficult man. He loved people, but he wasn’t very loveable himself.”
“He seemed very nice to me.”
“I’m sure. To strangers he was the Good Samaritan. To his family and the people who tried to be his friends—I’ve belonged to both groups, so I know—he was more like the Levite who passed by on the other side. Once, during Thanksgiving dinner, he picked up the turkey and threw it at his brother Hal. I can’t remember for sure what the argument was about, but it was probably either the PLO or César Chavez. It was usually one or the other.”
Anna sighed.
“There’s going to be a remembrance circle for him Saturday afternoon—we all sit around in folding chairs, like drunks at an AA meeting, and take turns talking about him. At least I think that’s what we do.”
“It sounds nice.”
“Do you think so?” Anna asked. Rosie could imagine her arching her eyebrows in that unconsciously arrogant way of hers, and looking more like Maude than ever. “I think it sounds rather silly, but perhaps you’re right. Anyway, I’ll leave the picnic long enough to do that, but I’ll come back with only a few regrets. The battered women of this city have lost a friend, there’s no doubt about that much.”
“If it was Norman who did it—”
“I knew that was coming,” Anna said. “I’ve been working with women who’ve been bent, folded, stapled, and mutilated for a lot